Title: Of Sheep and Battle Chicken Category: Games » Mass Effect Author: LogicalPremise Language: English, Rating: Rated: M Genre: Sci-Fi/Angst Published: 04-13-12, Updated: 09-22-14 Chapters: 123, Words: 744,722 Chapter 1: Prologue 1 : Arcturus A/N and Intro: Welcome to Of Sheep and Battle Chicken. Yes, the name is ridiculous – I guarantee you will remember it. Before you read any further, two things need to be kept in mind. First, this is a very heavily AU (Alternative Universe) fic. I have taken a shotgun to canon in every possible way. Things you will not see include a stupid Council, moronically evil Cerberus, weak-ass turians, or pretty much anything that BioWare half-assed. Things you WILL see are salarians that operate in bullet-time, asari who have biotic lightsabers, a severely dark and evil SA, and pretty much an entire universe that makes War40k look like My Little Pony. It's so AU that if you go to my profile, I've written up supporting documentation, such as the Cerberus Files, the Systems Alliance Order of Battle, and the Encyclopedia Biotica. These are not required to understand the story but will help. There is already a sequel, a link between ME1 and ME2 called OSaBC: And Then There Were None. This story has some strange pairings. There's FShep/Liara, but also Joker/Tali, Garrus/OC, and Ash/Kai. Also, Saren/Benezia. Second, this is rated M for strong language and heavy violence. While there are a number of sexual innuendos, there are no explicit sex scenes in this work. There is a good amount of focus on BDSM (although not explicit) and well, given my version of Shepard's proclivities, it is probably for the best that I don't get too detailed. The story is told in five arcs. Arc I covers what I call the Prologues – introductions to all the key players, and of course the Opening Scene. Arc II covers from just before Eden Prime to the establishment of Shepard as a Spectre. Arc III covers Therum, Feros, and the hunt for Cerberus. Arc IV covers Noveria and Virmire. Arc V is the finale, covering Ilos, the Citadel, and the Aftermath. The story would not be possible without the kind assistance of WordKrush, Bebus, Michael110, and Progman. As of October 2014 I am overhauling the story thanks to kind assistance from thebluninja, who has been proofreading each chapter so that it sucks less, as well as liethr. THE FIRST ARC : You suggested me for what? 'I have to say, when I first heard the news about being made Spectre? I seriously wondered if Anderson was drunk.' -Major-Commander Sara Shepard, 'Lay it on me' Arcturus Station. A bastion of humanity's will to power, floating almost arrogantly in the depths of the void. Some viewed it as a weak copy of the far mightier Citadel; others saw it as merely a prudent defensive station that had grown over time. What no one debated is that it had become a place where the government of the Systems Alliance did a great deal of backroom politicking, away from the cameras and publicity of Vancouver. Many dark secrets were embedded in computers within its walls, tucked away in filing cabinets among racks of OSDs and datapads gathering dust. Still more secrets were whispered into the air of the many conference rooms surrounding the Congressional Hall at the heart of Arcturus. One of these rooms, proclaimed by its heavy wooden portals and the richly detailed brass plate to one side reading 'SA Joint Defense Board,' was perhaps the penultimate place where certain decisions were made by a handful of powerful figures. Here, humanity had come to a deal involving the Treaty of Farixen. Here, they'd hashed out a formal cessation of hostilities with the Turian Hierarchy, some eight years after the end of the First Contact War. And here was where humanity took its first steps toward what its leaders hoped would be a more open acceptance by the Council. The room was not large, given its importance, but was richly decorated. The walls were wood-paneled, the floor carpeted in thick, rich piles. A bar ran along one wall, a huge viewport along another, displaying a dazzling view of the beyond, stars burning in the eternal night. The long meeting table was real mahogany, imported all the way from Earth, inlaid with the Alliance symbol in gold. Marring its pristine surface were a collection of file folders and datapads, the very oldest and newest in documentation. The air was tainted by cigar smoke, rising in lazy whorls before being snatched away by the air filters, the expensive Terra Novan tobacco bringing a teasing, sweet scent to the otherwise dry air. Five men and one woman sat in the room, but one of the men was unimportant, merely a recorder of events, faded blond hair shorn in buzz cut, framing a square, empty face. His uniform was crisp as he began transcribing the latest words into a new padd. One of other four men in the room sat almost indolently, the woman at his side poised and elegant, while the other three men had far stiffer postures, each glancing over various reports, dispatches, and datapads. They perched in overstuffed chairs bespeaking their influence, their expressions fixed in grim visages more akin to a funeral than a calm discussion. The table was a warzone of political detritus, a light lunch, datapads limned in the red and white of secure documents, and old, bitter secrets. A heavy sheaf of papers was neatly stacked at the end of the table, the top page embossed with a raised set of pale white stylized wings inside a white circle on a black background. A puff of cigar smoke threaded into the air, followed by a mellifluous voice. "And that is what has transpired thus far. In return for our kind cooperation with our damned alien overlords, the best that Udina and Doyle were able to dicker from them was the Spectre, the treaty changes, and the economic allowances. I trust you gentlemen understand the requirement for discretion in what we've discussed so far? There are, and always will be, elements back home who won't quite understand the idea of trading away our discovery to the spikes and blues for a Spectre and a few more ships." The man who spoke puffed on his cigar briefly. He was not fat, but large, muscles once taut and powerful having faded over time. His expensive suit was unruffled from the trip from Earth, silk and demiweave, a muted gray-silver that gleamed faintly in the dim light of the holo-projection on the table. His eyes were dark, cold gray, the same as his perfectly trimmed hair. Every line in his face was cold, elegant, and calm. A tap of the large hand, festooned with gold rings, dumped a crumbling ash in a pile into the nearby ashtray. The man that faced him across the table was like but unlike. Like the man, his frame was large, fading from muscle with age. Old, harsh red scars marred the craggy strength of his profile, the lantern jaw, the hard blue eyes, the firm, almost dour set to his mouth. His uniform was ablaze across the chest with ribbons, each one a testament to courage, valor, and skill. Four stripes of pure gold perched on either shoulder, symbols of both power and duty. His voice was a grating, slate drawl, like the crunch of gravel. "Senator Adkins, I think if Fleet Master Dragunov were here, he would say the same thing I will… this is more than merely a few ships and a Spectre. A modification of the Treaty of Farixen would allow us to lay another two, maybe three dreadnought keels." The man placed his fingertips together pensively. "That might make all the difference, should there ever be war again. Given the tense situation with the batarians, we can't afford to throw this away on political posturing." The woman sitting next to the Senator nodded. Her face was classically beautiful even with age, with liquid dark eyes, an aquiline nose, and thin but shapely lips now curving into a small grin. Long cascades of auburn hair, only faintly touched with silver, were coiled tightly into a long braid, setting off the black and brown pattern of expensive dress. Her voice, a warm contralto cooled by a hard German accent, rang out with confidence. "Very true, Admiral Hackett. Not to mention the concessions on trade and tariffs. The High Lords of Sol will not let you back down from this, Adkins. You might as well simply bite the bullet and pick someone to represent humanity in a good light." Senator Adkins nodded his head. "Admiral Hackett, Lady Manswell. That's why we're here. That's why Captain Anderson and Major Kyle are here. Both the President and the Ministers agreed that having some damned committee with no experience pick our candidate would be a stupid idea. I merely want everyone to understand we will have to move… quickly on this. The Beacon won't be a secret forever, and if everything is already a done deal by the time the press, not to mention Earth First and Terra Firma, find out, we'll have fewer problems down the line." Lady Manswell sniffed dismissively. "I hardly care of the thoughts of the masses, Senator. That is the role of the Commissariat, to keep them well inline. Let us see these candidates you have." Adkins turned to Hackett, who nodded. "We've tried to pick candidates that can fulfill the requested role, milady. As a general rule, a Spectre would spend most of their time on the ground, so spaceside-only soldiers were not included in our selection. We've narrowed it down to five suggested choices… and one outside possibility." Five digitized faces flickered into existence in cold blue lighting above the center of the table, each surmounting a scrolling list of achievements, commendations, and facts. A soft VI voice spoke each of their names. "John Rodgers Young. Captain, SAMC. N6. Infowar specialist. Current assignment: 2nd Solguard." Adkins looked across at Hackett, and then the two officers next to him. "Never heard of him. Assessment?" The larger of the two officers, directly to the left of Hackett, gave a tired shrug. This man was barrel-chested, his frame thick with muscle, but his appearance was almost downcast, distracted. His medals blazed on his chest thickly, along with three red bold ribbons on his collar, but his posture was that of a defeated man, not a proud one, and his voice was very slightly unsteady. "I honestly do not believe that we can expect him to perform the high-level tasks we need. Captain Young is more of a leader than a fighter. And there are other issues that make him unfit to interact with some aliens. Captain Young has had some troubling interactions with asari in the past." Lady Manswell arched an eyebrow. "When you say 'troubling'…" The other officer, to Hackett's right, frowned before speaking, his dark face set in severe lines. It was a face that spoke of great strength and great sorrow, and his voice, refined with a touch of London, belied his trim, muscular appearance. "I would have to agree with Major Kyle, milady. The incident involved Mr. Young's ex-wife and an asari lady while he was on duty. When he returned from service…" He trailed off delicately, and the lady made a moue of distaste. Then she laughed. "How droll, Captain Anderson. Still, scandals of that nature are something we can do without. Next?" The VI's voice was calm. "Jason Delacor. Captain, SAMC. N7. Current Assignment: CO, 5th Regiment, Mindoir Army Group." Adkins frowned this time, glancing up at Hackett. "You cannot be serious. The man is literally walking bad luck and death." Hackett coughed into his hands. "That is an unfair assessment. Captain Delacor has endured a great deal of tribulation in his life, but has never failed to do his duty." Lady Manswell smiled slowly. "His colony of Mindoir was raided in the most savage attack in history, making him very nearly the sole survivor in his town. His boot camp class suffered from malfunction in the survival simulator, with only him walking away alive. His entire unit was eaten by thresher worms… maws, whatever they are called… on Akuze, again leaving him the sole survivor. He's tried to get married twice and both fiancées have died in a matter of days. To me, it appears as if he's the unluckiest bastard in the entire galaxy." Anderson nodded slowly. "Also, keep in mind he's in command of the Fifth. If we made him a Spectre, that means Commander Shepard would be in charge of the 5th." Adkins winced. "Ouch. Probably not wise. Next?" The VI's voice spoke again. "Countess Melissa von Ituria. Lieutenant Commander, SAIS. P7. Current assignment: Citadel discovery ops." Lady Manswell immediately shook her head, her voice dripping with amusement. "No. Even above the fact that her Family is a pack of Terra Firma lunatics, I happen to know the lady in question personally. She has… emotional baggage. She hates turians. Next?" The VI spoke again, almost apologetically. "Julio Espinoza, Major of Marines, SAMC. KoUE. N7. Current assignment: CO, Beta Reaction Force." Hackett folded his arms, glancing at Anderson and Kyle. "I have no reservations with Major Espinoza, except for the fact that he's married and recently had his first child." Anderson frowned. "He has never worked with aliens, in any capacity. Nor does he have any spaceside experience outside of his A-level training. And he's been sitting behind a desk for the past two years, not in the field. He certainly has more seniority than any of the other candidates. Outranks me, which could be tricky in command situations." Adkins carefully reviewed the data. "I'm not totally satisfied. He's good, but bland, and he's never been in a life-or-death fight. And that's a lot of caveats you just listed out. We'll list him as a 'maybe.' Next?" The VI sounded off again. "Sir James Branson. Captain, SANF. Star of Sol. KoUE. N7. Current position: CO, First N Combat Brigade." A long sigh sounded in the room, and the stern voice of Adkins sounded weary. "Gentlemen, we have now been through your first tier of candidates, and there isn't a single one I'd feel totally comfortable with. And this one is no exception. The Hero of Elysium is an outstanding warrior. A very ideal, heroic figure. But we all know that the public face is mostly Commissariat PR. Elysium was a sham, and the aliens will figure that out if we give them reason to look. On top of that he's racist, foolhardy, and worst of all a glory hound." Hackett sighed, then turned – almost reluctantly – to face Anderson and Kyle. "Senator, my subordinates have one more recommendation to review with you. I'd like to go on the record and say this is their idea, not put forth by Alliance Command." Anderson gave a tight smile, facing the Senator and Lady Manswell. Hackett – and the Fleet Master – didn't like his idea, but that wouldn't matter. He knew that the Senator had the Senate wrapped up, and that anything a Manswell wanted, they got. If he could convince the two of them that his idea would work, the SA would have no choice but to go along with it. He took a deep breath. "Senator, I think we can all agree that whoever we submit must be a symbol that represents the best of what humanity has to offer, but I would like to know what else you think we should be looking for." The Senator puffed his cigar again. "Symbolism is certainly important. But if we're going to do this, it has to be someone who can get the job done, whatever the job may be. Whatever the cost. I look at these fine men and women you have proposed and I see great soldiers. Heroes. Symbols, as you said. But I don't see someone who can make the hard calls a Spectre might have to undertake. They called Branson a hero because instead of falling back he showboated. I don't like that. Delacor is a survivor, but that's all he is, for all his achievements. Ituria is a complete novice at ground warfare, and this Espinoza has never been tested. Young doesn't sound like he has the chops to get it done. What I need is someone who will never, ever fail us." The Senator glanced over at the other two men at the table. "Someone like the Lion of Mindoir. Of course, I know someone of that nature is hard to find. But I need more than merely 'good.' I need goddamned excellent." Lady Manswell nodded. "If there are personal problems, those can be ameliorated, but I tend to agree. We are all familiar with your own attempt at being a Spectre, that the Council and that filthy turian derailed. We have made a great deal of effort to make sure this time the selection will be successful – but whoever is chosen must be the equal of any of the aliens." Kyle glanced at Anderson, then sighed and nodded. Anderson gave a slight smile. "Then there is one other possibility, Senator Adkins. One we hesitated to submit given the delicacy of the position, and the various reactions putting her name forward might entail. But if you really don't approve of the other candidates, we have no choice." He keyed his omni-tool, speaking aloud. "Open file 53-9 Alpha, authorization Anderson, David." A pause. "Major?" The other figure at the table merely nodded. "Confirm, open file 53-9 Alpha, authorization Kyle, Preston." The VI spoke again, in neutral female tones. "Accessing secure Alliance databases." A single holographic image replaced the five faces at the center of the table, and the Senator leaned forward. "…Well, that's not what I expected, for sure." Adkins voice was almost amused. The hologram was that of a human woman, her face a profile in stillness. Black hair framed features that would be lovely if not set in such a cold expression. Eyes the color of an angry storm front stared out unseeing, the nose, thin; the planes of the face set and almost unfeeling; the mouth, an angry slash marred by black lipstick. The eyes, though, drew one in, promising nothing but oblivion. The VI announced in solemn tones. "Sara Shepard. Commander, SAMC, Star of Terra. N7. Current Assignment: XO, 5th Regiment, Mindoir Army Group." Senator Adkins exhaled, smoke curling from his mouth. "The Butcher of Torfan." Anderson coughed before speaking, trying to keep his voice even and calm. "Yes, Senator. A top N7 graduate, ranked first in every exercise. She's completed the entire workup for a space command as well. Cross-trained in both biotic and infowar combat. She's had tactical command at the battle of Dirth and again against pirate incursions at Terra Nova, and Horizon. Blocked the so-called revenge strike on Mindoir. And of course… Torfan." Hackett spoke up. "Her background is… problematic. She had a horrific childhood, and was heavily involved with gangs and worse on Earth. She was force-drafted to avoid a capital sentence, which she served through the Penal Legions. There are some who will say she's not fit for a role of this nature." Anderson gave the Admiral an angry look, and Hackett sighed. "But… I must admit, she's surpassed anyone's wildest expectations. Pushed herself to the top, from the very bottom. Deadly, never failed a single mission over the course of a hundred missions. Wounded eighteen times, never out of commission. Completely fearless. Not exactly a… people person, but that's not really what the job requires." Major Kyle spoke, his voice quiet. "She was my best soldier. Her team was the best of the best, and she was the only reason Torfan didn't end up worse than it did. She doesn't just fight." The other three men turned to look at the Major, who was looking at his hands as if they were stained. "She destroys. She overwhelms. You can't imagine it. But Anderson and Hackett are both right. If you give her this, she will never fail, never surrender. But she will need someone to keep an eye on her. Someone she can't intimidate." He gave an almost helpless look at Anderson. "Just be aware of what you're playing with. It's plasma fire." Adkins nodded. "Is she stable? There's quite a bit of this record that's been redacted and she came from… very hard times, it looks like." Anderson nodded. "I have worked with her a great deal, sir. She is often emotionless. She is utterly, completely professional. She has no bias – she had to work with turians once, fought alongside a krogan on Torfan, and participated in a month's long training exercise with asari commandos as well. No friction with aliens. No serious private life to speak of. Never gets into trouble outside of the things she gets up to in combat. No drugs, no messy divorces, not even civil disturbance tickets. Obeys every order, regardless of…" Anderson hesitated, and then firmed his voice "…anything in the way. She won't embarrass us, won't try to show off, and I can't imagine her doing anything to betray the Systems Alliance." At this, Kyle gave a very thin, sardonic smile. "Tell them the rest, David." Adkins looked over at Anderson, who sighed. "I will be the first to admit she is not the perfect candidate. Torfan, sir. That was… not our best moment, in many ways. She murdered prisoners, she used her Marines like expendable assets, and she—" Adkins shrugged, and waved him to silence. "She got the job done, Captain. That's what matters. We all know Torfan was not her fault, and the results were what the SA wanted." He exchanged glances with Lady Manswell. She sniffed. "If we must send someone to show the aliens we are not to be pushed about, I cannot think of anyone better than the Butcher. I give my approval, and the High Lords of Sol will agree." Adkins nodded. "As do I." He glanced at the glowing comm-link set into the table, one connected to the Citadel. "I trust you have no insight or opinion on this, Ambassador Udina? A new voice sounded from the comm-link, slightly distorted by the mechanics of FTL data buoys. "Aside from questioning the obvious? I have to ask if that is really the kind of person we want as a Spectre, Senator?" The voice was almost nasal, but cold, with a touch of accent. Senator Adkins, the most powerful of the members of the Alliance Senate Subcommittee on Galactic Affairs, scrubbed out his cigar. "Ambassador Udina, that is the only kind of person who can be such a thing. Forward the recommendation to the Council with our gratitude, and let them know Captain Anderson will be arriving at Eden Prime as soon as possible." A pause, and then Udina spoke. "I'll… make the call." Anderson nodded. "And I'll get the ball moving, sir, in regards to the Normandy. Thank you, for giving me this chance." Adkins snorted. "You should have been the first human Spectre, Captain. The whole reason we're giving you this project – being put in command of our Spectre candidate, given our most advanced warship, dealing with the Spectre assessor – is to rub it in the face of the Council that we still have complete faith in you." He stood, pulling out a fresh cigar, and extended his hand toward Lady Manswell. She took it gracefully, cool eyes raking over Anderson and Kyle. "I agree. Major Kyle, are you alright? You look fatigued." The Major gave a smile, shrugging his massive shoulders. "I'll be fine, milady. Just a long trip here. Thank you both for your time and consideration." The room emptied, leaving behind the single Lieutenant to finish up recording the notes and clean the documents and materials from the table. O-OSaBC-O Kyle and Anderson walked out of the room, and then down the adjacent hallway, ignoring the plain old steel paneling and Alliance logo stencils. Dress boots clicked with a metronome's precision as the two men rounded another corner, before Kyle stopped. "David, you know what she's like. How far she has gone. Is this really a good idea?" Captain David Anderson paused for several seconds, his dark face taut with a mix of emotions. "I don't know, Preston. That's not a question I can answer. I can say that, from what I've seen of the Spectres, they all seem pretty dark to me." He glanced up. "What I can't do is ignore Delacor's reports. The man is an idiot, and he's making her more unstable. If we don't do something she'll end up out of control and in a court-martial." Kyle sighed. "I know. I should have done things differently at Torfan, but—" Anderson closed his eyes, and grimaced. "Preston, now isn't the time to beat yourself up over that. You made mistakes, General von Grath made mistakes, and Shepard made mistakes. What is important is we have a chance not just to prove our worth to the Council, but help Sara out of the hole she's dug for herself. Can you reach out to Delacor?" Kyle only nodded. "I'll see if I can't get Delacor on the horn and explain this to him. After that… I think, perhaps, it's time for me to find another path. I've recently found a few things that have disturbed me, and I need time to reflect. I will be retiring." Anderson fixed him with a somewhat shocked gaze. "I was hoping you'd come along with me to explain this mess to her. She looks up to you. Admires you." Kyle gave a gentle, sad smile. "She idolizes you, David. She'll follow your lead, no matter what. Make them include you in whatever mission they plan to assess her in, not just commanding the Normandy. Guide her. Show her the way. She'll listen to you; you're like her damned father." Anderson nodded. "I'll try. For whatever that is worth. I owe her that much. As for being her father… I only wish. She's had a hard life, and if I can get her through it to something better… I have to try." He clenched a fist in frustration, and Kyle just nodded. Anderson looked back up. "Preston. Are you sure you are okay? There's a lot of talk about some of the things you've been saying in recent months. Off-the-record reprimands. Official censure. That kind of thing. Does that have anything to do with you deciding to retire?" Kyle's eyes flickered, once before subsuming. "Anderson. Do you remember when you made naval captain, and some Commissar sat you down to explain what the SA did in the dark, to 'protect humanity from harm' and keep us safe?" Anderson's face tightened in disgust. "Of course I do." Kyle's eyes were sad. "What you were told wasn't the worst thing we were up to, Anderson. My sons were L2s, did you know that?" With that cryptic statement, Kyle turned and departed, leaving a bewildered Anderson by himself for several seconds. He sighed, then tapped his omni-tool to bring up his comm-link. "Commander Vonn, I'm done here. Have my launch ready for me, then prep the Tokyo for immediate departure for Almor. When Captain Asis shows up, send him to my ready room so I can begin the hand-off." He clicked off, turning to stare out a nearby window at the expanse of the Arcturus docks. "God, I hope this works." Chapter 2: Prologue 2 : Shepard A/N: Abbreviations and unclear terms will appear at the bottom. Generally speaking, I will attempt to use American Naval military nomenclature. Original readers of this chapter will note quite a few changes. Some of what happened here simply made no sense given Shepard's history, and some of it was just pointless. Thanks to liethr for follow-ups. "Suppressive fire, now! Jackson, Carls, left flank, maintain pressure." The voice was like ice, loud and yet somehow precise, a smoky contralto that spoke of nothing but absolute control. The sky was riven by the slashes of GARDIAN lasers as two more pirate ships crashed to the ground in vast, earthshaking plumes of fire and dust. The sky was a broken red, streaked through with wispy gray clouds. The ground was burnt and blackened, the hulls of broken colony modules offering up thick black plumes of smoke to the uncaring sky. Marines, clad in heavy blue and white armor, moved in tight squads, the ground broken up in layers, three-tiered platforms of concrete like a giant stairway. At the edges, pirate forces fired back. The bark of sniper rifles competed with the low-pitched chattering of submachine guns and the occasional angry, booming cough of a shotgun. A single black-armored figure stood among a tide of blue-armored soldiers, directing their assault. She leapt down from the broken edge of a landing pad, lithe energy untrammeled as she half-crouched next to a prefabricated wall still stenciled with assembly numbers. The ugly bark of Avenger assault rifles pierced the air, along with the scent of burning flesh, and the shrieks of the wounded and dying. Behind the hardened faceplate of her helmet, she smiled coldly. Almor was not a first or even second-tier colony world. Barely a collection of ship modules and mining gear, it had less than a thousand souls, all Ashland-Eldfell employees mining heavy pockets of titanium and palladium. Without defense towers or even a militia, the planet's only defenders – a handful of private security mercenaries and a reinforced group of cheap security mechs – were no match for a full pirate raid. The workers valued their independence, and Ashland-Eldfell liked not having to pay heavy SA taxes, but as the danger of a pirate raid mounted, the businessmen who ran Almor became worried. The local pirate lord in the region, a cruel slaver and drug-running asari known as Thalia Renas, operated in this area with impunity. From her base at Alsages, too deep within the Traverse for the SA to strike at, she was a danger to human and volus colonies, both who had appealed to the Citadel Council for protection. With no assistance forthcoming, the small human colony had desperately asked for help from the Systems Alliance, reluctantly going so far as to sign onto the SA Charter, making them a protectorate rather than independent. The SA had agreed, and drew up plans to make sure the area was secure. They carefully sent in their forces to fortify the world, improving its defenses and bringing in the 5th Regiment of the First Mindoir, the famous Lion's Roar force of Marines that were well-known for their hatred of pirates. Then the AIS had cunningly spread rumors that the SA had pulled out of the area, unwilling to meet Almor's requirements. Sure enough, a battlecruiser and nine pirate frigates had erupted from the mass relay, so secure in their collective might they had not even deployed a scout first, rushing to be the first to strike the undefended colony. Except it was bait, with the miners and all other civilians flown out a week earlier. Now the 'helpless civilians' were actually hardened Marines from the Fifth Regiment, the 'private security forces' all N5+ special forces, the 'cheap mechs' a force of JOTUN heavy assault mechs. The battle had initially gone well. Six pirate ships had been shot out of the sky by the heavy-cruisers Calais and Bonn,after they had been savaged by the long-range shots of the dreadnought Saint Helens just after jumping into the system. The pirate battlecruiser had taken a lucky glancing hit from a torpedo and lost weapons power, making a hard landing on the surface to attempt repairs. Still, the pirates had landed in force, and the fight was on, the scum unaware just how badly they had been played. The casualties were heavy, the pirates bolstered by a thick scrum of Blood Pack vorcha, but the plan had seemed to be working. Shepard's original orders had simply been to corral the heavier pirate force that had come from the crashed pirate cruiser, while the regimental CO, Captain Delacor, led the rest of the regiment against pirate armored flanking forces and the vorcha swarm threatening the Ashland-Eldfell mining equipment. Unfortunately, Delacor had been taken by surprise when a second pirate force entered the fray, severely damaging the Bonn and forcing the Calais to fall back. The pirate frigates had managed to harry and delay the dreadnought and the heavy armor units it carried, and now Delacor was pinned in place by armor units with little capacity to take them out. Worse, she'd discovered the pirate battlecruiser was making repairs much faster than expected. If that cruiser got repaired enough to get back in space, the already damaged heavy-cruisers in orbit would be no match without backup from the dreadnought, and they'd either be destroyed or driven off. And if that happened, the cruiser could simply bombard her forces on the ground to paste, or get away entirely. With Delacor out of comms and pinned down, Shepard had to redefine the assault on the fly. Relieving Delacor was suicide, she had no anti-tank weapons. Storming the cruiser itself was also not an option, as its own GARDIAN defenses would make short work of her Marines. Her only plan, and one she was attempting to implement now, was to draw the main force of the pirates away from the cruiser, and then flush the cruiser out from its hiding place with missiles and nerve gas. If the small battery of mobile GARDIAN trucks near the colony proper could draw a bead on the cruiser at close-range, it could be shot out of the sky. That meant using half her force or more as bait, to draw the pirate defenders away far enough to let her strike force get close enough to threaten the cruiser. She was shaken from her thoughts by the loud and slightly panicked voice next to her. "Commander Shepard! Incoming gunships, orders?" The young face of the Lieutenant next to her was taut with exhilarated fear, his armor dented and scorched from the building to building fighting that had occupied them most of the morning. His brown eyes were bright, even if his mouth was set in a grim line. Shepard paused. Her features set in an emotionless mask, she turned. "Ignore them. Let them get in firing range, then have Squad Seven hit them with crossfire from their M-77s. We can't afford to let them know about the mobile GARDIAN trucks until that cruiser is found, Higgs." Lieutenant Higgs grimaced, but complied. "Yes, ma'am. That means Sixth Company will be left without flanking cover when the pirates are drawn their way, however." Her voice was cold. "They should dig in, then. Give the orders." Shepard popped up, one hand grabbing on to the ledge above her, hauling her weight up to the next level. Movement caught her eye and with her free hand she unclipped her pistol and fired three shots, rapid-fire. Higgs started as there was a spray of blood and two broken figures slipped from rubble to land bonelessly on the ground. Orange and blue ichor mingled, a turian and a batarian, each with a bloody crater between the eyes, their weapons cold in their hands. "Pathetic." Shepard pulled herself up, gazing around. The pirate flank was getting closer to her own strike force, directly away from where it was supposed to go. She snarled and tapped her omni-tool. "Jackson, where is my damned suppressive fire!" A laconic voice answered, syllables slurred slightly in an undercurrent of fatigue. "Sorry, ma'am. Jackson and Carls are both dead, trying to reorganize a firing line now. This is Moharmi." Shepard grunted. "Acknowledged, Chief Moharmi. Move up the forward operating area to my current position and set up the GARDIAN trucks at the remote site." She clipped off the communicator. "Higgs, have 4th and 5th Squads dig in here. Have 8th Squad hold position on the ridge. I'm going to flush that cruiser out. When you see fire, pull your men back immediately to avoid the gas." The Lieutenant nodded. "Yes ma'am… good luck." He turned away, moving toward the comm specialist tucked into cover, and Shepard headed out herself, toward the left flank of the battlefield. She cursed, mentally adjusting the map of the battlefield in her head. Most likely without flanking suppressive fire, the squads drawing the pirates to the right would be overrun when she completed her task. And Fourth and Fifth would get savaged by the need to keep the pirates from closing on the trucks. Gonna die either way, but at least this time we'll stop the fucking pirates. If I had another choice, I'd take it. The thought flicked across her consciousness, and she moved. With a leap, Shepard crossed the broken concrete edge of the upper level platforms and flew through the air below. With a grunt of effort, she flexed her arm, and blue fire wreathed her form, the mass effect field channeled by her amp reducing her weight to almost nothing. She fell three stories to the underway below, landing with barely a scrape of armored boots on cracked, filthy pavement. "What th—" A voice exploded from behind her and she was moving, ducking into a half-crouch even as her hand unshipped the shotgun at her back, firing twice. A batarian was flung backwards, two huge craters torn into the cheap battle-plast armor he wore. A second later Shepard was there, fist covered in coruscating blue energy as she smashed his skull to flinders, a vivid splat of blood marking his final moment. Shepard paused to look around, pulling up the partial map on her omni-tool. "All commands, be ready for primary action. Eighth Squad, hold position on the ridge once you are there." She gathered herself and raced down the narrow underway, the shortcut slicing between slapdash mining equipment and the detritus of the battle above. A shattered salarian body here, fragments of armor and an arm there… Ahead she saw it, the secondary mining facility, the pirate cruiser downed with huge crisscrossing lines of charred ablative armor on its flank. Above it, the ugly overhang of the cliff the mining village was built around was scored with more black marks, but the orbiting ships were not able to get a clean hit on the grounded vessel. Even as she watched, the GARDIAN laser array of the pirate cruiser flared, fifteen bright beams searing across the upper platforms in the distance, vaporizing more Marines from the flanking squads. The main force of the pirate infantry, a mix of vorcha, krogan, and mostly batarians, had already moved out from their hastily fortified barricades to chase the Marines. A few remaining pirates milled around the ship, helping to make repairs to the damage caused by the heavy-cruisers in orbit. More pirates worked on the engines, weapons laid on the ground so they could crawl along the hull. Shepard sighed. There was still a chance she wouldn't have to pull the trigger. She bit her lip and tapped her comm. "Saint Helens, status." The voice that answered was distorted by the screech of stellar radiation. "Time to position still three five minutes away. The last frigate pulled a suicide run on us, main propulsion is still down. We are out of range for fire support, ground control." Shepard nodded and closed her eyes for a moment, before shaking her head. Thirty-five minutes would see this battlecruiser in the air and her entire force dead. She knelt, and unshipped the weapon she had brought along with her. She glanced around, wondering if she'd finally get court-martialed for using this thing, but there were not any cameras around to watch what was about to happen. She'd lugged the weapon to several ugly fights, waiting for a chance to use it on pirates, to let them get a taste of what it was like to suffer, and this was the best use she could think of. It was a customized ML-77 missile launcher, but the warheads were black-nano binary munitions. One part nerve agent, one part blood chemical warfare, and all of it lethal to every Citadel species, capable of eating through protective clothing in seconds and even strong filters in a few minutes. When she'd found them in pirate loot three months ago, she couldn't resist the irony of taking them along to use on more pirates. When she hit the cruiser with these, they would either bolt and get chopped by the GARDIAN trucks still carefully hidden, or die slowly from the gas. She rather hoped they chose the latter. The heavy green canisters were technically illegal in Citadel Space, but Shepard cared more for the spirit than the letter of the law, especially when it came to those who hurt the defenseless. Carefully programming her payload with her omni-tool, Shepard loaded the missile launcher. Tapping her omni, she spoke. "Eighth Squad, report." The voice of Lieutenant Cammis sounded on the line, her French accent breathy as usual. "We are in position. The pirates are overrunning the flanking squads, but cannot get back here to stop us in time. We are waiting for your fire." Shepard nodded. "Good. Go ahead and set up your shots. Make sure you pop your pills, this shit will kill you right through your armor if it gets on you." With that, she clicked off, turning to consider her next actions. First, she had to make sure none of the pirates could trace back the missile fire to her or her team and snipe them. A distraction was needed. Pausing to gather herself, she reached out with her biotics, focusing on a heavy beam of scrap suspended above the main semi-wreckage of the cruiser. With a grunt she pulled it down, releasing it almost immediately, and watched as the three hundred sixty kilogram hunk of metal crashed into the cruiser's hull. A rain of sparks flew high into the air as a huge, hollow boom sounded from the impact. One pirate screamed as the projectile slid down the curved hull of the ship to smash into him, rendering him into a splash of red paste and segments of unidentifiable flesh. Shepard gave a grim little smile, as all the eyes turned to the source of disturbance, and fired her missile. It flashed across the battlefield in a heartbeat, slamming directly into the cruiser's side, not doing much damage as it exploded. Vile, heavy black gasses erupted in all directions as the chemical compounds inside interacted, producing thick, choking clouds of poisonous black gunk. A pirate screamed as he fell to the ground, twitching and then going stiff, blood pouring from his eyes and nose, and a turian next to him gagged helplessly as blue blood seeped from between his plates and he was unable to move. An instant later, nineteen other missiles from Squad Eight slammed into the engines, hot omni-gel incendiary paste burning away merrily at the engines and the external heatsinks for the GARDIAN lasers of the battlecruiser. Shepard reloaded and fired again, this time at the front of the craft, the black filth spattering across the clean white steel before erupting into more choking clouds of black gasses. She popped a silver pill into her mouth, the deactivation agent for the gas, just in case a wind blew it her way. Now all she had to do was wait. O-OSaBC-O Aboard the battlecruiser, the pirate commander went stiff at the sight of the black gas explosions, her features tightening into an almost pain filled mask. She recognized a lethal chemical warfare nano-agent when she saw one. When more missiles began slamming into the ship's exposed engines, blowing out a power conduit, she knew it was time to leave. Without weapons power restored yet, she was a sitting duck. Sooner or later that blood-nerve gas would eat its way into the ship, and even if it didn't, the other missiles would wreck her engines and overheat her heatsinks, making their GARDIAN lasers useless. This raid had gone all wrong from the start, her beloved battlecruiser a near wreck, most of her fleet gone… and no slaves. She watched bitterly as more missiles slammed into her ship. Her own forces were out of position to reinforce the cruiser and drive the missile launchers off. The armor pinning most of the main force wouldn't last forever, and once they failed… Thalia Renas would not tolerate jail. She sighed, sealing the airlocks to the ship, locking out all external venting and hitting the button that sealed the systems from the outside. She turned to the haptic panel next to her, and tapped the comm. "Bn'nga, get us in the air." Examining the haptic interface in front of her, she grimaced at the damage reports. "Weapons, ECM, and kinetic barriers still down, I see." Her batarian pilot grunted over the intercom. "Yes, ma'am. Been nice knowing you, Thalia. No way we can deal with those two cruisers until the repairs are done." The pirate asari snarled. "Well we can't goddess-damned stay here, either. Engage the lowest level of the core, and keep us just above the ground, hugging it. We'll circle sun-side and get lost in the solar radiation. The humans have moved their entire force to the south, to deal with the armor, and drawn off my men. The way north is open, right past the main upper colony, with no one to even see us." His voice was dubious in tone. "It's possible, I suppose. If we stick around here, we could at least fix up the shields…" She sighed. "If we stay on the ground anymore, we'll get holed by those stupid humans." The batarian, barely visible in the front of the ship, nodded, beginning his maneuver. O-OSaBC-O The heavy, unwieldy battlecruiser, an old turian design, slid forward, mass effect core barely lifting it clear of the ground. The engines lit up, as the last of the pirates still outside the ship gave a blood-strangled curse and died. Shepard made sure her rifle was steadied and in place, and tapped her comm. "Spear, be ready. No target LADAR, fire on my target designator." "Acknowledged, ma'am." The voice over her omni-tool was tight and nervous. The pirate cruiser wheeled, the pilot skillfully keeping the ship low to the ground. Her own people fired a few final missiles, most of them missing entirely, and the cruiser picked up speed. Shepard tracked the ship with her rifle, the laser target unit on its side sending out a beam of green light, and when the pirate ship angled up ever so slightly, she pressed the button on the side of the rifle. "Designated. Fire when ready, Spear." O-OSaBC-O Thalia Renas, pirate queen of Alsages, gave a smile as the cruiser accelerated. A few more minutes and they'd make a clean getaway. She had lost hundreds of men and almost her entire fleet, but she had hurt the Alliance force badly, and she would live to fight another day. She turned to head to the back of the ship when suddenly the entire ship lurched. Eight huge beams of death carved instantly into the engines from the until now concealed GARDIAN laser GTS trucks at the edges of the colony. The cruiser dipped, sliding from the sky in a blaze of burning armor and uncontrolled fires, as the trucks unleashed a torrent of heavy laser fire on it again and again. Thalia couldn't believe it, even as haptic interfaces flashed red all around her. "The bitch sacrificed her own men to…" Another flash of lasers, and Thalia Renas knew her pirate empire – and possibly her life – was no more. O-OSaBC-O In the aftermath of battle, the ugly truth of warfare becomes evident. The ground was carpeted in corpses, rivulets of blue, red, orange, and purple all commingling on the torn and shattered landscape. Corpses stared unblinkingly at the angry red sky, the wind carrying the charnel scent of burning flesh everywhere. Here and there medical corpsmen triaged wounded Marines, applying medi-gel infused bandages and speaking in soft tones. Smoke wafted gently skyward, as Alliance fighter units began to descend, harrying any remaining enemy forces with lances of purifying fire. On the highest tier of the colony, the concrete under-works were a bit more high-quality, the colony shells larger, cleaner. Offices for the Ashland-Eldfell executives who normally oversaw everything, Shepard supposed. As she watched, a UT-47 drop shuttle came to a shuddering landing, fore and aft burners firing to stabilize the craft as two figures dropped from its inner bay. One she was all too familiar with, in recent days, the other… she had not seen in a very long time. "Shepard. Status report." The man facing her was large, angry looking, and almost weary. His face was craggy and marred with a heavy, irregular scar on one side, occluding his eye and part of his scalp, the cybernetic eye replacement making a tiny whirring noise as he focused on Shepard. His battered armor had the name DELACOR printed across his left chest, and the bars of a captain were painted on the shoulder of his armor. "Sir. Operation complete. Second Company Group has suffered moderate casualties. One hundred thirty-eight Marines dead, ninety-four wounded. I regret to report that Sixth Company was destroyed by the main pirate force, which drew away from the cruiser. The battlecruiser attempted escape. With five squads from Ninth Company, I was able to draw off defenders and use incendiary missile fire and biowarfare nano-gas to flush it from cover." Delacor grunted. "You finally got a chance to use those things on pirates, I see. Figures you wouldn't kill them clean." He ran his fingers through his hair. "Second company got splattered by the goddamned tanks and Lieutenant Commander Vitan is dead. I'd normally have you ride herd on First Company Group, but that won't be necessary." His eyes flicked to Anderson, then back to Shepard. "I haven't gotten a report from upstairs yet, what is the fleet status?" She remained at attention. "We have affirmative reports from the Saint Helens – they have destroyed all pirate vessels in the operation still in space. The dreadnought is damaged from a kamikaze attack. The Bonn is heavily damaged and reports Captain Bishop died from shrapnel and internal explosions when the forward missile battery went. I went ahead and dispatched 10th Company's medical teams to assist." Delacor nodded again, his expression easing slightly. "…Good thinking. Enemy casualties? And I'm a fucking idiot for even asking this, but do we have any prisoners for interrogation?" Shepard gave a thin, cold smile. "Initial casualties of pirate forces indicate over seventeen hundred dead. No prisoners. Thalia Renas was discovered on the cruiser, and refused to surrender. I was forced to kill her, sir. A dead batarian – the pilot, probably – and a handful of other dead pirates were also found in the wreckage. There was also single civilian on the cruiser, her daughter I believe. Also dead." Delacor sighed. "Shepard, did you kill a fucking kid this time?" She immediately shook her head. "Captain Delacor, the child was dying from untreatable injuries at the time of discovery. It was a mercy killing." Shepard thought back to the wreckage of the pirate cruiser. O-OSaBC-O Thalia Renas had actually survived, both legs broken. The cruiser was broken in half along its keel, dead bodies spilling from the ruptured flanks and shattered engine room, but the main deck was mostly in one piece, if completely wrecked. Shepard had found Renas crawling toward rear of the ship, where another asari form lay, this one far younger and clearly badly injured, in what must have been some kind of private quarters. Shepard had stepped over the burning wreckage of what was once a bulkhead and unshipped her shotgun. "Freeze." Thalia only looked at Shepard, then back at the young asari. "I surrender. Or kill me. Whatever. But… not my daughter. She had no part in this. She did not know. Please." The pirate's voice was broken with pain and shaky with emotion, and Shepard gave a tiny smile as she knelt down next to the child. "And how many slaves begged for mercy from your men? How many families have you wrecked with your evil?" Thalia's blue eyes widened, and she clenched her fists, the blood and shattered bones of her legs forgotten. "You… you are supposed to be better than people like me. I know what I did. Fine. Kill me. But she didn't do a thing. Have mercy. Not for me. But for her. She…" Shepard paused, looking over the asari girl and her wounds. From the jagged thirty centimeter-long gaping hole torn into the tiny abdomen that was spilling forth an all-too-human looking intestine, the torn throat only weakly spurting purplish blood, and the horrible fourth-degree burns that seared the child's face, arms, and upper chest down to the bone. Shepard knew the child was going to die no matter what. There wasn't enough medi-gel in the world to stop the bleeding and broken internal organs, and it was only going to be a few more minutes until the asari child's heart stopped. She'd never intended to kill a child with her actions, but it wouldn't be the first time she'd inadvertently ended an innocent life. The child was probably in pain, and the least Shepard could do was put the girl out of her misery. The fact that Thalia clearly thought she was still alive and could be saved, though, led Shepard to decide not to let the asari pirate think it was mercy guiding her actions. After all, Shepard owed Thalia a very large amount of pain and suffering. She smiled, and then leveled her shotgun, placing a blast right into the head of the asari girl. "Oops. Finger slipped." Thalia screamed in horror and anger, biotics flaring as she attempted to rise to her feet despite the compound fractures, and the shotgun spoke again, in finality. O-OSaBC-O Shepard straightened, facing her commanding officer. "She had suffered internal injuries and fourth-degree burns, as well as abdominal perforation. It was frankly hard for me to pull the trigger." Delacor looked at Shepard with weary, disgusted features. "Imagine that, you hesitating to pull a trigger. As for the pirate leader, we both know she didn't goddamned attack you, but I'm tired of trying and failing to rein you in. Thankfully, Shepard, you are not my problem anymore." He grunted, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at the figure of Captain David Anderson. "Your request for transfer has been noted and approved." Shepard raised a dark eyebrow, her posture still ramrod straight, and glanced over at the other man. Anderson only shrugged. "I need an XO for a new command I've just picked up. And another mission I could use your help on. Mindoir Command has already signed off on the transfer, and your level four and five qualifications in navops and engineering qualify you as an XO aboard a frigate." He smiled. "If you are still interested in seeing space, that is." Shepard only looked at the man for a long moment, a sparkle in her eye, before nodding. "Yes, sir." A pause, as if searching for words. "I would like to accept, sir." The face was unmoving, not a single twitch of muscle, but Shepard's eyes had gone from hard and flint to dark, almost quiet, and thoughtful. Delacor nodded amiably. "I'll get the paperwork out of the way. This sounds like a speed transfer, based on the orders from Command. If you'll follow me, Captain, we can get this wrapped up inside the offices up there." He paused and turned to Shepard. "As for you, Shepard, your final task in the Fifth is to police up this disaster area you've made and detail off recovery and burial squads. Make goddamned sure whatever nanochemical agent you deployed is neutralized as well. I don't know how the hell you got a hold of that stuff, but make sure the rest is destroyed before you ship out." Shepard saluted, eyes hard once more. "Sir, yes, sir." Pivoting on a heel, she stalked off, something almost animistic in her walk. Delacor shuddered and gestured to the office behind him. "After you, Captain." Anderson stepped into the office, which had been converted hastily into a command center. A rack of Avenger rifles was clipped neatly to one wall, the other two pasted over with rough terrain maps and a top-down display of the under-tunnels and mining tunnels. Comm radios for various units were neatly clipped on the windowsill in easy reach, next to the Captain's own weapon, a heavy Vindicator rifle. The desk was flimsy and covered in datapads, pieces of a Vigilance sniper rifle, and leftover lunch, which was dumped into the trash by Delacor as he sat down behind the desk. "So, Captain Anderson. Not that I am anything but delighted that you are taking that crazy bitch off my hands, but is there anything else you can tell me about this transfer? Am I going to be getting a replacement XO, preferably not someone like her?" Anderson sat as well, taking in the man across from him. He'd never served with Delacor, but in his own way the man was as much a legend as Shepard or Branson. Nicknamed the Iron Man, he'd survived everything thrown at him – crashing transports, erupting volcanoes, thresher maws, even an assault from a krogan warlord. But Delacor was also held to be unlucky. Certainly, given how willing Shepard was to sacrifice Marine lives to get the job done, the Fifth Regiment must have felt their luck had run out when she'd been named XO. The two had not gotten along well at all, with Shepard pushing for more attacks on pirates and going after slavers, while Delacor wanted to perform defensive operations. The Fifth had actually been tasked to this raid by a change of orders from General Rachel Florez, and was unusual for the Fifth, which had been doing mostly garrison duty for the past three months. Given the fact that Anderson knew Shepard and this Ranas asari had past history – the pirate had been responsible for much of the suffering Shepard had gone through in her youth – he was pretty sure General Florez had set the raid up as a way to give her prized student a bit more closure. Maybe that last killing would allow Shepard to focus now. He hoped so. He considered telling Delacor the truth, but the man would probably be upset he himself had been passed over to be a Spectre. "To your second question, yes. You'll be getting an N6 commander and two more lieutenant commanders who were just approved for N training. As far as her next duty station, I'm afraid it's classified, actually. I can tell you generalities. It isn't just to take Shepard off your hands. She'll be working with me on an experimental frigate, and we're doing shakedown runs." Delacor nodded. "Huh. Space command? Smart, limits the damage she can do. You are comfortable with her as an XO? She's very efficient with the tasks an XO must perform, I will grant that." Anderson nodded. "I've known Shepard a long time. I know she was very difficult to work with, but there's no one better." Delacor snorted. "Difficult? She used black-nano nerve and blood agents to flush out the battlecruiser the pirates had crashed here, after getting almost a fifth of my men killed to bait their main force into getting flanked, and more to pull the survivors of that fracas away so she could get close enough." He sighed. "And yet again I have to explain to Alliance Command why I have zero prisoners. They are starting to have issues believing me when I say every enemy we encounter fights to the death." Taking a sip of water from a cup on his desk he shook his head tiredly. "The fact she mercy killed a child is so fucking unlike her that now I don't know if it was a mercy killing, or if she straight up shot the kid just to fuck with this Ranas's head. I shouldn't have to wonder that kind of thing about my own XO, Captain." Delacor exhaled. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to rant. But she's not doing better since Torfan." Anderson only nodded, pulling out his datapad. "Which was why we are making this transfer. We have a task for Shepard that will allow her to focus all her energy on something new, and yet will hopefully keep her more in line." He presented the transfer chit to Delacor, who nearly snatched out of his hand and approved it without even reading it. Delacor handed it back, eyes dark and mouth twisted into a bitter smile. "I wish you luck with her. It's been years since Torfan, and you wouldn't be doing this if you had any idea of what kind of monster she's become, Captain." Anderson shook his head. "I know her. There's still a good person in there, somewhere. It's hard for her to show it because she doesn't know how." Delacor smiled coldly, eyes suddenly narrow, and his voice was a whisper. "Is that so? I've seen her shoot surrendering soldiers in the head and laugh, kicking dying men to death while ignoring every rule of surrender, and throw away the lives of a dozen Marines to bring down one batarian, only to torture the man to death. She's sick, Anderson." Anderson's brows furrowed. "And how often has she been given the proper support to carry out the orders she is tasked with? We all know that she had half the men you did and managed to bring down a battlecruiser with a handful of missile launchers and two GTS trucks. She's damned effective, and if the SA would give her a chance to prove herself, she could show that instead of having to act this way. Of course she's bitter." Delacor grimaced. "I simply dislike her tactics, and their costs. I feel as if I have been tainted, compromised by what she does. And I don't understand why the SA would keep deploying her." Anderson gave a weary sigh at that. "Because, Captain, when the news says the Butcher was deployed to a region, what happens to piracy?" His own eyes darken. "When we send her into a terrorist negotiation, what happens? When people see her coming, they know they either surrender – at once – or die. She's become a tool for them. You're just the handler. Or you were. Now I am. I was able to keep her in order once. And it's been a long time, but maybe I can rein her in again." Delacor slumped and rubbed his eyes, laughing. "Good luck, then, Captain. I'll see if she's done with her final tasks yet." He sat up straight and tapped his omni-tool. "Shepard, status." Her voice was cool but more animated than earlier. "Just finishing up setting funeral and hazmat detail, sir. And we found a survivor among the pirates… I didn't kill him, just to make you feel happy. Sir." Delacor glared at his omni-tool, then sighed. "I suppose I should be fucking thankful you have enough decency to do that much, instead I'm just thankful we are going our separate ways. Finish up what you're doing and report to the colony landing pad, at the shuttle Captain Anderson and I came in on. You ship out immediately. I'll have Lieutenant Higgs get your ship-bag and put it on the shuttle for you." The line was silent for a moment, then she spoke. "Yes sir. At once." Delacor killed the link and smiled sadly up at Anderson. "The bitch is all yours. Don't bring her back." Anderson stood, pocketing the approved transfer order. "I won't, Captain. She needs someone who believes in her to find her way back." He left the prefab unit, and Delacor stared at the ceiling for a few seconds before tapping his omni-tool and engaging an encrypted comm-link. "General Florez, Anderson is picking up Shepard now, as you said he would. I'll give your offer careful thought." He clicked off, and smiled, wondering if his luck was finally turning around. TERMS: GARDIAN: General ARea Defense Integration Anti-spacecraft Network – basically laser anti-air, anti-missile, and anti-ship weapons XO: Executive Officer – second-in-command of a military unit CO: Commanding officer – first-in-command of a military unit Chapter 3: Prologue 3 : Wrex A/N: Remastered on 10-21-14. Urdnot Wrex was not happy. His last task for the Broker had ended messily, with the turian target dying in front of his family. Then the family attacked him. He hated turians, they tasted bad, if you ate too much you'd throw up, and they were all crazy in his opinion. Now they had gone from crazy to dead, and he'd had to waste hours cleaning his armor, making him late for his meeting with the Broker representative for his next job. All because a turian was dumb enough to double-cross the Broker. It's amazing how stupid people always think they can escape consequences, he thought, checking the loads on his shotgun before shipping it to the latch on the small of his back. The huge krogan then came to his full two point three four meter height, his scarred face looking around him with jaded, ancient disinterest. The Citadel was much the same as it always had been on previous visits, a patina of blind fools prating away among five cities worth of people who pretended they had made it big, while the sludge of society lapped away at their very feet, snickering in amusement even as they feigned obedience. C-Sec was, as usual, efficiently cocksure and arrogantly lording it over the commingling races in the docking bay, their blue armor setting them apart from the drab coveralls and tired hex-pack travel wear of the many people thronging about. Not that they got anywhere near Wrex, of course. No, the crowd parted before him, throwing him worried and frightened glances and making hasty motions to clear his path, as if a mass effect field had parted some sea for him to walk through. The Battlemaster began to walk to the far end of the bay, eyes barely taking in the outstretched arms of the Citadel, festooned with a parade of light and motion. His heavy armored feet thudded like the boom of distant thunder on the metal decking below him, as a group of salarians clucked in alarm at his menacing approach and scattered. Worthless pack of pyjak dung. I hate docking bays. Always full of people on the go to someplace else, yet always managing to get in my damned way. The air was stale, still, rank with the body scents of things that clanked, flapped, and glowed. The din of faintly said words beyond the range of the translator was a dull, irritating roar in the background, the staid and ugly arches of the under-supports of the bay littered with the occasional graffiti. An insectoid keeper crossed in front of him, softly chattering as it began to unscrew a panel on the wall, eyes fixed in an idiot's focus. Wrex did not like the Citadel. Too soft, too full of fools, too much security that never stopped the strong but merely enabled the weak to be preyed upon multiple times. Wrex had no time for the wide-eyed humans, snobby asari, or the uppity turians. It was sterile and dead, a mockery of a real world, hidden away from the truth of the rest of the galaxy. He was here to see one person about one job and then he could get off this stupid tin can and back to the free, clean wilderness of the Terminus Systems. He needed the money to keep up his hunt for the Ganar who had killed his son, but the rage had begun to fade even as his pain increased. Taking jobs from the Broker would let him get back into the chase, and clear his head. All too often, though, the Broker's jobs broke his number one rule: don't take any job involving anything else but himself, his shotgun, and a dead body. He'd rather work for someone else. Of course, not many can afford me. Only places to go other than the Broker are all on Omega. Maybe I can go get some work there, and Aria and I can pretend we don't recognize each other again, or if Sederis isn't too crazy or trampy. He paused, actually stopping for a moment to imagine a non-trampy, sane Sederis, then laughed. His mood lifting slightly at the ridiculous image, he turned the corner from the main corridor to a long, empty access hallway that led only to empty docking bays. In a pool of light at the far end of the hallway stood a slender, menacing figure, all in black, cloth falling from cocked hips, ungloved talons gleaming in the faint light. One hand clasped a thick black cane; the other was hooked into a wide black leather belt weighted down with weapons. The turian's face was a black space within the all-concealing hood, the tip of mandibles barely visible, and one angry glowing red eye. Wrex sighed. Goddamned turian melodrama. He then strode up, gait easy and slow, hands empty. "Tetrimus." The turian's voice was a cold rasp, as if damaged. "Wrex. You are late." Wrex sighed. "Delays from the last job. I'm here now." Tetrimus flicked a mandible in irritation. "You're out of sorts. Even more so than usual." The krogan made no movement. Tetrimus was a scary bastard, and while Wrex feared nothing, he did respect the turian's strength and quiet lethality. He had been one of those who spoke 'with the voice of the Shadow Broker' for almost thirty years now. The Broker only tolerated the turian and a crazed salarian assassin, Tazzik, as his representatives. Everyone else who had sought a personal audience with the Broker died, usually in horrifying ways. That, in and of itself, was enough to make Wrex's plates itch with caution. He knew Tetrimus fairly well, of course, having worked for and with him for decades, but he didn't get to be as old as he was by assuming anything. And anyone crazy enough to kill both sons of the old turian Primarch – the one before Fedorian – was no one to take for granted. Wrex grunted, folding his arms, finally speaking. "I hate coming here and I haven't had my friendly chat with C-Sec or my first cup of jaaki yet, so let's get this over with, Tetrimus." The black-clothed figure pulled his hand free from his belt and extended a datapad. "To work, then. Three solar cycles ago, we received a low-level contact from an interested party. A salarian, Mano Ergdai, had a confirmed lead on activity regarding certain bio-engineering activities in the Perseus Veil. Details are not important. The contact was to be made, here, yesterday." A pause. Wrex grunted, hating turian melodrama. "And? Who was the contact supposed to be?" "Fist, the fourth level entry contact at Chora's Den, Lower Bachjret Ward. You know, the human." Wrex snorted. "Gristle headed two-bit thug. What happened?" Tetrimus exhaled. "Due to the importance of the data, and the likelihood of hostile interest, a security and liquidation team was sent." Wrex snorted. Translation, the data was hot and expensive enough the Broker was willing to kill to get it. The turian continued. "There was an altercation. Two members of the wet team were taken down. The contact was liquidated, the data lost. We are almost certain this is an internal security breach. Meeting times and places were known only to myself, the Broker, the security team – both dead – and Fist. There is a possibility that Fist is not involved but merely compromised." Wrex tilted his reptilian head, red eyes fixing on the artificial one of the turian. "You want me to kill Fist?" The turian shook his head, the minimal movement exposing an expanse of scarred, blackened plating and red facial markings. "Not yet. The Broker has decided the chance that this was not a betrayal by Fist is still non-zero. Thus a test is called for. The next official contact event we have will be routed to Fist. We have isolated and identified all other potential leaks. Your job will be to ensure there is no leak with Fist. If he betrays us, secure the asset and kill Fist. If he is secure, inform him – respectfully but firmly – that someone in his organization is compromised, and that a level two liquidation and a Severance from the Feed will be conducted." Wrex nodded, familiar with the Broker's rather extreme methods. Even if Fist wasn't a traitor, he had let someone pierce his security. For that, Fist would be ejected as a Broker dealer and contact, cut off from the Feed, and excluded from any further contact for at least a year. Anyone working for him would be killed. Wrex was rather surprised the order wasn't just to kill him anyway; the Broker did not usually display such mercy. It was curious enough, actually, that Wrex decided he needed to know more. "Why not just kill him anyway? He's just a human thug." Tetrimus gave a harsh bark of bitter laughter, mandibles flickering. "The Broker believes humans are about to be awarded rights to submit a candidate for the Spectres, in preparation for them to assume a Council seat. Councilor Tevos is impressed with certain actions humanity has taken recently. Some human raid killed an old enemy of hers." The turian folded his own arms. "The Broker has contacts in Human Space, of course, but Fist is uniquely placed – he is the brother to a recently placed acolyte with the Consort, his bar is frequented by those members of C-Sec who are open to influence and bribes, and he has very good ties with the Blue Suns and the Underunners. Fist could be developed and mentored to a second level contact with time and effort." Wrex nodded, thinking, settling back on his legs. Humans had moved so fast. In less than half a century they went from first contact backwater rubes to boasting a navy clearly deserving of respect and fear, and in some ways superior to that of the asari or salarian navies, regardless of dreadnought numbers. Their soldiers were as fierce and relentless as batarians, but better disciplined, and their tight alliance with the asari meant they were destined to pass the volus and elcor in short order. Their creativity and original ideas were sending shockwaves in military circles that Wrex still bothered to listen to. Having good contacts was how the Broker stayed in power, and having contacts with contacts of their own, in such a fast-moving situation, would be something the Broker wouldn't throw away at the first sign of a problem. "Alright. So I keep an eye on this guy. He double-crosses us, kill him, otherwise give him a warning, kill his people, and put a bullet through his link to the Feed. Pay?" Tetrimus nodded. "Full expenses, hotel of your choice, bond fees, docking fees, transport within four jumps, and your usual fees for live combat wetwork. We've done this before. We're still running down your requested information on Ganar Clan sightings, most of them seem to be working for Saren nowadays. Take that as you will." Wrex grinned, suddenly in a much better mood. Unlike the last job, this job wouldn't cost him a credit and he'd get to move out almost immediately. Plus, if the Broker could pin down any Ganar Clan groupings, he could strike them before they knew he was coming. I'd need backup, but Jona would probably help. Maybe time to pay Omega a visit. Wonder if Aria still has that beat up old krogan as a trophy or not. He shrugged. "Done. Who's my contact?" Tetrimus shrugged. "I will serve; we're trying to keep a low-profile until this is sorted out. I'll be at Flux if you need me, assuming Doran doesn't die of fright when I show up and cause C-Sec to come looking. I'll be there after mid-light to just before low-light every day until the mission is complete." Tetrimus dug into his cloak, searching for something. "As usual, payment in volus banking system credits and docking passes will be given once completed. If you need additional support, I can provide that. Here." Tetrimus handed over a C-Sec weapons authorization (identifying him as a bodyguard for a turian CEO), a ten thousand credit chit, and the datapad with the mission information on it. "Pad code is WREAV. As usual, it wipes in ninety-six hours." Wrex frowned. "Broker has a stupid sense of humor." He sighed, rubbing his crest at the name of his worthless brother. "No matter. I'll be keeping an eye on Fist. "Without another word, Wrex stomped away, tucking his new possessions into the outer pocket of his battered red armor, and began thinking tactically. Fist is not going to be public; he'll have dug himself in somewhere. If he betrays the Broker openly, he has to know he's a dead man… unless whoever he betrays the Broker for has resources enough to keep him alive. That means a Spectre, or deep STG, or a Councilor. None of which make sense. Wrex grumbled, walking slowly back out into the open bay-area, and over to the shuttle call station. Humans are never tactical thinkers, always too busy going after the quick profit. Salarians aren't known for being trusting, and whoever whacked the guy with the info not only took him out, but took out two of the Broker's bully boys to do it. Pile of varren shit, more than a damned 'leak.' The krogan sighed as the taxi pulled even to the curb, and stepped in as its top split open. Leaning his large bulk back into the squishy plastic seats that vainly tried to shape themselves around him, he barked out commands. "Brakas Hotel, Lower Bachjret Ward." The taxi swooped away, entering the tube-ways linking the five Wards together that passed along the outside of the Presidium ring. Wrex snorted at the sight, rolling his eyes at the thought of simpering paper-pushers within the flimsy looking ring. Soft ass aliens… not worth my time. Leaning back further, the old krogan closed his eyes. Seems like nothing is, these days, except credits I can't spend on much beyond weapons and ryncol that doesn't keep the memories away long enough. Chapter 4: Prologue 4 : Liara A/N: Remastered 10-22-14. The bone-white corridor seemed to shimmer for a moment, the faintly curved lines on every surface still polished and gleaming despite the millennia that had passed since this outpost of the Protheans was laid low. Liara T'Soni trailed delicate blue fingers over the surface of the wall, feeling how the not-quite ceramic/metal hybrid actually flexed gently at a touch, yet was resistant to almost all forms of damage. The dig site she was in was one of several on Therum, a human colony world on the edge of the Traverse. All of them centered around the strange facility the Protheans had built literally into the side of a semi-active volcano. There were signs they used the thermal energy to power several devices that were now nothing more than kilometers of twisted, faded wreckage on the hot surface. Liara had been here for almost three months now, and found this to be one of most frustrating expeditions she'd ever been on. The original expedition had been over thirty people, including the lead researchers Doctor Sanaris Te'Vurth'a and Doctor Balno Maleas from the University of Althara, an esteemed salarian institute. Getting into the ranks of the original expedition had been a very narrow thing for Liara. Too many people at the University of Serrice saw her as nothing more than a spoiled crackpot. Her name alone inspired fear and submission from commoners and the Clans, but most of the University staff were themselves of the Thirty, the noble houses of Thessia. Many were from Houses far greater than the dimmed glory of T'Soni, and some were even political foes. She'd spent the past thirty years pursuing her beliefs and goals – her study of the Prothean extinction, and what it actually was. Most Prothean research was more pragmatic, seeking weapons technology, energy sources, or something the research teams could sell to the Council or to corporations. The pure study of the vanished culture of the Protheans was seen as a waste of time, and trying to find out why they vanished an even more foolish endeavor. Her stubborn pursuit of it had only sent her career into a tailspin. Five books, which sold poorly and mostly only to aliens. Twenty-seven papers that were all ignored or mocked by the more experienced researchers at the University of Serrice. She'd been on eight major expeditions and recovered well over four hundred artifacts, but she was unable to secure a solid extension of a teaching position or even a good research job. She was lucky to have been retained as long as she had on the expedition planning staff as a technical assistant. When Dr. Sanaris reached out to her, bringing her onto the team to work the dig at Therum, she had been excited. The excitement had faded. Aside from the personal catastrophe she'd suffered – something she didn't want to think about – the expedition itself had turned rather sour. The first three months had been grueling grunt labor, mostly by her and the other technical assistants, while the expedition leaders did research from their comfortable cruiser in orbit. Liara had seen some rough sites but this was possibly the worst, and the conditions at the dig site were all too basic – cots, camping gear, and the like. Her position among the Thirty isolated her from her asari coworkers, and her relationships with her fellow researchers were strained. With the unfamiliar salarians she was a hesitant, stuttering mess, too quick to avoid conflict and thus ignored as unneeded by them. The dig had just started to become interesting when the Council had sent an urgent message to Sanaris and Maleas, instructing them to report to the Citadel – a Prothean artifact of staggering importance had been discovered by the humans, and Sanaris and Maleas were called upon to oversee the research. The University of Serrice didn't have another team ready to go to Therum in the short-term, and the university instead sold the research rights to the dig site to the human company ExoGeni. The rest of the team had gratefully pulled out – they hadn't found anything here worthwhile, and the conditions were terrible – but Dr. Maleas had been kind enough to listen to Liara's request to stay behind and do follow-up work. She said she didn't really need the pay, and that she could at least find anything of use and see off any looters until ExoGeni arrived. She was alone here now, Maleas having set up the situation with ExoGeni, allowing Liara to research this find on her own – and at her leisure, instead of looking over her shoulder for competing researchers. Not that she'd found anything. Everything about the site was baffling. It was extremely late-period design, and like many other late-period structures lacked the living spaces and other features of most Prothean architecture. She wiped her forehead clear of sweat, shaking her head at the uncomfortable temperatures. The volcano under the site was inactive but still threw off copious amounts of heat, enough to make her feel physically ill and ruining more than one of her uniforms with sweat. The only place to find good air-conditioning – and showers – was in the tiny outpost 'capital' of Nova Yekaterinburg. The mining town was her first real exposure to humanity. She'd gone a week ago to have her uniforms laundered and to get a shower and more food, and she wished now she had skipped the place. The ubiquitous heat made everyone cranky and short-tempered, and her trip had been filled with rudeness. Nova Yekaterinburg was a very rough place, all boxy colony modules, ramshackle bars, and poorly concealed brothels. The miners who worked the surface for the heavy metals were almost exclusively brutish looking males, most of whom shot her looks of unwelcome intent and desire. Hulking and huge, most of them topped out over half a meter taller than the frail asari girl, all of them with heavy slabs of tattooed muscle, hair, and grime as their distinguishing features. The human females, on the other hand, looked almost exactly like asari except for the lack of crests, and from the skin itself, which aside from color was also bizarrely delicate looking, not even finely scaled like that of asari. Their hair was unusual, but not jarringly so. The atmosphere was far from the quiet, refined environs she was used to, and the miners used to a far different class and type of asari than Liara was. It was bad enough being leered at so openly by men (and some women), but when the prostitutes had picked up on her nervousness and offered her some 'freebies,' it had become embarrassing. Asari were very casual about sexuality in general, but it was something Liara had never done, and until recently not something she'd felt an urge to experiment with. Given the way things had been going the past few weeks, though, she was almost certain if she went back and was asked again, she would say yes. Her head was still not right from the mess she'd gone through with Amalia… She flinched from the name, sighing as she continued her walk down the ancient Prothean hallway, her sensor unit humming away as it analyzed a scrap of broken ceramic. The young asari maiden wandered almost aimlessly through the darkened, pale hallways while her omni-tool gathered readings. Her mind tried to piece together what this place was. There were many reinforced rooms and what seemed to be gathering points, but much of the facility seemed hardened. Every entry was covered with regenerative force fields that could be brought up to repel invaders or even trap intruders. Powered by the magma flow exchanger far below, the facility would not even have shown up on scans if a recent earthquake hadn't revealed part of the complex after a rockslide. There were computer systems here, wiped clean like every other Prothean system she had encountered, as well as broken Prothean beacons, shattered green stumps standing mute guard in the dusty topside wind near the entrance to the dig site. Moving around a protrusion in the ground, Liara paused at a waist-high wall in the middle of the corridor. Something clicked in her mind at the sight, and she recalled the entrances to the Family Hold on Thessia. The high walls flanking the gates were set around a central courtyard with walls just like this one. "Goddess, this is not a hallway, this is a defensive chokepoint." Stepping back from the waist-high wall, Liara imagined the layout of the facility in her mind, concentric rings linked only by easily defended elevator shafts, protecting a chamber near the center that linked the power source below to whatever the ruins were topside. Whatever it was, the Protheans had designed this place to hold out against superior numbers of infantry. Yet more evidence that the disappearance of the Prothean people was not a peaceful transition. Liara frowned, and slowly exited the corridor, her feet taking her back to the small campsite she had set up at the base of the human elevator system. Passing the heavy mining laser they had used to gain access to the entry portal in the first place, Liara wearily sat down on her cot, wiping away a thin layer of sweat and grime as she glanced around at her meager possessions, before snorting at the two cases full of expensive dresses sitting next to the far end of the tent. She sighed, before pulling open the bag on her cot. From it, she tore open one of the cleaning towels Dr. Brakas had politely left behind, wiping her face clean and digging the edge of a fingernail against her crest, wiping sand out. Flinging the towel into the trash, she considered her options. She did not want to head back into Nova Yekaterinburg, and not just because she wasn't sure she could control her hormones. She was also worried at the sensation she'd experienced while there, one of being followed, or stalked. That there were eyes watching her every move. Fifty years of roughing it in the wild and on all manner of research sites had not left Liara soft or unaware of her surroundings… and something was off in that little human town. At the same time, she needed fresh hygienic supplies, food, a shower, or more likely several showers. With her most recent revelation, she also needed to connect to the extranet on a high-speed link. Her access this far from any uplink meant she could still get communications, but not dense blocks of research data. She would need to look for notes and research on Prothean military designs. The Protheans were almost stultifyingly uniform. Every single building they had constructed met the same layout specs even when they were on worlds across the galaxy from each other. If she could link this site to others, maybe a pattern in their placement could be found, indicating at least where the threat they were defending against came from. The scientist laid back on the cot, thinking, mind racing. Her features smoothed out, her thin lips grimacing as she yet again tried to find a way to avoid heading back into the human town for resupply. She groaned, and her hand went to her hip, pulling free a flask of drinking water, which she drained completely before letting it fall to the ground. She was beyond tired, dehydrated really, from the never-ending heat, the cramped, dark hallways, the need to gather all this data and process it herself. The work on organizing the data and making sense of it had to be done in bursts of activity, since she could only draw upon simplistic modeling on her personal computer. And the argument that still rang in her head, the icy coldness of her mother during their last communication. The bizarre way she spoke, held herself, even moved. Liara worried about her mother, but was worried more that maybe nothing was wrong with Benezia at all, and that it was herself that was addled and lost after all these years in dig sites. How I wish I could just be like others instead of me. A single tear trickled down her cheek, to be lost in the damp sweat she wiped from her forehead with an angry motion. She was frustrated, lonely, and miserable. Never able to even think about a relationship, with most asari of her own rank shunning her as a pureblood piece of trash, and dallying with a clanless or a Clan member… again, she thought of Amalia before cursing to herself weakly. As far as aliens went, it would just be a sexual release, not finding someone to take joy in or end her crushing isolation with. She understood nothing of their cultures or even perspectives, too busy studying dead Protheans to think much of live turians, salarians, or humans. She was unable to connect to her mother anymore, which hurt. Benezia was too busy to deal with her silly daughter, who had thrown away a chance to serve her people to go dig in the ground. The rest of the family shunned her, except for the youngest – who had been a child when she left Thessia last – and the lesser Family, who were kind but unwilling to really reach out to her. Liara was simply too shy, clinical, and polite to make her way in a society where boldness, promiscuity, clever misdirection, and flirtation with other, alien beings measured success. And of course, I am making things so much better by laying on a filthy cot in my own sweat, crying and feeling sorry for myself. Liara's lips twitched into a sad, self-pitying sort of smile as she closed her eyes, needing rest, reflection, or just oblivion. Before she could obtain any of those things, the comm unit on the far side of the tent lit up with an apologetic tone. "Incoming message, University of Serrice, Dr. T'Soni." The VI chimed softly as Liara grunted. "Real-time communication requested." Liara sighed, staggering to her feet and walking over to the unit. She triggered the comm-link, hoping she didn't look like a wreck but too tired to truly care. The static-glitched image of a stern, older asari filled the screen. Liara's only facial markings were those of human eyebrows above each eye, something she did to show her solidarity with Benezia when she'd gone off to be the first asari ambassador to humanity. Doctor Sanaris, on the other hand, had the marks of a commando etched deeply into her cerulean skin. Eyes narrow and more black than blue regarded the tired, frail form of Dr. T'Soni, before the cruel mouth smirked. "Ah, Dr. T'Soni. You look well rested. I presume everything is going well with your, ah, excursion?" Liara grit her teeth but managed to reply politely. "Yes, Dr. Sanaris, it is. I believe this facility to be a military installation, after review of the floor plan and the power systems. It's possible the surface ruins that once linked her were some sort of maintenance facility, or some form of defensive grid." The older asari's smirk did not waver. "Yes, well, I'm sure that with a more extended research period, not to mention more professional assessment, we can conclude what the facility was actually used for. That is beside the point. I've just been notified that, unfortunately, ExoGeni has stepped up their acquisition schedule. We're not sure why, but they've made the decision to actually move resources from another site to Therum to begin work there. We'll be sending a freighter your way in a week, ExoGeni teams will be onsite shortly thereafter." Liara's face crumbled in defeat. "But… Dr. Maleas…" The smirk turned into a cruel grin. "Dr. Maleas did what he could, but he of course must also think of the larger picture, don't you think? As we travel to the Citadel, and prepare to move on this human Prothean find, we were able to have a very nice conversation and discuss many matters where the combined Serrice/Althara team could benefit from a closer relationship. With ExoGeni and in… other ways." Liara did not even look up at the screen. "I see. And you have, no doubt, already picked out what team members would participate in such an effort." Dr. Sanaris only smiled wider. "Yes, well, as you know such things are done by seniority. I'm sure you can find something to occupy your time for a few more days until the freighter arrives. ExoGeni made it quite clear they will attend to the site themselves, no need for you to clutter the place up." Sanaris drew away from the comm-link unit, and Liara glimpsed what must be her quarters aboard whatever ship they were on, and a slender form laying on some kind of bed just barely visible over her shoulder, the distinct shape of a salarian male. The double-bent horn on the right side was clearly that of Dr. Maleas. Liara swallowed, a flush creeping into her cheeks even as a chill went down her spine. She had known Sanaris hated her, of course. Sanaris had brought Liara along hoping to form a relationship with the younger asari. Sanaris herself had been adopted from the clanless into a Lesser House, but her advancement had stalled. Like most clanless she hated purebloods, but she'd clearly hoped Liara would simply be so thankful for her intervention that she'd link with her. A relationship with a member of the Thirty would boost Sanaris's cachet immensely. Liara, of course, had not done so. She didn't even realize that was what Sanaris wanted until Amalia had clued her in, and in the aftermath of what had gone wrong with Amalia she'd withdrawn from everyone. Sanaris had taken this as a snub, and her anger and frustration overrode the usual deference of the clanless toward the Thirty. It really didn't help that Liara had innocently, and unintentionally, found an error in Sanaris's research, showing her up in front of several of her peers. But she didn't think the woman would go to the lengths of seducing the salarian project lead to sabotage her in this fashion. Clearly, she was wrong. Liara trembled for a moment, before her frustration got the best of her. She smiled, her voice turning patronizing, like she had heard her mother's voice do many times. "I should not be surprised, Dr. Sanaris. I am very glad that you were able to manage to sell yourself for the appropriate price. I figure that the head of Prothean studies feeling threatened by a little girl to the point she has to whore herself out to a second-rate salarian researcher merely to get off one final, bitchy little jab is something of a compliment, actually." Liara's voice dropped lower, to a vicious pitch. "I will make sure I am gone by the time ExoGeni arrives, doctor. No worries. I just wonder how Maleas will react once he realizes he has made an enemy of the daughter of one of the most powerful of the Thirty, merely to sleep with jumped up street trash." Liara cut the connection even as she heard the other woman's enraged shriek. Why commoners who had managed to climb the ranks of status in the asari culture felt so put out whenever reminded of their actual origins always left Liara confused, but no matter. Putting that bitch in her place felt good. Still, that left her a week to pack up her studies and equipment and prepare to move out again, and with no backing and no grants she was back to square one again for the fifth time in her life. She would have to limp home to Thessia once more, hoping against hope someone else would seek out for a project, and try to endure the cruel neglect of her relatives. Oh, it would be so much simpler if the heroic and dashing justicar could ride in and save me from… from… Liara looked down at her hands, the delicate looking fingers calloused, stained with dirt, and capped with broken fingernails. "Save me from myself, I suppose." Chapter 5: Prologue 5 : Benezia A/N: Remastered 10-22-14. "Ethics. A stupid framework set upon us like hungry vakars, as if issues like 'right' and 'wrong' have any meaning when the lives of billions are at stake. A pile of arrogant idiocy parading as a necessity, when instead it is a chain, a leash, a wall between what makes us great and what makes us gods." Saren Arterius sat up from the bed they shared, the silvery-white plating of his skin shining dimly, his cybernetic arm sunk like some feasting leech upon his left side. Only wounds, scars, and marks littered his form, the visible weight of years of selfless service to the betterment of all. She smiled faintly as she got up herself, wincing a little from where their lovemaking had grown too aggressive. It would heal. Her mind was more concerned with the darkening turn of her lover's thoughts in the aftermath of their bonding. She loved listening to him talk; his voice was grating and harsh, yet somehow soothing to her ears, and her soul. But recently he had become erratic. She rose, naked, and walked over to where he stood, trailing her fingers against his back. "A curious statement to utter just after joining, beloved. Why do you speak of ethics?" Benezia gave a tiny thrill of pleasure as Saren turned to her and trailed a single talon against her cheek. The contact was one of tenderness, yet also reminder of the sheer power he possessed. The unnatural lines of the ship – the god machine, the gate to immortality, her mind whimpered – all of these seemed to focus on him, and every action he took had a magnified effect. A kiss became overwhelming, a caress erotic, a frown reason for sorrow. The talon reversed direction, tracing a fine line down her neck. "All things worth fighting for must be taken, never just expected. This should be evident to a being of your wise years and power, Benezia." Saren's voice gentled, ever so slightly. "It came to me as I realized that you suffer simply to keep me sane. You endure pain and uncertainty to follow in my path… even when you are uncertain. But your uncertainty – your worry – the concern I felt in our bond… this comes from the unethical actions we take." He exhaled, slowly touching his forehead to hers. "I cannot do this without you. And you cannot afford to wonder of the cost of what we are attempting." Benezia swallowed, not moving. She'd not realized her bond had become so sloppy that her background worries would seep across. She should have been focusing on making sure his pleasure – or at least her own – was the focal point of the bond, not her increasingly disjointed thoughts. But she had to ask, given that he had spoken. "And when one grows uncertain, beloved? When one asks if there could not be some other path to reach the same goals, one that does not require the slaughter of hundreds of thousands?" Saren dropped his hand, his mandibles clicking against his jaw. "One remembers the price of doing nothing. All things have a cost." He turned away, and she sighed. Benezia's eyes followed the turian as he strode toward the door leading from the room they used as a place of sleep and rest, to the bizarre and vast cathedral-like space that served as the bridge. After a moment, she followed, still naked. No one else was aboard mighty Nazara, after all, and the god-being would hardly care if they were clothed or not. She glanced around the bridge as she entered, finding Saren already at his seat, the odd chair at the center of the bridge of Nazara, gazing at the incredible sensor displays of the mighty god-ship. As usual, the jarring shapes and slightly wrong angles left him looking distorted, but his vitality, his force, was undimmed, even in the dark nightmare of this room. Naked, his body seemed a war-torn shrine to duty, to sacrifice, and to unwilling pain. Benezia had always wondered where he had been so grievously wounded, but the Spectre never spoke of this, only a quiver of mandibles showing his rage at the question. She shook herself free of her own self-deliberation and stepped forward, each motion rich with elegance and grace. A thousand years of leadership and drawing the eyes made her motion natural, not feigned, but it seemed harder now. As if her mind was a splintered thing, scrabbling around, appropriating any logic, no matter how twisted, to justify her actions. Her hand touched his shoulder, gently, not forcefully but inquisitively. Saren glanced at it, and only nodded, the silent question between them unasked. "I know what you are feeling, Benezia. Do not berate yourself. It is no lapse. Doubt is a natural reaction, but one we must simply put behind us. As you are always telling me, waves already upon the shore are no more, yes?" She smiled, always touched when he would recall her wisdom from happier times. "It is the nature of our bond, beloved. For my mind to have wandered is not something I should have done. It is natural for it to have upset you." The turian shrugged, but was careful not to dislodge her hand. "There is little natural about me any longer. I do not need comfort, merely knowing that I am not alone in this." He shook his head. "Enough of this. We must focus. What have we heard from Eden Prime?" The matriarch swallowed again, throat tight as if not wanting to say the words. "Cerberus agents have sent word to Ylana through Eylana. The humans on the world have not just found ruins, but a working beacon. It may have the information we need. It seems to be intact, but the humans are still extracting it. Given the unfamiliarity humans have with safely accessing a beacon, it will be weeks before they are ready to operate it themselves." Saren smiled. "Then we have time." She sighed. "No. Cerberus also told us that the Alliance has already notified the Council. Not only are they putting together asari-led science teams, but they have decided to send in a Spectre to oversee the operation." She closed her eyes. "They are sending Nihlus." Saren's eyes closed in agony, fist clenched, and he was silent for long moments before whispering. "…All things have a cost." Benezia could only shake her head, but even that motion was stilled, the voices in her skull freezing the muscles. She knew that once Saren's cabal bondmate had died, the only other turian he really connected with was Nihlus, his protégé and student. Saren had trained the younger turian in every method of combat and investigation he knew, resulting in Nihlus becoming the youngest turian Spectre in history. If he was on Eden Prime, he would die with the rest. She opened her mouth to try and speak, but the voices silenced her. Saren did not notice her action. "Little Nihlus, all grown up and a Spectre." The voice was almost gentle, flanging tones of happier times filling the small room for a moment. "The fools told me he was only a hatchling, too weak to be Blackwatch, much less Deathwatch. And look how far he has come." She finally found her voice. "He is your friend, Saren." Saren nodded. "The only one I have, I suppose, aside from you. We turians are not meant to operate alone. Without Cereta, or the others of my old cabal…" His voice trailed off, speculative, almost pleading. It hurt her to even hear that note in his voice. Benezia shuddered again at the tearing emotion she felt across the bond, pressing herself against him. "You are not alone, Saren, not while I draw breath." Saren only give her a smile, the gleam of needle-sharp fangs drawing away from the look in his eyes. "We are utterly alone, Benezia." He turned to her, tracing his hand down her flank, sighing at the single seeping clawmark and the faint bruising, testament to their violent sexual release not twenty minutes ago. "We can cling together in the darkness, but we both know the truth. We are a breath away from not being the people we are." Benezia's voice was softer. "I think if we were crazy, or mere thralls, such organic urges would be suppressed." She turned away, and walked over to the side of the bridge area, opening a small backpack of supplies. She picked up a medi-gel infused bandage, which she applied to her bleeding hip, and then turned back to face him, her chin lifted, her body still proud and supple. Saren admired her for a long moment, then shook his head. "I should feel something more. I am going to murder my best friend. The loss of monkey lives, an annoyance – but I am going to have to kill Nihlus if he gets in my way. There is something wrong with me. With us." Benezia shook her head, as she finished her field dressing. She stepped back into the living area, swiftly reached for a black silk robe, and returned, slipping it over her limbs to ward off the sudden chill in the air. Her voice remained soft. "It is hard to feel anything, anymore. And we have no time to reflect. We must survive, and if that costs us friends and loved ones… then we will have time to mourn later. Better that a million die than billions, or billions rather than everything." Saren exhaled, and with a growl sunk his face into his hands. "And if one day I must sacrifice you, or you me? I cannot…" She watched him struggle, knowing the baleful force of Nazara was strongest here, warping their very minds. She placed her hand against his tortured fringe, willing her love for him across their bond. "I will never sacrifice you willingly, my beloved. And if the time comes when you must sacrifice me, I will love you still. We are not doing this for power. Or for our own good. But to safeguard our species." She sighed, and her words must have pleased Nazara, as the awful pounding against her mind lessened. "There is nothing saying that Nihlus will die at your hand. Perhaps he will be killed by the geth soldiers, or in the wrong part of the area. I have faith in you." She gently wrapped her hands around his wrists – even they were scarred. There were times she was glad so many would die, for what Saren had suffered for the sake of the galaxy already. She shook that thought off and smiled. "Come back to our bed. There is nothing you can complete in this ugly chair but brooding until we get to Eden Prime." Saren looked up at her, mandibles flickering with subdued but clear amusement. "Are you serious? I think you've gotten clawed up enough for one night, beloved. Besides, not all of me is cybernetic. Your entertainments will have to wait for me to recover." She burst out laughing, something she had not done in a very long time, and then shook her head. "I actually merely meant to sleep, Saren. And the cut is nothing." She paused. "And if joining with you keeps you able to function and with me, a thousand cuts and bruises are of no moment. I am not here to prove anything to anyone. I am here because you need me here." Saren grimaced, gently taking her hand in his. "And the cost? Not just to your body, but your mind, your spirit?" Benezia only looked at him. "We have both paid that already. There is no stopping now. We have to finish together what we began together." Saren smiled, rising from the chair, and headed back into their shared room. She followed, watching in silence, in companionship, in slightly empty and awkward spacing, as he dressed himself in his armor. A part of Benezia wanted to curl up and cry at the thought of him having to kill the young turian he looked on like a son, just to accomplish their goals. A part wanted to soothe Saren, to take the pain away, to join with him until they were lost in each other's souls and the pain a mere memory. A part of her just wanted to complete the task, to feel the approval of the god-machine, the ship. To know it found her worthy. She placed a hand to her head, feeling her thoughts crawling in her skull, slithering about like fattened sha-snakes in Thessia's oceans, feasting on the corpses of the drowned and the doomed. Saren, across the room, just sighed as he attached his last pieces of armor, stopping at the gauntlet, one inscribed with turian marks of honor. "Nihlus gave me this, when he was inducted into the Deathwatch. I shouldn't wear it if I am forced to kill him." Benezia said nothing, only watching, and suddenly Saren raged, angry, defiant. "No. I will convince him. Make him see. Let him see what we have to do to defend the galaxy. A few dead humans are not even a cost; they should be honored to sacrifice themselves for the greater good. Nihlus will see. He will understand." Benezia only nodded, even as Saren's omni-tool flared orange with an incoming message. He tapped at it, frowning. "Finally. The geth, for all their vaunted skill at hacking, are remarkably slow when it comes to locating someone." Benezia frowned slightly. "Who have they located?" Saren grunted, looking up at her with a flat expression in his eyes. "Liara. They finally found her, some human world with a Prothean dig site called Therum. How convenient. We can examine the site and pick her up at the same time. After we deal with the Beacon I'll send a team to recover her." Benezia's frown became a scowl. "Your geth? Those krogan thugs? They'll kill her!" Saren shook his head, albeit slowly. "They will obey my orders. We can't go ourselves, after all. The frigate has to be docked at Noveria the entire time for our ruse to work, and we ourselves must go to Noveria as soon as the capture of the Beacon is complete, to establish a firm alibi. Tying up loose ends must wait." Benezia sighed. "Liara is not merely a loose end. For all her foolishness about her chosen discipline, she is exactly the expert we need to find this fabled location of the Conduit." Saren raised his hands. "I've given them very clear and careful instructions. I'm not using the Ganar Clan for this, but an independent krogan mercenary. He's dependable and always follows orders. They'll capture and secure her, and once any blowback from Eden Prime has been handled, we'll pick up Liara and make our next move." Benezia wanted to scream, but instead only nodded. For some reason what seemed dangerous a moment ago now seemed like a calm, well rationalized plan. After all, with what would no doubt be unleashed very soon, death could be racing at them all. What if the ruse to keep their involvement a secret failed, if the assault failed? What if Cerberus double-crossed them – or if the Council somehow figured it all out? Even the might of Nazara could not win against the united galaxy. Better, perhaps, to let Liara stay put on this Therum place, and to let Saren's forces take her and keep her safe. If all was good, she could always explain things to Liara, who would be overjoyed that her passion would be of use to her mother, no doubt. And if things went horribly wrong, then Liara would not be dragged down with Benezia. With a sigh she nodded again, even though she worried. Saren, for his part, touched her shoulder carefully. "Do not worry, Benezia. Eden Prime will not take long. I look forward to meeting Liara, and if – when – I convince Nihlus to join us, the boy could use companionship of his own." Benezia laughed again. Chapter 6: Chapter 1 : Mikhailovich A/N: This begins the actual start of ME1. Remastered 10-22-14. THE SECOND ARC : This is an outrage! 'I'd just like to point out that while I doubted Shepard at first, I at least had enough sense to change my mind when I saw her do what no one else could. A lesson few seem to be able to comprehend, but one that has saved me, I suspect, from a broken jaw at her hands.' -Councilor Donnel Udina, ' "Maybe Later" is Never the Right Answer' "AT-TEN-SHUN!" Forty-five sets of black combat boots crashed together. Forty-five backs went ramrod straight. Arcturus Station was quiet, the view of the great beyond marred by the glittering silver crescent hanging motionless outside the docking arms. A complicated crane and gantry system nestled against the hull, poised, waiting. The ship was devoid of a name, waiting for its first crew to come aboard and take her into space, danger, and destiny. Forty-five men and women stood in silent, even ranks on the dockside, stoic and prepared. Silent. Motionless. "Present arms!" The ten-man Marine squad crashed to a new stance, shipping the Avenger battle rifles in salute as the ship's officers approached, then neatly pivoted to face the crew. Rear Admiral Chan Mikhailovich was not particularly happy right now. Christening a new ship for his flotilla was usually a happy moment, another battle won with those money-grubbing corp-kissers that passed for an appropriations board in the Alliance, or the idiots at BuShips. But the amount spent on this staggeringly useless trinket that passed as a frigate was so mindboggling that it made him almost want to scream in frustration. And he wasn't even going to get to command it. Intolerable. And yet, appearances must be maintained. It isn't the crew's fault their superiors have their heads in their asses. The crew and their officers stood, sharp and ready looking. Twelve engineers, every one of them both battle-tested and college graduates, commanded by Lieutenant Gregory Adams. Sharp and skilled, he'd been the assistant engineer on the Tokyo. Four years past when he could have made Lieutenant Commander, simply because he had pissed off the wrong Senator by eloping with the man's daughter. A shame. His features were even, almost bland, with flat brown hair and a dour, no-nonsense face. Operations and Navigation, led by Lieutenant Commander Charles Pressly. A staid, quiet, dependable figure. Career Navy man, but had done a few years groundside. Brilliant navigator, good with battle ops. His eighteen man department was outstanding, all trained operators and most of them with fire control experience. His tired features and balding hairline were countered by his ramrod straight posture and broad shoulders. The brown eyes were alert, ready, almost excited. A man still passionate about his job. Good. The pilot, Flight Lieutenant Jeff Moreau. Complete and total asshole. Best damned pilot in the fleet, maybe in history. Test and simulator scores so high they were beyond theoretical. Piloted his way out of a class six solar storm without even scratching the paint on the Calais. Egomaniacal asshat, but tough little bastard. Even though the agony must be killing him, the kid was standing at attention without his crutches. The Rear Admiral gave the man a nod of respect, and the kid stood taller. Crew like this given over to the fucking Council for who knows how long, for a goddamned joyride to pick up an interactive lollipop, just to hand it over to more aliens. I am going to skin Udina alive for this. Make a fucking rug out of his stupid, hanar kissing ass. The Marine crew shipped their arms as Captain Anderson approached, uniform perfect, his dark face set in a gentle smile. There was a hero in and of himself. One of the first N7 commanders ever, right up there with names like Ahern and Kyle. Brilliant career, service with the turians, even saving the life of the Primarch's son. A long and storied history of excellence. The fact that he was in charge of this mission must have been a bitter pill for the man to swallow. Mikhailovich knew the rumors, that Anderson had been a Spectre candidate and failed. Mikhailovich also knew David hadn't ever failed at a single thing he put his mind to. He smelled politics, the rancid scent of scurrying slime-molds in good suits sucking up to things with three fingers and no sense of smell. He hated politics. Anderson at least looked good, sharp, ready to lead. Behind him were the rest of the command staff. The ship's doctor, Major Karin Chakwas, was unknown to him but highly recommended. The Marine Staff Lieutenant, Kaidan Alenko. Biotic sentinel, good leadership skills, quiet, but dedicated. The kid looked a little nervous, but his eyes were still bright with excitement. And finally the centerpiece. The Butcher herself, all lithe power and arrogance as she sauntered along behind Anderson like a chained panther, or a contained wildfire. Icy eyes flickering over the crew, looking for weakness, sloppy postures, anything out of place, and finding nothing, a tiny cold little smile appearing. The officers came to attention, saluting, and Mikhailovich returned it. "Captain Anderson, I present to ship's company, this twenty-second day in the year of our Lord, 2183… the Systems Alliance Space Vessel… Normandy." As he said the name, an auto-launcher smashed a capsule of champagne out of the station, to shatter into a spray of vapor against the hull. At the same moment the paint gantry moved, the arms spraying out the nano-agent laced hull agents, and the name scrolled along the black trim of the silvery hull in bold, white letters." Anderson saluted, and turned to the ship's station engineer, a commander who was now done with the ship. "Sir, I relieve you." The Station Commander returned the salute. "Sir, I stand relieved. The Normandy is ashore. By order of the Systems Alliance Admiralty, command is transferred to 5th Fleet Command, 63rd Scout Flotilla. Captain David Anderson has the deck and the conn. VI, log the time." A bosun's whistle rang out, and the master at arms fell into parade rest. "Puhrade… REST." The crew matched his motion with machine like quality, and Mikhailovich sighed before speaking. "Sailors, Marines… brothers and sisters. You were originally slated to join my flotilla, the 63rd Scout, and perform anti-pirate operations in the Skyllian Verge. These orders have been superseded, however. Arcturus Command has recently installed prototype stealth technology into the Normandy, making her one of the most effective, lethal insertion vessels we have. This technology is a human invention, but the Normandy is a joint turian-human effort." No one made a noise, but some of the faces tightened in discomfort. Good, he thought. Ship is a piece of tin, but the crew is solid. "In order to facilitate your mission, you will conduct shakedown operations beginning immediately. Captain Anderson is your new commanding officer. Commander Shepard is your new executive officer. Further orders will be transmitted once on station. This is not a normal shakedown cruise, but I have faith that you will accomplish your tasks with utmost proficiency, and demonstrate the honor, commitment, and courage the Alliance Navy is known for." "Make me proud, Normandy." The Admiral saluted, and the crew came to attention. "FALL OUT and board by unit and division!" The crew broke up, heading into the ship in segments, officers leading. Anderson and Shepard traded a single glance and Anderson raised an eyebrow, before nodding toward the direction of the ship. Shepard nodded and headed in, her stride cool and almost leisurely. Mikhailovich frowned. It was clear Shepard and Anderson knew each other well, if just by a few motions they could understand each other. "Captain. A moment, if you will." "Of course, sir." Captain Anderson's expression was neutral as he walked beside the Rear Admiral, as the last of the crew faded into the ship. "You seem familiar with Commander Shepard. I can only presume you are equally familiar with her record?" Anderson nodded. "I worked with her a number of times, sir, and gave her the nod and recommendation for N7 training." Mikhailovich didn't know that. "I find that hard to understand. David, you've always prided yourself doing it by the book, doing what's right, figuring out a way to play the peacemaker as well as the soldier. I don't like aliens and I don't want anything to do with 'em, and yet you manage to work with them without compromising humanity. I've always admired that about you." "Thank you, sir." Mikhailovich held up a thick finger, absently noting as he did so that he needed to clean his fingernails. "But that woman is nothing like you, and nothing like what you train your people to be." Anderson was silent for long seconds before speaking. "She has gone through things that would leave most people broken or dead. Mentally and physically. She will always do the actions that are best for the greater good, sir. She will always achieve her objective. She has no pity, no mercy, no weakness, that is true." Anderson exhaled. "And she has never shied away from casualties, either. But she has always taken ownership of every one of her actions." Memories flashed across Anderson's mind… "Hit me." The sobbing mother and widow looked up at the glacial features of the Marine, and then at Anderson in confusion. "Hit you?! I want to KILL YOU! You got John killed, you got his unit killed, for what? To get revenge on some slavers? To make yourself fucking look good?! So you could get a medal!" Shepard stood there, unblinking, then unclipped her pistol. Ignoring Anderson's indrawn breath, she took off the safety and handed it to the wife of her former XO, dead with so many others on Torfan. "Then kill me, Mrs. Sanders. Make this a relief for both of us." The woman stared at the pistol in her hand, then back up at Shepard. "…What the hell is wrong with you?" Shepard said nothing for a moment. "I'm broken somehow. I don't know how. Or why. I can't even be sorry about what happened to your husband, or say I wouldn't do it again. We completed the mission. A lot of people died so that more could live." A pause. Muscles in her jaw flexing. "But some part of me knows what I do is evil. That I'm evil." Those cold, blue eyes swiveled down to stare at Sanders's widow, who flinched, even though she had the gun now. "And they keep sending me out. They keep giving me men. Boys. Fools. They keep giving me tasks to complete that can't be done and saying to do them. And I do. And people die. And I can't even feel it." Jessica Sanders had trembled, and Anderson didn't think she knew why. Shepard ignored it. "So please. Take the pistol, and kill me. End it. End it for me, for you. End it before they make me do something worse." There was no fear in the eyes, no weariness. Just blank emptiness. Sanders swallowed. "They said you tried to save them." She takes in the woman, the heavy bandages, the cast, the bruises. "That you killed them all, all the batarians, even the ones who surrendered." Shepard nods. "I did. I expect I'll be court-martialed, dishonorably discharged. Broken and thrown out. That would also be good." And suddenly Sanders snapped, flinging the pistol aside and stepping closer. "So that John died for NOTHING? So he drew those slavers off for nothing!" Shepard blinked, and the woman spat. "I can't feel fucking sorry for you, you're a goddamned monster. I feel sorry for everyone you have gotten killed in your career. I feel sorry for those you are in command of. But I'll never feel sorry for you." Sanders stepped back. "I hope it hurts to keep on living. I hope they DO give you a fucking medal and make you wear it the rest of your life. I hope it never, ever ends, because it won't for us." Shepard said nothing, eyes still. Then she slowly bent over and picked up the pistol, shipping it at her waist. "I'm sorry for your loss, Mrs. Sanders. I'll leave you to your grief." She pivoted smoothly on one heel despite her injuries, walking without hesitancy or seeming pain. Anderson knew that, in her head, she still heard the widow shrieking, one of thousands now, all hating her, all despising her. All he could do was follow. Anderson shook his head. "Chan, you can't understand that woman. But she's a good person inside. It just doesn't get much chance to show. Trust me on this." Mikhailovich looked across at the ship, exhaling. "No choice but to trust you. The people who pushed this along are way beyond my range of influence, and technically she's out of my chain of command now, son. If you need me to back you and her up, though, just let me know." The Rear Admiral handed the Captain a datapad. "Prior to transit to Eden Prime you are to report to Sesatven III and pick up a turian Spectre, one Nihlus Kryik. You will pick him up from his shuttle, he's been aboard the Alliance repair docks there for the past six hours. He will be observing and qualifying Commander Shepard during this process. The ship is fitted with a turian-sized sleeper pod, dextro rations, and some turian blood-plasma and medical crap in the med-bay. Try not to get him killed." Anderson nodded. "I have some good history with Nihlus, we worked together in REACHBACK. We should get along just fine, and he's likely to be a lot more open-minded than Saren was." He grimaced at the name, then squared his shoulder. "I'll keep you in the loop, sir." Mikhailovich snorted. "Be the first time I was in the loop on some shit like this, so don't stress over it too much. Get that overpriced tin heap outta my docks." The Rear Admiral watched as the ship sealed, and undocked. He watched as it transited out from Arcturus, and continued to watch until it vanished into that distant night sky, before sighing and turning away, back toward his office, and paperwork, and mediocrity, and struggling against bureaucratic fucks. TERMS: BuShips: Alliance Bureau of Ship Standards – SA organization that develops all ship plans and designs Deck and Conn: who is in command of the deck and the conning system, or the CO Chapter 7: Chapter 2 : Departure A/N: Remastered 10-23-14. Changes include tenses, Shepard and Anderson's conversation, and background references. "Hitting the relay in three… two… one…" The Normandy was alive with rivulets of static discharge as it stormed out of the mass corridor generated by the awesome relay next to it, arriving in a blue-shifted burst of light and heat, outlined against the stark energies of the ancient FTL device. Immediately, the ship's very shape began to reconfigure, the outboard engines sliding down and back along hydraulic pylons, heatsink exchanges venting to space. The ship skimmed a bit across the endless expanse of space, approaching the distant bulk of the station to the starboard side. Inside the cockpit, Flight Lieutenant Jeff Moreau finished his checklist. "1900k drift, sir." Anderson nodded. "Good, Joker. There should be an incoming turian shuttle, go ahead and open the hangar bay door once the bay is depressurized." Joker tapped a few controls on the gold-gleaming haptic interface, the holographic keyboard shunting aside with a few touches to reveal the egress control panel. Anderson pulled down the 1MC mike and spoke quietly. "Now hear this. Now hear this. All hands, stand clear the hangar bay for decompression and entry. I repeat, all hands stand clear the hanger bay for decompression and entry." Joker waited until the cargo bay showed sealed and empty of life before triggering another set of controls. "Opening doors, sir." Anderson nodded again, eyes on the harsh lines of the triangular shuttle now visible on the forward bow, then glancing back. "Shepard?" She stood behind him, having just come up from the CIC and answered quietly, voice pitched low and calm. "Yes, Captain?" Anderson inclined his head toward the back of the ship. "Meet our guest with a few Marines, if you don't mind, and escort him to the communications room. He should be alone. Ensure that." Shepard saluted and walked down the comm/ops corridor toward the CIC. Around her, the four fire control officers each watched over a panel comprised of one part dirty electronic tricks, one part anti-missile defense, one part active scanning, and one part gunnery station for GARDIAN lasers. Taking three steps down into the CIC, she observed Pressly taking nav readings and a handful of electronics techs monitoring the heat bleed from the hull. She stepped past the Marine CIC sentry, who saluted, and down the shallow stairwell, eyes narrowed, deep in thought. She had worked with turians three times before in her past, mostly on combined service patrols. From what she knew and remembered, they were not complicated people. Honor and duty were their primary concerns, with a focus on communal benefit and duty to the Turian Hierarchy before personal needs. All in all, good fighters and tactical planners, but sometimes arrogant. The ugly wounds of the First Contact War would, of course, make things more difficult for some older humans, but Nihlus had taken no role in that conflict. Anderson had, and from what she knew he actually knew the turian and had spoken of him in a complimentary tone. That's how she had also learned Nihlus was a Spectre. A turian Spectre would be either what turians believed in taken to extremes and amplified, or completely different than anything expected. That didn't really help her figure out why he was on board. She entered the elevator shaft, slapping the controls for the hangar deck, and brushed a piece of lint from her uniform. Either way, he's likely to be looking for something. I really wish Anderson would tell me what's going on, this isn't a damned shakedown run, and the crew is going to freak when they realize we're loading on a damned Spectre. She never liked the idea of Spectres, flashy Council super-agents who were above the law. It was one thing to assign trash to get the job done. After all, if you have to use someone on a throwaway job, it might as well be someone you want to throw away. It was another to assign a bona fide hero to a position guaranteed to put him or her in a bad place. Shepard figured whatever it was about, it was nothing good. The Council did not send out Spectre agents unless the situation was dire and needed the personal attention of someone who could violate Citadel Law if needed. The combination of that and being headed to a quiet colony like Eden Prime was downright disturbing. So far, the only good thing about this shakedown run was the lack of Commissars on board. The elevator doors opened as the hanger re-pressurized, and six Marines marched sharply out of engineering. In sotto voce, she murmured, "Good timing, gentlemen," and one of the Marines grinned as they all snapped to perfect attention directly behind her, just as the shuttle door opened. For a turian, Nihlus Kryik was a big guy. Compared to humans, he was gigantic. Standing well over two meters tall, his already barrel chest amplified by his Spectre battle armor in silver and black, the turian stepped down from the shuttle alone, and with a motion of joints that seemed subtly wrong, came to his full height, the half-cloak hanging from his right side embroidered with the winged shield of the Spectre agency. He was armed to the teeth and beyond – a modified Revenant light machine gun hung across his back, while two Tornado-class shotguns, each one with a shortened, widened mass chamber, hung from oversized holsters on a wide armored belt festooned with grenades. Most worryingly of all, a massive block of metal with a sniper scope peeked over one shoulder, a Widow anti-material rifle, the much bigger cousin to the Thunderbolt rifle she herself used. That isn't a gun. That's a fucking anti-aircraft cannon. Shepard only minutely shook her head and stepped forward. "Spectre Nihlus? Commander Shepard, XO, SSV Normandy. Captain Anderson is waiting to brief you in our communication room." The turian eyed her curiously. His eyes were a shade of green, she noted absently, His skin was brown, but his plating was almost black, highlighted with bright metallic white tattoos. His stance was calm, casual, and almost predatory. It looked familiar somehow, but she couldn't place from where. His voice was a soft growl, harmonic undertones giving it an almost dirge-like cast. "Of course, Commander. Lead the way." Human and turian left the shuttle bay as the Marine escort filed out, the bay preparing to vent to allow the shuttle to leave. The elevator moved up, slowly, the two warriors saying nothing as it finally slid open on the crew deck. "This is our main crew deck; the comm room is on the CIC level." Shepard's voice was even, but the turian barely glanced around before refocusing his gaze on Shepard, green eyes intense. They walked up the stairs, the doors to the CIC sliding open as the sentry crashed to attention. Saluting, Shepard walked past the galaxy map toward the short corridor leading to the comms room. The ship shuddered as the hanger bay disgorged the turian fighter/shuttle Nihlus had arrived on. "Right this way, sir." The turian entered, the comms room the usual dull, gray shade. Captain Anderson stood in the middle of the circular room, talking to a hologram on the vidscreen. "Of course, Admiral. En route now, Normandy out." The link disconnected and Anderson turned around to face the two. "Nihlus, welcome aboard the Normandy. It's good to see you again. Your trip went well?" Nihlus paused, then nodded, a very human gesture. "Of course, Anderson. It is also good to see you, it has been many years since you worked with the Deathwatch. My trip into Human Space was boring, but agreeable. Your facilities on the base here were quite impressive; they even got me a meal of surprising quality." Anderson nodded, gesturing to seats, but no one sat. Shepard only folded her arms, assuming she'd be dismissed while the Captain and the Spectre talked. Instead, Anderson merely continued. "Very good. We made sure to prepare for your arrival and stay. The Arcturus mess decks loaded up dextro supplies for us, and the Hierarchy sent us a menu, now we'll see if we can cook it. One of our sleeper pods has been reconfigured for turian physiology and size as well. And feel free to use the terminal here, in the comm room, for any secure connections that might be needed. Our doctor was trained in turian physiology and medicine, if you have any medical issues that may arise." The Spectre nodded again. "Very good. I presume Commander Shepard will be staying for the debriefing, given the purpose of this entire trip?" Shepard turned from Nihlus to Anderson. "Sir?" Anderson sighed and sat, gesturing for the other two to do so as well. This time they took the hint, sitting down, facing each other. "Shepard, your unit – well, part of your unit, led by you – conducted a raid on Tor Shan about two months ago, ending with you personally killing a pirate named Grathias, a turian extremist. This person was responsible for the deaths of several very important figures to Citadel governance, including the Asari Councilor Tevos's mother. Even the Spectre Corps had not been able to track him down very well, and the one who did wasn't able to kill him. Given the nature of this person's crimes against the asari and the Council in general, they were very grateful." Shepard paused. "I am glad the Alliance was of service to the Council, of course, but that doesn't explain why a Spectre is on board, sir." Anderson's smile grew almost bitter. 'I'm getting there." He sighed. "Humanity has been arguing for a while now that we need a bigger role in the Council, in determining the path humanity takes. We've been colonizing like mad in the Verge and the Traverse, but the ugly truth was that we don't have the military power to protect all these colonies. Without a voice on the Council, the Alliance spends too much time catering to mega-corps and their interests, and the High Lords of Sol feel that if we continue down this road, we'll be facing trouble in the next ten years. The first step to proving to the galaxy that the Alliance can handle itself was to let them see our best and brightest." Shepard grimaced. "So, where is Captain Branson?" She felt her voice go a little bitter. The so-called 'Hero of Elysium' was a glory-seeking jackass, arrogant and smug, but he was also the golden boy of humanity, peering out from every recruiting poster and holovid. She'd met him once, and it was only by the greatest of efforts at self-control that she had stopped herself from punching him in the mouth. Anderson didn't answer that, instead continuing. "The Alliance, and the Citadel Council, have agreed that it's time Humanity had a Spectre. As such, names were put forward for consideration. At the same time, a mission of critical importance that needed this of oversight is just now coming up, very time-sensitive and somewhat dangerous. The Normandy will be responding to this mission while Nihlus evaluates our Spectre candidate." Shepard nodded. "Ah. We'll be backing Branson up while the turian here evaluates him, then?" Nihlus shook his head, an odd note in his flanged voice. "Commander, the sole recommendation of your High Lords of Sol, Alliance Military Command, and Ambassador Udina was you." Shepard felt herself go very, very still, and she slowly turned to face Anderson. "Sir, I am not… sure that was a very wise idea." Was he fucking drunk to agree with this, or is this some kind of sick joke? The turian spoke again. "And after reviewing the other candidates, I have to agree with their recommendation. You are the only one of those recommended who can understand what it is like to be one of us. It is not a job for heroes." He spat the word out as if it disgusted him. "Or, for that matter, those concerned with anything but galactic peace. Whatever the price. Whatever the cost." He gave a look at Anderson, who grimaced but nodded. Sara Shepard smoothed the front of her uniform and merely nodded. That sort of thinking did indeed seem right up her alley. She could figure out how she'd been dragged into this shit later, for now there was a mission. "And the mission we are assigned to?" Anderson looked away. "Secure high-priority pickup. A dig team on Eden Prime uncovered several Prothean ruins, including an intact Prothean beacon. Supposedly, it's still active. The Alliance brought the Council in on this, as we couldn't handle it alone. This could be the biggest scientific development in over fifty years, Shepard. The last time we uncovered unspoiled ruins like this—" Shepard nodded. "Yeah, I can see that. And a Spectre on the shakedown run makes sense now. Something like this would turn into a mess if word got out. It would attract not just pirates but special interests, infowar teams; God knows what kind of interest from nutjobs like Cerberus and the Shadow Broker…" Shepard exhaled, then refocused. This wasn't a combat mission yet, and if she did her job right maybe there wouldn't be any combat. "Mission parameters?" Anderson straightened in his seat. "We're already on course for the relay to Eden Prime. Once in-system, we'll establish comms with the ground team. Nihlus will be observing you but you will be in overall command. Take a team, secure the site, and a Council archeology team led by Dr. Sanaris of the University of Serrice and Dr. Maleas of the University of Althara will arrive to analyze it and oversee it for transport to the Citadel. En route, we'll provide security." Anderson stood. "After that, I believe this will be the first of several missions conducted by the Normandy with Nihlus on board to assess your skillset. I'm just tagging along to provide a little bit of support, and some advice here and there. Assuming all goes well, you would be inducted into the ranks and given training within a month, heading out to Pinnacle Station for some command training and then to the Citadel." Nihlus nodded. "From what I've read of your record and achievements, this will not be a difficult series of tasks. You have already been tested and proven, after all." Anderson nodded back, and folded his arms. "If that's all, I believe that Nihlus here has to prepare a mission report for the Council. Shepard, my quarters, please." He walked out, and with a glance back at the turian, Shepard followed, almost stiffly. The trip down the stairs to Anderson's tiny stateroom was made in silence, but as soon as both were inside, Anderson gave an exhale of breath and sat down on the sectional couch in the corner of the room. His lips quirked into a smile. "Alright, Sara, I could feel you seething just walking here. Go ahead and lay it on me." Her eyes narrowed. "Lay it on you? How about are you out of your ever-fucking MIND?! A Spectre, me? Really? Who the fuck thought THAT was a good idea? 'Hey, wouldn't it be funny if we made the crazy suicidal bitch with zero tact into James Bond?' " She folded her arms. "Who put this fucking concept together?" Anderson sighed, and leaned over to flip open a panel in the wall, withdrawing a single bottle of Scotch and two plastic tumblers. He set them both down, carefully, as the ship shuddered with the thrust of FTL acceleration. "Major Kyle did, actually." If anything, Sara's gaze got even colder. "Because the guy suffering from PTSD was a good judge of character. David, you can't do this to me. This is not going to work. When I asked for a transfer to front-line space units, I wanted to work with you, not—" Anderson cut her off, his own voice raising. "Dammit, Sara, you don't have any choice!" He sighed. "You know full well that there are lots of people in Alliance Command who don't like you. The shit you were doing under Delacor was raising a lot of questions about your stability. They said, after the little rampage on Tor Shan, that you were out of control. Delacor was furious at you taking off without permission. He was going to try to get you cat-sixed out." She paled. Cat-six was slang for a category six discharge, which given her background would end in her execution. She gritted her teeth. "I… what the fuck? So it's okay if Delacor has the Fifth sit on its ass while pirates are raping and killing their way through the fucking Traverse, but I take three companies to stop a murdering turian bastard from butchering one of our colonies and I'm out of control?" Anderson sighed. "It's more complicated than that, Sara. You used to be Rapid Reaction force. You used to lead an NCT. You were used to acting independently, smashing pirates. That kind of thing won't work with the Lion's Roar. The units at Mindoir are already seen as… too bloodthirsty, and you simply up and going after pirates could have made things worse. The Commissariat wasn't happy." He rubbed his temples. "Delacor has his supporters. You used to have von Grath and Florez on your side, and Kyle. Now the only person sticking up for you is me, and the only way to get you out of the mess was to put your name forward as a Spectre." She folded her arms. "So I'm too reckless for the Marines, but it's okay to make me an above the law agent of mass destruction?" Anderson poured the Scotch, three fingers for each glass, then capped it, before taking one and swallowing. "No, not quite. They chose you because none of the others could do the job without messing it up. I know full well why you wanted to work with me, Sara. And I feel the same way. I don't give a shit what Command thinks, you did the right thing by going out on Tor Shan instead of waiting. The main reason the Alliance hasn't done anything is you made us look like heroes." He sipped again. "But you also put in for a transfer to the RIUs. Dammit, that's nothing but suicide, Shepard, and I won't have it. Not now, not ever. You're a good soldier, the best damned soldier I ever had the pleasure to train. She finally sat, slumping. "I'm just so fucking tired, David. Tired of everything." He nodded. "I know it wasn't easy to live with Torfan. What they made you into. What happened. I know you never really got over your past." He paused. "But at the same time, Shepard, I didn't just put your name forward to get you out of trouble. We need you on this. It's a chance for Humanity to move forward, and we can't do it with half-measures." He clenched his jaw. "Twenty years ago, they tapped me for this program. To be a Spectre." He looked up, seeing the surprise in her face, and gave a grim smile. "Oh yes. Partnered me with a Spectre, sent me out to prove myself. But I wasn't ruthless enough. I wasn't hard enough. Paranoid enough. I trusted, and I was betrayed, and very nearly killed. And even today it haunts me." He gazed at her firmly. "The psych profile says you hate yourself. That you want to die, but that you're just too good to do so." Another swallow of his drink, and his voice turned sad. "Maybe you think if you martyr yourself for a big enough reason, that all that you've done in the past will be forgiven – that if you die it will somehow make up for it." He looked up, eyes calm and quiet, and shook his slowly. "But it doesn't work that way, Shepard. Rather than throw your life away on dying, in some attempt to atone for being born the way you were, you can actually improve the lives, the futures, of all humanity." Shepard only looked at the floor. "I am not a hero. Kyle must have told you. Delacor must have told you." Anderson pushed the glass across the table, in Shepard's direction. "I knew all I needed to know about you that day a gangbanging kid threw herself into bullets to save my life. You've done bad things. But you had no one raising you, no one caring about you, and nothing good to compare to. You beat yourself up over what you did, without bothering to look at all you have accomplished since then." She shrugged, sipping the drink, letting it burn down her throat. "Yeah, I know what I've accomplished. I've gotten a lot of good fucking Marines killed." Anderson sighed. "No, you have always done what was needed, given what you had to work with. Torfan…" "Don't talk about Torfan. Please." Her voice was pained. Anderson shrugged, then shook his head. "Am I your friend, Sara?" A small, uncomfortable silence. "I don't deserve the right to call you that after I stormed out on you after Torfan, sir." Anderson gave a tiny smile. "Didn't ask that. And that never bothered me. Am I your friend?" Sara looked up. "Yes. The only one I have." She didn't tell him she saw him more like a father, or that her worse nightmare was disappointing him, having him yell at her and tell her she was worthless. She didn't move as he stood up and put a firm hand on her shoulder. "Then trust me, this one time. You spent your whole childhood and teenage years doing evil, because that's all you had. Parents who sold you into prostitution for drugs. A drug-addicted gang life because you were trying to survive. Murders and crimes in the name of just living one more day. "Then I pull you out of that shit, get you clean, get you a uniform. You survive the Penal Legions, the brutality, the endless risks. You push yourself to be the best. To be so good they took you out, made you a real Marine." He smiled faintly. "You lived up to every expectation that anyone could have had. To never fail, never quit, never give up. Perfect scores. Perfect reviews. Never drunk, never late, always leading your troops." His hand tightened on her shoulder. "And when the brass put you in a spot where you had to survive, you did so. And you hated it. You felt like you had gone back to being that monster you were, willing to do anything to just live one more day, except now you threw yourself into every crazy assault trying to die." Sara said nothing, but drank. Anderson let go of her shoulder, straightening. "But I know you, Shepard. The reports say you led your men at Torfan into a grinder, killing all the surrendering batarians. That you used your men as bait in many situations. What they never fucking mention was you were always in the front. You were always the one shot up, bloody, nearly dead. The bait in that trap always included you. That you killed those batarians clean, rather than let your men torture them to death. And we both know you were distracted in that fight…" He trailed off, and Shepard winced against old painful memories. He continued a moment later, eyes and voice intense. "Every time you've killed those who surrendered after a fight, the fear of you grew. But you never killed anyone who surrendered without a fight. You made very sure people knew the cost of fighting you, of fighting the Alliance. You can tell yourself you are a monster, or listen to those who didn't have the nerve to do what had to be done. But if you hadn't done what you did at Tor Shan, how many thousands more civilians would be dead, captured, raped, enslaved? If you didn't push the way you did at Dirth and Terra Nova, how many pirate captains would still be ravaging our colonies?" She shook her head, but didn't speak. Anderson grimaced. "I won't let my best soldier destroy herself. Not without a fight. I need you on this, Shepard. I don't trust any other human with the kind of power a Spectre has. Too many would fall in love with their own judgment. Their own arrogance that they are always right. And then they would fail." A pause. "But you won't. I trust you with that. And so does the Alliance. So does Kyle. So do the High Lords." The woman's eyes came up slowly, filled with pain for a moment, before clearing, and going to icy blue calmness. "Then I won't fail, David." Anderson smiled. "That's my girl. I'll be here, at your back, the entire way. You aren't in this alone." He shook his head, sighing. "For now, get up to the cockpit and make sure Joker brings us up clean, I have to get a report off to the Admiralty and brief the University of Serrice team of what's happening." Shepard saluted, and turned to leave, but paused before exiting. "Sir… I still have concerns. About my suitability. On the last mission, I did something I maybe shouldn't have. There was a girl. Civilian, daughter of Thalia Renas. She was dying, almost dead. I'm almost sure she couldn't be saved. I mercy killed her, and I did it in front of Thalia…to hurt her. But now I wonder if she might have made it if I'd just… tried. And if I didn't try because she was Thalia's daughter." She looked away. The twisted look of pain on the child's face bothered her, and she felt as if she'd befouled herself for not even trying to save the girl. Anderson only nodded. "I know, Shepard. I also know what Thalia was responsible for. She was the one who dealt red sand to Jackson, the one you blamed all these years for ending up the way you were. And you wanted her to hurt and pay before she died." He sighed. "It's not for me to say if it was right or not right. The fact that you're torn up about it should answer your own question, Sara. I'm not going to sit here and condemn you for something like that – I wasn't even there. I will say that you have always known the difference between right and wrong. Even on that day in the Arcology. And I have faith that you never will violate the trust I have in you, because you are your own harshest critic." He shrugged. "In this case? As much as I hate to say it… what you did was probably a bad judgment call, but one that a Spectre would have made. One more reason why I picked you for the job. Now, get moving." Sara nodded. "Yes, sir." Straightening her back, she stepped out, the door closing behind her with a weighty thud. Anderson regarded the two empty glasses of Scotch on the table, and poured himself another, grimacing, Delacor's words echoing in his mind. "It's been years since Torfan, and you wouldn't be doing this if you had any idea of what kind of monster she's become, Captain." He drained the glass, and turned to his terminal. "God, I hope this works." Chapter 8: Chapter 3 : Eden Prime, Arrival A/N: Remastered 10-24-14. "Get down!" Screaming blasts of plasma fire streamed overhead, as Gunnery Chief Ashley Williams skidded across the smooth concrete of the dig site into a position of cover. Lethal blue darts smashed into the rubble next to her, splinters of white-hot concrete splashing at impact to patter impotently against her shields. Another blast caught Corporal Brin in the face, obliterating her entire upper torso in a flash of heat and a wave of smoke, the smell of cooking flesh and melting plas-steel almost making Williams gag in her helmet. The ruined shell of the woman's body slid backwards, Avenger rifle tumbling from nervous hands as the corpse crumpled into a messy, leaking pile. Next to her, Private Jackson had only a second to stare in horror before he was nearly torn in half by another plasma blast, his shriek of pain trailing off as his upper body literally melted into the waist-high low wall that defined the edge of the dig. Cursing and blinking back hot tears of frustration and rage – and fear – Williams popped up, firing at will. Her Avenger chattered hotly, the heatsink glowing with the results of her fire, her shots stitching across the obscenely organic looking front of a geth sniper, tearing gaping wounds into its silvery surface. The machine gave a chittering, mechanical cry as white fluid burst forth, but Williams was already firing again, this time finding the glowing orb of the geth unit next to the first, shattering it into darkness and sending the machine spinning to collapse on the ground. On her right, Lieutenant Parker calmly fired his sniper rifle, picking off three geth with three carefully placed shots. "Keep it steady, Chief. We're gonna get through this." "Y-Yes, sir." Williams swallowed. Sweat ran into her eyes, blurring her vision, and she blinked them clear, her grip tightening on her Avenger. "Ready." "Move. Left, then up." The Lieutenant fired one more time, shipping his now overheated sniper rifle and pulling out a pistol. The Carnifex barked three more times, loud hammer blows through the thick, sultry air of Eden Prime, and then the two of them ran for it. "This is Lieutenant James Parker, executive officer of the 212 Colony Defense Regiment. Anyone, respond. We are overrun by geth, I repeat, the dig site is overrun by…" he trailed off, slamming into cover, as an explosion tore through the air, so powerful that a blast of wind sailed past. He looked up in awe, seeing the clouds in the sky pushed away, and then trained his gaze to the left. A gigantic black thing – a leaf – a squid – a torn body… he couldn't make out what it was, but it had just sheared one of the arcology towers in half with a single blast. It fell, tumbling to pieces, and tiny struggling figures fell with it, distant shrieks ending with sickening finality as the top of the tower detonated violently. Williams vomited, next to him, and he felt himself nearly faint. The noise in the air was a buzzsaw, cutting through his mind. The sky was blazing with fires, the forests to the south nothing more than burning embers and choking black smoke billowing into the sky. Parker shook himself out of his own daze, eyes dark with determination and fear both. "…We have to keep moving, Williams. Move that ass, soldier." She nodded, pulling her helmet off and wiping her mouth. "Shit!" Her rifle whipped up and fired. A shriek of digital pain told Parker she had just dropped another geth. He grabbed her wrist and ran on, between two prefab units that were used to store some of the finds of the dig site. He crouched, pausing, as two more geth came into view, and with a flick of his wrist hurled his last contact grenade, the flat disk skidding to a stop between them. The two geth units looked down stupidly, a second before it detonated, blowing them both to scrap and a wash of milky fluids. He pushed on, face grim, Williams covering his six. "Just a bit farther to the transmit tower, kiddo." The two Marines ran full out, stumbling over bodies here and there, even as more geth poured down into the dig area. Parker heard desperate firing, the uncoordinated staccato rhythm of panic. Above it all he heard the hard, bass voice of Master Chief Cole. "Come on, you tin can motherfuckers. I got lots more love for you bastards. Bhatia, one o'clock. Jones, suppressive fire. Ha! Looks like your freaky little flashlight head just bit off more than it could chew!" Another long string of fire erupted as they rounded the corner, smoke and plasma mist occluding his view. Cole stood there, firing his heavy Revenant LMG one-handed, while his other had lifted a geth trooper into the air, the machine thrashing helplessly in his giant grip even as its head was slowly crushed under the power of his synthetic arm. Cole's armor was rent with smoking holes, his right eye missing, his dark skin scorched in places. Six dead geth were scattered at his feet, and with a grunt his hand closed fully, the geth in his hand crumbling under the straining hydraulics of his grip, and falling to a limp silence. He tossed it aside, firing again with the LMG in his left hand, the heavy accelerated shells ripping the last two geth almost completely in two. "Good to see you, sir. Bhatia, Jones, Morris, fall in." The three Marines behind him stood from cover, blood-soaked and wounded, and Bhatia was limping, her right arm a melted mess tied off with a rag and a pack of medi-gel. Roberts was mostly intact, but his knee had been wrenched when he barely dodged a burst of geth plasma darts, making him immobile. "Good work, Master Chief." Parker nodded to the small transmission tower. "Something is jamming our comms with Central Command, but I think we can punch through it with this, it's designed to link to the He-3 station even during a solar storm. The 280 is gone, and from all indications so is the 234. And this is all that's left of the 212. We are beyond fucked if we can't get the 410 here fast. What's our status?" The Master Chief sighed, glancing around the battered defensive position. "Not good, sir. We don't have much more ammo, that's how hot the fight's been. Few more minutes and we'll be down to big poppas and pop guns." Cole used Marine slang for heavy and light pistols, his dark face covered in sweat. "No medi-gel either. Roberts can't fucking walk. And Jones has on a k-suit, not even full armor. We need extraction quick or we're toasted." Parker sighed. "We have to broadcast first, or there's not much chance of any extraction. I'll need cover—" Cole just grunted, interrupting him. "Williams, cover the LT while he broadcasts." He paused, pulling up a map on his omni-tool. "Sir, we got more incoming, from the archeologists' camp and down from the valley. There's no way out of this canyon, unless we're gonna rappel down to the lower valley floor. What are your orders after you finish the broadcast?" Parker closed his eyes, then opened them, gazing at the obscene black ship that squatted almost arrogantly over the spaceport. "Get the signal out to the Alliance. Let them know we're under attack, the Beacon taken. Then hold here as long as we can. We have to keep it going and hope the repeater drones at the system's edge pick it up, or help will never arrive in time. If the geth take this place, they'll kill the signal." Cole was silent a long second, dark eyes flickering up to meet the Lieutenant's. He then saluted, and extended his hand. "Die like a bastard, sir." Parker swallowed and gripped the artificial hand tightly. "Shoot it like you stole it, Chief." He turned away, and Williams followed, unlimbering her sniper rifle. Cole turned back to the other three soldiers. "We know a lot of people have already died today, Marines. If we don't hold this damned position, the rest of colony dies. The people we swore to protect, die. Our families, die." The black Master Chief pulled out a cigar and lit it, puffing calmly. "I'm proud of all of you. We stood where no other motherfucker could have stood. Less than ten of us dropped over two hundred fucking geth. But now it's time to shine. Here's where we show those flashlight-headed, mechanical sons of bitches that they could not have picked a worse enemy than the human race. We are going to blow the hell out of those dumb tin cans until we don't have anything left to shoot 'em with! And then, we are going to strangle them with their own fucking wires! Am I right, Marines?" The four Marines hooted, and he nodded. "Now get it done. Bhatia, position yourself left, use your M-77 launcher to keep their heavies off of us. Jones, shotgun, keep them from closing. Morris, you suppress them while I hit 'em with the Rev Daddy here. Roberts, go for headshots on the right, and keep yourself tucked into cover since you can't move. Williams will be covering the LT with her sniper, but don't let them rush past us." Bhatia nodded shakily, her dark features set in determination, pushing glossy black hair out of her face. "I… we are going to die, are we not?" Cole just looked at her, his remaining eye black and unflinching. "We're gonna die, Nirali. We can't change that. But if we have to die, we're going to make the geth remember us. We're gonna fuck them up so bad that a thousand years from now those bastards will flinch just hearing the name Eden Prime." He ejected the ammo block from his Revenant, and slotted in a fresh one, racking the slide. "Are you with me, Private?" Bhatia blinked away tears, but saluted, and her mouth set in a firm line. "Semper fi, Master Chief." "Damn straight. Get to your positions." He jutted his chin out, feeling the shot he had taken to his side keenly. Medi-gel wouldn't stop him from going septic with his damn liver blown open. Inside the prefab transmission unit, Parker was dumping everything from his omni-tool. "Any units, this is Lieutenant James Parker, XO of the 212th Infantry on Eden Prime. We are overrun by geth, they have destroyed two arcology towers and are assaulting the spaceport. We need immediate assistance, I repeat, immediate assistance. ANYONE, please respond." The line was dead and static filled. Outside he heard the malicious chatter of the geth as they began to surround their position, the whump-thud of Bhatia firing her missile launcher. Williams was at the small window in the prefab, her sniper rifle speaking death to synthetics, but he could hear her mumbling under her breath. "…cannon to the left of them… cannon to the right of them…" "This is Lieutenant Parker, is anyone out there!" He closed his eyes, biting his lip. He was pretty sure his wife was dead, but his kids were still at Tower 15. He had to live through this. Static. Only static on all comm bands. A blast assaulted his ears, rocking the whole side of the prefab, and he heard the clanging noises of geth storming forward. He heard Cole's angry bellow, the ripping chainsaw sound of his LMG spitting one point two centimeter death in all directions, the boom of Jones's beloved shotgun as he took down a geth trooper trying to close in. He heard Roberts yell and Nirali snarl a curse. They were all going to die. Then the comm unit illuminated. "…shrkss…this is Commander Shepard of the SSV Normandy, incoming. ETA eleven minutes. Hold your position." Parker's head snapped up, eyes wide. "A-Acknowledged. We are almost overrun. Transmitting signal data." He punched up what he could on his omni-tool… he knew it was a mess , having no time to clean it up and organize it, but he sent what he could, images, logs, maps of the colony. "Be advised, geth are on the ground in battalion strength or greater." "Understood, Parker. You will hold that position. We ARE coming." The voice was cold, like iron, but it lifted his spirits just the same. "Yes, ma'am." He turned, lifting his chin, and slammed next to Williams. "Marines, we got reinforcements. We just gotta hold out until they get here." Cole barked laughter, his right shoulder shattered by geth fire, using the low edge of the ramp in front of the prefab as cover and support for his LMG. "Fuckers had better hurry. I think I finally got them good and pissed off now." He paused to direct fire into the chest of a geth with a rocket launcher, the slugs shearing the machine apart like a knife through butter, making the geth shriek digitally. "Sorry, I can't hear you with my bullets in your mouth!" Parker nodded, unslinging his sniper rifle. "Let's kick ass, Marines." "Hitting the relay in three… two… one… prepare for transition." The Normandy erupted into blue-shifted fire, silver hull gleaming hotly in the light of the star Utopia. Immediately downshifting into battle mode, the Normandy angled toward the planet, a dagger screaming toward its mark. On the cargo deck, Marines scrambled into battle armor, and rifles clattered to the deck for a final inspection. Doctor Chakwas was injecting each Marine with a field booster, in case of any bio-warfare weapons on the ground. The ship shuddered, sending people staggering. A heavy crate of ordinance intended for the Mako , the armored tank in the hangar bay , broke free, sliding down and out toward Corporal Jenkins, who could only watch as it slammed toward him— —only to feel himself wrenched away at the last second by an aura of blue, bending him almost double and slamming him very hard into the side of the Mako, the container missing him by mere centimeters. Lieutenant Alenko let his hand drop, trembling with the effort, and Chakwas rushed over to Jenkins. "You saved his life, Alenko… let's hope you didn't break his back…" With a grunt, though, Jenkins popped up from where he had crumpled to the deck, a wild smile on his face. "Holy SHIT, LT, I was flying! That was AWESOME!" Alenko gave an amused snort, trying to hide how relieved he was that Jenkins was okay. "Sorry about the rough ride, but I couldn't be sure I could handle that crate." He turned and tapped the comm relay on the door. "Christ, Joker, what the hell just happened, we almost got crushed by an ammo crate after that little dodge." The voice on the comm unit was not Joker. "Lieutenant Moreau evaded incoming fire from a geth destroyer and took it out." Commander Shepard's voice was like frozen silk. "Readiness of the ground team?" Alenko exhaled. "We are prepped, locked and loaded, ma'am." "Good work. Bridge out. Be ready in five." Alenko turned back to the Marines. "You heard the lady, jump to. If we just got shot at by geth, I don't think this is a simple shakedown run anymore, boys and girls. Get disruptor ammo from the armory and make it fast, we need to be ready in three minutes. Move it!" "Reverse and hold at 38.5." Anderson's voice was tense, strained, as he, Shepard, and Nihlus reviewed the mess of video images the Lieutenant on Eden Prime had sent. Now frozen on the screen was a black ship, almost two kilometers long, piercing the smoke-stained sky of Eden Prime, its lower section like a grasping, vile hand reaching out to crush all beneath it. It was wreathed in red lightning, like a nightmare out of some bad Twenty-First Century sci-fi movie. "What the hell is that?" Shepard voiced what was in Anderson's head. "Scale indicates it's almost… no, much larger than a dreadnought. What is that thing?" Nihlus's mandible's moved in an unsure gesture of nervousness, but he said nothing. Anderson turned away. "The mission just got a lot more complicated. Joker, take us in, fast and hot, weapons loose." Turning to Shepard, he spoke. "Three objectives. Secure the team at that transmission tower, recover the Beacon, and find out what the hell is going on. I can't think of any enemy worse than the geth to get their hands on a Prothean beacon. You are to destroy it if you can't secure it, if needed." Shepard nodded. "I'll take a small team, Alenko and one of the Marines, to secure the dig site. The rest of the team can secure the survivors in the Mako." She turned to Nihlus, raising an eyebrow. "Will you be accompanying me?" The turian shook his head. "Not the time to play games with assessments. I'll go in by the spaceport, see if I can't find out what's going on and get data on that ship. We'll meet up at the spaceport for extraction, if possible. I move faster on my own." With that, he left the comms room, leaving Shepard and Anderson alone. "I'll go suit up, sir. We doing a hot drop?" Anderson nodded, and grimaced. "I'll get 4th Fleet on the line… we have to recover what we can and get out quick. Stay out of trouble, we cannot survive a slugging match with that monster of a ship, our kinetic barriers can't repel firepower of that magnitude." Anderson turned to Shepard. "Get your team ready, you move in five." Shepard nodded, and departed, mind full of the things she'd need to get done. Chapter 9: Chapter 4 : Eden Prime, Rescue A/N: Remastered 10-24-14. No major changes. "You are go for insertion." The Normandy screamed out of the sky, GARDIAN lasers blazing in every direction, swatting down geth dropships like the hand of an angry god. Roaring from its open hangar bay was eighteen tonnes of promised death, double coaxial mass accelerator spitting two thousand rounds of three centimeter death every minute, the main gun firing even as its eezo-core thrusters eased its slam into the battered concrete near the transmission tower. Master Chief Cole lit another cigar, smirking as he inhaled and then shot a geth with his free hand, the barrel of his Carnifex pistol smoking. "Marines! We – are – leaving!" His features were tired and sweat-streaked, his bald head gleaming in the sun. Lieutenant Parker and Gunnery Chief Williams stormed out of cover, rapid-firing bursts from their assault rifles, catching two gun drones in their crossfire and blowing them out of the sky to waver and crash into a stand of pines down the road leading up to the tower. The Mako slammed to a stop, its back hatch splitting open into three sections, and the Normandy Marines spilled out, already forming a firing line. Cole turned toward the one in charge, a staff sergeant. "Master Chief Cole. We got one dead, two seriously wounded. Can we extract?" Staff Sergeant Masterson nodded. His black hair cut close to his scalp, the big Marine hoisted his heavy rifle and spoke, voice low and grim. "We can, but it won't be easy. If that…" he gestured toward the spaceport and the giant ship squatted there "…monster gets into the air, the Normandy is going to have to skedaddle." Suddenly Commander Shepard's voice broke through the comm. "Nihlus is on the ground, but we've got too much ground fire here. Masterson, we'll be at your location in three, secure for drop." The Marine nodded. "Yes'm." He glanced past Cole to the figure of the Lieutenant walking up. "Sir, Commander Shepard is incoming. Our orders are to evac your squad and secure the Beacon. Holding here until she arrives, sir." Parker frowned, glancing out past the edge of the ruined ring of buildings that once surrounded the transmission tower. The firefight to hold the place had been ugly and intense, the geth had poured in so much incoming fire that, with the exception of Williams, every remaining member of his squad was a wreck with multiple wounds, and poor Bhatia had been nearly cooked alive, hit by some geth version of a plasma flamethrower. "Understood, Sergeant, but none of our soldiers except Williams are still combat effective. All my guns are melted through, heatsinks shot." The Sergeant nodded. "Understood, sir, let's get your squad inside the Mako while we set up a perimeter. We can get some basic first aid going, at least." He paused, then snapped orders. "Muse, Haln, support the LT's squad. Everyone else, active perimeter. Ownby, keep that turret hot." The next few minutes were eerily quiet, the last of the 212 herded into the Mako to rest. The LT sat wearily in the back of the armored vehicle, exhausted mind racing even as one of the Normandy Marines stripped his armor and began patching his most serious wounds with medi-gel. "Something doesn't make sense, Cole. Why aren't they rushing us anymore?" The Master Chief had gone very pale for his complexion, his one good eye barely open. A bloody medi-gel soaked bandage covered half his face, as he laid flat on one of the benches, a portable medicomp beeping dire messages in binary as it read his vitals. "Regrouping, maybe. More likely, waiting for a heavy unit, to try and crack our defensive setup. That's what I figure, sir. But I ain't worried, no geth can match our big blue style!" Cole patted the Mako affectionately, and Parker smirked. The Mako buffeted in a heavy wind, and the LT looked outside the back hatch to see an Alliance frigate hover over the field, and three figures drop out of the front hatch. The flanking pair were clearly more Marines, nondescript in plain blue armor. But the third… Parker couldn't help but smile coldly. The geth were fucked. She walked with an almost arrogant roll, chin lifted, an Avenger held loosely in one hand like a part of her body. Yet somehow he knew this was no arrogant fool, or someone too caught up in her own skill to be cautious. The coveted red and white stripe and N7 insignia picked out in silver instead of brass spoke of only one thing. Lethality beyond the measure of any other human special forces member alive. Commander Shepard walked over to the Mako, putting one black-armored foot against the sill of the hatch, and locked gazes with Lieutenant Parker. "Good job holding, LT. I need a sitrep." Parker nodded. "It's a bit of a mess, ma'am. We were perimeter security for the excavation site. We really didn't expect them to find anything worth much. They'd been digging for years and only finding bits and pieces, but suddenly they hit the jackpot." He closed his eyes, voice becoming bitter. "When it became obvious what we had, I wanted to reinforce the site with every unit on the fucking planet, but Major Dorston felt that would be 'reckless.' He only put the 212 and 280 on active duty here. Both light infantry regiments. We had, between us, maybe two hundred effectives all together. The 235, light armor, was put on perimeter patrol at Highway 132 between Tower Attican and Tower Montana, the nearest civilian access. But the 410, the heavy infantry battalion with all our support, was kept at Tower Central, eight hundred kilometers away." Shepard shook her head, a look of disgust on her face. "And then what?" Parker shrugged, wincing as his bandages shifted. "First few hours, just watched the archeology guys. First and second burst transmissions went out without a hitch. We sent our initial data packet off to the University of Serrice, and then three hours ago all hell broke loose. Six geth frigates came out of nowhere and blew the shit out of the defense sats, and two more went to town on our GARDIAN lasers. Last we heard from the 235 was that the geth were coming down in fucking battalion strength or greater." He sighed. "Major Dorston couldn't be raised on the comm. Lieutenant Commander Garcia, my CO, had the 212 and 280 form a defensive perimeter around the dig site and the archeologists' living area. We locked the scientists in and barricaded ourselves up, set prox mines, dug in as best we could. We figured it would only be a while until Dorston got on the comm and the 410 came in to kick ass. But that never happened." His eyes took on a haunted look. "Geth came out of everywhere. Kill one, six more show up. Guns that go right through your shields, drones popping out of nowhere to rain rockets on you. I lost half my men in three minutes, and the CO bought it trying to fall back to the Beacon." He swallowed. "Pretty much everyone broke at that point, except the platoons with Cole and Williams, they kept fighting back and held the line long enough for us to… get to cover." He shook his head. "Not long after that, the geth came up from behind us… I figure they shot their way through the Marines who broke and ran. Then it was just us, ma'am, falling back to here. That's all I know." Shepard nodded, the look on her face emotionless and calm. "We'll handle it from here—" she broke off as an explosion sounded behind her. "Geth incoming!" She rolled to her left, coming up behind a low wall, and her eyes widened as she saw the hulking red figure of a Geth Prime striding along the middle of the road, multifunction weapon arm spitting mini-rockets at the line of Marines to her right. "Evasive, fire for effect!" Her men fired back immediately, as Corporal Jenkins and Lieutenant Alenko slid into cover next to her. "What's the plan, Commander?" Jenkins asked, his once eager features now distorted with rage at what had been done to his birth world. Shepard exhaled. "First, drop the damned Prime. Evac the wounded and find the Beacon. It's either still at the dig site, or at the spaceport. And we need to link up with Nihlus at some point." Shepard tapped her omni-tool, and smiled. "Mizia fire pattern, full auto!" The Marines with her all opened up on the Prime in irregular, staccato bursts, designed to frustrate the compensation computers in the geth's shielding units. Shepard broke cover, firing at the two geth flanking the Prime who carried flamethrowers. Her shots were true, two headshots to the one on the left, blasting the eye-light to pieces and leaving nothing but a shattered wreck for white fluid to sluice out of as it collapsed. The other one fired, but her third and fourth shots shattered its hip-joint. It staggered, laying the hot flames over the Prime unit, who recoiled as the plasma jet seared past the shielding to its armor, blinding its sensors. Alenko popped up, his biotics picking up a long spar of construction material and flinging it with all his strength toward the Prime. Blue flames raced down the length of the piece of metal as it accelerated through the air to strike the Prime in the chest, staggering the monster again, before two Marines opened up with ML-77 missile launchers, blasting the three and a half meter war machine to pieces and sending other geth scurrying back to cover. But the geth were not content to cower, and snipers fired. Six shots rang out, most striking and sparking on shields. But three were targeted at Jenkins, still holding his missile launcher. Two flared his shields, and the last once lanced through his helmet, blasting out the back of his head in a wash of blood, bone, and grey matter to splatter messily over the Marine next to him. Shepard gritted her teeth, and clenched her fist, biotic energy racing over her body. With a lunge she was over the wall and then she flashed, a blue streak of biotic rage slamming into the sniper with the force of a freight train, reappearing in a storm of mass energies. The sniper staggered back, half broken in two by the blow, and Shepard's shotgun came up. One shot, blasting through its head, sent it crashing to the ground. The shotgun swept left, firing again, once, twice. Two more geth collapsed, one with a smoking hole the size of a dinner plate in its chest, the other one sporting a broken collar of metal and white-spewing tubes where its head once was. Another boom as she half-turned, crushing the half-dead geth pyro she had winged, its entire upper torso gone with the blast, liquid accelerant catching fire as it slumped. She pivoted on her heel, snapping the shotgun out for the fourth shot, catching the geth to her left in the knee. It staggered, stumbling forward, and her fist lashed out, wreathed in biotic energy as it literally crumpled its armor plated chest, pounding the unit into the concrete with a thud and a crack of electronic data units. The thing gave a squeal of static, trailing off suddenly as the biotic field in her hand expanded into shockwaves of force, scattering parts in all directions. Not even pausing, she dropped the shotgun and rolled to her side, a second before plasma darts slammed into the ground where she had been. Her free hand, still trailing biotic energy, lifted her pistol. Five shots erupted from its cavernous barrel as it moved through a smooth arc, each one striking a geth unit directly in the lighted orb that formed its face and sensor unit. The last actually spun in midair from the force of the shot, tumbling off the edge of the raised platform to fall three meters down in a wrecked pile of white-smeared ruin. Parker simply stared in unblinking awe. Nine dead geth in less than three seconds, unholy shit! He glanced over to Cole and Williams, both who watched Shepard slowly come to her feet with an almost predatory ease. She didn't even look as if she had been fighting. She could have been cleaning her weapon or talking about the weather. Shepard leapt down lightly, landing next to Alenko, who was crouched over the prone, still form of Jenkins. Alenko sighed, and closed the young man's wide, staring eyes. "Goddamn it. I told him to keep his head down…" Shepard placed a hand on Alenko's shoulder. "Mission first. We can mourn later." Alenko nodded. "Yes, Commander. But Jenkins was the only Marine we had who knew Eden Prime well." Shepard turned back to Parker, still sitting slack-jawed in the Mako. "Lieutenant, you said one of your men was still combat effective?" Parker did not answer, rather, a firm voice behind her did. Shepard half turned, to face who spoke. "Gunnery Sergeant Ashley Williams, ma'am, of the 212. Cocked, locked, and ready to rock." Williams was strongly built and tall, her eyes smoldering with enough anger to set her jaw to trembling. Alenko could only stare at her, as if she was some kind of Valkyrie. Shepard, on the other hand, just sighed. "You are of course familiar with the area. I need to secure that Beacon. Can you lead the way, soldier?" Williams nodded. "Yes, ma'am. I damn sure can." Shepard continued to look at the young soldier, her own stance utterly still, her eyes cold, her voice emotionless. "I don't need a hothead out for revenge. I need a team player, Chief. Can you do that as well?" "They just massacred almost my entire unit! All my friends!" Shepard's voice grew colder. "And unless you get control of yourself, Marine, and stay frosty, they'll finish the job. Can you do this?" Ashley shuddered, giving a long exhale. "I… I can, ma'am." Shepard nodded. "Lieutenant Parker, I'm taking one of your soldiers to replace Jenkins, since I have no experience with this planet. Evacuate as soon as possible, this position will be overrun." Parker only nodded. "The Normandy just radioed; the pilot says they're headed back this way. Be very careful, Commander. There are a lot of geth out there and we still don't know what drew them here." Shepard clipped her shotgun back to her weapons pack and drew forth her sniper rifle. "Leave the geth to me, sir." She turned to Alenko and Williams. "Move out, recon pattern. Radio silence. We are to find the beacon, and avoid hostile contact where possible." Williams gestured with her rifle. "The dig site is down this road… past the mouth of the valley below. Then there is a path up to the cargo tram storage site where they stored all of their findings, and the camp of the archeologists. A tram line from there runs straight to the spaceport, ma'am." Shepard nodded, eyes cold. "Let's get it done, then." TERMS: LT: Lieutenant Mizia Pattern: fire pattern than attempts to utilize the quirks of kinetic barriers to good effect. Instead of requiring a crushing amount of damage to crack shields entirely, small 'chunks' of damage are inflicted Chapter 10: Chapter 5 : Eden Prime, Ambush A/N: Remastered 10-24-14. Minor changes, clearing up Saren-Cerberus interaction. Spirits that shield us, this is not good. Nihlus had been in many bad, bad spots in his career as a Spectre for the Council. He'd been trapped behind enemy lines in Batarian Space. He had nearly gotten killed on Tuchanka by Clan Weyrloc while he was investigating reports of ground-to-space weapons smuggled in past the CDEM. He had been chased for three days by an enraged asari justicar and barely escaped with his life. He had even been pinned down by heavy artillery fire and surrounded by Blue Suns with only a pistol. But this was beyond any of that. Nihlus's powerful legs pumped, untiring, as he vaulted over a broken cargo crate, a shotgun in each hand. He fired one as he landed, blasting a geth backwards with enough force to send it bouncing off the wall, barely missing him as he sped past. A geth with a heavy plasmathrower popped up from cover, along with two more of its brethren with pulse rifles, and the other shotgun in his hand barked, blasting the containment tank, spraying all three with white-hot plasma that melted them into the already blackened ground. Surrounded by an army of geth, with my only backup a human that even scares the shit out of other humans, and my only way off-planet a frigate that wouldn't even scratch the paint on that nightmare of a dreadnought. "Shepard, this is Nihlus, report." He stormed up a metallic staircase, shoulder-ramming another geth. Dropping one gun, he lashed out with his talons, the omni-tool on his arm sheathing each one with a thin layer of electro-plasma an instant before impact. His talons slid through polymer armor with ease, literally slicing the geth's head off its bulky shoulders even as it staggered from being rammed. As it fell he rolled past it, picking up his other shotgun and then holstering both on his wide belt. All around him, the colony burned. At least one arcology tower was a half-melted ruin, the ground around it carpeted with hundreds of horribly burned and broken bodies. Rows of once neatly parked ground cars burned in silent vigil, while others had been hurled in all directions, as if a giant child had thrown a temper tantrum. The corpses of human soldiers were everywhere, many having taken such savage wounds that they were barely recognizable. It looked like most of a company had died trying to defend the tramway leading from the spaceport, but they had been overrun. They didn't die alone, though, as hundreds of geth also lay dead, white conductive fluids pooling into small ponds here and there, smeared with the red viscera of the human defenders. "Nihlus, this is Shepard. On the ground, transmission tower and surviving elements of the 212 secure. Moving towards dig site." The human's voice crackled with some sort of electrical interference, but was clear enough to make out. He crouched next to some sort of electrical generator housing, the bulk of the concrete base giving good cover. "Copy. I am approaching other side of landing area, near tramway access. Be advised, geth are still incoming." Nihlus paused as another one came around the corner. Not even bothering to pull a gun, the turians arm snapped out in a lightning fast arc. A slender shard of metal shot from the Spectre's arm gauntlet, sparkling with electrical charge, and slammed into the throat of the geth machine, exploding into an electrical cascade that overloaded the machine. It stumbled forward in a ragged circle before collapsing with several internal explosions. "Understood. We will see if we can't find the Beacon and recover some of the scientists on site. You plan to secure the tramway? Shouldn't we try to link up?" Shepard sounded cautious and worried. Well, good. If I had the sense the spirits gave to a hatchling my answer would be 'yes,' but I can't play games keeping you alive right now, human. Nihlus paused, thinking, mandibles waving in agitation. It was clear geth were being funneled by the tramway, from the battlefield and the patterns of the corpses, but now it looked as if the geth were falling back toward the spaceport. "Negative. I'm going to try to reach the spaceport, see if I can't get detailed scans of that black dreadnought." Shepard's voice sounded almost tight, or perhaps disapproving. "Understood. Be advised that the Normandy is engaging additional incoming geth ships. Captain Anderson will be forced to leave the battle space if that dreadnought goes spaceside." Nihlus grimaced, his fringe contracting at the thought of being trapped on a planet overrun by geth. Ah, it just officially got worse. Great spirits of Palaven, what I wouldn't give for a few Final Line soldiers right now. Out loud, he kept his voice cool. "Understood. Nihlus out." He rose from his crouch, pulling out the modified Widow sniper rifle he favored, and brought it up to his eye, scanning ahead. In the distance, he saw what looked like a turian, executing two humans with a large-caliber pistol. The turian's back was to him, his armor black and silver and somehow familiar, but he couldn't place it exactly, although it looked too much like Spectre armor for Nihlus's taste. Without facing him, the turian strode off after gunning down a third human, descending down a set of stairs and out of sight. Nihlus felt his gizzard contract, bile pumping through his system. What sort of traitor to the Hierarchy works with geth? An outcast? Facinus separatist? He moved to his left, spotting a ladderway leading down, and shipped his rifle to climb down. Human ladders were so small, so cramped, it hurt his spurs to use them, but he got to the bottom, pulling out his Revenant LMG and flicking it over to full auto fire. The wind carried a charnel scent, burning plastic, burning flesh, burning innocence on the wind. This colony was perhaps humanity's proudest achievement, with soaring clean arcology towers, clean energy, and rich natural resources, but it was now ruined. Nihlus shook his head as he carefully, but quickly, proceeded down what looked like an access road of some kind, ducking from cover to cover in the shade of aircars and the occasional cargo lifter. It took him an agonizing ten minutes to reach the cargo terminal, which was littered with dead bodies. These humans had not been overwhelmed, they had been massacred. Six of them had literally been torn limb from limb, with savage strength that would normally be the hallmark of a krogan. But he saw claw marks on the faces, the arms. Turian talons made those marks. He grimaced, when he heard a sound, and ducked back behind some crates to the side of him. As he crouched down, he noticed a human corpse next to him, a shocked expression on his face, a huge bloody hole blown in his chest. Next to him was a pistol of some sort, barrel warped by heat. Nihlus cautiously looked around the edge of the crate, seeking the source of the noise. Clanking, heavy footfalls sounded at the stairwell the strange turian had descended. Nihlus clamped his mandibles together and waited as the steps reached the top of the platform, and then his eyes widened at the voice he heard. He hastily killed his omni-tool, lest it show up on a scan or make a noise if a call from Shepard came in. "I was about to head to the terminal, but I can't get a comm signal there with all the interference from… my ship. I'm on a timeline; this had better be good, human." It can't be him. It can't be Saren. Spirits… why? Nihlus felt as if he was about to fall over, or if his scales would burst into fire. He edged around the crate a bit more, taking in the silver and black armor he recognized now, the oversized custom Sunfire pistol he had been given by the Primarch himself for stopping the Red Star assault. The cybernetic arm, the plated face from the radiation exposure he had gotten fighting during the Relay 314 Incident… Nihlus closed his eyes as if in pain, gently easing back on the balls of his feet, as a deep, calm voice spoke through the other turian's omni-tool. "Oh, it is, turian. The Systems Alliance sent in a stealth-frigate to pick up the Beacon, and they've just sent out a distress call. Ships from the 4th Fleet are already spinning up their drives, and the Council is alerting the 8th Fleet of the turians as well. You don't have much time to finish up." Saren snarled. "As long as you do what you were supposed to do, we will be just fine. Did you at least accomplish that much?" The voice was cool and modulated. "Yes. As we agreed, we've made the appropriate entries to the registry at Peak 15 and Port Hanshan. We even had a turian mocked up to look like you. Everything is in place. All you need to do is destroy the colony as you leave." Saren gave a quiet snarl of disgust. "You people are willing to blow up your own civilians just for more power. And you have the gall to suggest turians are brutal." The voice on the omni-tool was calm, not responding to Saren's tone. "Humanity is more than one colony, Arterius. You, of all people, should agree with the concept that hard times call for hard actions. As long as you get away cleanly, the bomb will deal with the Alliance forces on the world, and any who might have seen you, so it is in your best interests as well. We'll have our proof of batarian terrorism, you will have your beacon." Saren hissed, mandibles snapping. "Clever. As long as you keep the Council distracted, we will all benefit from this. The geth are almost done with reworking the power supply to the Beacon. I'll access it and then wipe the colony. Be ready with those false batarian ships." The voice gave a cultured chuckle. "But of course. Anything for a Spectre." Saren clicked the omni-tool off as two geth approached behind him. "Saren-Prophet, we have suppressed all organized resistance, but we still have geth units in NoCarrier-status. Two groups of hostiles that do not match local forces found in databases approach. One is located by the recovery area of the Beacon. The other is nearby." Saren nodded, grimly pulling out his pistol. "According to Cerberus, at least one ship responded to the distress call. No matter. Pull back to Nazara and prepare for departure. The bomb will clean up all the evidence, and the EMP will wipe any recording devices that remain. Go." The two geth turned away in a jerky manner, stepping away with alacrity. Saren looked off into the distance, in the direction that Shepard's group would be coming from. He put away his pistol and instead pulled out the long, silvery sniper rifle on his back. Nihlus exhaled as slowly as he could, spent air dribbling past his fangs as he very carefully eased out one of his shotguns, turning off the auto-extender and quietly moving its various pieces into firing shape to avoid noise. He only had one shot at this – if he couldn't take Saren out instantly, his chances of winning a fight were slim to none. Saren was possibly the most lethal Spectre in history, both a powerful biotic and a talented infowar specialist. There would be no second chances. He couldn't call out, couldn't risk even turning on his omni-tool for a text message without certainty that Saren would not take him out, and if they were talking about a bomb he didn't have much time. Saren half turned away, looking for a place to snipe from, and Nihlus made his move, vaulting the crates in one smooth move and firing as he leapt, triggering the over-fire mod marketed as 'Carnage' by the humans. The blast staggered Saren, ripping through his shields into his back, sniper rifle flying away, and Nihlus landed, drawing his other shotgun to finish him off… And instead catching a violent backhand to his face, sending him flying back, his shotguns knocked out of his stunned hands. A biotic blast of light crushed his shields a split-second later, even as warpfire washed over his pistol, ruining it. Nihlus crashed to the ground in a heap, grimacing as he felt something break, feeling the awkward, shattered grinding of his left mandible. He was too stunned to do much more than try to blink his head clear and focus his vision as Saren straightened. A huge hole was blown in the other turian's armor and underneath it was blue-gleaming cybernetics, writhing like worms as it slowly meshed itself whole once more. Saren looked over his shoulder, even as the blue-glowing substance in his back began regrowing his armor. "Nihlus." His mandibles lowered in a sardonic, evil grin, and he turned fully around, his hand now holding his pistol, firing as he did so, the blast sounding like an explosion to Nihlus. An instant later his world vanished in fire and red-hot pain and the feel of the wind on and inside his torso. He sagged, blue blood spurting from his mouth. "…S… Saren… what ha… have you… done?!" He fell over, on his hands and knees, struggling to rise. Saren stepped forward, kicking Nihlus in the midsection, and Nihlus retched, bile and blood spilling over the edge of his jaw as he collapsed on the ground. Hard… to breathe… bastard shot out one of my lungs, and ruptured my sac… Saren plucked Nihlus's sniper rifle and LMG off of his back, tossing the former away but holding on to the latter in his free hand, holstering his pistol. "You can't possibly understand what is at stake, old friend. I had hoped it would not come to this. That I would have a chance to talk to you, to convince you. I could use you on my side." Nihlus spat weakly, a splotch of his lifeblood marring Saren's gleaming armored foot. "Your… side? You are working with geth! And Cerberus! You are a—" Said foot kicked him in the face, splintering his facial plates, sending rivulets of blood into his left eye, and cutting off his speech. Saren's voice was sad, but cool. "Yes, well, I expected that. I suppose it's a shame, really. Your idiot human allies will be awash in nuclear fire in mere moments. I'll make sure to comfort your parents when I get back to Palaven, tell them some heroic tale of your final sacrifice for the cause." Nihlus's own custom LMG lowered to the top of his skull, the barrel a cool, small circle against the edge of his fringe. "Farewell, Nihlus." Shepard, Alenko and Williams halted just prior to the descent to the dig site, as the roar of a LMG tore through the air somewhere ahead and to the right. Shepard frowned. "That sounds like a Revenant, but Nihlus still isn't answering his damned comms." Alenko only shrugged. "You think he is in trouble, ma'am?" Shepard pressed her back up against the edge of the walls surrounding the dig site, and bit her lip. "Unknown. Williams, how far to the tram access?" The woman glanced around, measuring. "About ten minutes, if we rush it. Twenty if we're taking cover and fighting our way through. There's a sort of platform, cargo holding area really, at one end. Then just a sort of long breakwater over the river, and the tramlines run over that towards the spaceport." Shepard unslung her Avenger and set her amp to full power. "Let's hit the dig site fast, and then move on the tram access. I don't like this." TERMS: Final Line Soldier: turian cybernetic elite infantry LMG: Light machine gun NoCarrier-status: geth for 'dead' Facinus: a group of turian rebels, once a famous turian clan CDEM: Council Demilitarization Enforcement Mission : military force blockading and guarding the krogan homeworld of Tuchanka Chapter 11: INTERMISSION : Alliance Service Record A/N: Remastered on 11-27-14. Some very significant changes. ALLIANCE SERVICE RECORD – TANTALUS CLEARANCE, EYES ONLY Complete ASR Summary pullback … complete Commissariat Assessment … complete Removing Restrictions … error. Some restrictions not removed. Demographic summary: Name: Sara Ying Shepard Known Alias: Sara Bonaventure, Sinthia Yong Li Known Titles: Shepard of the Dancing Kanquess Date of Birth: 11.04.2154 Height: 1.80 m Hair: black Eyes: blue (dark) Identifying marks: tattoo, gang related (right shoulder, two dice showing ten pips, done in black and red ink), scar, right chest (13.7 cm long, knife wound), scar, right thigh (36.3 cm long, knife wound), 17 parallel scars (lower and upper back, electrowhip), 4 scars, parallel line along spine (cattle prod), broken tibia, broken femur (both), broken pelvis (right side, pins inserted 18.3 cm below waistline). Ethnicity: mixed Northern African, French, Chinese. Based on genetic markers, at least one biological ancestor (beyond parents) was fully ethnic Chinese. Biographical summary: Parents: unknown non-citizens, Earth, New York mega complex. Possible transients. Recruiting officer note: gang rumor at time of sentencing indicated parents were red sand addicts and dealers for the asari pirate and drug runner Thalia Renas. Confirmed that parents sold her at age of 8 to local prostitution ring. [SECTION RESTRICTED – Authorization, Donnel Udina, Systems Alliance Authority under Article 9, Section 3 of the Systems Alliance Military Justice Charter] AIS investigation after Incident 9420-C as reported by NYARC CenPol shows birth parents were Michael and Yishan Shepard. Michael Shepard was a Systems Alliance Marine lieutenant prior to dishonorable discharge for conduct unbecoming. (Subfile is missing.) Yishan Shepard was non-citizen civilian transient, no birth records, hospitalization showing red sand addictions and psychological trauma, source unknown. Parents found murdered by NYARC CenPol in 2175. [RESTRICTION ENDS] [SECTION RESTRICTED – Authorization, AIS Special Internal Investigations] fragmentary evidence of Lt. Shepard's involvement with Cerberus, including payment from known accounts associated with IRON. [RESTRICTION ENDS] Relatives / NOK: none. Legal will entrusts all material assets to David Anderson, Captain, Systems Alliance. Genetic testing indicates familial relation (third cousin or greater) to New York Authority Precinct Captain Jason Yong Li, deceased shortly after induction to the military. UPDATE: As of 24.01.2184, Shepard has added Liara T'Soni, Garrus Vakarian, Urdnot Wrex, Ashley Williams, and Tali'Zorah nar Kazan to her will. Native language: English (northern Atlantic dialect) Languages known: Chinese (minor), Spanish (American-Hispanic, fluent), turian (minor, low dialect only), asari (Serrician accent, minor). Medical and psychological summary: Medical: Meets all N7 baseline physical requirements. Last PTR testing indicates all seven point standards met or exceeded. (4 kilometer swim, 4 kilometer run in 15 minutes, 250 pushups, 400 sit-ups, obstacle course completed in 8.3 minutes, weight support at 1.7 times body mass, endurance run with 97% O2 suffusion after 13 minutes). Subject appears to be in fantastic physical shape. Eezo exposure both pre and post uteral, eezo nodes identified through 44% of body. Stable, benign masses, no sign of eezo stage toxicity. Standard L3 implant provided, no physiological side-effects aside from excessive biotic flaring in all maneuvers. ADDENDUM: higher biotic baseline than normal. Rating factor currently high Class V biotic. Due to radiological damage and a combination of factors during youth including suboptimal medical treatment, sterility drugs, chemical damage to uteral lining, and possible cervical damage during intercourse, subject is sterile. Toxicology at time of sentencing/admittance indicated light red sand and heavy heroin usage. Criminal record indicates possession of personal amounts of red sand, cocaine, and livoticane-6. All drug tests since enlistment have come back as negative. [SECTION RESTRICTION – Authorization, Jason von Grath, General, SAMC] Subject shows sexual modifications – increased nerve sensitivity, pain tolerance, black-market modification of nervous system to enhance receptivity to pain-gate overloads resulting in pleasure center stimulation. [RESTRICTION ENDS] Vision perfect. Hearing perfect, slightly above norms for human female of age bracket with noise exposure. Psychological: Subject was raised in very abusive environment and in broken home. [SECTION RESTRICTED – Authorization, Donnel Udina, Systems Alliance Authority under Article 9, Section 3 of the Systems Alliance Military Justice Charter] AIS investigation after Incident 9420-C as reported by NYARC CenPol that high possibility exists that severe domestic violence and probable child abuse occurred. Social services in NYARC were at the time over 850% of capacity and no action was taken. At least one other child of Michael and Yishan Shepard was born after Sara Shepard sold into slavery. Second child also sold. Subject is NOT aware of this and is not to be made aware of this. [RESTRICTION ENDS] At some period between 7 and 8 years of age, subject sold to local prostitution ring by parental figures for undisclosed amount of drugs and cash. Abandonment issues and feelings of self-hate, worthlessness stem from this event. Based on fragmentary criminal evidence as well as captured recordings made by prosecuted pedophilic offenders, subject was used both as subject of repeated rapes as well as staged haptic entertainment. [REDACTED – SYSTEMS ALLIANCE COMMISSARIAT CODE OMEGA] Recent investigation has shown every single dealer, operative, movie operator, and producer of these entertainments was murdered, as were more than half of the people who abused her sexually. Based on the evidence, it appears General Rachel Florez was involved in assisting Shepard in executing her tormentors. This action was not authorized by the Commissariat. However, upon review, the Commissariat finds nothing wrong with actions taken. [REDACTION ENDS] Repeated abuse by clients led to psychotic break at age 14, arrest records indicate subject stabbed client and three other observers with handmade implement ('shank'). Admitted to Preston Memorial 16.09.2169, released due to paperwork mix-up two days later. Initial psychological workup conducted at the time of hospitalization indicated suicidal and self-destructive tendencies, self-harm tendencies, corruption of sexual and social understanding. Comments on workup indicate subject was sociopathic in the extreme even at such a young age. [SECTION RESTRICTION – Authorization, Jason von Grath, General, SAMC] Additional documentation shows sexual addiction, obsessive compulsive disorders in regards to electrical shock, and repressed sadomasochist tendencies. [RESTRICTION ENDS] Complete psychological profile conducted at time of enlistment. Functional paranoid with suppressed, if sharp, sense of right and wrong. High levels of Stockholm Syndrome towards Tenth Street Red gang members. Sexual trauma, nonfunctional social framework. Complete profile available in separate enclosure, runs to 13 pages. (Release officer, David Anderson) [SECTION RESTRICTION – Authorization, Jason von Grath, General, SAMC] Secondary psychological interviews conducted at later dates show slow evolution of initial mental pathologies from pure sociopath to limited social functioning within a self-destructive, passive-aggressive set of personal rules. Subject is extremely dangerous, willing to terminate anything that violates her personal ruleset, notably any figure involved in criminal activity that preys upon the weak, helpless, or young children. [RESTRICTION ENDS] [SECTION RESTRICTION – Authorization, Commissar-Captain Alfred Jiong, SACC] Tertiary psychological interviews conducted after Benezia Incident show marked improvement in social function, but increased self-destructive tendencies, extremely strong obsessive-compulsive sexual disorders, and high levels of emotional instability. Subject retains willingness to execute anything violating her personal rules, tempered only by a strong dislike of breaking the law unless absolutely necessary. [RESTRICTION ENDS] Notable deviations from norm include pathological hatred of New York Arcology authority, dismissal of personal emotions, and difficulty establishing personal relationships with humans. According to all reports, subject has not had any romantic or sexual relationships during her entire enlistment. ADDENDUM: Subject is not authorized for deployment to or release to New York Arcology for any reason. Commissariat Political Assessment: Subject is disinterested in politics, but very well-connected. Mentors include Captain David Anderson, General Jason von Grath, and General Rachel Florez. Figures of note connected to her at least peripherally include General Oleg Petrovsky (retired), and Major Preston Kyle. Given that the von Grath and Kyle Families are highly placed and that David Anderson is distantly related to the Andersons, the Commissariat is hamstrung in restraining the subject. UPDATE: Due to classified operations (Subfile CC-AIS Joint Mission 34, subfile s44943) subject's relationship with Florez terminated. Subject's individual fame as the Butcher of Torfan also gives her enough notability and popularity among some segments of the population that media access at high levels would be easy for her to obtain. While subject is not fully aware of such notability, and is incapable of utilizing such on her own, she could be manipulated by others with great ease. Subject's emotional vulnerability leaves her at a disadvantage with experienced psychological operators, and as such, subject should be treated as extremely politically dangerous. Subject displays strong conservative views regarding the role of government, conservative views regarding social justice, liberal views regarding social welfare, and hostile views regarding human dominance. Subject is comfortable with aliens, shows a fascination with asari, and is able to work closely with krogan even under stress. Subject displayed admirable devotion to the Systems Alliance until the Battle of Torfan. While still obedient, subject is rated as only 'reliable' in terms of reliability, due to repeated statements regarding dissatisfaction with certain controversial SA actions. Subject has no close friendships. Relationships with her RRU squad deteriorated in the aftermath of Torfan. Her connections to General von Grath and General Florez have not been utilized since Torfan, and her connection to other mentioned figures besides Captain Anderson appear tenuous. ADDENDUM: Interviews with both Captain Anderson and Commander Shepard indicate a strained, strange relationship. Not exactly father/daughter, not exactly friendship. This is believed to stem from the events just prior to the Tenth Street Massacre. UPDATE: As of 19.01.2183, other formative relationships with various mentors and squadmates appear to be terminated in the aftermath of the Battle of Torfan. UPDATE: As of 24.09.2183, relationships with David Anderson and Jason von Grath reestablished. Former warnings apply. UPDATE: As of 14.11.2183, Shepard has developed formative relationships with a small number of people of seemingly normal focus. [SECTION RESTRICTION – Authorization, Commissar-Captain Alfred Jiong, SACC] Subject has also entered into romantic relationship with Dr. Liara T'Soni, asari noble. This has decreased PRIDE rating from 4.5 to 4.2 and will drop to 3.5 if this becomes public knowledge. [RESTRICTION ENDS] Known Records (Criminal, civilian record): 19 charges, distribution of controlled narcotics (dropped charges, court load) 31 charges, possession of controlled narcotics with intent to distribute (unable to prosecute) 33 charges, theft (all dismissed, court load) 21 charges, grand theft (convicted on 13, adjudicated sentencing, see military enlistment) 9 charges, arson (lack of evidence, dismissed) 4 charges, assault and battery (associated with rape charges, dismissed) 4 charges, rape (dismissed) 2 charges, attempted rape (dismissed) 119 charges, murder class 1 (convicted on 119 charges, adjudicated sentencing, see military enlistment) 44 charges, murder class 2 (convicted on all charges, adjudicated sentencing, see military enlistment) 19 charges, murder class 3 (mandatory capital punishment waived, adjudicated sentencing, see military enlistment) 17 charges, assault with deadly weapon, biotic (convicted on 3 charges, adjudicated sentencing, see military enlistment) Suspected: Between 22 and 25 instances of grand theft, grand theft auto, and grand theft military. Between 25 and 30 charges of distribution or intent to distribute controlled narcotics. 2 rape charges (brought by females) Between 4 and 11 charges of arson Estimated (conservatively) in tenure as Tenth Street Reds assassin to have killed over 100 gang members between the ages of 15 and 18. This does not include confirmed charges. Multiple misdemeanors and class 3 felonies. Notable incidents: Note that only important arrests will be listed. As indicated above, subject was arrested numerous times. Neither the bounty services nor the NYARC ever properly referred the case to the local Commissariat. 11.09.2169 – arrest at Volthan Apartments, arresting authority Civil Patrol Services, disturbance of peace call. Subject, age 14, found covered in blood with severe stab wounds and clear signs of forced sexual activity. DNA from dead male human matched against rape kit test at site. 3 others found dead, stabbed from behind in jugular. Arresting officer notes subject 'scared the shit out of him' with visual glare. Refused to surrender, tasered into submission and taken to psychological counseling. Released in error. [AIS SECURITY RESTRICTION] Additional investigation found several other dead bodies on the scene, notable for having been killed at close-range with a military sidearm. Additionally, the police were unable to explain how the subject got free of restraints noted on site. Apartment was clearly set up as some form of trideo recording studio for the production of child pornography. AIS is still investigating. [RESTRICTION ENDS] 15.11.2169 – arrest with known members of Tenth Street Reds. Arresting authority, Calthium Bounty services. Released after bond paid in full by Tenth Street Red lieutenant, charges dropped due to court load. Charged with distribution of controlled narcotics. First actual criminal record. 12.03.2170 – arrest with known members of Tenth Street Reds. Multiple charges, arson, grand theft (auto and military), distribution of controlled substances. Arresting authority, Civil Patrol Services. Dismissed with prejudice by Precinct Captain Yong Li. Notable due to the first time Yong Li interfered with court proceedings, claiming charges were fabricated, or failing to locate witness or evidence for trial. 01.12.2171 – arrest for distribution of controlled narcotics, red sand. Arresting authority, NYPD. Dismissed after review by Precinct Captain Yong Li, due to court load. Notable due to size of seized shipment (83 kilos) and that shipment went missing one month later. 19.01.2173 – arrest for assault with a deadly weapon, biotic. Arresting authority, NYPD. Dismissed after review by Precinct Captain Yong Li. Notable due to the bizarre malfunction of over twenty security cameras that should have captured the incident and six eyewitnesses who vanished in the course of the week. Notable also for the fact that this was the first use of biotics by the subject, involving a hacked L1 implant. 04.02.2174 – detainment and arrest for attempted rape. Arresting authority, Dorasn Intersystems Bounty Services. Dismissed after review by Precinct Captain Yong Li. ADDENDUM: Charges brought forth by civilian female. Claims she was drinking in bar and admitted to making a pass at subject, claims she was pinned to table and induced at knife-point to commit acts of sadomasochistic nature. No injuries aside from bruising (genital, breasts, stomach) were found on plaintiff, nor eyewitnesses that would come forward. In weeks following this, several more incidents of the same kind were brought to court and dismissed. 11.02.2175 – arrest for assault with a deadly weapon, biotic. Arresting authority, Calthium Bounty Services. Dismissed after review by Precinct Captain Yong Li. Notable as the last arrest incident prior to the Massacre. Tenth Street Massacre Addendum: 30.04.2175 – event known as the Tenth Street Massacre. While records of this event are speculative (mostly due to the extreme lethality of the subject), a few pertinent facts can be gleaned from the police record, emergency responders, and SWAT unit. As detailed in additional information, Precinct Captain Jason Yong Li was utilizing the Reds as a method of combating crime in the area of his precinct, feeding them information, recovered weapons, even drugs that had been seized from other gangs, and using the Reds to obliterate the Four-Nines and the Path of Lho, the larger and more dominant gangs in the area. On the morning of the 30th, subject was assaulted by members of the Path of Lho while transitioning to the northern area of the arcology to sell red sand. Subject was saved by the presence of off-duty 1st Lieutenant David Anderson, who engaged the gang members. Anderson was able to kill 9 and disable 3 more attackers before being critically wounded, and the subject attempted to protect him. Subject also took a severe wound to the chest during the fight in the process of protecting David Anderson, and drove off the attackers. According to eyewitnesses, subject wept at the sight of Anderson lying seemingly dead in the street, and was notably relieved when he proved to be only wounded. Despite outstanding warrants and her own injuries, subject personally got Lieutenant Anderson to a local hospital for his injuries. In doing so, she was identified by a local police officer as being a gang member. A partial police report implies that police officers attempted to get a statement from Anderson implicating subject in criminal activity. Anderson declined to do so. Hospital monitoring systems recorded a brief conversation between Anderson and Shepard, in which she inquires why he didn't sell her out and he replies that if she had been evil she wouldn't not have gotten shot saving his life, and that she deserves another chance. Subject vanished at some point that morning after having her wounds treated with medi-gel. Anderson was kept at the hospital, still severely wounded. Eyewitness reports are sketchy, but it appears that at some point that afternoon Tenth Street Red gang leaders decided that a war hero would make a good hostage to hold for ransom. The gangs had done this before, with a mixed success rate (they captured Rear Admiral Jackson in 2159 and released him for ransom of over 1 million credits). The Systems Alliance would never pay ransom for its officers, but Anderson's family was distantly related to the Viscount Andersons of Britain, and the gang seemed to think they would ransom him. Given her success rate and the fact she knew the target, it is likely that the Tenth Street Reds expected Shepard to conduct this act. What happened next is conjectural in its reasons but absolute in results – Shepard proceeded to singlehandedly execute every single Tenth Street Reds leader, and began slaughtering the other gang members with heavy weapons from their own stockpile. [REDACTED – SYSTEMS ALLIANCE COMMISSARIAT CODE OMEGA] Investigations after the Massacre indicated Tenth Street Reds may have been in contact with off-world gang elements and planned to sell him to aliens interested in his knowledge. Shepard was not aware of this at the time of the Massacre. [REDACTION ENDS] Only one survivor, Jared Finch, is known to have escaped, and according to arrest records prior to execution by the Commissariat he stated that Shepard 'lost her shit when we told her to kidnap her fucking hero Anderson. She screamed that he was a good person and we only went after shit, and we all laughed at her and said she could fuck him after we got paid and put a cap in his ass.' According to the report, Shepard tore the throat out of the speaker with her bare hands and proceeded to execute the leader of the Reds, a Jethro Taylor, by coring out one of his eyes with her thumb and shoving the exposed socket onto an exposed spar of metal. Local police units attempted to intervene and were forced to withdraw as the other gangs piled onto the chaotic battle, with several hundred gang members from various gangs attempted to crush the Tenth Street Reds. Subject apparently took this as somehow offensive and began sniping opposing gang members as well. 119 people were killed or wounded that could be directly traced back to Shepard, and at least 9 ground vehicles destroyed. At least 2 minor gangs were completely obliterated in the fighting. Multiple nearby buildings were on fire and news services attempting to get in close enough to use remote drone cameras were placed under fire as well. It is worth noting that the destructiveness of Shepard's actions was due to three things. First, her biotic barrier gave her protection, while most gang members had no kinetic shielding, nor weapons that could pierce her barrier. Second, Shepard had appropriated heavy weapons from the gang armory, leaving most of them unable to reply in kind to her firepower. Finally, she was very well dug into the gang headquarters and capable of firing on gang members indiscriminately, while the gangs were fighting each other almost as much as they were trying to get at Shepard. At 1843 local time, one of Shepard's shots apparently detonated a fuel cell of a gang vehicle, the ensuing blast accidentally killing two police officers. At this point heavy SWAT units responded in full kinetic armor. The SWAT team stormed the building and discovered an abattoir, with over 100 gang members butchered and executed, many with incendiary weapons or heavy weapons intended for anti-material and not anti-personnel use. 2 SWAT members actually withdrew from the building due to nausea. SWAT units engaged Shepard on the top floor of the Tenth Street Reds HQ building shortly afterwards, with orders to subdue. 11 officers were wounded, 3 severely, before Shepard was shot multiple times and backed into a corner threatening to detonated the building. Observed holding some form of old omni-tool based haptic interface, SWAT formed a cordon and called for a negotiator. Police unit psychologist was called up, but under Systems Alliance authority, a still badly wounded Lieutenant David Anderson demanded to be allowed to speak to Shepard. This was allowed, but a call was sent the Commissariat for an Expurgation Team should he fail. [REDACTED] LOG OF CONVERSATION BETWEEN SUBJECT AND ANDERSON, DAVID – deleted. Authorization – [refError 9ss94-alpha]. Please contact the AIS. [REDACTION ENDS] Despite expectations, Anderson was able to talk Shepard down and take her into custody. Anderson is believed to have come to some sort of deal with the Precinct Captain, Yong Li. As a result, Shepard was remanded shortly thereafter to Alliance medical custody. Investigation of records and recordings in the Reds HQ led to the discovery of Yong Li's role in the success of the Reds, and his suppression of evidence that could have led to the arrest of Shepard years earlier. Notable information: Precinct Captain Jason Yong Li was very likely a distant relative of the subject. 85% of all dismissed charges and records were done so at his behest. Based on existing evidence, it appears Captain Li was using the subject (and the Reds) as a form of 'cleanup' of other gangs in the lower levels of the arcology. After the Tenth Street Massacre, of course, there was no way to continue utilizing the subject, and the very hasty agreement to allow Shepard to enlist in the military was done mere days before the Captain was hauled before the Authority Board, stripped of his rank, charged with state treason, and executed. ADDENDUM: Violence of this nature should have drawn Commissariat attention long before the Massacre. The assigned Commissar for the region was found dead 6 days after the Massacre, and had been dead for almost a full year. Cause of death was indeterminate due to decay. Whoever murdered the Commissar in question took his omni-tool and continued to make reports that did not include any mention of Shepard or the Tenth Street Reds. The Judgment Cadre is still investigating this incident. However, based on the failed attempt to locate the omni-tool and perpetrator, which led to a shootout with criminal elements who had ties to Cerberus, it is believed that Cerberus may have been blocking this event from us. [REDACTED – SYSTEMS ALLIANCE COMMISSARIAT CODE OMEGA] Given further understanding of exactly who was in charge of Cerberus in the aftermath of the raid on Edolus, their intervention and the assignment of Shepard to the Penal Legions under Florez takes on a much more sinister light. Additional investigation is required. There is a possibility Anderson had Cerberus connections and utilized these on behalf of Shepard. [REDACTION ENDS] Duty Summary: Rank: Commander, SSV Normandy Rating: A6 Marine Infantry. C7 Biotic Infantry. N7 Special Forces. Level IV / V space command package (ops/nav/eng). Initial Deployment, Corporal, 3rd Military Penal Legion Unit, gunner. Promotion with honors: Authorization, Major Rachel Florez, 3rd MPL, Brevet to Sergeant. Promotion with honors: Authorization, Major of Marines Rachel Florez, 3rd MPL, Brevet to Gunnery Sergeant. Promotion: Authorization, General Jason von Grath, 2nd Fleet Marine Command, to 'A' qualification ranking. Promotion with honors: Authorization, General Jason von Grath, 2nd Fleet Marine Command, lateral transfer to A enlisted rank status: Petty Officer First. Brevet promotion to Chief Petty Officer. Promotion: Authorization, General Jason von Grath, 2nd Fleet Marine Command, lateral transfer to C biotic specialist. Promotion: Authorization, General Jason von Grath, 2nd Fleet Marine Command, to Senior Chief Petty Officer. Promotion with Honors: Authorization, Systems Alliance Officer Training Command, Sir Raphael von Grath, commanding, to 1st Lieutenant. Promotion with Honors: General Jason von Grath, 2nd Fleet Marine Command brevet promotion to Lieutenant Commander. Formalization, Systems Alliance Command, of Lieutenant Commander rank. Promotion with Valor: President, Systems Alliance, as recipient of the Star of Terra, brevet promotion to Commander (Staff) Promotion: Authorization, Systems Alliance Officer Training Command, Sir Raphael von Grath, commanding, to Commander (Line) Awards: Star of Terra, for actions conducted on Torfan. Medal of Valor, 3 repeats, actions beyond the call of duty Distinguished Service Medal, 3 repeats Legion of Honor, 2 repeats. Purple Heart, 9 repeats Navy Cross, Marine, 3 repeats Marksmanship Wartime award, 12 repeats Training Awards: C7 Silver Flash (retired 2181) N4 Silver Flash: current holder N7 Silver Flash: current holder Qualifications: Zero-G Special Warfare badge C7 Augmented Biotics Warfare badge Biotic Instructor badge Marksmanship badges master, pistol course master, rifle course, assault master, rifle course, sniper master, rifle course, anti-material infantryman, submachine gun and machine pistol course infantryman, coaxial mount armor course Pass on go/nogo shotgun and heavy weapons courses Certified journeyman-class electronic warfare course Certified journeyman-class electronic countermeasures course 'Miathra' master ranking, asari biotic commune training / cross-training course with asari commandos. Joint SA / TH sniper class ranking 1st of 32 turian and human participants. N7 Participation: N1 Electronics and Countermeasures badge, N1 Hostile Terrain survival badge, N1 Weapons course badge N2 Survival and Rescue / Escape badge, N2 Zero-G combat badge N3 Hostile systems survival badge (additional qualification on Adept-class biotic survival badge, but no badge awarded due to regulations) N4 Sniper Qualifications badge, N4 Infiltrator-class sniper badge (awarded despite regulations due to score, record range and time) N5 Stealth Operations Conduct badge, N5 Command Operations badge N6 Combined Arms/Biotics badge (additional qualification on Infiltrator-class sniper course, but no badge awarded due to regulations) N7 Graduate with honors, highest current final qualification score. Spaceside Qualifications / Training: Arcturus System ship command qualification, ranks 4 and 5 (Engineer, Navigation, Executive). Qualified Systems Alliance Marine Line Officer and Naval Line Officer. Discommendations and demerits: none in training. 4 letters of discommendation from various operating theater COs or XOs. All denied. 2 charges of conduct unbecoming an officer, dismissed. 1 charge of disobeying direct order, dismissed. 1 charge of utilization of a banned military device, dismissed. ADDENDUM: Subject has had zero legal violations when off-duty since enlistment that have been sustained. Operational Overview: (Eyes Only – AIS Classification Tantalus) Commander Shepard is a biotic assault infantry soldier with extreme cross-training in electronic infowar, biotic CQB, biotic crowd control, and sniping. Her personal background means she is very comfortable with either direct assault or infiltration and assassination. She holds qualifications at the very highest level of proficiency in every known method of combat the SA offers with the exception of engineering-specific infowar classes and adept-biotic training, and she has participated in those and placed well above the 90% percentile. [REDACTED – SYSTEMS ALLIANCE COMMISSARIAT CODE OMEGA] Additionally, Shepard has received specialized training involving the asari biotic charge known as the kanquess. Shepard's proficiency with this maneuver matches or exceeds that of most asari and all current and past Vanguard-class biotics. Her variant of the kanquess is very rare among modern day asari who find it less useful. This 'dancing kanquess' is extremely low-cycle, but has reduced power. [REDACTION ENDS] Shepard's has no single battle style outside of directly leading from the front. Tactically she prefers the use of misdirection, combined ground arms, and heavy suppressive fire prior to flanking whenever employable. [SECTION RESTRICTION – Authorization, Jason von Grath, General, SAMC] Her personal command style with larger units is mixed, but in most cases results in high casualties among non-special forces personnel, which she will use as force multipliers, distractions, or even as bait. This has resulted in very low success rates when she is given forces to command above company strength [RESTRICTION ENDS], however, she is qualified to command up to battalion-level forces (she has not had or shown an interest in regimental level command training) and is most formidable in small, special forces-style squads of 3 to 5 specialists. Shepard is willing to endure heavy casualties in all non-special forces operations, which has resulted in corresponding morale drop when she is given strategic command. Conversely, Shepard has an [SECTION RESTRICTION – Authorization, Jason von Grath, General, SAMC] almost perfect operational record when her command or team members are limited to [RESTRICTION ENDS] special forces personnel, with expected morale gains. There is a marked variable between the survival rates of soldiers she knows personally, on any level, and those she does not. [SECTION RESTRICTED – Authorization, Donnel Udina, Systems Alliance Authority under Article 9, Section 3 of the Systems Alliance Military Justice Charter] Shepard's public image is currently one of terror to most alien forces. Unfortunately, she also has a low reputation among many rank-and-file soldiers who have connected her exploits with the high casualty rates in the battles she participates in, particular after the Battle of Torfan. While special forces units are not affected by this, Shepard's presence in any military line unit will result in a corresponding morale reduction. She has survived multiple attempts at 'fragging' by disaffected soldiers, all of which ended in the termination of said soldiers. [RESTRICTION ENDS] Her image and reputation, however, are a force multiplier in any conflict. Surveillance shows that even krogan display agitation and neurological/physiological bodily changes associated with fear during combat with Shepard. This trend accelerated markedly after the battle at Dirth where independent video operators managed to record footage of her laughing while biotically ripping the spines out of krogan mercenaries and killing 6 heavily armed turians in nine seconds in close quarters battle. Shepard's current preferred armory authorizations are as follows: customized Carnifex Model S personal defense pistol, fluidic-shock mounted Avenger assault rifle modified for increased rate of fire and double-core tungsten rounds, M-29 ODIN-class shotgun, illegal in Citadel and Systems Alliance Space, permits obtained from Citadel Security and SA Office of Special Authorizations for use in combat only, M-919 Thunderbolt Anti-personnel long-range rifle. UPDATE: As of 12.01.2184, Shepard's current preferred armory authorizations are as follows: highly customized M-903 turian Sunfire plasma compression pistol, taken from Saren Arterius. Full-auto remounted-rail Valkyrie assault rifle using jackhammer rounds. M-29 ODIN-class shotgun, utilizing polonium rounds. Salarian Manur sniper rifle modified for human usage. ADDENDUM: Personal records can usually give some insight into a person, but the very long list of Shepard's accomplishments contrasted with a criminal record of extreme violence often is missed. From the time she exited the Penal Legion to the present day, Shepard has exhibited nothing but complete 100% adhesion to the letter of the law. She has not even had a speeding ticket or civil disturbance violation fine. Such a complete 100% turnaround in character is usually indicative of someone changing their way of life, but from all evidence Shepard was the most talented and skilled Tenth Street Red gang member as well. Excellence appears to be her goal, either in criminal or military affairs. Once she is devoted to a course of action she does not stop until incapacitated or completely successful. ADDENDUM: Criminal, arrest and sentencing records can only describe the horror of subject's childhood and early life in clinical terms. The shift from being a sex object and 'owned' to a cold, emotionless killing machine that executed anything or anyone in her way can be traced back to the earliest arrest record, but we don't know what set it off or what happened to turn her from what seemed to be a traumatized helpless figure to a sociopath. SERVICE HISTORY: All sections marked in italics are restricted viewing: Authorization, Donnel Udina, Systems Alliance Authority under Article 9, Section 3 of the Systems Alliance Military Justice Charter. 03.05.2175: Adjudicated enlistment, 3rd Marine Penal Legion (3MPL). Liaison officer with Alliance standard military is Lieutenant David Anderson. 04.05.2175: Commencement of Adjusted Service Boot Camp 22.08.2175: Completion of Adjusted Service Boot Camp. Graduation with honors. Promotion to Corporal. 26.08.2175: Held in suspicion related to the murders of several persons involved in the sex-slave trade network responsible for publishing trideo in which she was a subject as a child. Charges reviewed and dismissed by Major Rachel Florez. 01.09.2175: Returns from leave granted after ASBC. During leave period, studied in base library, spent 6 hours daily in rifle and pistol ranges. 02.09.2175: Assignment to 4th Platoon, 2nd Regiment, 1st Battalion, 3MPL as assistant gunner. 11.10.2175: Disciplinary punishment for repeatedly striking a Commissar in the line of duty. Reports indicate subject did so to defend squadmate from what she perceived as unfair punishment. Punishment deferred per orders, Rachel Florez. 30.10.2175: Completes 'B' rate package. Advanced to B4. 12.11.2175: First deployment, anti-pirate operations against Terminus pirates on Kalthus. Subject kills 19 batarians, managing to save the lives of 2 of her squadmates despite multiple wounds. 14.11.2175: Award package submitted for Navy Cross by Lieutenant Commander David Anderson, who commanded the N7 element in the operations on Kalthus. 19.11.2175: Operations on Kalthus complete. 21.11.2175: Awarded Purple Heart, Navy Cross, Marksmanship Award. Promoted to Sergeant 24.11.2175: Made squad leader. 11.12.2175: Operation in Bakufu System, hostile pirate boarding operations. Took shots for squadmate Beatrice Shields, personally kills 15 batarians and a krogan. Field brevet to Gunnery Sergeant. Miracle at Vansha 04.01.2176: 3MPL deployed to Vansha in response to pirate raid. Subject's dropship shot out of the sky, but subject survives. Links up with elements of the 2MPL, and directs 3 squads to form a flanking assault line as she storms the command group of the pirates. Using nothing but biotics, grenades, and CQB subject kills all pirate officers at their comm center, allowing main elements of 3MPL and 2MPL to hold position and for the 34th Marine to crush the pirates. However, the squads she used as cover are killed nearly to a man. Subject's remaining forces were able to dig into the ruined comm center and hold against repeated assaults. Comm center becomes a chokepoint as additional reinforcements are put into battle. During the assault, elements of the 15th RIU onsite were overrun by pirate forces and retreated in poor order. RIU survivors reach comm center and demand admittance. Subject allows them to enter, but engages in an argument with the Executive Officer of the RIU, Captain Thelma Songs, when the latter demands subject stand down and to breach defense lines to let them pass. Subject refuses, despite threats of Commissariat punishment from Captain Songs. When Captain Songs attempts to order subject arrested, subject's team opens fire, badly wounding her and several other officers. Shepard orders remaining RIU units to hold and they manage to repel two more assaults until reinforcements arrive. 10.01.2176: Upon cessation of hostilities, Commissariat forces review subject's actions. They recommend an inquiry, but also immediately execute Captain Songs and all 15th RIU officers involved in the battle for cowardice. 11.01.2176: Inquiry into actions finds subject performed her duty. Field breveted to Chief Petty Officer. Removed from 3MPL and sent to Earth for C-class biotic infantry training. 14.01.2176: Awarded Distinguished Service Medal for actions on Vansha. 21.01.2176: Begins C-class biotic training. 13.04.2176: Completes C-Class biotic training, awarded C7 classification with honors. 14.04.2176: Awarded C7 Silver Flash, for having highest ranking qualification test score ever. 16.04.2176: Letter of discommendation from CO, 15th RIU. Letter dismissed by General von Grath, per review and recommendation by Lieutenant Commander David Anderson and Colonel Rachel Florez. 01.05.2176: Authorization by General von Grath for exculpation of Class Z restriction on 114 members of the 3rd MPL, including Shepard and her squad. Shepard is sworn in as a member of the Systems Alliance Marine Corps on this date. 03.05.2176: Assigned to 5th Battalion, 2nd Marine Rapid Response Unit. Subject begins A rate qualification. 01.07.2176: Completes A rate qualification. Advanced to A2. 02.07.2176: Successful anti-pirate operation, Planet Kilgore, under General von Grath. 15.07.2176: Successful anti-pirate operation, Planet Eden Prime under General von Grath. Subject's squad wounded. Notable in that subject did not land at any time on the planet, instead being involved in orbital boarding operations of pirate ships. 29.07.2176: Successful anti-pirate operation, Planet Sensan II, under General von Grath. Advanced to A5. Battle of Horizon (1st) 09.08.2176: 2nd RRU deployed to Horizon in response to batarian/turian pirate raid. Raid turns out to be major invasion, complicit figures in colony administration sabotage GARDIAN defense system to allow pirates to land. 42 minutes into RRU deployment, 5th Battalion's entire command cadre, aboard the cruiser Fort Worth, is knocked out of the battle by direct kinetic orbital strike. CPO Shepard takes command, executing three Marines who attempt to surrender to pirates and 18 more who attempt to flee the battle. Without waiting for chain of command, half of 5th Battalion dispersed guerrilla-style among colony population to tie up and delay invaders, while the other half storms pirate landing site under cover of darkness. The Horizon 3rd Battalion, under General Jack Adams, SAMC, begins to break. Horizon 1st Battalion, under General Oleg Petrovsky, fights through heavy batarian reinforcements to stiffen their lines. After reinforcements, batarians retreat. Petrovsky advises pursuit and decimation of fleeing units, but General Adams overrules him. Less than thirty minutes later, the half of 5th RRU Battalion dispersed to aid colony population comes under heavy assault. Subject moves to reinforce her men, and is given an order to stand her ground by General Adams, as she is protecting his flank. General von Grath is out of communications due to being trapped in his downed cruiser, but General Petrovsky countermands the order. Ignoring the bickering between the Generals, subject manages to relieve her beleaguered force and evacuate the colonists to safer locations. During the time 5th Battalion is out of place, more batarian forces arrive, and begin shelling General Adams' position. 1st Battalion attempts to respond, but batarians (thought to be routed earlier) hit them from the flank and break their lines. Rather than fall back to secure position, Shepard leads a small force of men towards the landing area the batarian forces have their gunships at. 3rd Battalion under heavy kinetic fire, and 1st Battalion is being overrun, General Adams in CQB with pirates, when Shepard's strike manages to kill ground force holding landing area. Capturing several gunships and shuttles, Shepard strikes pirate force from behind. Pirates break and escape, Shepard orders all units to fire and destroy retreating and surrendering forces. Order countermanded by General Adams. General Petrovsky agrees with Shepard, and General Adams relieves him of command. Petrovsky angrily refuses to do so and begins withdrawing 1st Regiment out of the battle, covering civilian retreat. Shepard orders her supporting units to pursue batarians, and as a result, defensive lines north of Adams' position weaken. Panicked batarians push through, killing everything in their path, including General Adams. Shepard reiterates kill order and this time is obeyed. 10.08.2176: Shepard personally executes pirate leader Hantha Jones, human, rather than arresting him. Official reports indicate he was executed in escape attempt. Autopsy shows lividity on wrists, legs, indicating he was and had been securely tied up prior and after death. Alliance reinforcements arrive and secure Horizon spaceport. Follow-up pursuit of retreating batarians by Shepard drives them away from the wreck of the SCV Fort Worth, where both General von Grath and Colonel Rachel Florez were trapped in the wreckage, pinned down and injured. Subject extracts them successfully after an intense CQB fight with several batarian biotics, including one Glorious-level biotic commando. [AIS SECURITY RESTRICTION] Additional investigation shows that Hantha Jones was involved in piracy operations as well as slave transactions on Earth. Jones was tied to the slavery rings employed by the same child pornography distributors believed to be responsible for Shepard's sterility. [RESTRICTION ENDS] 11.08.2176: Horizon secured. 12.08.2176: Shepard called before board of inquiry, charged with conduct unbecoming an officer and disobedience of direct orders. 13.08.2176: Recently promoted Commander David Anderson acts as Shepard's council. Inquiry board finds Shepard saved the lives of the colonists, managed to preserve the bulk of 3rd Battalion, destroyed the pirates, and her lapse in judgment that may have caused the death of General Adams is forgivable given she is not trained for battalion-level leadership. 14.08.2176: Commendation award recommendation from General Jason von Grath. (Addendum: von Grath and Adams had significant friction, politically and personally). Seconded by newly promoted General Rachel Florez, General Adams' replacement (Addendum: Florez had filed sexual harassment charges against Adams repeatedly, but these were dismissed.) 20.08.2176: General Petrovsky resigns from the SAMC. He gives a statement exonerating Shepard from any wrongdoing and implies that several officers testifying against her are committing perjury. 22.08.2176: All charges dropped against Shepard. She is brevetted immediately to Senior Chief Petty Officer, with a recommendation for Alliance Officer Training Academy. 23.08.2176: Awarded Medal of Valor, Purple Heart (2 repeats, for serious injuries), Legion of Honor (for saving Lieutenant General Florez in CQB against superior forces, armed only with a pistol and her biotics), Navy Cross. 01.09.2176: Released from medical. 15.08.2176: Successful anti-pirate operation, Planet Horizon, under General von Grath. 29.09.2176: Successful anti-pirate operation, Planet New Edo, under General von Grath. Advanced to A7. 03.10.2176: Enters Alliance Officer Training Command, Annapolis 12.05.2178: Graduation with honors, Alliance Officer Training command. Awarded Purple Heart for injuries sustained in final graduation exam, risked life and sustained life-threatening injury to save fellow student from malfunctioning shuttle. 13.05.2178: Promoted to 1st Lieutenant. Upon recommendation of General von Grath, brevetted to Lieutenant Commander. 19.05.2178: Second RRU promoted to full brigade-status. Major Preston Kyle attached to the 2 RRU as the CO. General von Grath becomes responsible for brigade-level command. 11.06.2178: Selected for N7 program, along with her squad. Begins N1 qualifications. 19.06.2178: Completes N1 and continues through N2 program. 02.08.2178: Completes Special Warfare courses (Zero-G, Biotic Instructor, Electronic Warfare) Massacre at Dirth 19.08.2178: Emergency deployment to Dirth with 1st and 2nd Regiments, Second RRU, due to pirate invasion. En route, General von Grath's command ship is holed by mines on final approach and goes down in foothills outside of landing zone. Broken communications suggest they are surrounded by hostiles and the ship's drive core is unstable. Command staff all on board the ship for final briefing. Command staff includes Commander David Anderson and Major Preston Kyle. Infantry dropships establish new chain of command. Brevet Lieutenant Commander Shepard outranks both 1st Lieutenants in charge of the other companies, even though she has only been an officer for a few months. Disagreement over command settled when Shepard accuses 1st Lieutenant Jack Parson of cowardice and pistol whips him unconscious. Throwing him in the brig, Shepard lands all infantry dropships in unorthodox patterns, using the dropships to project cover fire and dropping platoons in a broad firing line rather than massed infantry. Pirates react with makeshift artillery using converted GARDIAN laser arrays. Shepard leaves 1st Regiment under command of its XO, ordering them to flank down the foothills and flush out pirates. 2nd Regiment is instructed to split in half, one half digging in outside the colony to protect civilians, the other to proceed under cover of 1st Regiment to extract 2 RRU command staff from wreck. Shepard wires up one of the drop ships for single pilot control and kamikazes it into the pirate base camp, ejecting in an escape pod jury-rigged for mass displacement effects 4 seconds before impact. The explosion incinerates 55% of the pirate ground force and obliterates their hardened cover, but kills dozens of Marines too close to the blast who were flanking the site per orders. Inquiry notes that if not for the 1st Regiment's flanking maneuver drawing the attention of the pirates and the GARDIAN artillery, said artillery would have shot the dropship out of the sky in short order. Shepard exits pod, video footage shows her cutting a path through pirates on foot to link up with 2nd Regiment, 19 confirmed sniper kills and 2 CQB kills including a krogan with his own shotgun and an elcor by way of biotic 'piledriver.' 2nd Regiment, led by Shepard, links up with command staff, extracting Anderson, von Grath, Kyle, and a dozen other badly wounded officers. Extraction slowed by heavily wounded lower ranking officers. Sending senior officers on ahead with heavy escort, Shepard makes a stand to cover retreat. Since ground cars cannot transport everyone, junior officers with most severe wounds are held back, along with 5 platoons of 2nd Regiment. Pirate units do not pursue, instead breaking off to strike the colony proper. Shepard pursues. Shepard's units reach the main colony, where the pirates have attacked heavily and in massive numbers. Rather than abandon the colonists, however, Shepard splits her forces. The majority are sent to protect the colonists, while the rest head to reinforce those already covering the retreat of the wounded officer and command cadre. The battle for the colony is fierce, and by all accounts the subject was the primary reason for its successful conclusion. Shepard, despite being shot and wounded multiple times, managed to evacuate the entirety of the colony before pirate forces became too numerous to hold back. Some members of the command cadre (Major Kyle in particular) attempted to help in this endeavor. Eventually the 4th and 5th Squads escorting the command cadre reported incoming skirmish fire, and Shepard had to retreat. Boldly splitting her force yet again, she drew the main pirate body away herself, with a handful of her men, while the rest evacuated the civilians and rejoined the command cadre. Shepard then fought a fighting retreat, holding off pursuit long enough for von Grath to establish command radio links to the sabotaged GARDIAN and orbital defense network. Using the network, von Grath takes out pirate support ships and conducts three unauthorized kinetic strikes on the planet itself. AIS Addendum: Official records indicated that a Lieutenant Commander Henry Vore did the strikes. However, Lieutenant Commander Vore did not have the authorization codes to perform such strikes. AIS believes that Shepard either hacked the launch authenticator, or was given the authentication by General von Grath. While subject is skilled in many infowar techniques, the AIS is fairly sure von Grath pulled the trigger himself. Bombardment decimates the pirates, allowing time to further move the civilians out of the way, but the majority of the military force is still pinned down, unable to fall back due to having to protect the civilians. Rather than lose everyone, Shepard orders the heavily wounded junior officer cadre, along with any volunteers, to hold the line while the bulk of the rest of the forces fall back. One officer, Lieutenant Commander Henry Vore, accuses of her of cowardice. According to eyewitness reports (suppressed by General von Grath) Shepard executed LC Vore for treason, then withdrew the enlisted infantry, leaving the officers to be overrun. (ADDENDUM: Most details of the battle were sealed until inquiry of 2183. Even after that, we do not know what is truth and what is fabrication by officers who hate Shepard. An execution of such a nature seems very close to a criminal act, which flies in the face of Shepard's behavior since enlistment. More likely, Shepard would have stayed behind, and LC Vore attempted to remove any support making her sacrifice capable of slowing the advance, leading to her taking drastic action.) The officers and volunteers are overrun, but the delay is enough for the civilians and the remaining military forces to reach the fortified spaceport. The ensuing siege is short-lived as the 3rd, 5th, and 11th RRU all hit the planet the next day, routing the pirate forces. 25.08.2178: Aftermath of Dirth offensive completed. Major Kyle stands down unit for rest, organizes Shepard as commander of the Second RRU's lead NCT, codenamed 'Neutron.' 07.09.2178: NCT Special Operations under Major Kyle, location classified. Notable as first deployment of Team Neutron. 22.10.2178: NCT Special Operations under Major Kyle, at Ferris Fields, anti-pirate operation. All pirates executed or killed in battle. 31.10.2178: NCT Special Operations under Major Kyle, deep space boarding action of pirate ships, station, and anti-pirate operation. All pirates executed or killed in battle. 17.11.2178: NCT Special Operations under Major Kyle, location classified, anti-slaver operations. Squadmate Beatrice Shields injured severely protecting Shepard. 19.11.2178: Letter of reprimand from relieving forces for brutality and conduct unbecoming, with complaints of batarian slavers executed after surrender. Dismissed with prejudice by General von Grath. 21.12.2178: NCT Special Operations under Major Kyle, location classified, anti-slaver operations. 30.12.2178: NCT Special Operations under Major Kyle, location classified, anti-slaver operations. Squadmate Jason Dunn severely injured, requires cybernetic arm replacements. 11.01.2179: NCT Special Operations under Major Kyle, location classified, anti-slaver operations. Squadmate Beatrice Shields injured a third time. 23.01.2178: NCT Special Operations under Major Kyle, boarding action against pirates. 27.01.2179: 2 RRU stand-down for refit of strike force. Neutron given leave to work on N2 training. 10.02.2179: 2 RRU's command transport sent in for overhaul. Shepard and Neutron deployed TDY to finish N7 qualifications. 11.04.2179: Shepard completes N7 program, awarded Silver Flash N4, N7 badges. 15.04.2179: Selected by Commando Mistress Seinna, for cross-platform training. Travels to Thessia. 11.07.2179: Completes training with asari commandos. Formally given the title 'Shepard of the Dancing Kanquess.' Asari command indicates this is a military epithet, so it is entered into her file. 13.08.2179: 2 RRU deployed. NCT strike mission on Sivlas III, batarian slave camp. No batarian survivors. 25.08.2179: 2 RRU deployed. NCT strike mission on Tarok II, batarian slave camp. No batarian survivors. 12.09.2179: 2 RRU deployed. NCT Special Operations under Major Kyle, location classified, anti-slaver operations. 19.10.2179: Battle of Torfan. [REDACTED: SECTION 334 – 392. Authorization – [refError 9ss94-alpha] Please contact the AIS.] [REDACTION ENDS] 14.11.2179: Court-martial ended. 17.11.2179: Major Kyle takes indefinite personal leave. 2 RRU decommissioned. Team Neutron decommissioned. 19.11.2179: Award package submitted for Star of Terra, Navy Cross by General Rachel Florez. 22.11.2179: Shepard released from Alliance Psychological Ward, Mindoir. 24.11.2179: Shepard promoted to Commander (Staff), awarded Systems Alliance Star of Terra, Medal of Valor, Navy Cross, Purple Heart. 15.12.2179: Shepard adjudicated back to Alliance Training Command, Arcturus for commander-level training. 14.01.2180: Shepard enters Alliance Officer Training Command, Arcturus. 11.03.2180: Shepard files for and receives permission to undergo commander-level training for space (level IV, V). 22.09.2180: Completed OTC course. Promoted to Commander (Line). Requests space command with Captain David Anderson or service with RIUs. 14.10.2180: BuPers declines to assign her to ship-status. Instead she is attached to 8th RIU. 14.11.2180: 8th RIU engages in defensive actions, Telmore IV. No invading survivors. 22.12.2180: 8th RIU engages in defensive actions, Knossos System. No invading survivors. 16.01.2181: CO of 8th RIU requests Shepard's transfer out of the unit. Shepard protests. 28.01.2181: Transferred to First Mindoir Army Group, 5th Regiment, as company commander, 6th Infantry. 11.02.2181: Performs combined operation with Blue Suns Military Services in anti-slaver capacity. 20.03.2181: Blue Suns Commander Kuril sends recommendation of valor for Shepard. 18.07.2181: End of Blue Suns cooperation. Return to Mindoir. 01.08.2181: Begin garrison duty, New Edo. 12.12.2181: Puts in for request to RIU. 5th Regiment CO Delacor immediately approves and sends to BuPers. 05.01.2182: End garrison duty, New Edo. 08.01.2182: RIU transfer approved. Transferred to 15th RIU in area, working with 5th Regiment. 12.01.2182: 15th RIU engages in defensive actions, New Edo. No invading survivors. 27.01.2182: 15th RIU engages in defensive actions, Ferris Fields. All 47 pirates surrendered when asked by Shepard and were spared. This is the first time she spared those who surrendered. 21.02.2182: 15th RIU engages in defensive actions, New Hoskins. 4 surrender prior to engagement and are spared. The rest of the invaders are executed. 17.03.2182: 15th RIU engages in defensive actions, New Edo. No invading survivors. 22.03.2182: 15th RIU engages in defensive actions, Mindoir. No invading survivors. 25.03.2182: CO, 15th RIU replaced. New CO requests Shepard be transferred back to the 5th Mindoir. 28.03.2182: Transferred back to 1st Mindoir Army Group, 5th Regiment, as XO to Captain Delacor. 29.03.2182: Delacor protests, but BuPers denies his request to have her sent to another RIU. 02.04.2182: Begin garrison duty, New Edo. 22.07.2182: End garrison duty, New Edo. 28.07.2182: Performs second combined operation with Blue Suns Military Services in anti-slaver capacity. 10.10.2182: End of Blue Suns cooperation. Return to Mindoir. 12.10.2182: Shepard requests transfer to RIU. 5th Regiment CO Delacor immediately approves and sends to BuPers. 15.10.2182. RIU transfer denied by BuPers. 18.10.2182: Begin garrison duty, Mindoir. 14.11.2182: Shepard informed by surrendering pirates in course of garrison duty that strike on Miris IV is planned. Shepard attempts to get CO Delacor to act. 18.11.2182: Delacor denies request. 19.11.2182: Shepard attempts to alert Mindoir command of intelligence. Command acknowledges but does not react, as Miris V is a wildcat colony. 20.11.2182: Shepard requests RIU transfer. Denied the same day by BuPers. 22.11.2182: Shepard, in violation of orders, takes three companies detached from 5th Mindoir to perform defensive ops and strike on pirate operations on Miris V, using order codes apparently obtained from General Rachel Florez. Attack drives off pirates and kills famed pirate lord Grathias. Strike was not authorized by SA Command. 24.11.2182: Shepard formally reprimanded by CO Delacor, Mindoir Command. Letter of discommendation approved by Mindoir Command, but then denied and removed by Lord General Kirsten Dularis after appeal by General Rachel Florez. 14.12.2182: Shepard again applies for RIU transfer, or space duty with David Anderson. RIU request rejected, space transfer request reviewed. 16.12.2182: Citadel Council allows humanity to select one military officer for SPECTRE training. Planning process for the search begins. 22.12.2182: Shepard given psychological eval for spaceside duty. Cleared by Alliance Medical. 03.01.2183: Selected for SPECTRE-status, Systems Alliance. Assigned to the SSV Normandy as Executive Officer under Captain Anderson. 05.01.2183: Termination of service with 5th Mindoir in aftermath of Almor anti-pirate operation. ADDITIONAL DOCUMENTS OF NOTE: Psych Profile I: Summation [RESTRICTED VIEWING] Behaviorally, subject is an ISTJ with minor ESTJ tendencies, in the Briggs Model. In the 6-point scale model, she is in the Aggressive-Suppressed quadrant of combative personalities. The following observations can be made. * Their desire to execute known systems against concrete facts, and their dismissal of emotions, makes them immune to frustration with military systems, but leads to difficulty understanding the importance of considering people's feelings, and trying to meet their emotional needs. * They believe strongly in doing their duty, and perform out of a sense of honor and duty, rather than an expectation of getting something in return, but their respect for rules and order make them intolerant of failures in others. * They are loyal to family and friends, but will be unable to place value on individual life unless said life is important to them personally. * They will put forth a great deal of effort towards any identified goal, but will expect that out of everyone around them and will be highly controlling towards others to 'shape' them. * They will use their determination and skills for the benefit of an institution rather than personal needs, but will have a lack of interest in other people, or in relating to them. * They will be able to usually suppress emotional issues, but when overwhelmed will have an intense and quick temper, and occasional inappropriate emotional displays. Subject appears to be responsible, punctual, and thorough. She is temperamentally well-suited for long-term planning and execution. Steady and purposeful, focusing on common sense and attention to detail. Prefers facts to feelings, does not like people who neglect the importance of committing properly to a goal. Once committed, will always stay the course, even in the face of distractions that would make others change directions. Will project as emotionless and serious, tinged with anger or dismissal. Fears emotional closeness due to past trauma. However, with those who have connected, will show sentimentality and dry humor. Does not handle total changes in life algorithms well. Psych Profile II: Interview Interview with Doctor Jacen Mathew, Sociolinguistic and Aberrant Behavior, University of Pittsburgh, on detached sabbatical and volunteer military service as Director, N7 Mental Health since 2180. Interview conducted 22.12.2182 at behest of Captain Anderson, with file release to Dr. Mathew by Major Kyle, as part of clearance for space assignment and SPECTRE selection. P: Tell me about yourself, Commander. S: Sir, that is a very large request. P: Well, yes, but everyone usually has some aspect of their personality they like to expound upon. Some are 'people persons,' and like to explain themselves in terms of their relations. Others use religion, or political beliefs, or hobbies. What makes you a little different from everyone else, is what I'm asking, as a place to start to help you figure yourself out. S: I'm not sure I can address that. P: Commander… may I call you Shepard? S: As you wish, sir. P: Great. I'm Dr. Mathew. Shepard, is this interview and counseling something you want to do? S: (3.4 second pause) I don't know. I've been told it will help me understand myself. Or deal with my inability to get past my early life. Or my anger. But I do not know. I am attempting to be as cooperative as I can. P: I see. Let's take this a different direction. What is your… um… yes. What is the target of this operation? S: Identification and destruction of any psychological issues that hinder my ability to perform, sir. P: Very good. Forget the psychology. Forget the stupid papers on the wall. Forget I'm a doctor. Tell me, however you can, in whatever terms you can, why you aren't like everyone else. S: (Silence for 8.3 seconds) I don't understand how to be like… others. I can't bring myself to trust. I can't bring myself to really care, to feel about what happens to others. I can't imagine what it is like to be in love, or to cry at someone's death. I can feel anger, disgust, and hate. I can be… amused, by someone's pretension. I can feel… gratitude, when someone helps or does a good job. P: But do you know why you feel grateful? S: No. P: Do you have nightmares? S: Yes. I always have. They let me know I'm still me. P: Ah. You think the pain is— S: (interrupting) The pain is the reminder of what you are. Of what I am. Every time I sight down on a mercenary or pirate, I'm aiming at me. Every time I break up a drug runner, I'm arresting myself. Every time I stop some slaver from hurting civilians, I'm blowing myself away. Someone should have stopped me, and they didn't. They let me go, and kept letting me go, until I killed so many people that even the corrupt police officers the Reds had bought couldn't cover it up. P: I see. S: And then… then… the only family I have gets himself killed… to get me sent to a Penal Legion with someone I barely know… and he tells me I have to be the perfect soldier, or I go back to the gas chamber. So I do. Then he tells me I have to protect civilians, and kill pirates, and keep doing this until I can forgive myself. P: And will you ever forgive yourself? S: No. Because it's easier to keep being the monster and just turn the fear against the pirates rather than the marks. No one cares what it does to me, or to the men I command, as long as we win. They'll cover it up. It will all be a heroic act. P: But you have done a great deal of good, Shepard. No one is making that up; it's not an 'act.' S: It's not a good act if you're doing it because you don't know what else to do. It's not a good act when you want to die and just rest, and you are told to keep going. It's not life if you turn down everyone who wants to be closer because you don't know how to be closer. Or even close. P: Understandable. But the Alliance needs you to be mentally healthy. S: Sir, the Alliance demanded I do better than anyone else and I did. They demanded I outperform everyone else, and I did. They pushed me to all kinds of bloody battles no one could win without going insane, but I won them and I'm still sane. That doesn't mean it doesn't hurt. And I will always remember the people I sacrificed. Didn't do it for promotions, or valor, but because they told me I had to. When do I get just to let it all go? P: (2.2 second pause.) And you are angry with Alliance for that? S: No, sir. I am angry with myself. P: Why? S: Because the very reason we are having this interview shows me that no matter how hard I try to do what I am told, or how far I push myself, it will never be enough. And I won't ever get to let it all go. I will be moved around like this until I snap, and I am killed, or I am killed in battle. It's punishment for the person I am. P: Shepard, the Alliance values you immensely. You have achieved things no one thought possible. The most hardened pirate scum in the Terminus Systems fall on their knees babbling and surrendering when you show up. But the Alliance does not want to punish you. Yes, you did very bad things in your past, but very bad things were done to you. S: That's never a valid excuse, sir. All that matters is the success of the mission. (2.1 second pause.) Do you feel my problems are affecting my ability to perform, sir? P: (5.3 second pause) I don't know, soldier. There are people who hate you because of some of the things you have done. And yet, if you had not done those things, the outcomes would have been worse, every time. Your recent actions, however, have people worried. (3.2 second pause) Let me change this up again. What do you do with your free time? S: I practice at the range, sir. Or physical training, or correspondence courses for qualification in more electronics classes. Or biotic practice. (2.1 second pause.) It was very calming to practice with the asari commandos. They did not seem to judge me. P: And you think the average soldier you serve with does? S: I don't really know what they think. They go silent when I walk past. They never bring issues to my attention. It makes it easier to do my job. P: You mean, to give orders that could get them killed. I see. But no hobbies? No favorite movies? No— S: They get in the way of the mission, sir. (1.4 second pause) Although I do like Star Wars. Sir. P: (laugh) Well, I didn't expect that! Good. I think you need to take some leave, Shepard. Unfortunately, it's not up to me to decide that. Failing that, you need to figure out something to do with your off-duty time that isn't military related. Have you ever done that? S: (23.2 second pause) …I… I used to collect model ships. When I was younger. I would… wish I was… somewhere else. Flying out there. P: Have you ever had a spaceside assignment, then? S: No, ground command only, sir. I have applied more than once, but I was denied. P: (5.3 second pause) Well… a spaceside command would be good for you, I think. Get to see Council Space. More downtime, more time to figure out who you are. I've been asked to clear you for this anyway, but it's good to know that it will be actually good for you. S: I see. Thank you. P: Shepard. Captain Anderson thought this would be something you would… ahem, that this would be a good task for you. I don't know any of the details aside from the fact that a space assignment may be in the cards sometimes soon. Do you think you'd like it? S: (3 second pause) …Don— Captain Anderson is the only friend I have, sir. If he says this is what I need to do, then this is what I need to do. Thank you for your time, Dr. Mathew. I need to start figuring out what to study for wherever I am assigned next. (1.3 second pause) And maybe buy some ship models. Sir. Chapter 12: Chapter 6 : Eden Prime, Revelation A/N: Remastered 10-30-14. Minor changes only, mostly some extra dialogue. Alenko hurried along behind the Commander, sweeping his pistol around in a slow arc as they moved down the side of the dig site. High walls of tough fabric, supported by hastily erected posts, surrounded the massive holes carved out of the ground, the dig site looking less like an orderly venue of science and more like a giant bomb crater liberally sprinkled with corpses. Well, so far this has been a complete disaster, he thought sourly, eyes half looking at the area around him and half trying not to focus on the curvy form of Williams' battered armor. His head hurt, not a full on migraine, but the nagging, back of the neck throbbing of nervous anticipation and fear. The dig site itself was fairly nondescript. A circular ramp of earth, pierced in places by heavy granite spurs that the archeology team had dug around rather than through, looped down somewhat irregularly around a grid of smashed bone-white towers that jutted from the earth like the teeth of some ancient giant. In the middle of these was a wide, circular plinth of some gray stone that had an eerie, slick texture. Not a single mark or chip on its surface could be found, despite the mangled corpses of human infantry and geth troopers that were flung, crumpled, and otherwise left behind. Shepard moved with utter silence and focus, Avenger moving back and forth as she swiftly took point. The eyes under her helmet were nothing more than angry grim slits as she stepped past an erected light pole and took in the carnage. The ground was muck here, liberally covered in random bits of gear, trash, and the occasional odd metallic cylinders geth weapons seemed to use. Three dead human infantry had been dumped in a pile at the entrance, with two more slumped over a concrete barricade, drying blood staining the area a sick scarlet color, as flies angrily buzzed around the ugly wounds in their corpses. Against the far wall, a path led toward the plinth, a geth trooper smashed into several segments propped up against the hastily carved wall. "Stay sharp. Geth may still be here." Shepard's voice was utterly calm and even, setting Kaidan's teeth on edge. He felt as if his hand would bruise from his death-grip on his pistol as the three stepped past the geth body into the central area. More human bodies, some shot, some torn open from explosions, all tossed around carelessly. Digging equipment bulked off to one side, with several more geth troopers and the still smoldering bulk of a Prime unit around the largest of the bulldozers. Fires flickered in the small hab units along the far side of the dig, along with piles of broken crates and a severed, blackened arm. The plinth itself was empty, and Williams frowned. "The Beacon was right here, ma'am. I… I remember falling back from here." She pointed to a corpse on the ground near the center of the plinth, the figure's blackened armor melted from heavy fire. "That was LC Garcia, ma'am. My CO." Her head fell, her features twisting in sorrow. Alenko hesitantly placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, and she angrily wiped her eyes. "He just found out his wife was going to have their first kid… shit…" Kaidan nodded. "It's okay, Chief. We'll get them." Shepard, for her part, was scanning the battlefield, eyes cold. "Stupid defensive setup. They let the fucking geth flank them on both sides." Her mouth was a grim line as she moved to the edge of the plinth. "Track marks. Looks like they used a power sled or something to move something heavy up this road towards the tram-line." Alenko pulled his hand from Williams' shoulder, giving her an awkward pat on the back, and glanced over at Shepard. Not one for personal emotions, I see. Out loud, he spoke mildly. "We haven't run into any geth, it's likely they are falling back to their ship if they already have the Beacon, ma'am." Shepard nodded. "Let's move. Up this road, hit the tram access, and find the thing before they get away." She tapped her omni-tool. "Normandy, this is ground team. We've lost contact with Nihlus and the Beacon is not at the dig site. Recommend defensive posture." Anderson's voice crackled over the comm, the weird jamming signal blocking communications was strong enough to warp even short-range comms. "Understood, Commander. We've recovered the Mako… and Jenkins' body. Be advised we are picking up ground movement near the spaceport. We're going stealth, moving to the far side of the moon… let us know if that dreadnought gets into the air." "Copy, sir. Shepard out." She put away her assault rifle and withdrew her sniper rifle instead, and gestured. "Williams, take point, and set fire suppression tactics. Alenko, you cover our rear, hit anything that moves with your strongest throw. Double time." The three Marines ran up the far side of the dig site, weaving past bodies and shattered equipment. The Prothean towers at the edge were blackened with scorch marks, and occasionally Williams uttered a name under her breath, recognizing the corpses they passed on the ground. Goddamn, how do you get over watching your entire unit get slaughtered in a matter of minutes and keep it together? Alenko shook his head as they began the ascent, the low slope of the ramp providing good traction. Coming out into the top of the escarpment, the three had a good view of the terrain below for the first time. In the distance, the heavy black dreadnought still towered over the landscape, suspended over what looked like a lake of fire. Sloping down gently from the ridge they were on, a meandering dirt path led right towards a collection of prefab units, with low barricades and stacked pallets of supplies and cargo crates out front. Two of the prefabs were shattered shells, pouring smoke into the already blackened skies, bodies hanging out of shattered windows or slumped in doorways that opened into raging fires. Two more of the prefabs were open to the air, and one looked sealed. Beyond that, the dirt road turned into a concrete path, angling down past a series of metallic loading platforms to a long and cluttered dock area, a heavy crane and stacks of crates and building materials in long piles and rows lining its edges. Stands of trees framed the edge of the platform, and cliffs rose in sheer progression to the left, running all the way to a broken hillside. A placid stream ran alongside the path, turning off before the platforms to meander across the plain, and over this a heavy, reinforced walkway led to what looked like the tram station itself. Set along the right edge of the cliffs were four tall, ugly spikes made of black metal, each standing three and a half meters high. Impaled on these spikes were human corpses. Alenko hissed in dismay. Williams merely frowned. "Those weren't there before, ma'am. What the hell are they?" Shepard motioned them forward, eyes sweeping back and forth over the terrain, and then halted. The spikes made a grinding sound, and then slowly retracted in sections, lowering the bodies to the ground. As this happened, Shepard focused on the closest of the corpses, and realized something was horribly wrong with them. Each one wore armor, or at least bits and pieces of it, but their skin was blackish-blue, as if completely bruised, and… withered, drawn tight against sinew and bone. Their faces and flesh were shot through with faintly blue glowing machinery of some kind, tracing along the limbs, to meet in two heavy lines of radiance below the eyes, which were just pits in the face, glowing an angry blue-white as they fell to the earth. Hair sluiced away from semi-liquifying skin, revealing bone, as the four figures slowly stumbled to their feet, motions jerky and uncoordinated. Alenko's voice was wild with horror. "What the hell…?" The four figures stumbled closer, their motions smoothing, arms lifting as they went from a zombie-like stagger to a shambling run, mouths opening to reveal shattered black teeth and eyes wide. Shepard fired, her sniper rifle taking one directly in the head, venting a quarter of the skull to the air as the tungsten round tore into the thing, jerking it back and to the ground with a wail. The other three rushed closer, electrical discharge radiating over their twisted forms. Shepard snarled. "Fire at will!" Williams opened up with her Avenger, stitching rounds across the remaining three. The lead husk of a human being took half a burst in the chest and legs, abruptly coming apart and tumbling to the ground. The other two took several shots, but simply staggered on. Shepard fired again, this time a hot load, the inferno round spearing the leftmost creature in the face, detonating in a bright blaze of white phosphorus, sending it spinning around, clawing at its face as it burned. Alenko concentrated, willing, pushing the tingling in the back of his neck down his outstretched arm, blue energy radiating down his form. A pulse of dark energy lashed out, catching the last creature midstride and smashing it violently against the cliffs with enough force to send limbs flying. The thing fell dead to the ground with a sharp crack as it landed head-first, shattering the neck and spine. Shepard walked to the one she had shot first and turned it over with a booted toe, taking in what had been done to it. The skin looked as if it had been sucked dry, taut against the underlying bones, and the blue cybernetics were slowly losing their glow. Lines of black tubing riddled the body, each one ending at points along its neck, which were heavily bruised. The battered chest-plate it wore bore the Alliance stencil '212 – B6 GC Yallen.' "Williams, you know a gunny chief called Yallen?" Shepard's voice was even, calm. "Yes, ma'am. She was one of the NCOs the LT put in charge of protecting the scientists we left at the camp, ma'am. Is… is that her?" Shepard tilted her head, and then shook it with disgust. "Impossible to say, chief." Prodding her omni-tool, she raised her comm-link. "Nihlus, you copy?" Only static answered her, and she shook her head again and sighed. "Normandy, this is ground team. Copy?" The transmission was even worse this time, thin and static-laced. "Copy, ground team." "Sir, we've found some kind of geth machinery, and it looks like they've done something to some of the corpses, sir. Turned them into some kind of… husk. Full of cybernetics and drained of fluids. Not sure why, advise any recovery teams to be wary of large, tripodal spiked platforms with bodies on them, corpses are not recoverable." "The hell? Husks?" Anderson's voice sounded bewildered, before dropping in tone. "Copy, ground team. This isn't looking good." Shepard snorted as she killed the comm. "No shit, sir," she muttered under her breath, and then glanced toward the intact prefab unit. "Let's check for survivors then head to the tram station." They jogged over to the prefab, finding the door securely locked. Shepard pulled up an infiltration program on her omni-tool and set several hundred runtimes at the door software, which shuddered under the assault and disengaged with a loud clank. A whimper shot out from within the prefab. "Commander Shepard, Alliance Marines. Come out now." "Oh thank god." A trembling voice called out, and the door rattled. A moment later it opened. Revealed were two figures in the unisex one-piece field overall commonly used by research teams in the field. One was a man with drawn, pained features, sallow skin and haunted green eyes set off by graying hair in a widow's peak, his spare frame hunched over as his hands twisted together. The other was a woman of oriental heritage, her face set in weary stressed lines, black eyes full of horror and her hair set back in a severe bun. "I'm Dr. Sarah Warden, from the University of Arcturus, and this is Manuel Cayce, comms decryption tech. My assistant. Where… where is Lieutenant Commander Garcia?" Her voice, a weak contralto, wavered in the silence of the prefab. Shepard shook her head. "Dead. I need to know what happened here." Manuel spoke, his voice disjointed, broken. "Here? Here is where the end of life begins, the circle closes." Warren sighed, troubled lines appearing on her face. "Ignore him, he's not well. When we unearthed the Beacon it interacted – or tried to, at least – with him in some manner, and he hasn't recovered yet. All we know is that we were prepping the Beacon to move when that huge black ship landed and geth appeared everywhere. Garcia tossed the team's study computer into my hands and locked us in here and slapped some kind of lock on the door, and all we've heard since is heavy fighting." Shepard nodded. "Did he say anything about the geth?" Manuel looked at Shepard, eyes wide, pleading. "Agents of the destroyers. Bringers of darkness. Heralds of our extinction, or blind fools?" Warden gently pushed Manuel back. "Manuel, please. As I said, Commander, we don't know anything. I remember hearing screaming about 'geth dropships' and 'spikes,' but that's it." Shepard considered this. "And the Beacon? Did we extract anything from it? Do we know if it is still functional?" "It appears to be some kind of communications device, maybe a router or a storage unit. As I said, it interacted with Manuel here, but only briefly, as if he wasn't what it was looking for. It didn't bother activating for anyone else, and there was no interface unit of any kind. It seemed as if it was drained of power, perhaps on standby." She stepped back, pulling something from a computer on the shelf behind her, and held it out. It was a standard OSD. "This is all the notes and research we had, at least, what was on the main field computer." Shepard took it, sealing it in her belt. "You said Manuel interacted with the Beacon?" Manuel only shuddered. "We have unearthed the heart of evil. Awakened the beast. Unleashed the darkness. You can't stop it. Nobody can stop it. Night is falling. The darkness of eternity!" Warren gave a lopsided smile. "Manuel was not very stable before this event, Commander, and he saw his entire comms team get shot to bits immediately after interacting with alien technology. I'm not sure what he says can be taken as anything but, well… madness at this point." Manuel's eyes widened, and he grabbed Warren's arm, shaking her. "Is it madness to see the future? To see the destruction rushing towards us? To understand that there is no escape? No hope?" Shepard tilted her head, then lashed out with her fist, striking Manuel cleanly in the jaw. He slumped to the floor with a thud, and Shepard shook her head. "Goodnight, Manuel." Warren looked outraged. "You can't just—" Shepard cut her off with an icy glare. "He's unhinged, exposed to unknown factors from alien tech and probably in shock. Have you ever seen what happens when people snap completely? I have. Lay him out on that cot over there and make sure he doesn't get up again, I'll send someone to police this area up and get you some help." Warren stepped back, shaken. Williams, frowning, unclipped her pistol. "Here, ma'am. Just in case." She handed it over to the scientist, who took it with ill ease and held it awkwardly at her side. Shepard merely nodded, then tapped her comm-link. "Normandy, this is ground team. Mark this location. We've located two survivors of the science team. One has mental trauma… and a concussion, probably." "Copy, ground team." Shepard jerked her head, and the three Marines backed out, heading down to the concrete path to the tram access platform. Shepard paused, taking in the shattered remains of a geth slumped against the wall. She then examined the wall behind it more closely, eyes narrowing. "This shotgun blast. It's from a sawed-off weapon." Williams frowned, not getting the point, but Alenko nodded. "Like the ones Nihlus had." Shepard nodded, and the three proceeded down the path, coming to a platform overlooking the cargo area. Shepard paused again to examine three downed geth nearly melted into the ground, but Williams pointed. "Ma'am… there's a body on the platform." Shepard glanced over and cursed. "Move." The three got to the platform's edge, descending the ladder that terminated on an access road running next to the platform. Running flat out, Shepard leapt over a cargo hauler's low deck and scrambled up onto the platform proper, weapons ready. Nihlus lay slumped against some crates stacked near the far wall, the entire top of his head blown apart, his face smashed in and covered in drying blue blood. His chest armor was compacted and splintered by a dent the size of a soccer ball, and a crater of a hole was blown into his left chest, going clean through the other side of the armor. His LMG was loose in his hands, and his shotguns were tossed carelessly to the side. He sat in a pool of his own blood, sticky and starting to dry. One eye was missing, torn apart by whatever blew his head open, but the other was staring blankly up at the sky, still as vividly green as when Shepard first met him on the ship. Alenko grimaced. "Damn, he looks like he went out hard." Shepard glanced around, looking for clues. A patch of blue blood, speckles here and there, nothing that gave any hint of what was going on. Geth footprints. A pile of corpses, burning, most only bones and ash now. Bloody drag marks indicating the pile had been created sometime after Nihlus was dead, as some of the bodies had smeared the blood pool at the turian's feet. Nihlus's omni-tool was missing. Shepard cursed. "Normandy, this is ground team. More bad news, sir. Nihlus is dead. I repeat, Nihlus is dead. Looks like he went down hard, sir." "…Copy, ground team. Goddamn this mission. Any sign of who did it?" "No, sir. Pile of bodies looks like they got policed up after the fact, more signs of geth but no geth on the platform. And the Spectre's omni-tool is missing. Anything he recorded is gone." Anderson's voice was tired sounding and wavery. "Understood, ground team. See if you can't—" The transmission was interrupted by what sounded like an explosion. Shepard turned, and watched as the huge black ship rose into the air on a plume of white-hot exhaust. "Sir! Dreadnought is going spaceside!" "Copy, Shepard. Going silent and landing on the moon. As soon as that thing is gone we'll pick you up. Try to find out if they took the Beacon." Shepard nodded grimly. "Come on, let's move." O-OSaBC-O We are exiting this system. You will be in Noveria in less than two hours. Be ready to move once we arrive, or else your ploy will fall through. Saren shuddered as the Voice moved within his skull. He sat in the Chair, mind alive with emotions and rage. "Spirits curse you, fool boy. Why, why did you have to be there, of all places?!" Saren examined his taloned hands, as if expecting them to be drenched in blood. He remembered the final look of the turian he had trained himself, the expression of disgust. "Nihlus didn't understand what was at stake. There is a cost to all things, as you told me not so long ago, beloved." Benezia's voice was cool, but carried an undercurrent of sorrow. Saren stared at her a long moment before snarling. "Would you say the same if you had to blow your daughter's head off?" Benezia closed her eyes, shuddering, before nodding. Saren's mandibles twitched, then sagged in disgust with himself. He rubbed his hand across his face, as if trying to rub away some mark, and within him burned emotions he could not even hope to handle. After a long moment, he gently extended a hand in a gesture of apology. "That was uncalled for, from me, Benezia. I had just hoped he would have given me some chance to make him see reason, to explain what we are doing. The first hint I had of him being there, he'd already shot me and was about to kill me, if not for the 'improvements' Nazara has already gifted me with…" He grimaced. "When it said they would save my life, I did not believe it." He glanced away, into the dark, twisted shadows of the ship, and closed his eyes. Benezia slowly glided to his side, her features unreadable. "I am sorry, Saren. I know he was your friend, as you said. But he would have killed you without remorse, and I cannot do this on my own." Saren nodded, and gently touched her chin with his fingers. "I am upset, but I know you feel my grief. And… you are right. We must focus on what we are doing this for, not the losses and pains we suffer. It is just hard to remember that when it seems all around me is black confusion, headaches, and doubt." She smiled and placed her hand against his, closing her eyes. "There is nobility in suffering, in enduring what those of lesser strength cannot. Nihlus died, so that in the end many others would have a chance at something other than annihilation. If he understood, Saren, he would have happily sacrificed himself for that ideal." The clanking form of a geth trooper entered the command area, the fell gray light giving its mechanical shape a mottled, almost organic appearance. Of course, the geth would choose this moment to report. "Saren-Prophet, Prime Unit 302 reports detonation device for the primary explosive unit has failed. It is making repairs. ETA until completion is just under two kiloseconds. Prime Unit 2209 reports devices in secondary positions are in place." Saren nodded. "And the Beacon?" The geth's eye-flaps adjusted, as if perplexed. "The Beacon continues to deactivate any synthetic brought within three point zero four eight meters. We have no methods to move it. We have prepared explosive charges to ensure it is completely destroyed upon primary detonation." Saren sighed. "After all the damned thing has cost me, I feel cheated that we cannot even take it with us. The others were not so well protected; this one still has secrets unrevealed." He placed his head in his hands, his voice turning bitter. "Nothing to even show for our effort." Benezia shrugged. "The vision from this one seems both fragmented and dangerous. Merely handling the shock almost killed you, and stabilizing your mind against the assault it put you through when it detected indoctrination exhausted even me. Nazara warned us they were dangerous. Perhaps, much as one cannot hold onto a wave when it meets the shore, we should leave it behind and search for safer options." Saren looked up between his talons, and for a moment just looked at Benezia. "Very well. At least the damnable humans will pay alongside Nihlus." The image of his friend flashed across his mind's eye again, bringing fresh pain. What happened to the times where I was just fighting evil, and you were just helping me make it through one more night? When did we lose ourselves to the point where the sacrifice of our closest friends is seen as necessary? Icy, iron thoughts lanced through his head. Weakness is a sign of those unwilling to ascend. Saren shuddered, clearing his mind. "You… never mind. We must leave this system before reinforcements arrive." The geth made some form of motion similar to a bow, which drew an amused snort from Benezia. "We will ensure the runtimes on the planet remain until detonation. One ship to receive transmitted archival copies thirty seconds prior to detonation, and all forces remaining will return to Virmire-Base." Saren waved the machine away, not caring if the geth on the planet lived or died. His thoughts turned to the huge gaps in his knowledge, the inability they had of making sense of what he had seen so far. There was, of course, Liara, but he was less sanguine about how well a young and innocent asari maiden would take to this. Benezia might end up having to subdue or even kill her own daughter. If they could find a different path to find what they needed, perhaps the girl – and Benezia – could be spared such pain. He turned to her, voice low and soothing. "Benezia, I need your Triune commandos to probe ExoGeni, to find more beacons. This is not enough. We've struck more than a few volus supply ships, seeking the manifests for archeological expeditions. Those only provided us with four sites, none of which had a beacon. There must be a better way to search." Benezia nodded. "I will try, although the Triune is already under scrutiny. Why the change of plans?" Saren shrugged. "The geth are not being as useful as they could, and their searches have turned up nothing. I do not think they are putting everything they have into the search, hoping that we fail so they can serve Nazara directly. So far, every operation until now has been a failure." He paused. "Still… Eden Prime was a major victory; the Beacon has brought us one step closer to finding the Conduit." Benezia nodded. "And one step closer to the return of the Reapers. And with no one the wiser, if Cerberus does its job correctly." Saren snorted. "I would not count on that at all, which is why I have already prepared contingency plans." Chapter 13: Chapter 7 : Eden Prime, Escalation A/N: Remastered 7-9-2016. Anderson's large hand was curled around the headrest of Joker's chair, fingers digging into the cloth as if hanging on for dear life. "Emissions levels, Joker?" The pilot grunted, hands flying over the golden glow of information that shifted almost too fast for Anderson to even follow. "Currently putting out less than point oh two. Not even enough to pick us up without being… I dunno, directly on top of us?" Anderson's eyes narrowed as he took in the status repeater haptic panel to his right. "Good. What about other systems?" Joker's voice was calm even as he kept tapping through menus. "We managed to bulk-vent the waste heat when Adams shunted the freshwater tanks across the radiator vanes on the anterior array. Right now we have all nonessential systems shut down, and most of the essential ones except heat control, the IES system, life-support, and the drive core, which is idling at almost dialed in g's to the moon." Anderson nodded. The CIC behind him was as silent as a tomb, as if 'running silent' meant people had to be quiet. The view-screen displayed four images of the giant black vessel, three from dropped remote probes, the fourth from the camera in the ventral sail assembly. The Normandy was nimble, heavily armed, and fast, but against the giant ship those strengths didn't really matter. If the stealth systems didn't perform as promised by the Bureau of Shipbuilding, they didn't have a lot of options. "We'll see if BuShips messed this one up, then. Let's just hope the IES continues to work. Fighting that ship isn't something we can survive." Joker nodded mutely. The sheer size of the thing, the obvious power of its eezo core, the speed at which it broke orbit – all of these things were horrifying. A ship that size shouldn't even be able to land, much less boost to space in forty-one seconds and pull a turn that would have snapped even the Normandy in half with g-forces. They had dropped observation beacons as soon as the thing had launched, and vented as much waste heat as possible before engaging stealth, hastily setting down on the far side of the moon facing away from Eden Prime proper. Slunk into the far wall of an old impact crater, they had to hope the message Anderson had hastily programmed into the beacons would be taken at face value. He glanced at the comm panel as one of the beacons began transmitting again, probably for the last time. "This is Captain Anderson of the SSV Normandy. Eden Prime is under geth attack. Any ship entering this system should fall back. We have departed the system to get help, all comms are jammed. There is no one in this system to defend you, perform an emergency jump back immediately." Joker's eyes narrowed. "Here it comes, sir." They both watched the huge black ship soar through space. Its lower end, the part that looked nothing more like a vile, grasping hand, began to open, and ruby-red light shone from some sort of aperture at its base. With almost titanic force, a torrent of red light tore through space, lancing through the first beacon, then the second. A pause, and then a final red spear erupted, blasting the third into a cloud of superheated metal particles. Anderson's ground his teeth as the giant ship paused, rotating slowly in space. Joker cursed. "Some kind of wide-angle energy ping just clipped the hull. Wasn't LADAR, not sure what it was, exactly. Don't think it acquired anything." Tense seconds trickled by, Anderson's hand beginning to cramp, droplets of sweat sliding down the small of his back, tickling. He thought back to decisions he'd made, choices he regretted, and wonder if this was how it all ended. God, Kahlee… I wish I had been less stubborn, and just gone with my feelings. If I don't end up dying like this… I'm going to fix that. The alarm on the ECM panel stopped suddenly. Joker's hand was shaking slightly as he paged through a menu, then he pumped his fist. "Fucking YES! Big bastard is lighting out, sir, full-on towards the relay!" Anderson suppressed a shudder of relief and exhaled. Focusing a moment to calm himself, he gave a wry smile. "Well, Joker, he probably didn't think he could survive a dogfight with you." Joker half-twisted around in his seat to stare at Anderson. "Who are you, and what did you do with my hard-ass of a Captain?" Anderson snorted, the broad planes of his face breaking into a gentle smile. "Good work on the dump and setting us down. Let me know when that thing relays out so we can pick up our team." "Roger that, sir. Jumping jalapeños, that sonuvabitch can move. It's going at mark one-one-eight, sir. Three times as fast as that tricked-out salarian frigate in the last Citadel Relay Event." Anderson watched the sensor screen, the mirth on his face drawing back down into hard lines. "One-one-eight? That's… how much eezo does that thing have?" Shaking his head, he turned to head down the ops alley to CIC. "Pressly, report!" The NavOps officer nodded, hands moving over the system displays for heat management. "Dumping that water on the vanes cooled us down, but the remote sensor units are shorted out. Once we drop out of stealth, going back in will be tricky. Kinetic barriers at one hundred percent. Scanners show the orbital space around Eden Prime as clear of obstructions." He tapped another panel. "It will take us a bit to spin up the weapons systems again, recommend arming the missiles rather than trying to hot-start the guns, sir." Anderson nodded, arriving at the turian-designed engineering status console. After glancing at it for several seconds, he realized the ship shutdown had made several subsystems fail to report their status. He sighed, slapping a heavy hand on the comm panel. "Adams, status." The dour, dry voice of the Chief Engineer sounded through the CIC. "Mass core is stable and holding at within one percent of the planet's g-force, to avoid distortion effects. Ship's power at ninety-four percent, sir. Serviceman Royce is angry that the showers and toilets don't work now that we have no water. I can get the recycling still going on the greywater, wastewater, and coolant tanks, but we are going to have to resupply ASAP. We need some of that freshwater for atmosphere electrolytic heat regulation." Anderson ran a hand over his scalp. "Understood. Prepare to bring us up to full power on the core." Shutting down the comms, the Captain turned back to Pressly. "I need a heavy energy pulse for maximum transmission power as soon as that damned… thing… goes superluminal. I need to punch straight out to Arcturus for backup and to the Citadel Council ASAP. Make it happen." Pressly rushed off, and Anderson grimaced and strode to stand at his place overlooking the CIC. "Joker, ground team status?" "All hardsuits in the green, sir." "Good. Keep me informed, Joker, and prep the ship for lift. Is that thing gone yet?" Joker's voice was all business. "Yeah, but we have a problem. It just relayed out, but three other ships are incoming. Blue-shift projection says they are batarian, sir. Cruiser-class. ETA is thirty minutes out, but that's an estimate – we don't have good profiles on cruisers." Anderson clenched his fist. "This day gets better and better. Three cruisers is a bit much to handle." He paused. "Get me the ground team, and prep for transmission." O-OSaBC-O Shepard's team moved over toward the tramway, weapons ready. Shepard had taken scans of Nihlus's death scene and appropriated the dead turian's LMG, the heavy weapon comfortable in her hands. Behind her, Alenko's face was in a grimace of concentration as he kept up a barrier field in front of them to protect against snipers, while Williams brought up the rear, tracking with her Avenger back and forth. The dock area itself was littered with bodies, the signs of an ugly gunfight some time ago, where it looked like a group of Marines had made a short stand just before the tram-line. More Marines were slumped in death along the edge of the dock walkway and, as the team actually reached the ramp leading to the tram, even more scattered about. Most had been shot in the back, fleeing. Williams cursed hotly again as she recognized someone, while Shepard merely kept her focus on the surroundings, keeping an eye out for hostiles. Whoever or whatever killed Nihilus took a Spectre out in very close quarters – and with no sign they were even injured in doing so. Shepard tried to think, as they kept moving, on how someone could have gotten the drop on the Spectre. There wasn't anywhere to ambush a target from… She trailed off as the full length of the tram-line came into view. The tram-line hung over the river, extending off into the distance. Some twenty meters below, the river splashed into tumbling rapids, heavy boulders and jutting cliff sides sending a glitter of spray high into the air, momentarily dispelling the ever-present scent of death, burnt flesh, and metal. A rainbow glimmered briefly in the reflected droplets, some of them cascading down to mist gently across the team. The cool wind and spray flickered over Williams, making her jaw tremble. Fucking geth killed my team! They killed them, and I couldn't stop them! The woman's grip on her weapon was tight enough that her knuckles stood out whitely, strained. Her eyes were bloodshot and darting around, and anger burned through her like some kind of bubbling, hot tar, scalding and unbearable. "Where the fuck are the fucking geth?!" Shepard glanced back over her shoulder, hazy blue-gray eyes narrowing behind her visor. "Keep it sharp, Chief. Emotion gets you laid out on a slab, just like your unit, if you let it get in the way of the mission." Williams gritted her teeth. "Yes, ma'am." Shepard moved ahead. There were several minutes of silence as they moved toward the tram, finally coming across the final segment. A heavy cargo tram was here, strips of packing wire and spools of slack cable indicative that it once held something heavy and oblong in place. Williams cursed. "Shit, they've moved it to the spaceport. You think they made off with it?" Shepard nodded, then frowned, kneeling down. Muddy footprints were on the flat metallic walkway, both geth and human. "I can't tell if the geth ambushed them when they were moving it, or if they had already moved it and the geth came after." She glanced around, frowning deeper. "No bodies, no mass accelerator holes, not a single plasma burn or ejected geth clip." Alenko had moved behind the sled to the control panel. "I've recalled one of the trams, ma'am. Should be here in a few minutes." Shepard nodded absently, then stood. "Williams, sniper position, behind that console. Alenko, oversight with biotics. If anything is on that tram that's not human, I'll throw a warp field and you detonate it. If that doesn't work, I'll use a charge and try to knock them off." Williams nodded coldly. "Be happy to, ma'am." Unslinging her mud-spattered rifle, she flipped up the scope and loaded up a block of heavy impact ammo. O-OSaBC-O The network was ice, a broken web of data that trickled along arbitrage/negation lines. Runtimes skittered along the dark lanes of non-connect/NoCarrier, illuminated only by the dim, static-edged light of the occasional FTP ping response. Prime 302 Downlink to Alpha-Prophet was focused on the bomb. As the highest decision arbiter on the site, that was its function. The physical non-software world was unoptimized. Three hundred thirty-two runtimes struggled to constantly map physical surfaces with low-scale LADAR pings, and eighty-two had to slave all cognitive processing to interpret it. One hundred ninety-one runtimes maintained the battle readiness of the servitor-construct that the collective inhabited. But almost all of the remaining two thousand two hundred ninety runtimes on board focused on the bomb. Eden Prime was a non-optimal; its FTL wideband connections still in shreds from the damage done to the planet's comm array by Nazara-Giver-of-Future, but even without that, the download of the technical documentation should have been completed by now on any mainline colony world. But facts could not be altered. The required documentation was incomplete. Even if it had been, repairs to the device, which had been damaged by a wild shot during transport, would require a machine lab with sub-scalar scanning capabilities, and at least three parts they didn't have access to. A jury-rig was possible, but required too much time. Runtime 4X/V-Command started a consensus thread. 4X/V-C: Dis-optimal solution. Estimated time to repair of detonation device: 29 minutes. B-211-A: Non-computing fail error. Saren-Prophet requires detonation in 10 minutes, 54 seconds. Long-range comms arrays detect Cerberus/Alliance Soulwatch false-flag batarian cruisers in approach lane. 67-T: Unable to comply. Bomb is not operable. Secondary nuclear implosion will not function. 45-A: Suggestion: documentation suggests blast radius upgrade unnecessary. Replace with long-decay delay radionuclides. The over-net washed out with blue light of data analysis. The digital sky tore open, runtimes rappelling down shifting waterfalls of data, maps, blast pattern charts, chemical formula. An inventory of the spaceport manifest was downloaded by five runtimes, with one escalated to top-tier runtime analysis. B-211-A: Spaceport inventory: 54 single-photon emission computed tomography systems. Manifest details: planned utilization for X-ray imagery of Prothean/Failstate ruins. Systems each contain 1.2 kilograms of Gadolinium-153. Isotope is unstable, half-life of 240.4±10 days, emits gamma radiation with strong peaks at 41 and 102 keV. Boosted by detonation, fallout emission will edge into the MeV range. A pause. Calculations. 67-T: Irradiation sufficient to blanket area of 1,717,854 square Creator-Thousandfoot spans. Estimated time to remove needed material, 3 minutes, 44 seconds. Estimated workforce time to repair and implement detonation, 4 minutes, 9 seconds. Estimated time to transmit all runtimes to orbital shuttle-oversight, 44 seconds. Total time, under 10 minutes, 54 seconds. 4X/V-C: Authorization required. Begin assembly of material. Consensus poll. The consensus formed, washed along the data channels like a tide… and crystallized. Two thousand eleven runtimes vote for the plan. In the real world, a sub-transmission signal went out to the geth units standing nearby. Sixteen of them proceeded to the heavy cargo crates at the far end of the spaceport and began opening them. Prime 302 uplinked to orbital shuttle-oversight. "Adjudicated plan change. Technical document corrupted. On-site repair facilities lacking within required time constraints. Detonation force of bomb insufficient. Will explosively salt device with locally obtained active radioisotopes." A long, static filled delay dragged by before Saren's voice rasped across. "…Ahh. You are indeed vicious, machine. The radiation will deny the area to investigators for many days, correct?" "Affirmative. Emissions estimated to be of sufficient gamma intensity to sterilize all life within area roughly nineteen point three times total area mass, Palaven City. Within one solar cycle all higher bond DNA chains will decay, obliterating trace evidence. Site will be denied for approximately two hundred forty to three hundred solar cycles." The machine did not bother to mention that with the quantity of fallout debris that would be thrown into the air, not only the local area, but most likely the entire planet would be contaminated. Sixty-five kilos of Gd-153 was almost ninety times what would be needed to irradiate the entire colony. The planet would die, utterly and completely. "Well within our timeline. By the time they sort everything out, we'll have found the Conduit. Do it." Another long pause punctuated the conversation, followed by a short chuckle. "Make sure you offload your mind, or whatever you things do. You are the first geth who thinks in a way both I and Nazara approve of." The comm line went dead. The collective pulsed a pale, satisfied green. The signal was transmitted and the geth began moving into action. Even as they did so, however, there was more than the usual amount of nonessential data arbitrage, due to the concept that Nazara-Giver-of-Future approved. Normally, Prime 302 would negate this, but the mission was almost complete and success was well within expected parameters. It simply continued to focus work on the bomb, content in the praise given. As such, Unit 454-Perpetuity-Outlying-Guard failed to notice the third tram accelerating back toward the cargo terminal, as it was too caught up in the wave of reverence for Nazara-Giver-of-Future. Chapter 14: Chapter 8 : Eden Prime, Conclusion A/N: Remastered on 7-17-2016. Lots of fixes. "Ma'am, the tram car." Ashley gestured with her sniper rifle, pointing out the rapidly approaching rectangular platform. The car had low walls on all sides, but no roof, and appeared to be free of battle wreckage. "Looks clear." Shepard sighed. "That means there's no one on the other side most likely, or they would have shut it down or sent a welcoming party." Alenko smirked dryly. "Or they're just dug in and waiting for us, ma'am." He stood, easing off his amp and folding his arms across his chest. Shepard glanced at him for a long moment before giving a trace of a smile. "Smartass." Alenko coughed, and nervously glanced away. "I, uh, aim to please. Ma'am." Shepard only nodded, turning away and eying the tram. They're only treating you nicely because they don't know you well. Don't put anything into it. Focus on the mission, not the eye candy. Glancing away from Kaidan, she turned to look at Williams and then sighed internally. No, not that eye candy either. Dammit. The tram car slammed to a screeching halt, its rails a bit scuffed – signs of poor maintenance or excessive use under loads it was not designed for. Like hundreds of geth soldiers, most likely. Fuck it all, this is gonna end badly. Shepard stepped forward, tapping the interface on the tram's control panel. "All aboard." Williams gave a tiny, tired laugh as she and Alenko hopped on. "Next stop, Geth Station, ma'am?" "It would seem so. Maybe we'll find some answers there—" Shepard's voice cut off and reached out to steady herself as the tram lurched, sending them all stumbling. Williams was thrown back, crashing into Kaidan, who instinctively wrapped an arm around her waist to keep her from falling off. "T-Thanks, LT." "No problem, Chief." His eyes were sad. "We've lost enough of the 212 for one day to let you die in a silly accident. Speaking of that, are you okay?" Williams blinked hard several times, then gave a grimace. "I will be. I just need to kill some fucking geth." Shepard gave her a sardonic smile. "You'll never be able to kill enough to get it out of your head, Williams. Trust me, I've tried and tried." Williams said nothing, unsure of how to respond to that. The sheer deadness of the woman's voice, the tiredness in her eyes, threw a chill over her own hot-blooded anger. But then she remembered Bhatia, blasted into agonizing death on the ground right next to her, barely twenty seconds prior to pickup. "With all due respect, ma'am, have you ever lost your entire fucking unit?" Alenko winced as Shepard's expression shifted from a blank stare to a grim, ugly smile. "Three times, Chief. You can either cry about it or use the anger to get the job done. Either way, if you can't deal—" Williams gritted her teeth. "I'm fine, ma'am." Shepard's eyes met Williams', and the younger Marine shivered under the sheer malevolent emptiness of that look. "Just pull that trigger when I tell you, Chief, and you'll be fine." A bitter note crept into her voice as she turned away to look at the approaching spaceport. "If you're lucky, Alliance brass will pat you on the head for not dying, give you a piece of tin, and ship you off to another place to get killed." Alenko placed a hand on the Gunnery Chief's shoulder, cautiously. She snapped her head around to glare at him, but he only shook his head softly. His eyes were sympathetic, but carried a warning in their gaze, and Williams shrugged his hand off. "I am fine, ma'am, but I apologize if I was out of line." Shepard gave an almost lazy wave of her hand. "Don't worry about it, Chief. Your unit just got fucked over and out. You're allowed to be upset, if that's your thing. I could care less if you call me a frigid bitch and hope I die in a fire, as long as you kill the goddamned fucks that did this, you're in line." Williams bit her tongue but ended up speaking anyway. "How did you get over it? Losing your unit, and more than once? All your friends, all the memories…?" Shepard slowly glanced over her shoulder at the Marine. "Friends? Yeah, I had those once. Didn't work out, and one tried to kill me. And the memories…" She trailed off, then shook her head. "The memories were ninety-five percent boredom, and five percent terror." Williams decided not to pursue the topic further, and Shepard turned away, hands unshipping and opening her Avenger rifle. "Movement at the spaceport." Williams exhaled and lifted her sniper rifle, the scope auto-flexing to bring the distant end of the tramline in order. "Geth, ma'am." Shepard nodded. "How many?" Williams swallowed, suddenly pale. "Ah… um… a lot." Alenko narrowed his eyes. He felt for the younger woman, but they needed her to be sharp right now. "How many is 'a lot,' Chief? Ten? Twenty?" Williams lowered the scope in horror. "No, sir. I'd say company strength, sir. At least seventy-five of them." Alenko gave a sharp inhalation, but before he could speak, the silence was pierced by a low, almost breathy laughter. Both Williams and Alenko turned to Shepard, who was smiling. "It's about damned time someone gave me a fight on this stupid hick backwater of a world." Her smile faded. "Listen carefully. There's no damned reason for the geth to still be here with the ship gone unless they're doing something. Maybe it has to do with the Beacon, maybe they're concealing evidence. Whatever it is, we need to—" Her omni-tool chirped. "Warning: radiological alert. Unauthorized isotopes in excess of Alliance authorized dispensation detected. Please notify local law enforcem—" the VI's voice went dead as Shepard silenced the alarm. The three of them just looked ahead silently, until Williams summed it up nicely. "Well, fuck." O-OSaBC-O The sub-network flashed an alarmed white-red. Non-geth data streams interrupted, LADAR pings picking up movement of the third tram car. It was within visual confirmation distance. No units were near the car controls panel. Active sensors painted the incoming hostiles. Local net archives were breached, searching for data. No data found/Williams-OrganizerOfWeapons-Combatant. The breached local Alliance military network spilled forth human measures of threat, all meaningless without context. Within parameters. No data found/Alenko-SubDecisionNode-GroundWarriorPrime-Unit. Images of Alenko using biotics, reports from the local net. Within parameters. Primary threat identification complete. Data found. Shepard-Predator-Commander. 1.2 TB combat data. Classification: TotalDeath/NoCarrier threat level. Retargeting parameters. O-OSaBC-O "Holy SHIT!" The three Marines ducked as every geth unit on the spaceport platform opened up at once, hundreds of rounds pouring in. The tram shuddered under repeated hits, the controls shattering from the blast of a rocket that sent Alenko skidding to the deck, barely holding on to the edge of the car. Shepard cursed and ducked down, almost prone to the floor. Williams lay on the floor of the car, gripping her carbine. "Shit! They're gonna blow this thing off the tracks! What do we do?" Shepard smiled. "Alenko, find whatever caused that radiological alarm and disarm or destroy it. Williams, cover Alenko." Williams eyes bugged out. "Are you fucking nuts?! How the hell do I do that? What about the geth army over there?" Shepard smirked. "Relax, I got this." She rolled out of her crouch and stood in a rapid motion, lifted herself up on the balls of her feet, and vanished in a blue flash. A streak of blue light slammed into the ranks of the geth lined up at the edge of the platform. There was a blast of energy and several loud booms as she impacted a Prime, shedding dark energy in shockwaves that sent geth platforms flying like bowling pins. "STRIKE, BITCHES!" Shepard gave a howl like an enraged hyena, snarling as her right hand flared with blue radiance that spilled out in a wave of energy, slamming across the ranks of the geth. She stood, extending both hands, bursts of dark energy rushing out like a tidal wave to crush the serried ranks of geth. Legs bent backwards and snapped, arms wrenched out of joints and flew off in all directions. Eleven geth were already wrecked by her charge – some tumbling twenty-four meters to the ground far below, others smashed against the wall with bone crushing force. Nineteen more stumbled around the platform, still recovering from the system-loss of the Prime unit Shepard had slammed into, which had been bent double at the waist, its entire upper torso deformed and bent outwards by the force of the impact. She ducked under the scything fire of two geth on the upper level and retaliated, her free hand pulling out her pistol and placing a single shot in each geth head. Both troopers pinwheeled off of the overhead catwalk with digitized screeches. The group she had stunned were recovering, bringing weapons to the ready, but Shepard twisted her hand, inverting the dark energy she had summoned. Her amp hummed in her skull as she strained, exerting all her might not on the geth themselves, but on the structural support rods keeping the heavy crates on the high walls of the platform from collapsing. With a shriek of tortured metal, the truss tore free from the wall, and a broad shelf of metal, used to store dozens of crates of building supplies originally intended for the dig site, collapsed in a slow wave. Crates weighing hundreds of kilos plunged down, some crushing the geth into splinters of metal and splashes of white ruin, others crunching completely through the thin decking and carrying geth to their watery doom twenty-four meters below, the synthetics spinning in the rapidly dimming sunlight as they slammed into the shallow riverbed. In less than a dozen seconds, seventy-eight geth had become nine. Their communal network shattered, the remaining units fell back to auto-programmed responses, firing blind suppressive patterns at the primary threat. These were ineffective as Shepard athletically leapt aside behind a low crate, a moment later her hand flicking up and outwards. Three disk grenades tumbled through the air for a few moments before detonating in midair, collapsing the rest of the cargo shelving. With a slam and a hollow series of booms, the rest of the right side of the platform collapsed, the geth skidding across the suddenly slanted decking as it fell, tumbling end over end before smashing into the already mangled remains of their fellows below. The tram slammed into place, Alenko and Williams stepping off and looking at Shepard, jaws hanging open. Shepard's hands trembled slightly, the after-rush of biotic exertion shivering through her like ice sliding along her skin. She took in a large breath – and choked it off as Williams was slammed back to the wall nearest the tram by a blast of plasma, her gun flying from suddenly nerveless fingers, collapsing to the ground as she was stunned from the impact, her armor smoking and blackened. Alenko yelled, pulling his pistol with one hand and snap firing at the Geth Prime that had just stepped onto the platform from a tunnel leading to the spaceport proper. His shots harmlessly pinged off as the massive three and a half meter tall war machine stepped down, its giant plasma cannon barking again, tearing a basketball-sized hole in the wall centimeters from Alenko's face, pattering him with burning metal. He shrieked, pistol hurled away as he spun in agony. Shepard's mind flashed through old memories for a split-second— LT Capp, falling dead as he blocked a shot from that turian sniper, Major Kyle, bloodied and broken as he watched both his sons' bodies carried off the field, glancing back at Shepard with tears in his eyes. "Why didn't you protect my boys, Shepard? I trusted you, despite everything…" Shepard roared, a crazed sound, and let loose with the Revenant. The heavy machine gun spun up in a cyclic roar like twelve chainsaws inside a jet engine, the stream of heavy tungsten spikes cutting into the shields of the Prime, sending cascading storms of dissipated energy down its huge frame. Prime 302 turned the cannon on Shepard, but she was already moving. The first plasma blast missed, searing past her head close enough to graze the material of her visor. She slid along the smooth metallic floor, dropping the gun and triggering her biotics. A disc of dark energy skidded along underneath her sliding form even as she focused on lightening herself. A second shot blasted the decking in front of her, pitting it with white-hot plasma. She slammed down a heel, her entire body pivoting like a seesaw to an upright position as she made her disk angle upwards like a launch ramp. With a grunt of effort she leapt high in the air, drawing back a fist as she bared her teeth in a snarl. Prime 302 stepped back, adjusted the choke on its cannon, and fired directly at Shepard as she slammed down toward it, the blast meeting her in midair in a flash of glaring, blinding plasma energies. Energies rent aside as her barrier parted them, her fist glowing with biotic power as she now focused all her weight, her rage, her anger, and her fury into one strike. She slammed into the Prime with every bit of power in her soul, eyes blazing with rage. "You won't kill my fucking CREW!" Alenko flinched as the entire spaceport seemed to shake, his head ringing from the blast of a biotic explosion. Wind rushed past him, scattering bits of old paper and a couple of leaves across his face before it died down. To his left, Williams groaned, her armor baked and cracked, blood leaking from her mouth. Swallowing in sharp pain, Alenko stood. He now saw a large cylindrical device in the mouth of the tunnel the prime had come from, along with the shells of what looked like dozens of rectangular beige boxes hurled willy-nilly around them. Chunks of a pale, yellow-gray pasty substance were scattered about, his omni-tool blaring visual alarms about radiation. He coughed, peering off to his right. Picking up his pistol, he advanced slowly to the smoking hole in the decking where the Prime had stood. A geth arm, painted red and heavily armored, lay next to it, the forearm warped into a bizarre curve by the sheer force of whatever had severed it. He waved a hand, smoke clearing from the glowing mess in front of him, and beheld ruin. The Prime unit lay prone, smashed almost half a meter into a circular indentation that must have radiated out three meters. The metal was compressed, almost bruised looking – cracked, warped, discolored in many places, glowing red in others. Much of the bulk of the Prime above its chest was simply gone. Hundreds of splinters of red metal studded the area of the indentation and the crates next to it. And the figure that knelt at the Prime's feet. Shepard's fist was a bloody, mangled ruin, skin stripped off in flayed, jagged segments to reveal torn, seeping muscle and white bone. Her armor on her left arm was warped and broken, with bits of geth armor shoved through it in places. Her helmet was cracked, a huge split in the visor spearing back toward the aural sensor pads covering the ear, the other side blackened and smoking. Her chest was heaving, but the armor covering it was deformed, blood trickling in rivulets from cracks along the side. She looked up, and her eyes were alive with hot fires for just a single, aching moment. "C-Commander?" His voice, to his embarrassment, almost broke. She blinked, and the fire died. "Fuck, Alenko, do I look like a geth?" "N-No… that was… Christ, that was insane." Shepard stood, very unsteady on her feet, her right leg trembling. She staggered, and he caught her by the left arm, feeling muscle spasms as she fought to stay upright. A long piece of metal had pierced her thigh, transfixed from front to back. "I'm… fine." A weary cough made Alenko turn his head. "Bullshit, ma'am." He hastily reached into his belt pack, cracking open a canister of medi-gel and slathering her entire forearm and hand with it, wincing at the grisly mess that was her right hand. Williams slowly sat up, cradling her head, and touching her temple where a wash of blood and burned scalp made her flinch away from the pain. "You look like shit, ma'am. But that… that was fucking awesome." Shepard swallowed. "I don't like geth or anybody else fucking with my crew." Alenko exhaled, feeling a strange sort of warmth at being called 'her crew.' He pushed it down, focusing on the mission. "I see some sort of device over there, ma'am. Can you walk?" Shepard nodded, wearily. "Yes, Lieu— Alenko. Go. I'll help the Chief up." She limped over to the Gunnery Chief, who was angling herself up using a loose piece of metallic wreckage like a cane. The two women slowly hobbled over to Alenko, who was carefully stepping through a series of haptic interface menus. "This bomb is a mess. Salarian detonator, but the casing and first stage scale up is human. They… they salted the bomb, Commander. Some kind of isotope from… what are these?" He picked up one of the beige boxes, and grunted. "Huh. Something to do with X-ray machines." Tossing the empty casing aside, he tapped three commands, and the interface went from red to green. "Sloppy work, ma'am. I honestly expected some kind of genius device here." Shepard looked around, frowning. "They must have been in a hurry." Her head rotated, then stopped. "Through this tunnel. There." She pointed, a green radiance washing along the edges of the far end of the tunnel. "What is that?" Alenko shrugged. "Let's find out." Shepard nodded, pausing to trigger her omni-tool. "Normandy, this ground team, come in." Joker's voice was tense. "Thank god. Commander, we lost telemetry on your suit and the ship's sensors detected some kind of explosion. Is everyone alright?" Shepard sighed. "Stupid geth did not know who it was fucking with. All team members alive, but we're pretty banged up. Alert Chakwas. We're going to need a rad-safe team down here, too." Anderson's voice broke in. "For what?" Shepard shuddered. "Some kind of amplified bomb, sir. There's enough goddamned high-powered shit here to kill krogan, much less humans. Geth were really, really anxious that no one find out what happened here." Anderson's voice was grim. "We'll get it figured out. Status of the Beacon?" Shepard hesitated. "We're about to the end of the cargo loading areas now, sir. We'll update you momentarily." "Well hurry it up. Three batarian cruisers jumped in just after that big battleship left. They haven't moved, but we don't know their intent. If we break stealth, we're going to have a hard time going back to it, so we have one chance to scoop you up and get out of here. I'll notify the main tower about the attack and cleanup." "Yes, sir." Shepard deactivated the comm. "Alright, let's clear the area and get out of here." She sighed, Nihlus's powerful gun had been lost or blown away in the wake of her reckless nova-charge against the Geth Prime, and her ODIN shotgun was damaged as well, the cowl bent and buckled. She pulled out her sniper rifle and gestured. "Move out." The three Marines staggered ahead again, the short tunnel evidently a customs checkpoint. On the far side, weapons scanners and a reinforced security station sat in an elevated corner, overlooking a broad open transit area, probably for aircar docking. Cargo crates and cranes cluttered both sides of the open space, the left pierced by doors leading into the spaceport proper. Two things competed for their attention. To their right, a vast lake of smoldering lava sat, heat pouring off of it. The melted, twisted wreckage of buildings at its fringe only helped put context to its size, over two hundred forty meters wide. The planet had been very literally cooked by the landing and departure of the huge ship. Williams' whisper was hoarse. "It's like a bomb went off. Or an orbital strike. My god…" In the distance, they could see two more arcology towers, both shorn in half and on fire. Williams closed her eyes, knowing that each tower held thousands of colonists and these had been gutted with the vile ease of a man plucking the wings from a fly. Shepard, on the other hand, fixed her gaze on the tall, silvery-green pillar that stood somehow proudly from the top of a cargo tram. In front of the tram, six dead humans had been piled. They had each been nearly decapitated by a shot to the head from some extremely powerful weapon. A neat pile of geth lay to the left of that. Oddly enough, none of the geth had a single mark or wound on them to indicate why they were inactive. Alenko moved closer, scanning. "What the hell happened?" Alenko's voice was quiet, almost reverent, but Shepard had no answer. She only eyed the alien device closely, noting the green, shimmering energy that radiated from it, rising like smoke into the sky. Shepard shrugged, then froze. "Quiet." Half-turning, she moved with as much silence as her tortured body could muster, slowly converging on a set of high crates in the corner. She lifted her sniper rifle, leveling it. "Come out. Now." There was a whimper, and a sad-faced human man stood up. His features were almost comical – huge watery brown eyes, a limp face with drooping jowls, and a sour, lined mouth. Mousy brown hair fell in messy tangles from a head mostly covered with a ratty green and yellow knit cap, while his coveralls were discolored with grease and other less identifiable fluids. "D-Don't shoot! Please! I'm human!" Shepard lowered her weapon. "Who are you, what happened here, and how the fuck did you survive?" The man trembled, his voice weak. "I… I am Powell. Please don't kill me." Shepard nodded, and faced the man fully. "I need to know what happened here." She spoke each word carefully but quietly, a dangerous look in her eye. Powell slumped. "I'm just a dockworker. You know, manual cargo management. I just move crates around. I don't know everything. I was moving cargo when that ship came out of the sky, with this… noise, like a jackhammer in your mind. It… it was the worst sound I have ever heard. And I wish I hadn't." He paused. "I remember the spaceport security stacking up, getting weapons. One told us to hide behind something, stay out of sight. So I did that, and a moment later there was a blast. I guess… I guess I hit my head." He gingerly rubbed the back of his skull. Shepard nodded. "What next?" "I came to sort of, groggy, I guess. I remember almost standing when I heard the machine soldiers making that creepy clicking sound, talking to each other. Then I hear this humming sound. A grav plate is carrying that beacon thing over to the platform edge, and it's humans operating the grav plate. Six of them. Behind them are these geth things, but at a distance. I saw one get about three meters from the Beacon and just drop dead, boom. They get it in place, and then this turian walks out. Big guy. Black armor, scary looking, big pistol. He starts giving the geth orders, and he… he shot the people who had been working the grav platform." With a shaky hand, he indicated the pile of corpses next to the Beacon. Shepard raised an eyebrow. Some kind of anti-geth weapon? But the Protheans were dead a long time before the damned geth showed up. The man was still speaking. "He said something about a guy, some guy named Nighlus or something like that. He was upset he had to kill him, cursing, throwing a fit, and one of the geth guys says he has to calm down and he just punches it. It collapsed, and another, bigger geth calls the turian 'Saren-Prophet.' " Powell wiped his eyes. "The turian left, but I could see the geth things working on some kind of machine, doing that… chittering. They were talking to someone over their comms, had some kind of argument, something about a big bomb and repairs." Shepard frowned. "They did not see you? Did they search the dock area, anything? Powell cast his gaze to the ground, as if looking for something. "I was still behind the crates… they only searched during the initial invasion I guess, must have thought I was dead. All I know is they're working on this thing, and then this Saren guy walks right up to the thing and touches it. It sort of opens, and this green light comes out, and he is floating in midair. After a few minutes, it lets him down, and he starts trying to get the geth to move the thing." A long pause. "They can't, it just… shuts them off whenever they get close, and he's already shot the humans that were moving grav platform. He gets really angry, shoots a couple of the geth, shoots the Beacon about a dozen times, then… then he just… walks off. Been shining like that ever since." Shepard glanced speculatively at the device. Williams and Alenko were examining it closely, and neither seemed to be lifted up or anything odd. She shrugged, but the man continued. "Anyway, almost all the geth board the big ship and it takes off, but a bunch are still hanging around. They aren't as coordinated as before, dropping things, making a mess. I figure if I hide out, someone will come along. Just… trying to survive. Maybe… I should have fought them, but I would… die." Shepard snorted. "You don't even have a weapon. We've shut down their bomb. Stay put, an Alliance team will be here to debrief you." She turned away, moving toward the Beacon. "Normandy, this is ground team. Beacon is secure, I repeat, Beacon is secure. Looks like there was someone else behind this attack than just geth, sir, someone called Saren." Anderson's voice was tight, almost pained. "Copy, ground team. You did say Saren, correct?" Shepard didn't like the tone in Anderson's voice. She'd never heard it before. It was almost ugly. "Affirmative, Normandy. We have another survivor, at this position, and a big pile of geth bodies with no battle damage." "Understood, Shepard. ETA fifteen minutes until we're groundside for recovery. Hold your position. Normandy out." Shepard slowly walked over to Alenko and Williams. "Anything interesting?" Alenko had been scanning the Beacon with his omni-tool. "Not really, ma'am. Readings don't make a lot of sense. It seems—" He broke off as the Beacon flared, the light intensifying as Shepard stepped within three meters. Shepard was lifted into the air, back arched, as if crucified, eyes glowing the same green as that of the Beacon, and drawn closer to it… I am Tyth Kashan, the Avatar of Understanding. The Way opens. The Truth is shown. Burst of pain Towers flashed by on the horizon, the ground cover sweet and wet with the purple moss of home, Bithra glittering in the dark of night as the shapes of Reapers fell from the sky, like a rainfall of doom, lances of bright fire… Burn free of mortality, child of chaos We have to evacuate the Symphonies of Defense, the Taken ones have come! The city is burning! Broken, shattered skylines. Screaming children, inner and outer eyes wide in senseless pain, mouths open as spikes shatter their tiny frames. Endless armies of the Taken, bodies twisted into nightmarish forms, each worse than the last, obscenely hopping forward… You MUST understand I am the Avatar of Understanding, there comes a darkness which devours all. We are betrayed from without and within. Red-tinged fires, burning flesh in a wave of pain. The machines came; they pierced; they raped and tore; the swarms covered the sky; the water turns to blazing poison; the air itself was lead in our lungs… Praetor, we cannot delay! The Citadel has fallen, the Penumbra Apex has broken, the broadcast must go out! We have no time to adjust the rating! You WILL understand, child of our making Agony The howling, the stars burning with the single, feared shaped, the curling leaf opening its dark arms to embrace all in death… lines of red fire searing entire worlds to ashes, as the screams of billions rose as one… Agony Chittering monsters with glowing eyes feasting on our flesh, implants buried in our minds, the burst of the black mist, as we melt into impurity… AGONY You must do… what we could not… they are COMING… AGONY Oh, fallen glory, sun – spun might of a thousand, thousand suns burnt down in the face of the machines… the zha'til were our warning, but we did not heed. Vigil spoke, and his words we ignored. My own offspring has betrayed us… This one must understand Complete Incomplete "SHEPARD!" She fell, unaware of anything but bright bursts of pain in her mind – her body – wondering why her vision felt so flat and the air so dry a moment before all senses left her, the darkness which engulfed her did not stop the bursts of pain that echoed throughout her form until nothing else was left. The voices were so dim now… "Normandy, come in, we have a fucking medical emergency, the Beacon attacked Shepard…" "Omigod, her eyes are bleeding…" Ah… silence at last. Chapter 15: Chapter 9 : Tali A/N: Remastered 7-24-2016. "Breaking news! Geth attack on Eden Prime kills tens of thousands! Alliance not commenting!" Tali'Zorah nar Rayya wrung her hands helplessly as she glanced around the Caleston spaceport, her feet shuffling in a nervous little dance of anticipation, exhilaration, and fear. The crowds of tall, burly humans moved in thick lines through the cavernous hallways of the spaceport, and the tall haptic screens, full of news about the geth attack, only seemed to put them more on edge. She'd drawn more than one unfriendly glance, although so far no one had actually done anything to accost her. Her environmental suit gleamed in the dim light of the transit lounge, hexagonal reinforcement shapes giving sharp relief to otherwise subtle curves set off by twists and wraps of the soft purple Zorah reik she wore. Her gaze never strayed from the gigantic human in front of her, glacially calm and still. "H-How much longer, Mr. Dost?" She cursed the stutter in her voice, but she was still very shaken. The lounge was crowded, full of dark corners and… aliens. Glowing, floating things, hulking krogan, sharp-featured turians. Even the lowering, grumbling mass that was an elcor. She felt exposed, nervous, and more than a little overwhelmed. The man turned, eyes dark under the gleaming brim of his cap. His Alliance uniform was all dark blue leather and soft panels of deeper blue cloth, slashed with ribbons, encrusted with the emblems of rank humans seemed so attached to. He stood over two meters tall, and to Tali looked like he could pick up a cruiser, his forearms the size of her legs. His face was very pale, set in hard lines crossed by ugly, welted scars that spoke of hard, vicious battles against odds no sane man would endure. One hand was gleaming metal and plastic, whirring ever so faintly as he opened it in a casual gesture. "Miss Zorah, I don't know. Right now, with what's going on at Eden Prime, the Alliance Fleet is in a very confused situation… and as far as information goes, I'm not actually up-to-date on what exactly the Fleet is doing. We've had reports of geth attacks in several other locations as well, so I expect incoming traffic – especially traffic in the sort of ship my contact is coming in – will attract a fair amount of attention and run into some slowdowns." He paused, glancing around, then gave her a comforting smile. "Besides, we're not on a firm timeline – you can use the time to finish decrypting that information you recovered from the geth you killed." Tali gave a nod, standing a bit straighter. "Yes. My omni-tool is reassembling the data in the correct matrix format for me to try to interpret it. It's not compressed enough to be video, so it has to be audio, but I have no idea what geth would be doing with audio transmissions. I… I just worry we'll run into… more of those men who were shooting at me." Lieutenant Dost shrugged, but also patted his heavy pistol. "Don't you worry about that. I can handle any more trash that can't mind their manners. My… orders are pretty clear – get you to the Citadel so Alliance and Council techs can take a look at this material. Our method is a little sketchy, but just have faith." His face eased into a grin. "Besides, you're pretty hot with that shotgun if you ask me, snatching data from a geth after you take out two of them. I've known more than a few quarians, and I've seen the Migrant Fleet Marines fight, but for a lady your age to drop two of them is very impressive. I've seen trained vets that wouldn't have reacted that fast." Tali blinked, happy that her faceplate kept her emotions unseen. "Um… thanks? I mean, honestly, it just all happened so fast." She glanced down. "And my father is always lecturing me about getting into things over my head. I probably should have just run." Dost laughed, a booming noise of mirth that got him an irritated look from a turian ahead in the line. He met the turian's gaze with an ugly glare, and the alien turned away, mandibles moving in deprecation. "Stupid plated chicken… anyway, ma'am. Admiral Rael'Zorah is probably a pretty smart guy, but sometimes you have to run with what you're given. God knows your people have to be tough to survive what you've been subjected to." He exhaled. "And as for running, if you'd done that you wouldn't have this data – and I'm very sure that certain parties will be delighted to get it." Tali looked down. "Everyone is usually so… dismissive of us." Dost snorted. "None of that, Miss Zorah. Us underdog species gotta stick together. I can guarantee you after the way the Council treats humans, we're not likely to take their damned word for it that your people aren't worth much, especially after a couple of kids from your fleet saved Admiral Nechanir from that pack of geth bastards on Lastrudo and you bringing in actual geth intelligence." He sighed. "That being said, the Alliance isn't going to just accept whatever you find on that thing without a lot of good reasons. That's why we're doing this a different way." She nodded. "Your contact? Is he an Alliance officer, too?" Dost laughed again. "Not… exactly. Let's just say he has access to more influential people than I do – I'm sort of considered less than reliable by some of my superior officers due to choices I've made. My contact doesn't have that problem, and he can help you get this into the hands of people who can use it." Tali nodded, but was still worried. "What if it's just… junk?" The big human snorted. "You said it yourself, miss. Why would geth have audio logs? Ain't like they decided to catch the latest episode of Fleet and Flotilla. I'm sure whatever it is will be useful, assuming my contact shows up before we expire of old age…" He paused, squinting, and then smiled. Lifting his head, he gestured bluntly at a slender figure in gray and black, moving with a calm elegance, who came walking down the very long transport line. "And here's my contact now." Tali looked up. The figure approaching was a drell, a reptilian alien normally found only in Hanar Space. His face was almost humanoid, but comprised of thumb-sized scales that overlapped smoothly, framing a wide mouth with almost sensual, grooved lips, a short nose, and huge, gleaming eyes that seemed to take in everything. His head was topped by a fringe of the scales set in an irregular pattern, all dark blues and blacks. His tailored open coat was gray, and he wore a loose silk shirt under it, leaving his heavily muscled chest bare. Soft white and gray slacks that clung almost indecently tight to heavily muscled legs tapered down to the most curious pair of foot coverings Tali had seen yet. They were leathery and almost to his knees, richly embroidered with tracings and stitching, coming to metal-capped points at the end and elevated on heels. Tiny spinning stars on each heel clinked musically as he sauntered to a stop, his features twisting into an easy grin. "Goddamn, Troyce, you still wearing those stupid cowboy kicks you got on Earth?" Dost held out a meaty hand the size of Tali's head, and the drell shook it, smiling. The drell's voice was a grave, grating rattle that sounded like rocks across a metal screen. "They are comfortable, Jason, and give an easy introduction of the exotic and devastatingly handsome alien to anyone human." "That they do, you silly lizard. Ma'am, this is Captain Troyce Nihar, formerly of the Hanar Ascended Primacy. Let's say he retired from that to become a private captain now, does recon and courier work for the Alliance in areas where they aren't exactly welcome. Troyce, this is Lady Tali'Zorah nar Rayya, daughter of Admiral Rael of the Migrant Fleet." The drell's lips quirked in a grin. He took her hand gently in his own, and lifted it to his lips. "Charmed, Miss Zorah. I admit to have only met one of your people, a rather gentle soul named Shala'Raan." Tali swallowed at his gesture, and then started at the name. "She… ah, she is my aunt. You know her?" Troyce shrugged. "I aided her in locating one of her wayward students, or something of the sort. She did not give many details, something to do with a trip that is taken as a rite of passage?" "Y-Yes, the Pilgrimage. You helped one of us?" His eyes darkened. "In a way. I returned a quarian's body to her, he was robbed and killed by… criminals. They paid the only such price the hanar have for murderers, violence unto violence." Dost cleared his throat. "Sorry to interrupt, but I called you because this is important. Now, I got a lead from a junk dealer on this planet that Miss Zorah found something big while wandering on her… Pilgrimage, was it? Anyway, little lady got jumped by geth who didn't think she had a shotgun on her. Two dead geth later, she managed to salvage some kind of audio file from them." The drell's scales flexed. "Impressive. I did not believe geth could be salvaged." Tali nodded, having learned the gesture over the past few months from both humans and turians. "Yes. You have to be very careful and quick, but you can often salvage the secondary storage banks they use to transfer information for archival to other hubs. It's sometimes useless stuff – eight hours of sensor logs, for example – but it can also be useful. But this data is audio and geth don't use audio to talk to each other, they have the network." She realized she was babbling, something she did too often when nervous, and tried to clamp down on it by twisting her hands together again. The drell paused, then glanced at the blaring news on the holonet. "You think this is related?" He gestured with his chin, images of burning towers amid a blackened landscape displayed, Alliance fighters crossing the sky like enraged bees. Dost shrugged. "From what I got from my CO, there was one Alliance ship on-site. Early reports say they found a dreadnought, and then later batarian cruisers showed up. There's no way the geth could have found out about whatever kind of op was going on down there. I heard from… other sources… that a Spectre was killed on the ground at Eden Prime. A lot of questions are being asked. And I think the geth have to have contacts in Council Space, organic contacts, for them to be on Eden Prime during whatever the hell went down. This could be the key." Troyce fingered his chin. "Huh. Well, if they did, pirates and smugglers would be the best bet. So, why aren't you putting this in a pouch and giving it to the Alliance brass? Alliance loves killing pirates almost as much as they do wearing fancy uniforms." Dost rolled his eyes. "Don't be stupid, cowboy lizard. Look, I trust quarians because I've been living with Kiala for almost eight years. I get a lot of shit from other humans about it, but she has nowhere else to go since being exiled. And let's be honest – you know as well as I do the Commissars put my PRIDE ratings at shit point zero because of my relationship." He pointed to Tali. "I send that up the chain of command saying it came from some quarian teenager, and the local command will laugh themselves silly before tossing it in the trash." He paused. "No offense, ma'am. But some of my superiors are nothing but a bag of anthropocentric dicks, and in human culture you would be a child." Troyce folded his arms. "And I am better? You know my service with the Alliance came after my… unhappy break with the Ascendancy. While I'm sure they're delighted to have me working for them and operating in areas humans can't go into, that doesn't mean they trust me any more than other drell. I don't even have a citizenship." Dost looked around carefully. "I got that much. And I'm not suggesting you to run it straight to the brass. Got a better idea. I have a… contact. You probably remember him. Fist. Used to run the old 4th Company, mustered out and went big time on the Citadel." Troyce nodded. "You are sure of this? I have no doubt the person he answers to will be interested, but that is a risky proposition for us both." Dost shrugged. "He can get it into the hands of people who will take it a hell of a lot more seriously than if we deliver it ourselves. And well, I'm not a hundred percent sure about this, but twice we've been trailed, and once – just a few hours ago, actually – someone took a shot at her. I think someone knows she's got this data, she was a bit too open about letting people know what she found at first." Tali slumped a little, wringing her hands together again. "I'm sorry. I was just scared, and not sure what to do or where to go." She frowned behind her mask. "And the other quarian you were with did not seem to approve of my idea…" Dost dropped to one knee, putting a hand on the tiny quarian's shoulder. "Hey, kiddo. You did okay. I know Kiala'Shaal is a bit of a bitch, but she was right to tell you that skedaddling back to the Migrant Fleet with this wasn't the best idea. We'll get this to someone who will pay you a great deal of money for it, money you can use in your Pilgrimage." He stood, smiling. Troyce unfolded his arms. "Have you contacted him?" Dost looked back up. "Directly? No. Malthor did that. I don't want this going through official channels until someone with some pull can present it and make people actually pay attention to it – and sending a young quarian lady to the Citadel by herself strikes me as a really bad idea based on Kiala's stories." Troyce was still for several moments, before nodding and keying his omni-tool. "Miss Zorah, my ship, the PAV Sullen Cloud, is at private dock TR-44. I've transferred an entry code to you. If you're intent on this, I can get you to the Citadel and to a meeting with a person of influence who can get this information to the correct people. Do you need to gather anything else from your lodgings, or are you prepared to go?" Tali nodded. "I-I guess I am ready to go. Don't have much, and we travel light on our Pilgrimage, it's all in my haversack." She nervously hefted the small pack of her belongings, and the drell smiled. "Go ahead then, Miss Zorah, I need to get clearance to depart this overcrowded place, and finish up a couple of things, I'll be there in a few minutes." Tali turned to Dost. "Thank you, and thank Kiala'Shaal as well. Tell her I will speak to my father about her exile, she has so many skills the Migrant Fleet needs." Dost chuckled. "I'd actually rather you didn't, Tali. I sort of like having her around, we've been bonded for about seven years now. " Tali flushed, again very glad for the mask, having utterly misunderstood why the two were living in the same apartment, and nothing but a confused stutter issued from her voder. Dost turned to Troyce. "I have that effect on all the quarian girls, apparently." "Bosh'tet!" Tali was blushing, not just because of her mind thinking about what it would be like to be skin to skin with… her mind blanked and she just wrung her hands more. Dost grinned. "Just teasing. Anyway, you should head on up to the ship, Tali. I'm pretty sure I can get him cleared pretty quick." "O-Okay. Thank you again, Mr. Dost." Tali began walking, following the directions from her omni-tool, trying to stay close to the walls in the cavernous transit lounge before turning a corner out of sight. Dost exhaled, and looked hard at Troyce. "Like I said, I talked to Malthor. I don't like running in the shadows, but I'm running out of choices – Commissars visited me twice this month alone. I get the feeling it won't be long before I'm moved out of security altogether and shuffled off to god knows where." Troyce nodded. "Thus… offering up something to the Broker to make an impressive introduction. Smooth, jahan. But are you sure the Broker's going to be interested?" Dost laughed quietly. "Oh, he's interested – Malthor said he was very clear about making sure she gets to Fist. There's a hundred thousand credits on delivery – for each of us – and if it turns out to be useful, maybe some more." Troyce nodded. "I'd rather go to Barla Von with this. I don't know Fist as well as you, but the man always struck me as somewhat thuggish." Dost snorted. "And I'm not? But seriously – it was made very clear that no other contacts are to be used for any reason. When you're done, find a krogan named Urdnot Wrex and give him the details. He'll do any follow-up on-station." Troyce frowned. "A hundred grand? That's a rather large sum for a simple trip to the Citadel and a walk around the Wards, old friend. Do you know anything?" The large Alliance Lieutenant shrugged. "Bits and pieces I heard yesterday. They found a Prothean beacon on Eden Prime and sent in a Spectre along with the Butcher of Torfan to recover it. The geth got there first. Lots of speculation about grainy video of a dreadnought twice the fucking size of the Ascension." The drell's eyes widened, mouth hanging open. "Arashu, protect us all." He shook his head, and folded his hands behind his back. "Sending a Spectre along with a human whose name is a byword for 'psychotic killer' is an indication they knew something was up, perhaps?" Dost shrugged, yet again. "Like it said, this shit is all very sketchy. And to be honest, a lot of contacts I used to be able to depend on are silent on this. I know bad shit's coming down the pipe, and I'm just going to keep my head down, do my job, and keep my lil' quarian honey happy." Troyce gave a trilling snort. "It's Kiala, she's never happy. I bet she just loved the idea of helping out a quarian admiral's daughter." Dost shook his head. "Yeah, I'm in the doghouse, as we humans put it, for a while. It's okay. I can catch up on my Fleet and Flotilla, that always works. For all her bitterness sometimes, she's still a sap." Troyce placed a hand on the big human's shoulder. "I'll get Miss Zorah to the Citadel. Don't worry. You take care of yourself, you big jahan. I'm getting too old to bail you out of trouble." Dost smiled, his pale skin glinting in the dim lighting of the lounge. "You too, old lizard. At least try not to seduce the poor girl, she's not even twenty yet." He handed the drell a data card. "Fist is at Chora's Den nowadays, moving up in the world. But be careful. I heard someone say the Broker is watching him closely. Could be good… or bad." Troyce smiled. "I am always careful, my friend. As the hanar say, this one did not achieve age through foolishness." O-OSaBC-O An hour later, Troyce finished the initial jump from Caleston, smiling as the little quarian next to him nearly bounced in her seat. "I still can't believe the hanar just gave you a light-frigate as a gift. It's amazing." The interior of the small ship was bright and clean, faint yellows and dark reds the primary colors. It was crewed only by the drell and four mechs, with the drive core room entirely automated. The drell leaned back in the pilot's seat. His haptic interface was dark green, with overlays of ultraviolet that his modified eyes could see, but any passengers could not. "Well, Mr. Dost may have been too kind in describing my separation from the Ascendancy. The parting was not exactly amiable despite my long years of service. I fought pirates, batarians, rogue turians, krogan, more batarians, the occasional mercenary band, crazy biotic cults, this one pack of really pissed off asari ex-commandos… did I mention batarians?" Tali laughed, the glowing eyes behind her faceplate crinkling. "You did. Still…" Troyce placed his gloved hands behind his head, his lean body relaxed. "You are right though… the gift was a sort of peace offering. The entire tale is too long to tell – perhaps after you have finished your business with the person I mentioned taking you to see – but in short, I risked my life rescuing an entire Prothean pyramid from looting pirates. I ended up saving several high-ranking hanar priests who had gone to visit the site for religious reasons. My brother died in that fight… and the hanar did not allow me to pursue the murdering filth who killed him." He sighed. "I did so anyway, basically committing treason and mutiny to do so. As it turned out, in the end I rescued yet another hanar – this one a member of a high-ranking Chorus – and the Highest Chorus decided my service was at an end due to my actions, but they owed me a debt for the death of my brother and for saving the lives of the hanar priests." He tapped several panels in series. "Besides, it's not a hanar ship – it was built by my people originally and slated for decommissioning. They basically handed it to me and told me to leave Hanar Space. So I did. I've worked for the Alliance since then as a roaming delivery agent to take things to embedded personnel in areas where a normal Alliance courier would be unwelcome." Tali nodded. "I'm sorry to hear about your brother, Troyce. I-I haven't done a lot of fighting, just a couple of close calls with some very rude turians and those geth. My father made me practice with the Migrant Fleet Marines, though, almost every week." "Ah, the MFM. Tough little bastards. Not exactly spit and polish, perhaps, but they are brave and pack some nasty infowar tricks in those suits. I worked with a Dan'Reegar on a mission almost twenty years ago to recover a quarian on his… Pilgrimage, was it? Damned mess, but everyone got out alive." He paused, then smirked. "Except that pile of dead batarians, which brightens everyone's day." Tali gave a small chuckle, wondering at the way no one seemed to like batarians much more than they did quarians. "Troyce, I've had a lot of people give me ugly looks, accusing me of being a thief or worse. I knew people didn't particularly care for quarians, but I didn't expect to be spat on or refused service. Why are you and Dost… so nice?" The drell rubbed the side of his face, his other hand adjusting course as the ship angled toward the next relay. "Dost didn't explain this, but he actually saved Kee – sorry, Kiala'Shaal – from a very nasty run-in with some bigoted turians who were about to puncture her suit for sadistic amusement value. He's… well. He's very protective of her, and as a result, I've noticed he tends to be pretty nice to the few quarians that run through Caleston. Maybe he feels like your people get a bad rap for nothing. I don't know." He adjusted course again. "As for others, well. Most of the Citadel races don't care about anything that isn't in Citadel Space, as if seventeen million people suffering on rickety ships because of a single mistake entitles them to feel superior. Dost, thankfully, is more open-minded." She nodded at that. "Have you known him long?" Troyce laughed. "Yeah. I knew him from my last years as a captain, and then in my first few months as an unofficial courier. And after that I helped him get the decon chamber off an old turian cruiser, actually – Kiala helped me with a problem on my ship and that was my way of paying her back. Took a few months, but we got it rigged up and active. Now Kee has a safe place she can be without that suit on. That took some time, and I got to know him well." Tali's eyes widened. "A-A private clean room? For just her? Keelah… that's… he must really care for her." She tried to imagine the sheer luxury of being able to have a truly clean room whenever, then flushed when she realized what it was most likely used for. I wish I could have something like that. No, I wish I could have someone like that. The drell nodded. "Yeah, he does. People joke about it, but she is fiercely devoted to him – perhaps a touch obsessive – and he is the same for her. Anyway, long story short, he's got a really good understanding of your people that almost no other human has. Don't count on other humans being so nice. They can be nice or downright Arashu-shunned evil." Tali considered this. "And you?" Troyce shrugged. "Me? My religion says…" He paused, searching for words, and then smiled almost bitterly. "It says that everyone is flawed and we all need forgiveness for the sins our bodies commit. Judging people beforehand is bad. It pollutes the soul with thoughts that are neither true nor healthy, and it puts your active judgment to sleep in the name of looking down your ridge at someone. I don't have time for that, I judge people on their actions." Tali nodded, hesitantly. "But why do people think we are thieves? You can't take anything back that is stolen from your Pilgrimage, and the Fleet…" Troyce sighed. "People are shortsighted. People fear what they do not understand. And most of all, your people live in all-concealing suits. The Fleet never has forgotten that the Council did nothing when your people were chased from your planet, and the stress the Fleet can put on a system means a lot of people lose jobs to cheaper, more efficient quarian labor. I don't agree with it, mind you. But it exists for a reason." The drell's lips tightened for a long moment, and he stared blankly off into space. Tali said nothing for several seconds, before carefully touching his arm. "T-Troyce?" The drell shook himself, shoulders hunched. "Sorry. Lost in memory. Doesn't matter. If you take no other wisdom from an old fool of a drell, remember this, young lady. The Citadel is the worst place in the galaxy for anyone who is not confident in themselves. Everyone there is looking for something, and most of them are looking to imprint on someone else's eggs for free." Tali considered his words, the strange metaphor at the end notwithstanding. "Not everyone. You are helping me. So is this person I am going to see." Troyce shrugged. "To a degree. If your information is good, he and I both get paid by the Shadow Broker. I do want to help – but don't think Dost or I are doing this totally out of the goodness of our own hearts." He paused, a worried expression crossing his face. "But the stuff in the news may be related to this, and the Broker will pay very, very well for something he can sell to the big boys, like the Council or Alliance High Command. The very last damned thing we need is geth running around with those stupid flashlight heads, killing people." Tali leaned forward, eyes bright with curiosity. "I have heard rumors, but I know nothing about this Shadow Broker. Can you tell me something about him?" Troyce smiled wider. His teeth, she noticed, were actually a solid curved plate of sharp bone, "The Shadow Broker is a complete enigma. No one knows where he – or she – operates. His agents are everywhere, such as myself…" he paused, giving her a grandiose bow from the waist that sent her into giggling "…and his motivations are unknown. No one crosses him unless they want to die a short, messy death. He has done some very good things at times, and a lot of very bad things, but he has one firm rule that hasn't been violated in decades or longer – anyone who is bringing him intelligence is safe. Sacrosanct. I do know that Fist – the man we are going to see – is a dedicated agent, so at least you will be safe." The ship slipped through yet another mass relay, booming into the next system with a flash of light. The VI chimed. "Venting heat. Citadel Landing is on approach communications." The drell carefully entered in the comms frequency on the data card he got from Dost, and the comm unit flickered. "Private vessel, this is Citadel Landing. You are cleared to dock in bay J-33. Your landing fee has been paid." Troyce grunted. "That's weird. I knew the Broker wanted this intel, but paying for docking is unusual. He must have people on hand waiting for us." He smiled. "You about ready to get off my little ship and see the Citadel for the first time, young lady?" Tali bounced in happiness. "Yes!" The old drell chuckled. "Well, you should be safe enough here. C-Sec doesn't play around with security. But just in case." The drell leaned under his seat, and pulled out a heavy pistol, which he clipped to his belt, along with a shield generator. "Better safe than sorry, rule always kept me alive." The drell eased the ship into the long dock with the elegance of long decades of experience, his scaled hands drifting over the ship controls in a dance of small motions. With a light set of thumping sounds, the small frigate was clamped to the docking bay, magnetic clamps swinging down and out on heavy hydraulic arms to secure the vessel. Tali looked out the bridge window, eyes bright as she saw the Wards of the Citadel for the first time, five massive islands of blazing light, giant skyscrapers arched in alien shapes, a billion blazing lights making a web of gold and white as traffic surged through airways and ground paths like the bloodstream of some massive, exotic starfish. The diffuse purple light of the Widow Nebula framed everything in hazy spirals of smoke-like galactic dust. "So beautiful." Troyce grinned. "You ain't seen nothing yet. Wait until you walk around on the Presidium, that really will blow your mind." He turned to the ship's main computer, punching in the code for airlock release, and checked his pistol again. The drell heard the hiss-clank of the airlock door as they traipsed out of the bridge and onto the main deck. Triggering the airlock, they stepped through, and down the short row of steps that arose smoothly from the floor. The docking bay connected to his ship via two long, wide walkways, narrow rails along either side, the open space of the ring below them, trailing off hundreds of meters to terminate only in the eerily silent and unmoving half-light of the nebula. Approaching down the ramps was the welcoming party, but ominously enough it was neither a C-Sec officer and scanning crew nor shady turian mercs in the Broker's black armor, but two krogan, clad in thick ugly plates of dark gray and with the blunt shapes of several heavy weapons hanging from their overly muscled frames. The drell stopped, hesitantly, as Tali stood beside him. She turned her silver-eyed gaze up at him. "Troyce…?" The drell placed a hand on her shoulder. "No matter what, young one, if I tell you to run, you run. The place you need to get to is down the hall, and then down the stairs to your right, Bachjret Ward. Ask for Fist." The krogan marched forward, thudding footfalls sounding like the boom of the surf he still missed hearing after all these years. Troyce took a step forward, pitching his voice strongly as he did in his days in command, eyes fierce and his stance aggressive, confident. "Where's C-Sec? And if you work for the Broker, where's your card?" The rightmost krogan sneered, revealing square-set, sharp teeth under his gray plates. "Heh, the Broker. That's a good one. Listen up, lizard. Give us the girl, and you can get back on your little ship, with your life." Both of the warriors pulled out shotguns, their muzzles seemingly the size of Tali's wrist. Her eyes widened— "Go, Tali!" Troyce leapt forward gracefully, clearing almost four meters with a biotic leap, his right foot catching one krogan across the face as he landed and spun, his pistol firing. He snapshotted the other, sending the big alien stumbling back, and ducked a thundering punch from the krogan he had kicked. Tali sprinted, remembering his words, but was terrified. She angled down the right-side ramp, curved legs pumping with all the speed she could muster, toes splayed for better traction. A shriek of pain echoed through the landing bay, but she dared not look back. Her heart felt like it was in her throat, her breath fogging her faceplate as she gasped. A snarl sounded, and guns blasted behind her. There was a twanging sound as the railing next to her shattered, bits of railing spraying across her suit, and she staggered as something hard and heavy smashed into her hip. Alarms blared in her head, the clamping feel of internal sealing snapping around her left thigh and waist. Pain fanned out in all directions as she staggered to her suddenly weak knees, her shields gone entirely. Medi-gel pooled against her hip, cold and sticky. She reached for her shotgun, but it was gone, leaving her only with a boot knife and a pistol. She half-turned as she tried to get back to her feet, taking in the scene in front of her as she crawled backwards. The drell Captain fired again, pistol spitting white fire as rounds stitched into the heavier of the two krogan, who staggered back, pieces of armor splintering off and gore flying as he was slammed into the edge of the docking ramp. The krogan gave an ugly, trailing cry as his vast bulk was slammed by a wave of blue light, the biotic throw overbalancing his huge form, sending it spiraling into the depths below. But that act gave the other krogan enough time to charge, shoulder slamming into the drell's lightly built form. Troyce was smashed against the hull of his own vessel, grimacing as his pistol slipped from now numb fingers. The krogan head-butted him viciously, bony crest crushing thin scales with a sickening squelch. "TROYCE!" Her voice was shrill, warbling in terror and pain. Fight back! Get up, you stupid girl, help him, run, something… The krogan reared back, shoving his heavy weapon into the drell's now bloody face with enough force to shatter his jaw, a moment before the gun fired, a blast of viscera splashed in a gory starburst over the delicate pale yellow of the ship's surface where the drell's head used to be. Tali whimpered in horror, tears overspilling her eyes as she gasped for breath and scooted back, still too hurt to walk or even think. Oh… Troyce… The headless corpse slumped to the cold metal of the ramp, leaving a smear of blood and bits of scaled skin as it did so. The krogan turned, smoke trailing from the now blood-smeared barrel of his gun, baleful red gaze fixed on the quarian. "Stop running, little bitch. I'll make it quick and painless. Try to run and I'll shove this between your whore quarian legs and see if I can blow your head off that way." His vile mouth split in a grin, blackened teeth a zipper holding back vile threats. Tali scrambled to her feet, triggering her omni-tool in white-hot rage. He was so nice to me… keelah… Her fingers tapped a hasty set of commands, and the krogan's automatic shotgun detected a purge command. Still glowing with heat, it attempted to discharge as if empty, but the swollen size of the heatsink was too wide for the shaft of the ejection port. The now shattered heatsink instead discharged all that heat into the integral mass accelerator in the barrel, even as the krogan lifted it to fire. The barrel detonated in splinters of glowing hot metal, some driving directly into the mercenary's eyes, others shearing through his unarmored wrist, severing an artery. Howling with pain and half-blind, the beast dropped the gun, hands going to his now ruined face. Blood seeped between thick fingers as he screamed. Tali limped away, hurrying, biting her lip as she felt blood running down her leg inside of her suit. A breach. A death sentence if she couldn't find help, on a station she had never seen, with no one to guide her and everyone to hate and mistrust her. And she remembered that krogan regenerate… before long he would be hounding her again, and if he caught her… Father, I don't want to die… Chapter 16: Chapter 10 : Garrus A/N: GARRUS! Edited 7-31-2016. The mercenaries ran, three sets of feet pounding frantically as they fled down the narrow access corridor, red utility lighting casting their features in warped, muted caricature. High, arched towers loomed all around them, casting fuzzy-edged shadows in menacing stripes over the uneven ground, the ever-present light from the nebula casting everything into a purple-tinted gloom. A hollow boom sounded, and the batarian mercenary on the left spun around even as he was lifted from the ground, the back of his head simply gone, his face an ugly rose of exploded flesh as he tumbled to the ground. His black armor blended well with the shadows, as a puddle of blood pooled around the now still form. The other batarian and the salarian ran on, not stopping. The C-Sec cruiser flashed overhead, lights flaring in the semi-darkness of the Upper Ward alleyways. A flanged voice spoke from its integral speaker, cold and mocking. "Throw down your weapons and surrender immediately. This is your final warning. You cannot escape." The batarian suddenly jinked to the left, trying to split from the salarian. Garrus Vakarian sighed, the expression angling his blue facial markings into a new configuration as his facial plates shifted. He then slid the door up on the aircar, hitting a control on the dash in front of him. A restraining harness lashed onto his armor, even as he hung his bulk from one side of the car, pulling the meter-long compressed form of his pride and joy, his beloved sniper rifle. As it unsnapped and lengthened, Garrus inhaled, the roaring notes of Die for the Cause ringing in his head. He put the scope to his eye, his ocular visor throwing a targeting ring over the back of the batarian thug's misshapen head. Micro-adjustments were automatically uploaded to the Model 19 anti-materiel rifle in Garrus's hands, and he pulled the trigger smoothly, calmly. The gun cycled a spool of heavy wire into the firing chamber, shearing it into a shaped, wedge-like flake weighing almost three grams, a microsecond before the mass accelerator field hurled it down the barrel, magnetic focus fields keeping it straight and true as it exited in a blue flash of flame-like dark energy. The dart entered the batarian's skull a tenth of a second later, striking with a force of sixty g's. The dart, with microscopic fractures ensuring it would shatter upon impact, exploded, turning into a cloud of thirty-two tumbling sharp-edged bits of metal that tore through the bone and brain of the target. The sudden kinetic energy coming to a sudden halt resulted in the remaining three hundred newtons of force flashing to heat energy. The batarian's head literally detonated, spattering scalding-hot blood, bits of bone, and smears of pale gray matter all over the floor and walls. The body was hurled to the ground, bouncing in a ragged fashion, arms flopping bonelessly. The smoking muzzle of the weapon in Garrus's hands rotated smoothly, and a second shot was fired at the salarian. This one caught the fleeing criminal in the lower back just as he was about to round a corner in the maze of buildings below, blowing a thirteen centimeter hole almost completely through the narrow build of the alien before detonating as well. The blast sheared the salarian in half, a rush of organs and sizzling blood tumbling to the ground along with his upper body. The merc had enough time to feel himself slam hard against the floor, his pistol skittering away, before shock sent him into blackness. Garrus's visor pinged softly. "Kill count: Seven." He shipped his sniper rifle, the harness, holding his somewhat narrow waist perpendicular to the aircar, digging into his side as he did so. His partner toggled a switch on the galaxy of haptic buttons on the dash of the car, and Garrus ducked back inside even as the harness unsnapped itself and retracted. The turian shut the door, sealing away the howling wind and metallic smell of the boundary atmosphere near the Ward's upper boundary, and exhaled. "Clean kills." The salarian driving the vehicle blinked large, black eyes rapidly in succession, his spare features showing no other reaction. "The Executor will be displeased, of course." Slim hands angled the car down, the salarian's excellent reflexes avoiding an oncoming truck easily. "Warned you about the uncertainty of the evidence. Distressing to see sapient beings tortured, but… they could have just been hired hands, not involved parties." Garrus snorted, his mandibles flaring in annoyance. "The only 'evidence' I needed was those two-bit thugs shooting at me when we caught them with the spirits-be-cursed slaves, Forlan. Not much you can say to excuse shooting at C-Sec agents. And who gives a shit if they were fucking involved or not, if you work for a monster who mutates people into organ farms, you get a bullet in the skull. End of story." "Executor likely to not appreciate that kind of dismissive response, Garrus. Just saying. It's like you enjoy getting him pissed. And I get saddled with the paperwork." Garrus gave a turian grin, shrugging his massive shoulders. "If you could shoot worth a damn, I'd be happy to do the paperwork. Besides, Pallin wouldn't appreciate anything I do, up to and including having Sha'ira ride his rod until she fainted." The salarian gave a tiny little snort of amusement. The dark, leathery skin of his face glistened in the dim light, its smooth lines broken only by the bisecting pink scar across his muzzle. His blue and black C-Sec armor gleamed, the marks of ten years carefully and lovingly buffed out each night. The aircar glided across the Wards, finally coming to a hovering stop on a broad platform boldly marked 'C-SEC AIRCAR ONLY.' Haptic-illuminated hazard lines blared into the endless night as the aircar clomped down on its rubberized landing pads, the eezo-core engine powering down with a whine of heat exchangers. Garrus swung out, his long arms pushing the hinged door up and out of the way, massive frame unfolding from the cramped, gummy seats that always tried to conform to the shape of his ass. "Spirit-damned asari deathtraps," he muttered. He stretched, lanky legs and spurs flexing inside the battle armor he wore almost all day long. Blinking away the grit in his eyes, he pulled up a report interface in the visor over his left eye, triggering a comm call with his eye motions. "Pallin here. That had better be you, Vakarian." Garrus sighed, a long suffering sound that spoke of frustration. "Yes, sir. The mercenaries were at the drop site, just like the informant said. When we moved in, they bolted, and opened fire on us. Tratham's team secured the… cargo… and Forlan and I pursued." The voice of the head of C-Sec was clipped and cold, but irritation seeped through the digitized transmission. "I told you repeatedly you were to follow and NOT engage. Now we have no chance to find out who the hell they were taking orders from. Your continued lack of discipline—" Garrus snarled. "Don't start with me, you stone-polishing ass. You know full fucking well who they 'answered' to. All those slaves had the same marks on them as Saleon's last victims. He's shipping the poor bastards all over Citadel Space now, thanks to your soft-taloned 'justice.' And the victims pay the price." Pallin's voice had gone even colder. "You are a fool, Vakarian. I wasn't about to allow you to blow up a fucking transport full of eezo and spirits know what else directly over the Wards to satisfy your stupid vigilante fantasies! And this?! Your stupid act may save this handful of victims, but what about the rest of the people in the doctor's hands, if he is the culprit. We'll never know, you just blew away the only possible witnesses." Garrus stalked toward the station doorway, talons flexing inside his gloves. "Listen to me, you barefaced son of a chieftain, we all know how you operate. Your precious paperwork is far more important than stopping the spirits-damned criminal. The rules are more important than protecting the innocent from the vile thugs kicking them in the face." Pallin roared over the comm-link. "Innocents?! You are going to lecture me about protecting the innocent? You've shot through fucking hostages to down the perp, put an entire floor of innocent bystanders at risk to get at a gunman, and you have the unmitigated gall to even use that word? Get in my office in five minutes, Vakarian, or I'll have you issuing plumbing citations for the rest of your career in the ass-end of Zakera. The volus section." Garrus pushed his way inside the station, mandibles twitching in fury. He could feel his overheated blood racing; his stance had gone from calmly walking to each step being planted in preparation for a leap-and-spring. He felt his fringe tighten and made a concerted effort to calm down, cold blue eyes taking in everything around him. C-Sec was a huge tube of connected offices, computer workrooms, forensic evidence rooms, and tactical armories, on top of a labyrinth of holding cells and storage rooms with enough weapons and armor to start a war. Over two hundred thousand members strong, it boasted its own armored division, its own cruisers and frigates for interdiction and customs, and its own food preparation squad (with dextro and levo cuisine and even special eating areas for the sixty volus officers in C-Sec's Financial Crimes division). It was an army. An army of impotent, castrated justice; an army of paper-pushing clerks; an army of tired and jaded cops sitting around with their talons up their chutes, waiting for someone to fuck up so they could arrest some two-bit thug and claim they were stopping crime, while the truly guilty bought their way free and the clever used the system to hurt others. Garrus loved it and hated it all at once. He strode ahead, past the huge central elevator that connected all levels together and linked to the council-access docks at level alpha, and headed down a set of stairs to his right. Blue-tinted haptic news feeds scrolled reports, while the 'sitrep' wall dominated the far side of the executive office area, dozens upon dozens of news feeds from every known race blaring, monitored by a group of twitchy, obsessive compulsive salarians and memory-perfect drell. Garrus slammed his armored, heavy feet across the delicate tiles of the Executor's entry suite, walking right past Pallin's secretary, a pretty young Palaven-born girl called Trethia who he usually loved to flirt with. He pushed open the over-decorated doors of solid steel, stamped so melodramatically with C-Sec's seal. The words seemed to bite at him as he bisected the seal by pushing the doors out of his way. Duty to the People. Sacrifice for the Public Trust. Uphold the Law. Pallin's office was large, but sparse. A window overlooked the Presidium Commons, the view marred by an ugly Earth plant of some kind installed right in the middle of the view. The walls were bare, except for two metallic bookshelves bearing the complete legal system code. A small eating or meeting area, off to one side. And in the center of the room, on a raised plinth a few centimeters tall, was Pallin's desk, its top usually empty of anything but a haptic keyboard and a display panel. Executor Pallin sat at said desk, looking even more unhappy than usual. The undoubted source of said unhappiness was the amber-glowing hologram that hovered, like a ghost, over the holopad in the corner, its feet distorted by the certifying image of the continents of Palaven in a circle, nestled against the curve of the Council Tower. Garrus stopped dead in his tracks. Councilor Sparatus was the only person Garrus knew that was more hidebound and rules oriented than Pallin. Except when it served him not to be, then he was just a sarcastic asshat with a love of the human gesture of air quotes. Soft, pedantic, plate-licking son of a six-credit asari whore… "Executor, perhaps you did not hear me clearly, or perhaps you feel that your position has overtaxed your endurance and wish to retire to Palaven's shores. I require an investigator who can get the job done on this issue. It's a mess. Saren is implicated and Tevos is all up in my fringe demanding 'action.' " Pallin sighed, clearly attempting to retain his temper in the face of his boss. "I understand your position and how… difficult this must be. But I only have nineteen detectives capable of operating at that level of oversight, and they are all either tasked to beyond capacity or have operational issues that do not lend themselves to this task." The Turian Councilor's eyes narrowed. "There seems to be a lot of tork-shit on this line, Pallin. You should probably rephrase that or pick out a good estate on the coast." Pallin growled, his voice harmonics coming unmeshed as he got angrier. "You want it in plain Unification Cant? Fine. Eleven of the detectives are in deep cover and pulling them out would get them killed. Two more aren't even on the spirits-be-raped Citadel. Four are not even in Citadel Space, tracking that pack of Eclipse hauling tainted eezo in from the Terminus." He squared his shoulders. "That leaves me with an ex-military special ops sniper who specializes in assault and a propensity for killing above solving crimes, a financial crime detective who happens to be a fucking volus and thus useless in any fight not involving food and is tripolar to boot, and a salarian who is about a week from retirement and who, by the way, had his life saved by Saren – twice – and who specialized in data analysis for catching illegal aircar racers, not galactic heroes." Pallin gave a shuddering exhale, his talons tapping a staccato beat on the desk. "I want to help. Spirits above, I hate the entire concept of the Spectre program. The Arterius family is full of cybered-up nutjobs, who think they're the second coming of the Palavanus or some tork-shit, and Saren is a rogue who makes my worst agent look like an Academy pledge model." Garrus could not restrain a smirk at that, but said nothing. With a clear effort, Pallin calmed. "But the bottom line, Councilor, is that we don't have anyone available and won't for at least two weeks." "Unacceptable. Flat-out, utterly unacceptable. How the hell a person like you managed to crawl this far up the meritocracy continues to astound me, Pallin, aside from your old friendships. Never mind. The sniper, put him on the case with the salarian you spoke of. I don't give a pile of rantha dung if they find absolutely nothing, and I don't really expect this to be anything but more smoke up my chute from those stupid humans, but I cannot sit on my talons and I'm expected to be acting impartially!" Pallin shuddered, and then shook his head. "When it blows up in your face, Councilor, let it be known I think this is a bad idea. I will make the assignments. Pallin out." Garrus folded his arms and leaned back on one leg, tilting his head a little. "Well, for what it's worth, I think he needs to listen to what you are saying. Not that you are ever right, of course, but…" "Shut up." Pallin massaged his forehead with his hands, talons trembling. "We'll talk about this catastrophe with the refugees, slaves, whatever, later. Have Forlan write it up. Sit down." Garrus did so, his jaw set. Pallin looked even more pissed than usual, which was pretty impressive given that he already looked like his plates were going to fly right off his skull from blood pressure alone on an average day. "Alright, sir. I'm a pretty bad turian, I know, but I can see when shit is serious. What is the investigation?" Pallin just looked at Garrus for a moment, then shook his head. His pale green eyes were tired, almost sunken, his plates dull and glossless. "A few days ago, we got a notification from the humans that they had uncovered a Prothean beacon on some colony of theirs. A working beacon, mind you, not some half broken thing to be data mined. They invited the Council to access it along with them, in return for some political leverage." "Damned humans. Not surprising, though. What kind of leverage?" Pallin shrugged, his dark features almost crumbling as his mandibles clamped against his jaw. "Spirits, what didn't we give them? Concessions on tariffs, inspections. The chance for them to pick a candidate for Spectre-status and have them evaluated, and a promise of a review of the Treaty of Farixen to allow them to add two more dreadnoughts to their fleet. The asari threw in some shit about optronics and the spirits only know what the salarians promised. The humans eventually agreed, sending one of their top special forces types to fill the Spectre slot." Garrus's blue eyes widened. His visor scrolled down a search window, coming up with news hits on 'Spectre candidate human' and displayed only one hit. "Their so-called Hero of Elysium, I presume? Egomaniacal, human-centric jackass." Pallin gave a weak laugh. "Still bitter about that busted arrest? Pity. And no, surprisingly enough, they did not pick him." Pallin shoved a datapad across his smooth obsidian desk. Garrus caught it, his plates arching in shock. "The Butcher of Torfan? Holy spirits be calm." He took in the image of the woman on the padd, a snapshot from Westerlund news of her breaking the back of an augmented elcor mercenary with nothing more than a biotic-driven elbow slammed into its spine, her face set in a grimace of pure predatory hate. "I think I'm in love." Pallin looked at him sharply, and then give an actual laugh of amusement. "Figures you would be, she's right up your tram line. Crazier than a hanar bodybuilder, but she is definitely effective. Don't see that kind of cold dedication in most of those monkeys, too busy selling themselves out for a few credits or trying to pretend they're actually anything more than jumped up batarians with two less eyes and better oral hygiene… no matter." Pallin paused, then continued. "This human apparently investigated the colony, with Nihlus Kryik as her supervisor, and they ran into an army of geth, apparently there for the Beacon as well." Garrus spread his mandibles in a smile, his fangs gleaming faintly in the dim lighting of the office. "Geth? Really?" Pallin nodded and Garrus paged through the rest of the padd. Images of a ruined, shattered spaceport. Burned out colony towers. Piles and piles of bodies, human and geth. Close-ups of one of the geth, its body torn open, white fluids splashed everywhere. Vague hazy shots of human military forces engaging silvery hordes of geth. "…Shit." Pallin nodded. "Yeah. It gets worse. Kryik died down there, murdered with his own weapon according to the autopsy report. They found some burned human remains with marks on the upper arms. Defensive wounds, from turian talons. More with their heads blown off by a high-powered pistol… maybe a Sunfire. And a human cargo worker that survived claims to have seen Saren Arterius leading the geth and planting a dirty bomb on the surface." Garrus's head whirled. "Saren? Impossible. Granted he gets a bit rough, but… working with geth?" Pallin shrugged. "Who knows? We pulled his comm records, nothing there worth noting, random chitchat with that matriarch he's coring, Benatria, Benzaria, whatever the fuck her name is. According to him – and the port master and six witnesses – he's been on Noveria the past week, dealing with some kind of bullshit in his own investigation of human cloning." Garrus nodded. "Hm. So the human must be wrong. Like I said, Saren may be… aggressive, but he wouldn't do this. Working with geth? Maybe the humans did this to try to get him off the investigation he is working on?" Pallin gave another shrug. "Three problems with this theory. First, the cargo worker had his head blown off this morning. Professional hit, drell mercenary – six years ago did contract work for Saren. Not much of a link but the humans are up in arms. Not that the Council is going to accept the word of one drunken, admittedly traumatized dockworker, but still." The Executor ticked a talon out, as if enumerating points. "Second, the autopsy of Nihlus showed the cause of death was definitely the LMG he took to the head." Garrus winced, imagining. "But he had also been shot in the lung and kicked. From the pattern of facial plate breakage, we're eighty-six percent certain that whoever kicked him in the face was a turian. Two breakage impact points to either side of the bridge of his nose." Another talon elevated, slowly. "And there's no ballistics on whatever shot him, just like on the humans we found with their heads blown off. Then again, the fact there's a melted eight centimeter hole, along with the size and impact of the damage to the poor bastard's armor, could only be achieved by an M-903 Sunfire pistol." Garrus nodded. The Sunfire was a fantastically rare gun, utilizing a rapid compression of air and technology (believed stolen from the asari or even hanar) to create a super-hot, high energy plasma bolt. The weapon made a mockery of shields and was devastating at close-range, but had an extremely slow rate of fire – making it a very ugly, precision weapon used at short-range to instantly incapacitate dangerous opponents. As such, it was ruinously expensive, with no less than nine major parts under fabrication rights management contracts tighter than the Consort's chute. Outside of the famed Deathwatch, very, very few turians – let alone other races – had access to one. Garrus was no Spectre fanboy, but even he had heard multiple stories of how Saren barely managed to save the day by use of his Sunfire pistol. "That looks bad, then." Pallin nodded. "Gets worse. This morning, one of our informants calls us with a tip. The Shadow Broker apparently obtained some hot intel relating to the Eden Prime incident. It was supposed to be coming into dock on a drell ship, the Sullen Cloud. Someone hacked C-Sec docks control and had the ship redirected to a private dock. By the time we got it all sorted and got units to the scene, the drell was dead, head blown off against his own ship. We found a dead krogan in the underway assembly… he was two meters from sailing right off into deep space. We ran his vitals and came back with a name. Raik Bole." Garrus frowned. "Bole. That name sounds familiar." Pallin smirked. "It should. Bole was the krogan arrested for illegal mod smuggling last year… mods he claimed were authorized by Saren. Saren bailed him out. We have one clear lead that looks very bad, a transfer of ninety thousand credits to Bole a day before Bole is found dead near the corpse of a drell who had information on Eden Prime." The Executor stood. "I will be… blunt, Vakarian. I don't like you. You are a loose cannon, and you don't show the attention to the chain of command, to obedience, to duty as you should. You're an incredible shot, a skilled investigator, and a damned good cop – at times. But your disregard for what you see as useless red tape is going to end up with you getting an innocent person killed sooner or later, and you aren't going to like how that feels." He held up a hand as Garrus opened his mouth to speak. "Just listen." The Executor folded his arms behind his back. "This job is brutal. Every mistake, ever missed bust, every charge of brutality, racism, and favoritism ends up on my desk. My charge. Now I have the Council telling me point-blank I have to assign detectives to investigate someone who is explicitly and implicitly outside the law, with the damned crime having occurred light-years away on a planet on the borders of our authority…" Pallin sighed, shuddering. "If you find evidence proving Saren is behind this, the humans will go berserk. One of their most senior military figures has been accusing Saren of things for the past fifteen years, and the very first time humanity actually plays ball with the Council and doesn't keep something to themselves in return for a chance to sit at the big table, a turian destroys it. They'll say the entire Turian Hierarchy aided and abetted him. The Council will split. Tevos has been looking for a way to reduce our influence for the past decade and this will play right into that bitch's blue hands." The Executor's voice dropped. "Worse, if he's guilty, our greatest hero is a traitor worse than any in history." Garrus nodded. "And if he's not guilty?" Pallin snorted. "That's even worse, believe it or not. It means we have a foe in alliance with the geth, who is attempting to frame Saren to distract humanity from the real culprit, whoever that might be. If we can't prove it is him, even if it is the truth, the humans might pull a Khar'shan and withdraw entirely from Council Space. Since the end of the Relay 314 Incident, they don't even bother trying to enlist most of their race or use their resources towards full military production. If they did, it would be a fuck-all mess, not to mention there's no telling what the asari would do if we got in a war with their 'cousins.' Whatever happened, it would be bad." Pallin turned back to face Garrus. Garrus only looked at him for a long moment, then turned his head to one side. "Alright, Executor, I get what you are saying. If I do this, it has to be by the damned book. No exceptions." Pallin only nodded, and Garrus huffed. "I… I don't know if I have the skillset for this. Chasing murdering thugs, yeah. Going after crazed doctors, drug-pushing piles of walking feces, and busting down krogan bullies, yeah. But taking down Saren…?" Pallin shrugged. "The humans will also be running an investigation, and in fact have already started. They are hindered by the fact that the commander of their ground team on Eden Prime, the Butcher of Torfan, was somehow incapacitated by the Prothean Beacon they found, which destroyed itself for some reason immediately after." Garrus groaned. "It's like a bad science-fantasy holovid. A cheesy bad holovid at that. What next, you're going to tell me I need to work with some human cop to track down a threat to all life? We'll bond, maybe he'll be retiring soon, and his aged wisdom will bring my exuberance in place? With all due respect, it sounds like a damned Blasto the Spectre novel." Pallin gazed at Garrus a long second, then began to grin, an immensely pleased expression crossing his features. "Oh, no, Detective Vakarian. That would be an imposition. No, you will work with this Butcher of theirs whenever she recovers. You'll be assisting her. Let's see how you like it, eh?" Garrus's jaw hung open and Pallin crossed the office to give the other turian a mocking, jovial pat. "Cheer up. I'm sure she will have no problem with you shooting everything and anything that her monkey brain can't grasp. Dismissed, Detective. And remind Forlan to get me that paperwork by first light, tomorrow." Chapter 17: Chapter 11 : Chakwas and Joker A/N: Edited and cleaned up, 8-7-2016. The voices wouldn't stop. Parker?! Where is Parker?! Batarians are overrunning the FOP! They've rigged their own fucking kids with bombs! The smell of burning flesh, the taste of ashes on the tongue… Where is our goddamned fire support! Oh, Jesus – they took out the medics… The harsh consonants of Khar'shai, the gleaming needle teeth bared in a thousand hungry grins… Stupid monkey filth, did you think you could defy the Fist of Khar'shan? Behold your death, at the hands of your betters! The feel of a torn muscle, the warmth of leaking blood… What happened to my boys, Shepard? What… why didn't you protect my boys? I trusted you, despite everything… they were supposed to be safe with you… Ah, there it was, the empty agony that never stops… it feeds, it nourishes, red rage like a tide towering over a tiny, broken shape of a girl, all huge eyes and a dirty mop of black hair clinging to the head of a battered teddy bear… You must do… what we could not… they are coming… Shepard opened her eyes, the whole world a white blur shot through with streaks of green and black. Bursts of pain radiated down her arms, her stomach, and her thighs. She took a deep, shuddering breath. So long, death. One of these days, we're gonna have a good chat about what a lousy date you are. Goddamn tease. "I think she's waking up, doctor." The voice was female, bleary and exhausted, and unfamiliar for a moment. Shepard began to sit up, her motion checked by a hand on her shoulder, and she blinked hard. "Easy, Commander. You took a lot of fire down there, even before you decided to punch out a geth." The woman in front of Shepard was tall, with the lithe slender form of a born spacer. Intelligent, calm green eyes crinkled in kindness as she placed a pillow behind Shepard's back, but her mouth was in a grim line, giving her otherwise classically beautiful features a weary cast. Silvery-gray hair hung to either side, her uniform the white and green of Alliance Medical, but slashed with the four gray bars of a major. Shepard shook her head to clear it, and winced as the motion set off explosions in her skull. "Ow. I'm sorry, doc, a little… woozy still. Fill me in? Guessing you're the ship's doctor. Never had time to do my medical in-brief." Shepard leaned back, taking in the room. The med-bay was dimly lit, a flat metal desk at the far end lined with medical journals and a computer unit, its haptic keyboard lining the shape of a few picture frames otherwise cast into darkness. A medi-gel dispenser hung by the door. Medical scanning beds lined the near wall, the ceiling crowded with lockers emblazoned with bizarre words – 'BioStat,' 'RefStab' – and heavy locks. Near the door sat Williams, now in a standard Marine BDU fatigue uniform, sleeves rolled up to reveal medi-gel bandages on her forearm. One eye and part of her face was occluded by more bandages, as well as thick ones wrapped around her torso. The woman's remaining eye was fixed on Shepard. The doctor sighed. "Indeed. I'm Karin Chakwas, Major, Alliance Medical. Ship's Medical Officer. And you are suffering a long list of injuries, young lady. We'll ignore the stress fractures in the legs from whatever mission you were on before you got on the Normandy, but we have at least two gunshots, a chipped vertebrae, first and second-degree burns over most of the right side of your face, a piece of metal in one thigh, one hundred and thirty-two metal splinters and bits embedded in your body, third-degree plasma burns to the chest, and of course seven broken bones in the hand, not to mention half the skin ripped off of said hand. And flash burns around your biotic amp from overuse." Shepard locked gazes with the doctor, her eyes cold and clear, then glanced down at her body. Her right arm was set in a light cast, and she could now feel bandages around the side of her shoulder and stomach. "Noted, doctor. I presume I'll make a full recovery?" Chakwas sighed. "You have another hour or two with that hand in the cell regenerator. And you're not going to be up for full duty for at least a week. But then again, I doubt you'll listen to me when I tell you that you need to take it easy, you special forces types seem to think you're invincible." Williams in the corner gave a small, wan chuckle. "Doc, she punched out a geth and then talked shit about it. That's pretty close to invincible." Chakwas arched an eyebrow. "You should be resting as well, Chief Williams. You don't have much more sense than she does, walking around with a hole in your tummy." Williams shrugged. "I… I just wanted to make sure the Commander was okay, ma'am." Shepard sighed. "The last clear image I have is approaching the Beacon. Then…" She frowned, eyes lowering to the rough standard issue medical blanket. The door swished open, revealing the dark form of Captain Anderson. "Doctor? She's up?" Chakwas nodded, stepping back. "Yes, she is. She is recovering normally, although I noticed a great deal of REM activity while she was out." Shepard glanced at the doc. "And how long was I out for, anyway?" Anderson sighed. "I need to speak to Shepard, privately." Both Chakwas and Williams nodded, the latter getting to her feet somewhat unsteadily. "I'll be in the mess, then, sir." She hobbled out, followed by Chakwas, and the door shut behind them with a final thud. The Captain folded his arms over his barrel chest, sighing. "Well, I see you managed to tear yourself up again, Sara." The response popped out of her mouth before she could even think. "It fucked with my crew." Anderson gave a soft smile. "It probably regrets it now, soldier." The smile faded. "Shepard, I'm not going to lie to you. The situation is bad. Over thirty thousand people were killed on Eden Prime, including over four hundred Alliance soldiers. The Beacon is… well, destroyed. After doing whatever it did to you, the jury-rigged power supply it was hooked to detonated. You've been out for over fourteen hours. Nihlus is dead, and while you were unconscious, an assassin got into the hospital where that dockworker was recovering and blew his head clean off." Shepard laid her head back against the pillow. "So now what? We go after this Saren guy?" Anderson shook his head. "Saren is a Spectre of the Council. Their most trusted agent. I've crossed paths with him several times. And he's not good news, trust me. He gets the job done regardless of the cost, but I think he enjoys the violence, the suffering, the thrill. He's not a friend of humanity, either. Details are sketchy, but he blames the death of his brother on humanity, and he's acted several times in the past in an antagonistic way." She arched an eyebrow. "And he gets away with this shit?" Anderson gave a grim smile. "As a Spectre, everything he does is off the record, in most cases untraceable. Nobody second-guesses him. He's been a Spectre for years, probably has contacts and resources all over Council and Terminus Space, and he's one of the most adept warriors in the known galaxy. All in all, a terrifying foe." Shepard frowned. "I'm not following, sir. We have the testimony of that dockworker. The Council strips him of his status, we find him, and put a bullet in his plated chicken skull." "Not that simple. The Council is in an uproar, and our ambassador, Udina, isn't helping. He's more concerned about how this makes the Alliance look than the truth, and about whatever political deals went down to give you a shot at being a Spectre." He sighed, tugging down his uniform jacket. "Rumors are flying everywhere. Some of the top brass in the Alliance are saying this whole event was staged, that we were set up to fail, that Saren was working for the Council and stole the Beacon data from us, using some kind of 'hack' to control the geth. Others say he's gone rogue, still others say humanity is trying to frame him to stop him investigating human research companies on Noveria." Anderson paced. "But I know Saren. I know his politics. His… hate. If he is doing this, it's to attack humanity. To annihilate us. He's never gotten over whatever went down with him in the First Contact War and…" His voice trailed off, as he thought about something. Shepard's frown deepened. "Sir?" The Captain folded his hands together. "Sorry, Commander. Woolgathering. Taken all together, it looks bad. We lost the Beacon, the Spectre we had supporting you is dead, our only actual witness to what went down is dead, the only suspect is immune to being prosecuted or even questioned… and to top it all off, the Council wants a report. They're pretty much blaming everything on you." Shepard rolled her eyes. "The Council can kiss my ass, sir. I'm an Alliance Marine, I could care less what they say." Anderson nodded, "Unfortunately, the order – from top Alliance brass – is for us to go before them and testify. To try to salvage something from this mess. There isn't much chance they'll make you a Spectre now… unless you've learned something from the Beacon." Shepard shook her head again. "No, sir. It was… painful and chaotic. Images and words that implicated a much higher level of technology. Lots of synthetics, lots of ships like that one we saw on Eden Prime. Dozens of them. I saw machines dissolving people. Killing them. Butchering them…" She trailed off, shuddering, feeling herself shrink with the sheer pain and agony of the memories. She paused. "I… I think it was a warning. Of what, I don't know." Anderson's eyes narrowed. "We have to tell the Council this." Shepard looked up, and gave a bitter little laugh. "Tell them what? That the bloodthirsty human nutjob they got foisted onto them as a Spectre candidate had a bad dream? Sir, they'll laugh us out of the room. I can't… ignore what I've seen, not saying that. Something is coming, and it's bad. But we seriously can't expect them to listen to us without real, solid proof." Anderson leaned one muscled shoulder against a locker and frowned. "Sara, I've known you a long time. From the moment I was jumped by gang-bangers while helping you, I knew you weren't just a little girl. I caught two slugs for that, just like you did. And when the criminals you had run with your whole life tried to take advantage of you to hurt me, your reaction was to destroy them utterly." He gave a ghost of a smile. "I won't pretend I understand you, that I understand the pain you go through every day. I won't lie and say that I grasp how you do what you do, or why you can manage to tear apart entire armies and make krogan piss themselves in fear, but can't even manage to talk to the people who try to break through to reach you." Shepard looked down, frowning, but Anderson continued. "But in the eight years I've known you, I've only seen you cry twice. Once, when I saved your life." A hand reached out, gently, the fingers tracing Shepard's cheek to wipe away a tear. "And now, when you spoke about whatever it is you saw in the vision. That means it's important, damn what anyone else thinks. You aren't crazy." "I…" Anderson shook his head. "And I know one more thing. I don't give a damn what the Council, Alliance brass, or anyone else says. You didn't fail your mission in my eyes. You did good, child. Anyone else would have just died down there. Against an army of geth, you not only saved half a million people from a grisly death, but recovered the Beacon and saved the remains of the 212 and those scientists. So if they call you a nutjob, I'll be right there next to you, ready to take the hit and call them out on it." Shepard gave a little exhalation. "I… sorry. I just don't know how to… process all of this. Things are supposed to make sense. Go here, flash the biotics, kill the bad guy. Get sent into suicide mission, turn it around, make the final run myself to take out the leaders. Write the letters about the people that got killed because some REMF on Arcturus can't be bothered to read the intel, or because some general groundside thinks women should be barefoot and pregnant and won't give me the resources to get the job done the right way. I can do that. "I don't want to… feel. I just… want to get the job done." She looked up. "I don't know how to deal with this. Go in front of the Council and convince them of something I don't even know if I believe? Anderson, I can't even figure out how to talk to other humans half the time." Her good hand clenched into a fist on the blanket. "I'm tired. I'm tired of being sent off to die and only managing to get everyone around me killed. I'm tired of wading through emotions and trying to pretend they aren't there. I'm tired of waking up every night wanting to empty out my skull. I'm tired of having the only peace in my life when I'm on the battlefield, killing something. I've been told to be the perfect soldier, the perfect killing machine. Every op, every training class, every goddamned qualifica—" She broke off as Anderson placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. "Sara, am I your friend?" That goddamned word again. That goddamned question again. "I…" The eyes that bore into hers were such a soft, open shade of brown. They were the only eyes she'd known that didn't judge, that had never judged, that had always seen something in her that even she couldn't, even when she'd gone too far in hate and rage and fear. "I don't even know how to have a friend. You're all I've got, David." Anderson frowned. "You have others that care, Sara." She sighed. "Yeah, and where are they? All of them just fucking vanished after Torfan, David. Rachel hasn't returned any message I've sent, and no one I contact can even tell me where she's stationed. Kyle hasn't said anything to me since I got his kids killed. Von Grath is off doing politics and can't be associated with me… he didn't even help out when I asked to get out from under that ass Delacor." She looked up at him. "I haven't got the first idea of what to do or how to do it – and I don't trust myself to pick the right choices when every choice I've made so far is a fuckup." Anderson nodded. "Then if you don't trust yourself, trust me. You can do this. You can't keep living a life of blaming yourself for the bad and then using that as a reason not to change, Sara. I won't lie and say I understand it – like I said, I can't get the pain you deal with." He folded his arms. "But clinging to it won't make you better, either. You've learned to survive. But that's not enough. You have to learn to live, now, child. You've punished yourself enough." She snorted, but her voice shook. "I was the one who was at fault for what I've done wrong, why shouldn't I punish myself?" He grimaced, opened his mouth to say something, and stopped. After a moment, he gave a heavy shake of the head. "It was never you who was at fault. It's been the people pushing you. Using you. The details…" He paused. "Well, there's a reason the Fleet Master shot the man in charge of planning Torfan. Not the point. You've got a chance – however small – to prove to people that you are more than they think you are, if you can take one more step, Sara. Trust that you can be more. You've gone from being used, to making your own path. From being a criminal who hurts people, to being a hero to humanity who protects them. Now you have to be more." "What if I fail?" Anderson let her shoulder go, standing to his full height. His uniform was perfect in the dim light, his stance speaking of nothing but confidence. It almost hurt. "Sara, you've never failed at anything you put your will and mind to in your entire life. The things you feel you failed at can be laid at the feet of men who didn't give you what you needed to win. I can't and won't accept you taking on the blame for someone else's incompetence. And I know you. You are never satisfied with giving anything but your best. And you aren't about to start now." Anderson turned away. "We're still a ways out from the Citadel. Finish up with Chakwas and have her get you ready to move out when we dock. I have to prepare a report to Admiral Hackett." "Yes, sir." The door opened, and Anderson stepped out, replaced by Chakwas, who immediately walked over and began consulting the haptic interface at the foot of the bed. "Lieutenant Alenko informed me that you'll have to be up and around soon. You really do need a week of recuperative time, Commander." Shepard leaned back against the pillow. Her mind was still whirling. "I heal fast, doctor." Chakwas scowled. "No, you don't. You just push yourself on, before you're healed, as if you don't matter. Your body is a patchwork of badly healed injuries that should have killed you." She walked around the bed, her hands deft as she slipped open the cast around Shepard's shattered hand, and placed the boxy form of the cellular regenerator over it. "And your psych profile and medical records…" Shepard sighed. "I have this conversation with every medical officer I deal with. No, I am not psychotic. No, I do not have anger management issues. No, I—" "Commander. I was not going to state any of that. I'm just sorry you had to… endure… what you've had to go through." Shepard snorted. "You'd be the first." She flexed her hand inside the regenerator, feeling pain ripple through it, then turned to look at Chakwas, noting the stricken look on her face. "What?" For her part, Dr. Chakwas was torn between fury and wanting to cry. "Are you serious? That all this time, your doctors have been dismissive of your past and what you've gone through?" Shepard shrugged, wincing as muscles pulled in her back. "Doc, most of my ground commands got pretty torn up in the course of repeated anti-piracy ops. The doctors end up having to patch together the people that pay the price for me getting the job done. Whoever works with me always ends up judging me on the fact that I used to be a gang-banging, drug slinging murderer. The first Alliance docs, the ones in boot camp and with the Marine Penal Legions, saw me as a liability. They were looking for any reason to cat-six me." Chakwas sighed, being dismissed for mental issues when you were in a Penal Legion was grounds for an immediate bullet in the head. "They were supposed to be helping you." Shepard's face was calm, emotionless, as if she was discussing someone else. "No, they were supposed to be helping people who needed help. You lose the right to that when you turn into a monster." Chakwas gave a great snort, brushing hair out of her eyes, fixing her gaze on the woman in front of her. "I have never heard such a hurtful, dismissive thing. A woman, traumatized, betrayed by her own parents, forced to survive in an environment where any weakness means death or worse, and when you show you aren't just a monster, they treat you as one anyway? Horrific. Unethical. Inexcusable." Shepard tilted her head. "Doc, you are reading the same reports everyone else is, right? Flipped my shit, shot up a bunch of people, blah blah blah? That's what most people call crazy." She shook her head. "I don't tear myself down because I like the way it feels, Doc. I do it because if I forget what I used to be I worry I'll be that way again." Chakwas crossed the room to pick up a datapad, and flicked it on, paging through something. "Ah, yes. I quote: 'Despite outstanding warrants and her own injuries, subject personally got Lieutenant Anderson to a local hospital for his injuries. In doing so, she was identified by a local police officer as being a gang member. A partial police report implies that police officers attempted to get a statement from Anderson implicating subject in criminal activity. Anderson declined to do so. Hospital monitoring systems recorded a brief conversation between Anderson and Shepard, in which she inquires why he didn't sell her out and he replies that if she had been evil she wouldn't have gotten shot saving his life, and that she deserves another chance.' End quote." Chakwas put down the padd, and folded her arms. "Yes, very monstrous. You destroyed a sick infestation of evil men who had twisted you into a weapon for their use. But you didn't do that in the end. You turned on the evil. And since then you have done nothing but try to follow orders and get the job done. I strongly doubt you would ever go back to the place you were mentally or emotionally… and even if that wasn't true, to prejudge you on acts you have tried to rectify is the worst kind of cowardice." Chakwas came back over to Shepard, gently undoing the bandage on her head, and clucked critically. "No noticeable scarring, good. Shepard, I know you only through the piles of documents I get on crewmembers and from what Anderson has told me. But I can see with my own eyes you are no monster. A monster would have let Chief Williams and Lieutenant Alenko distract that Geth Prime so they could drop it, not attract its attention and dive through a plasma blast to punch it to death." She paused, fussing with the bandage on her shoulder, frowning a bit, her voice even and calm and… kind. "A monster would not put themselves in harm's way again and again every time they had to sacrifice soldiers, as if hoping to die alongside the men and women you had to let die to get the job done. I'm not as hard as you. I don't think I could do what you did. That doesn't mean it makes you evil, or wrong, or worth anything but as much consideration and care, if not more, than any other soldier on this ship." Chakwas turned away, her cultured voice filled with disgust. "The fact that you have not had that treatment from other doctors is the only sickening thing about this. And any who take an oath to do no harm and then ignore your pain… those are the only monsters I see here." Shepard took a breath. "Just before I transferred here, there was one psychologist who was different. Told me that I had to let things go." She shook her head. "I… I don't know what is wrong with me. Maybe it's that Beacon. I need to focus on the mission." Chakwas gave a small, worried smile. "Commander. You aren't used to anyone being concerned for your well-being? Well, I am. You are part of this ship's crew now, and that means I hold myself responsible for your health. Mental and physical. If Captain Anderson, a man I respect immensely, says you are good people, then who am I to question him?" Shepard looked away. Chakwas gave a little sigh, and pulled down the blanket, examining the bandaging around Shepard's thigh. "Everything except the hand is healing well, Commander. While usually I'd want you to stay in bed another twenty-four hours, the regenerator is done with the thigh wound, and you need to walk it to prevent muscle scarring that could limit motion. You're not cleared for any sort of combat, but I think you could finish resting in your own stateroom." Shepard nodded. "What about my hand?" Chakwas smiled. "Well, you have at least another hour on that. Perhaps you could tell me about your military history? I need it for your medical in-brief anyway. And these documents are full of redactions." O-OSaBC-O Two hours later, Shepard limped toward the main battery, dressed in her blues. Her head was still spinning, from the aftereffects of the Beacon, battle medicine, and some of the strangest conversation she'd ever had. Chakwas was so infuriatingly stubborn. Never judging. Never assuming. As if I was some kind of real person instead of a cardboard cutout that shot things. She was pacing down the length of the crew deck, feeling the stress in her injured leg begin to smooth out. She never had a chance to do a real tour of the ship when she got on, the rush to Eden Prime all-consuming, and as a result she had no idea where things were. But she loved weapon systems, and before she went and tried to interact with any of the crew, she needed a moment to gather herself mentally. The battery was deserted, racks of Spearfish missiles neatly stacked in auto-loading racks, the launchers themselves retracted into the hull. Bigger than the ground assault missiles from mobile artillery trucks, the Spearfish missiles were almost five and a half meters long, and tipped with a fleck of antimatter suspended in a charge-neutral vacuum state supported by mass effect fields. Ruinously expensive, they gave the Normandy the punch of a much larger ship without a heavy power draw. As she walked forward, she could hear voices, sounding from above her. Whoever is on the bridge, I suppose. The first voice was clearly that of Lieutenant Alenko, his quiet tones muffled. "I'm just saying that she isn't quite what I expected, Joker. I figured that she would be less cold." The other voice she recognized vaguely as that of the pilot. She remembered him being called 'Joker' by Anderson, apparently it was a nickname of some kind. His voice sounded bitter. "Geez, Alenko, you really don't get it, do you? She's not cold. She's just trying to keep everything in." Alenko's voice was almost mocking. "And when did you become an expert on icy killing machines, Joker? Trust me. I've seen her in person, remember? She went through those geth like they were irritants, and she wasn't even breathing hard until the very end. She snapped at Williams for being upset at seeing her own damned unit butchered!" Joker said nothing for a moment, then almost snarled. "Funny thing, LT. People don't understand pain. See, I live with pain every day. Everyone thinks, 'oh, he has bad bones, he has to be careful.' Being careful doesn't help. Every time I move, the bones break a little. Walking to get a cup of joe and go to the head? Sledgehammers up and down the legs, every step. Having to slide out of my rack in the morning? Feels like someone is kicking me in the spine and hips. I can't even fucking walk down to the mess decks to eat without pain so bad I want to cry sometimes." Alenko was quiet, and then spoke. "I didn't know." "Shut up, Kaidan. Not my point. I don't need people's pity. I am sitting here because I busted my ass in flight school. I stayed in the sims until I couldn't keep myself awake anymore with coffee and cigarettes. I pushed myself to study twenty hours a day. I aced every test, I pushed every limit, and I didn't give myself time to heal. It hurt all the time, and the more pain I was in, the more I pushed." His voice softened. "I thought… if I did good enough, if I was the best, maybe it would make the pain mean something. Maybe people would be impressed enough to see through the awkward kid with the broken bones, do more than feel sorry for me and avoid me at the bars. But of course, it did nothing but alienate everyone." "That's not true, Joker. At least I hope not, I've… I mean, hell, we've gone drinking together." Joker gave a laugh. "That was because you were all over that asari girl and needed a wingman. But no, LT, you are right. Some people here have done that. Not many. And not what I'm saying. Spending all these years on the sidelines of life, watching everyone else go through the motions, the loving, the living, the little things I can't have, you get really good at measuring people, at seeing things other people miss." Joker's voice went quiet. "And our new Commander is the same way I was. In pain. Pushing to be the best to make it go away, but drawing on the pain to push herself further. Unable to reach out to anyone because if someone feels sorry for you then you don't know what to do. They called me 'Joker' in flight school because I was so serious, I pushed everyone away. I didn't have a single friend until five years after that." Kaidan made a thoughtful sound. "I hadn't thought of it like that." Joker's voice was bitter. "Most people don't. Easier to avoid and pity the kid with busted bones. Easier to avoid and fear the crazy lady with a bad history. Except it's not. It's cruel, and it's hateful, and it makes you hate yourself more, blame yourself more, for shit that isn't even yours to claim. And then you go all emo and people move on without you." Kaidan laughed. "Can't see you as ever being… emo, Joker. Maybe tossing out irreverent comments on Williams' ass to my private comm-link." Joker made a scoffing sound. "Well yeah. I mean, I'm crippled, not dead. And while the Commander is also a beautiful woman, the chances of me saying anything about her ass ending with me having even more broken bones is far too high for me to risk saying anything over the comm-link." Kaidan laughed. "True. I guess I just… Hell, I don't know, Joker. I thought I was dead. I thought for sure she'd let us distract that Geth Prime and take it out from behind. Dirth, Mindoir, Torfan, isn't that what she's known for? Big casualties, victory at any cost?" Joker said nothing. Kaidan's voice rambled on. "But she didn't. She flung herself into over seventy geth, and then nearly killed herself saving us. Maybe you're right and I'm being unfair. I don't know. But she still seems cold." Joker finally spoke again. "You get that way when you can't figure out how to say things. Now, I do it with humor and sarcasm, but … I just… I feel like I know where she is coming from. Our pain isn't the same. I can't do all the incredible things she can do, or say that my background is as bad as hers." Joker paused, then his voice became sarcastic. "Then again, she can't make the Normandy do a seven hundred and twenty in less than ten klicks at top mark and still manage to hit a drift of under fifteen hundred k from across the galaxy." Alenko laughed. "So modest, Joker." Shepard looked hard at the missiles, old voices playing in her head. Then she thought of Anderson. "Shepard, the only person who can give you absolution is you. But don't imagine you're in this alone. You just have to reach out." O-OSaBC-O Joker was in the cockpit solo ten minutes later, when irregular footsteps sounded behind him. He half-turned, catching the sight of Commander Shepard now standing behind him. "Commander. All systems nominal. We're currently one hour fifty-two minutes from the Citadel." "Acknowledged, Flight Lieutenant." Her voice was icy and flat. He waited for her to turn away, but instead she slowly, carefully lowered herself into one of the seats next to him, manning the gunnery station. "I need to check some power fluctuations I noticed while reviewing the battery." "Of course, ma'am." There was a few seconds of silence. Shepard paged through menus. Her motions were not fast, but she didn't have to go back and forth. She clearly knew what she was doing, but it was as if it was memorized, not learned. "If you don't mind me asking, ma'am, I thought you were a groundside Marine." She nodded. "I was. Before I was assigned here, though, a few years back, I went ahead and did the qualification package for executive officer, nav, engineer, and general systems." "Huh. What ship did you serve on, then?" Shepard glanced over to him, face neutral, and then back to the panel. "None, Flight Lieutenant. I studied the material and took all the courses up to level four and five." She identified a system and brought it up with a minimal movement of her hand over the haptic interface, examining something. "But those classes are designed for officers who've had two years of watch standing experience to prepare!" Joker couldn't even imagine passing them without having the actual knowledge. Shepard gave a cold smile. "As usual, people don't understand how things can work out if you just push yourself hard enough." Joker was silent for a moment. "Yes, ma'am." He fell silent. The last thing he wanted to do was pop off in front of the Commander. He might berate Alenko for dismissing her, and he knew his ego about his piloting skills was why he often bragged on himself, but up close she was… terrifying. Beautiful, icy, calm, and probably saw him as a ship function rather than a person. Shepard finished her scan and shut down the link. But she didn't move from her seat. After several minutes of increasingly worrying silence, Joker glanced over at her, watching her stare outside into the onrushing stars. "Commander?" She didn't look his way, but spoke. Her voice had an odd note in it, almost tentative. "Ships are often full of little quirks. Engines that don't balance right. Panels that don't operate correctly. A medi-gel dispenser that squirts it in your face. Missile links that never got adjusted from the factory." A beat of silence. "Or the fact that due to acoustics and venting, someone in the forward battery can hear every word of a conversation between two Lieutenants about their Commander's ass." Joker felt as if the entire universe constricted around his heart. He didn't dare glance over, just kept his now trembling hands on the haptic controls. "M-Ma'am?" His throat felt as if it was about a centimeter wide. Shepard didn't say anything for a long time, maybe five seconds. "I don't have many people who… get why I am the way I am, Mr. Moreau. I've had friends in the past, but… friendship is a funny thing, and sometimes it blinds you to what is right in front of you. Maybe it isn't as important as being understood. While I'm not sure that 'friends' ever really get me, there is a certain… comfort in knowing that I am at least not entirely misunderstood by all people." Joker could not believe his ears. Carefully exhaling, he glanced over to where Shepard was sitting. Her eyes were fixed on some point ahead in space. She is going to kill me. I can see the headline now. 'Pilot with Vrolik Syndrome Broken into bits by Enraged Commander Shepard for Being Nice.' He reached his free hand out anyway, to place it over her right hand, gently. "Ma'am, you aren't alone in… uh, being alone. I can't understand what you've gone through, and anyone who does is a lying asshat… but I know more than enough about living in pain every second of every day. If I can get past that, anyone can." Shepard stared at the pilot's lightly boned, elegant hand on top of hers for a long moment, before Joker lost his nerve and withdrew it. She felt as if pieces of her mind were spinning around in drunken patterns. "Feeling… hurts, Fli— Joker." She stood, abruptly, and began to walk out. Joker couldn't let that go. "So does everything else, ma'am. But at least feeling can do something besides hurt." Shepard paused, and said nothing for several long seconds, her hand braced on the doorway to support her weight. Finally she straightened. "Flight Lieutenant, if you comment on my ass to any member of my ground team I will personally put both your femurs into your lungs." She exhaled, as Joker internally cursed himself for saying anything. "As long as you don't do that, Joker, I would… appreciate any additional insight you have to give. I'll be heading to Engineering if the Captain needs me." And then she was gone. He knew she was grimacing, forcing herself to walk quietly and normally so she would never look weak. He could understand that. His face split in a grin after a moment of reflection. She had called him 'Joker.' Chapter 18: Chapter 12 : Doran A/N: Edited and cleaned up, 8-28-2016. Tali sat in the huge, open area of the Upper Wards, and realized she was completely lost. The area was like nothing she had ever seen on the Migrant Fleet or the handful of worlds she had visited. Giant arcs of gleaming metal held up huge, jutting shelves of offices, stores, cafes, and businesses. Aircars ran riot overhead, complex patterns twining in the shallow airzone between the ground and the envelope enclosing the Upper Wards. The buildings were all towering, angular shapes, slashed with myriad lights of commerce and activity. The walkways were full of aliens – asari in elegant outfits, fierce looking turians in heavy armor, bickering salarians, even a few humans and elcor. All around her, people doing things, talking animatedly, and at ease. What they did or discussed was all rather hazy to Tali, as she only overheard snippets of conversation. She had wandered the Upper Wards for over two hours, her leg increasingly sore and tender. Biting her lip behind her mask, she rubbed her hip absently, feeling the heavy bruising from when she had fallen. She had patched the suit breach, but without a clean area to examine the wound to her leg she was just praying any infection wouldn't be too bad. She had doused herself with immuno-boosters, but her supplies were almost empty, and she had no cash to buy even basic medical care. Troyce… The flash of the gun and the ugly, sickening image of the kindly old drell's head coming apart wouldn't get out of her mind. She remembered the little stars on his curious shoes – spurs, he called them – jangling in discord as he crashed to the ground. The vile bared teeth of the monster who had brutally murdered him. Troyce had been right about the Citadel people and how they would act, though. Most completely ignored her, or crossed the narrow walkpaths to avoid her, as if she smelled. Turians gave her hard-eyed glares, asari merely looked over the top of her head, and salarians rudely brushed by, as if she wasn't even there. Twice she had tried approaching someone for directions to the proper Ward, only to be told to get lost. Finally a sneering human had angrily pointed her in the direction of an assistance VI, known as AVINA, but that had proved of little help except to find the right Ward – all she knew was a name, 'Fist,' which was clearly a nickname and unable to be referenced by the somewhat stupid VI. And the one time she'd asked after the name the salarian she asked had merely clucked something about criminals before stepping away. Now her leg hurt fiercely, and she was feeling lightheaded, depressed, and wrung out from crying. And she wasn't stupid enough to think she'd killed that krogan. She didn't think the krogan would shoot her dead in the middle of a crowd, but she had to leave this area sooner or later, and the chances of him surprising her increased every moment. Two tubes of paste left, half a liter of filtered water, and only a dozen air filters left. No antibiotics, and I lost my shotgun running away. I have a pistol, nineteen credits, a boot knife, three OSDs, a data disk full of geth audio I can't even understand, two books, a picture of my mother and father, another reik, and a silly model of a quarian ship. What do I do? Lost in thought, she barely noticed the C-Sec officer walking over to her. "Move along, quarian. We've had two complaints of vagrancy and loitering." "W-What? I was j-just sitting here thinking, I'm l-lost…" The C-Sec agent was a turian, his armor harsh angles in blue and black trim gleaming with polish. His hands held a heavy rifle, its ammo indicator glowing a sullen red. His face was a dark, cold gray, slashed with heavy white marks around his eyes. "Sure you are. Waiting for someone to lift their credit chit from?" He jerked his chin, where two more C-Sec officers were dragging another quarian away, this one a male with the pale red reik of House Shava. The young man was limp, his faceplate showing a single, long crack down one side. The turian sneered, mandibles dipping in scorn. "We found three stolen chits and a security card registered to another thieving quarian. But I'm an open-minded sort. Get the hell out of the Upper Wards before I have you arrested." Tali stood uncertainly, limping. "I was… told to look for someone named… Fist?" The C-Sec agent's eyes narrowed instantly, and he tensed. "So you are a criminal. Fist is really branching out if he's using quarians as drug mules. Well, that's all I needed to hear, you're going to have to come with me." "W-What? I don't even know Fist, I was just t-told by my friend to meet hi—" She nearly screamed as the turian roughly pushed her to her knees, the agony in her wounded leg flaring. "Sure, and I'm Blasto the Spectre, too. Spirits you people are so—" A huge, blocky shadow towered over both the quarian girl and the C-Sec officer. Tali gasped at the sight of the krogan in front of her. This one was even more gigantic than the one that had been chasing her, angled and heavy red armor dented and blasted with years of battle. A sallow face, crossed with ugly scars, boasted little more than angry red eyes and a snarling grim line of a mouth, while the krogan's fire-red crest was even more scarred. The most gigantic shotgun Tali had ever seen in her life was clipped to his back, nearly half as long as he was, with a barrel she could have cleanly put her fist into. "—Fuck, Wrex. What do you want now?" Wrex gestured. "Little quarian bitch is one of Edat's new hires. She's already paid for and we already paid off Donatix, I ain't paying twice. She got clever, got away from the workers and old Bintho said she was running up this way. Thought she'd cut a deal with Fist and 'work' in the Den instead of… the usual." With a casual gesture, Wrex flicked a thousand credit chit to the C-Sec cop, who deftly caught it with two talons and tucked it in his armor in one smooth, well-practiced motion. The C-Sec officer looked around. "Tell the Ginnister to keep his shit clean, spirits-damn it. If he and Fist want to have a war, take it off the Citadel." He shoved Tali toward Wrex, who caught her by the waist in one giant hand. "And get her the fuck out of here; you know anyone who prongs quarians isn't in the Upper Wards." The turian turned away with an irritated grunt. Wrex watched him go before bending over toward Tali. "Don't. Say. A word. Just move and you'll get through this alive, girl." Wrex's voice was low, rough, and completely terrifying. Tali was half-paralyzed with pain and fear, her heart beating so fast she thought it would explode. He shifted his massive grip from her waist to her shoulder and guided her – gently, which was odd – over to a somewhat darkened alleyway. Turning the corner, he took Tali down several sets of broad, flat stairs. After four flights, the stairs opened out onto an empty underground plaza, abandoned buildings giving way grudgingly to smears of light and motion off in the distance. He gestured to the shattered side of a building up against the walls of the Ward, and Tali obeyed, limping more after all the stairs. Wrex glanced in both directions for long seconds before kneeling down in front of the tiny quarian. "Are you Tali'Zorah?" Tali started. "Y-Yes…" Wrex nodded. "Good. The Broker sent me, originally to meet Troyce. I just came up from C-Sec, he's dead. I need to know what happened." He glanced around, sniffing the air, then shook his heavy head. "Surprised you're even alive." Tali squeezed her eyes shut, half in relief and half in agony of memory. "He… he got me here, from Caleston. On his ship. W-We were told to land in a docking bay… and when we got out, two k-krogan attacked us. He killed one… I think… but the other shot me, then shot him. He told me to run… to find Fist in someplace called the Lower Wards." Wrex cursed. "This krogan – describe him. Black head crest, where mine is red? Gray armor? Dark skin?" Tali nodded, hesitantly. "Y-Yes… T-Troyce asked if they were from the Broker and he laughed." Wrex grunted. "He's a stupid thug…" He lifted his head, and sniffed again, before whirling around and standing, his hand already going to his gun— And he was thrown back with a roar of pain, smoke coming from his chest, as a shotgun boomed. The huge krogan collapsed, blood leaking from his mouth. Tali whirled, her pistol in her hands. The krogan who had shot Troyce stood there, his face unscathed, a new looking shotgun smoking in his massive hands, a human cigar in his teeth. "Idiot old fool, did the smell of the human leaf throw you?" Ignoring Tali, he fired another shot, this time at Wrex's knee, which erupted in red-orange blood. "I'll deal with you in a minute, doddering wreck." The barrel lifted toward Tali, who, with a grimace, rolled aside, and fired her pistol three times in rapid succession. The shots did nothing to the heavy armor the krogan mercenary wore, and he gave a belly laugh. "You really are a stupid little—" With a tap of her omni-tool, Tali generated an over-current, and grounded it in the bits of metal she had shot into the krogan's armor. There was a great, arcing blast of white energy, and the krogan fell shrieking to the ground. Tali pounced, screaming in hate, sweeping up her boot knife and cramming it down with all her strength into the krogan's eye. The blade punched through with an ugly squelch, and the krogan roared, so loudly Tali's ears rung. With a snarl he slammed his heavy fist into her stomach, literally folding her in half over his massive arm. He flung her back, to land in a heap on the ground, and plucked her blade from his eye. "Bitch, you've got a quad, I'll give you that, but now I'm really going to hurt you before I kill. You should have finished me back at the ship, krogan regenerate." "Regenerate this, pup." Wrex's voice was pained gravel on steel as he pulled the trigger of his shotgun, point-blank at the other krogan's head. The explosion that slammed through the air was muted due to the gore flung in a liquefied cone that sprayed all over the graffiti-covered walls. The headless merc slumped to his knees, arms twitching as his secondary nervous system tried to figure out what had happened. Wrex nudged the soon-to-die body over with his foot; viciously putting two more shots into the chest area, and then, limping, moved to check on Tali. Tali managed to roll over and took in the ruin of the krogan. "You… you killed him, even after he shot you?" Wrex shrugged. "I'm embarrassed he even got the drop on me. You look hurt." Tali winced, trying to put on a brave front. Her father told her the krogan respect strength and will over anything else, and she exhaled to even her voice before speaking. Yet when her words came out, they were hardly strong. "I… got shot in the leg, and bruises on the hip from falling. My suit is punctured… and I… don't have any money…" Tali trailed off hopelessly. She doubted a krogan would bother with charity. Wrex flexed his massive physique, feeling the knitting sensation around his knee grow tight and hard with pain. The fact he'd been stumbling all over this stupid pile of metal to find the girl was irritating enough, but being shot – and worse, surprised – by Shan irritated him even more than the pain did. I could just put a bullet in her skull and take the info directly to Fist… and see if he tries to cross me. Easy, simple. The krogan gave a grim little grin as he put away his weapons, remembering how the tiny quarian girl stabbed the other krogan right in the eye. "Typical quarians, always broke. C'mon, let's get to a doctor before you start crying or bleed out from a broken toe nail or something." The krogan stomped away, Tali scurrying to follow. "B-But I don't have any credits!" Wrex gave her a sidelong look. "If what you're offering the Broker is any good, you'll be able to pay me back for this. And if you don't, I'll kick your spine out of that suit. Now, hush up and follow, the Lower Wards aren't the safest place for a kid." For almost ten minutes, Tali limped silently after Wrex. In comparison to the gleaming metal and light of the Wards above ground, the Lower Wards were… grim. Trash and rust were everywhere, so were homeless people and the occasional wandering pack of C-Sec agents, all hard eyes and hands on their guns. They gave Wrex unfriendly looks, which he just gave great, roaring laughs at, but every time he increased the pace a bit. Clearing another set of stairs, Wrex spat as yet another C-Sec agent gave him a dirty look and turned away. "Spineless pyjaks…" he muttered at last. Then he came to a stop. "Quarian." Tali stiffened. The pain of her leg had only increased with his punishing pace, and she was now shaking slightly, a cold sweat covering her body. Her vision was blurry, and she was hungry and tired and wanted to just curl up somewhere safe and clean and have Auntie Raan stroke her back and make tuchariel tea. "My name is Tali, krogan!" Her silvery eyes narrowed to dagger throwing slits for a few seconds before she realized she was shouting at a giant, angry lizard with far too many teeth, in armor that weighed more than her entire family and who was armed with a gun that looked like it had been looted from a spaceship's main battery. But Wrex roared with laughter. "Ah, you have a quad on you, little girl. Tali it is. I'm about to drop you off at a clinic in the Upper Wards." He gestured to a stairway, gleaming clean steel and brightly lit, with a haptic sign over it reading "Upper Wards Access: South Bachjret Ward" The krogan frowned, and spoke, his voice low and careful. "The doctor in there is called Michel. Human female, too touchy-feely for my taste, but she specializes in patching up volus and quarians and the like, so she can help you. Tell her Wrex sent you, and that this makes us even. When she gets done patching you up, go to Chora's Den. She'll tell you how to get there. Ask for a man named Fist, and you'll get directions on where to meet an agent of the Broker." Tali frowned. "What about the Broker himself?" Wrex shook his head. "No one has seen the Broker directly for over thirty years except one person, a turian, and that's who you're going to meet. They call him the Voice of the Broker, and it's as close as you can get to meeting the Broker himself." He chuckled. "Hell, I've been shooting up shit for the Broker for two hundred fifty years and I've only met the various Voices four or five times. Be glad you're getting this close." He paused. "If your info is good, the guy you meet will pay you off. Once that's done, come find me. If I'm lucky I'll be in Flux, if not, I'll be a guest of C-Sec. Either way, if your intel's good, we can get you out of here. And I can get paid, at last." Tali nodded, as they slowly took the steps. "I… I know you are being paid, to help, but… thanks. I'm sorry you got shot." Wrex snorted. "As the idiot said, we regenerate. An hour from now and I won't feel a thing. And killing that fool was its own payment. Only two kinds of people oppose the Shadow Broker – very stupid fools and those on the payroll of equally stupid men. Killing the second? I get paid well for that. Killing the first? That's doing a favor to the whole galaxy." Wrex closed his eyes. "But you killed your own people for… me?" The krogan reached the top of the stairs and gave an amused grunt. "My people are dying slowly anyway, little girl. Everyone will be happier when we're all dead anyway, including us." The krogan looked around, this part of the Ward nestled deep in the Morche Tower complex. Tali cocked her head at the bitterness in his voice, wondering why he would say such a statement, but the big krogan just turned his head to stare directly at her, red eyes narrowed, mouth a firm, hard line. "Alright, listen up. Clinic is over there." He pointed at a nondescript set of doors, set off by a series of universal medical symbols – the asari circle, the salarian hash-marks, the turian shield, the human cross, and the krogan hand. He snorted at the last, such a flimsy looking building wouldn't contain a badly wounded krogan blood-raging in his death throes for very long. "Down this big hallway is a sign leading to Flux. That's where I'll be waiting. Come see me after you talk to Fist." Tali nodded, mustering her courage. "Thank you, Wrex." The krogan stomped off, half watching the quarian enter the medical office out of the corner of his eye, then grunting in suppressed irritation as he made his way through the crowds toward Flux. His mind was not on asari girls or quasar machines, but information. Ten minutes later, he was ensconced in the only booth large enough for his vast bulk, a bowl of heavy tjark nuts on his table, and a slug of ice-cold ryncol in his meaty fist. "Varren dung, Doran. Your suit scrubbers must be full of it. I'd believe I fought a Gatatog, given how stupid he was, but not Weyrloc." Flux was a nightclub that catered mainly to the up-and-coming set in the Upper Wards – haptic programmers, simsense interface controllers, C-Sec investigators, financial analysts, and the like. The bouncers were a set of krogan twins, incredibly rare, who when they were barely over half a century old had taken out krogan with five times their experience. They were bigger and stronger than most of their kind and could read each other's movements like a book. Both were armed with light, coaxial mass accelerators off of old turian light fighters, and heavy stunsticks used on Tuchanka to corral varren. No one, no matter how drunk, started trouble in Flux. The club was triangular, a huge dance floor dominating the ground floor, reluctantly giving way to the bar and small eating area, while the balcony above was awash in the sounds of high-stakes gambling and quasar machines. No tasteless asari in ass-revealing outfits here, only a salarian in white robes, playing a zith-kaan acoustic, plucking notes of elegant sorrow for the dining elite. The krogan's booth was in the very back of the dining area, right next to the bar, and it was only rarely used. Wrex still wondered why Doran had gone through the trouble of putting one in, given that the number of krogan with the cash to meet the cover fee when you could get a drink for far less was probably limited to a handful. It's just that the damned music is so catchy. Not that I can let that fat bastard know, I'd never hear the end of it from the silly pyjak. The figure across from him was a volus, the rotund creatures from Irune who were so savvy with money and entertainment venues. The volus's suit was a clean, stark black, with gleaming white trim. He was more slender than other volus, the chops of his mask coming to neat points tipped in gold, his eye-globes a soft, cunning green. His voice was a smooth baritone, interrupted periodically with the rasping sound of his respirator unit. "I assure you, Tuchanka-clan, that my information is valid and timely. Raik Bole was definitely the corpse found in the docks near the Sullen Cloud – I heard C-Sec gossiping about it at the machines – and Raik Bole only partnered with one other of his kind. Weyrloc Shan." Wrex sighed. "I always thought better of Weyrloc. To think one of their pups was such a weakling offends the heart. Bah." Wrex downed more ryncol. "You haven't seen Tetrimus at all, then?" The volus gave a rasp and then a long-suffering sigh. "Oddly enough, a giant menacing Palaven-clan who has been burned to a crisp, is full of cybernetics, and is a biotic lunatic dressed all in melodramatic black is rather hard to miss. No, he's either not shown up at all, or is capable of being invisible." "No wonder volus are a prey species on Irune, Doran." The voice was icy, cold, and came out of nowhere. The volus gave a jumpy start, only to nearly fall over when a cascade of electricity erupted in the darkened corner near the back of the booth. A black-hooded figure stood there, leaning against the wall, heavy cane in hand. The sneering tip of a mandible quivered in amusement. "All the awareness of an elcor hallex addict, but only half the response time." Wrex snorted, drinking another sip of ryncol. "Tetrimus. New toy?" "Old toy with a new twist. Been using adaptic camo cloaks, but this is different – true whole body cloaking. The humans actually came up with it first, but they can't figure out the power supply so the blasted thing only works for a few seconds. The Broker hooked up one of those Inusannon power stars. Now, I am seen at my leisure only." The turian glanced around, then sat with his back to the wall, next to Wrex, a blot of darkness. "And despite your complaints, volus, I have been in and out several times. I see no reason to walk in openly, thus announcing for any fool with eyes that the Shadow Broker is watching this place." Wrex chuckled. "I think everyone knows Doran's more than he seems by now, Tetrimus, given he's been on the Broker Net as long as Barla Von has." Doran gave the volus version of a shrug, sausage-plump arms twitching. "I am but a humble barkeep and cook. Nothing to see here." His voice was completely deadpan. There was a pause, and all three men snorted in amusement. Tetrimus placed a datapad on the table. "Well, barkeep, we'll need your help with this one. The entire operation has gone to pieces." His talons ticked over the padd, bringing up images of three dead, mauled bodies on a steel floor, blood spattered in crazy, looping shapes on a wall nearby. "All three of our Eden Prime operatives are deader than Septimus's chances with Sha'ira. Someone pierced our security at Caleston, almost killing the quarian, and then managed to ambush them right at the damned docks here. They killed Captain Troyce and almost got the quarian girl." Wrex picked up a handful of nuts and dropped them into his maw, blocky teeth turning them to fine, gritty paste. "I sent her to that doc down the way, since she has a clean room. But before that… someone sent C-Sec into doing a sweep on quarian kids in the Upper Wards. They had at least fifteen officers out, and the only reason I got her away was I lucked out with a greedy turian and dropped Edatt's name." Doran spluttered. "If Saren has his people into C-Sec, we should have known. And since we clearly didn't know, they could be… by Plenix. That's horrifying." A pause. "Is she safe there, alone? What if the Migrant-clan is still being followed? My own people haven't found much, but like I was telling Wrex, a lot of Tuchanka-clan mercs suddenly seem to be answering to Saren." Wrex snorted. "It's fine. Soon as she leaves, we'll follow her to Chora's Den. Fist tries anything, I'll eat him. If he's clean, we toss the place until we find the leak. Doran can keep the girl here, in one of his rooms, until we figure out how to ship her off-station, and give us an alibi if we need one." Tetrimus coughed dryly. "And if the leak isn't Fist, when everything else is handled, you'll eat them, I suppose?" Wrex only grabbed another handful of nuts. "You know how I work. Just have the money ready. I'll eat anything as long as they aren't turian, you guys taste horrible." Chapter 19: Chapter 13 : al Jilani, Westerlund News A/N: Remastered 9-10-2016. DOWNLOADING: Data feed, prime broadcast segment 54, terminal date 24.01.2183 Manifest dump 40303-core alpha, unclassified This is an official Systems Alliance data capture dump, replication or rebroadcast is restricted. Transcript begins, identifiers – J: al-Jilani / G: Gavin Archer / I: Irissa Te'Shora Keywords: geth, Eden Prime, Butcher BEGIN: "Westerlund News! All the news, fit or unfit to print, 24/7!" J: "Good afternoon. I'm Khalisah Bint Sinan al-Jilani, Westerlund News Network. Today we're covering the top story on all the comm-links: the geth assault on Eden Prime, crown jewel in the Systems Alliance network of colonies. Is this random attack a precursor to a larger geth offensive, or were the geth somehow made aware of the stunning fact that Systems Alliance researchers had found a working Prothean beacon?" J: "Joining us today are two very special guests: Dr. Gavin Archer, AI specialist for Synthetic Insights, and Irissa Te'Shora, sub-adjunct to Asari Councilor Tevos. Welcome." G: "Thank you." I: {inclination of head} J: "Let's begin. I'm sure you are both very aware of the horrific attacks conducted less than twenty-four hours ago on the pristine fields of Eden Prime. Details about the attack, other than the wide-burst transmission from the SSV Normandy calling for aid, have been both vague and conflicting. Do we have a clear idea of what exactly happened, Matriarch Irissa?" I: "Khalisah, we have a fairly clear understanding now. Please understand that some elements of the investigation are still under security seal, since it's ongoing, and the Council has not determined its response yet. However, due to the… well, to be honest, unabashed rumor-mongering and frankly delusional conspiracy theories being floated around Citadel Space, I have been authorized to participate in this interview to clarify things." I: {hands move into a siari gesture of welcome} I: "First, the Systems Alliance did find a working Prothean beacon on the surface of Eden Prime. At this time, we have no clear understanding of the Beacon's contents. Much like beacons found on other worlds, it appears to only interact with certain people, and almost always inflicts catastrophic mental damage in doing so." J: "Fascinating. I can only suppose such a large find was carefully kept a secret?" I: "It was attempted to be kept secret, but the Systems Alliance did contact the Council immediately to notify them of the find, and that the Systems Alliance was willing to share any discoveries, and the research of the Beacon itself, with the Council. As such, the Council prepared to send a team of Prothean experts under the wise guidance of one of our most dedicated researchers to the site in short order, once security was established. However, I'd like to note here that dozens, possibly hundreds, of people on Eden Prime knew about the Beacon, and in the aftermath of the destruction of the planet's comm network, there is no evidence to let us know if someone from the planet communicated the Beacon's presence off-world." J: "But it could be that someone who knew about it on the Citadel could have revealed the information?" I: "Possible, but very unlikely. Our comm records are intact… and C-Sec is investigating. However, based on what we know, it's more likely that whoever compromised security was on Eden Prime itself." J: "You think humans would sabotage their own colony in this fashion?" I: "No, not at all. It may have been as simple as a soldier or civilian calling a family member off-planet to let them know about the find. There was a four-hour gap between the discovery and when planetary officials finally put transmission filters on the local net connections to the extranet and FTL comm buoys. Once it was out there, we don't know who may have accessed this information and who forwarded it to a target, but we do have investigators following that set of leads as well." J: "I see. What of the attack itself?" I: "At this time, Systems Alliance military officials are handling the investigation of the attack, while C-Sec is focusing on the alibis and communications records of anyone implicated in the attacks. I'm afraid, for obvious reasons, I cannot release names at this time." J: "Of course, Matriarch… Can you tell me why a Systems Alliance frigate, christened barely a day before the incident, was on-site? There are multiple extranet postings on VidShare of the SSV Normandy in orbit or operating in atmosphere, and rumors suggesting that Commander Shepard, best known for her assault on Torfan, was in operational command." I: "As I said, parts of the investigation are still sealed. However, I can say that the Normandy was tasked with transport of the Beacon to the Citadel, and was the first responder to the scene, providing immediate relief to the colony. The Systems Alliance will be hosting a press conference in a few days to cover all material they choose to release at that time, which I am sure will put to rest any further questions." I: {makes a gesture of siari, indicating she has said all that she can on the topic.} J: {nods solemnly} "Our thoughts and prayers are with the colonists in this time of trouble, and our listeners are encouraged to donate to the Eden Prime Relief Fund. Keyword on the extranet: AidEdenPrime." J: {pauses, turns to Archer} "Dr. Archer, you are a senior researcher at Synthetic Insights, one of only four companies licensed and authorized by the Council to conduct limited AI research. Given that much of your company's efforts have been to research the geth, does anything strike you as strange about this attack?" G: "Many things do, actually. One popular misconception is that geth are separate robot-like beings. They are not; instead, they are collectively networked together in one mass intelligence. That means that there are no 'separatist groups' or 'minorities' in the geth, any geth taking an action means that all geth have decided to take the action." J: {nods, a bit uncertainly} "…I see. The significance being…?" G: "The significance being that this is not an isolated raid. It is a declaration of war. The geth must have organic ties, most likely pirates or other independents, who are operating in Citadel Space. The more paranoid members of AIThreatsGroup on the extranet are, of course, pandering to the quarian rabble who created the geth, saying that the geth could monitor traffic and have done this on their own. But Eden Prime is halfway across the galaxy from Geth Space. No, I'm afraid the only way the geth could have gotten there in time is if someone very close to the actual dig notified them immediately after its discovery." J: "That certainly is disturbing, Dr. Archer. How likely is it, though, that the geth, who have refused all communications with the outside since their uprising three hundred years ago, would communicate with organics? Or suddenly declare war, unprovoked?" G: "It does seem extremely farfetched on the surface. But a review of some of the medical data coming from Eden Prime shows the savagery of this attack. Three towers full of colonists were destroyed, and the ground infantry defending the site were massacred. The fact that all reports state elements of a high-powered – and salted – nuclear bomb were recovered seems to indicate they were planning to blow up the colony to cover their tracks. It seems unlikely the geth would bother to do so, except to conceal their involvement altogether." J: "How is that strange? Wouldn't most criminals do that?" G: "Yes, but the geth do not care about such things in most cases. Other geth attacks in recent weeks have not had such extreme reactions. They don't hide who they are or that they attacked. The only reason to do so here must be to protect whoever is feeding them intelligence. That worries me, quite a bit. It implies their intelligence is adapting." J: "There are, as Matriarch Irissa stated, many wild theories being discussed about this attack. You've just stated that you think organics are aiding the geth. What is your take on why the geth would go after a Prothean beacon?" G: "You raise a very good point. From what little we know of the geth's motivations, they don't seem to be very interested at all in interacting with beings outside the Perseus Veil. Aside from their intelligence adapting and growing, the fact that they have done so indicates something major has changed in the geth outlook. Humanity has stated for years that it's irresponsible to not have any sort of intelligence assets working on the issue of the geth. G: "But what worries me the most is that – no offense, Matriarch – the Citadel Council does not seem to be taking this attack, and other geth incidents, very seriously. The geth are not organics. They will not preface an all-out attack with a declaration of war. They don't need supply lines or food rations. They don't have morale, or fear, and they can't be conquered conventionally because what spotty intelligence we do have indicates they don't even use the planets they have access to." G: {Archer frowns, staring directly at the camera.} "If the geth have decided to attack us, the next incident may be a geth armada, led by one or more of those titanic black dreadnoughts that we can't match, blasting their way into Citadel Space. It's not rumor-mongering to admit the truth." O-OSaBC-O The signal clicked off, and the three men that sat in chairs around a steel table glanced at each other, each with a different expression on their face. "It appears things are moving at a pace we did not, unfortunately, anticipate, Prince Aloxius." The first figure knocked the ash from his cigarette calmly, his other hand cradling his drink. "Saren failed to cover his tracks, and now we have to worry about our own exposure, and that of our projects. But I think we still have things well in hand." The second man, tall and aesthetic, nodded. "And the rest? The other… possible experimental outcomes?" The Illusive Man shrugged. "Setbacks have happened. "Project Invictus is going well. The investigation into the thorian plant creatures, less so. Our only concern is certain elements in the Alliance are losing their nerve, and might end up interfering with our programs. That's why I believe this mishap may actually turn to our benefit." Prince Aloxius Manswell swallowed his own Scotch, grimacing. "There's very little 'benefit' to be had with this if it becomes public, Jack. Explain how this benefits us?" Jack Harper smiled. "Simple. Should Saren be nonviable, it will distract the AIS and anyone else from looking into us. As long as we keep our connection to Saren hidden, by the time people go trying to figure out just how he even knew about the Beacon, we'll have fingers pointed in a different direction." The final man, huge and thickset, tapped his fingers together. "While I agree that Saren's fuckups will give us more time, I also think it's time we prepared contingency plans. If Saren is no longer viable as a partner… there is always value in moving him into the category of 'recoverable asset.' A little prodding never hurt anyone. Benezia should be more tractable." The Illusive Man narrowed glowing blue eyes at the other two. "Taking him out now would require a large amount of resources – and worse, visibility. Cerberus cannot afford exposure at this time. Our financial aspects are still vulnerable. And while I appreciate the AIS is covering for us, you know that won't last if we're openly exposed. I won't let my organization be used and cast aside in that fashion." The other two men shrugged, and the response was predictable, though at least it came from the Minister of Information. "Your organization is useless to me if it fails to provide us cover for other operations – ones you don't need to know about. So I'm afraid, Jack, that if you wish to continue with your own plans, you should come up with something to ensure mine stay on target." A pause, and then the massive figure of Richard Williams sighed. "I'll do what I can on my end." The two other figures in the room vanished into holographic static, and the Illusive Man, one third of the slouching beast of Cerberus, pondered his next move. Chapter 20: Chapter 14 : Citadel, Arrival A/N: Remastered 9-28-2016. Shepard spent the brief period of time prior to docking with the Citadel taking a quick look around the ship. Although certainly not a people person, she felt it was her duty as executive officer to make her presence known. Dr. Chakwas was not entirely enthused about her staggering about, but acquiesced without much of a fight when Shepard pointed out that she might as well walk around, as she would definitely be walking on the Citadel, and any problems, loose bandages or torn stitches, should be dealt with while she was still on the ship. The Normandy wasn't a large frigate. It had three decks, including the cargo bay. The upper deck, the CIC, contained the Ops Alley, the bridge, and the comms room. On either side of the comms room were two tiny staterooms, basically a private sleeper pod, a locker, a shelf, and a desk and chair. She got the port side one, Pressly the starboard side one. The next deck down was the crew deck. It contained the captain's quarters on the port side, and just forward of that, a tiny galley tucked behind a slide-away panel. On the starboard side was the med-bay and the research lab, the latter of which doubled as a storeroom. Between the two, a narrow pathway connected the battery pod to the mess area, the path lined with sleeper pods. There were twenty of the narrow, coffin-like contraptions, which were held on gamboled arms. Closed pods in use retracted beneath the floor to a horizontal position, while the inactive pods were vertical, displayed to the world. Two pods at the end were much larger, designed to fit turians, krogan, or other exotic species and special equipment. The mess area was a few tables and chairs, an integral soda/coffee unit, and a large haptic display array showing a selection of news and entertainment feeds. Behind the wall hosting this, the two stairways that led up to the CIC came together at the ship's systems panel and the elevator. Two doors on either side of the stairs led to what passed for the ship's heads – a single shower and waste recycling unit. A single door to the right of the ship's systems panel led to 'officer country' – three sleeper pods, a couple of shelves, and a desk – the home of the Marine Command Element, the Chief Engineer, and the Flight Lieutenant. Alenko was asleep in his pod when she took a peek inside, but the others were on duty elsewhere in the ship. Shepard took the elevator down to the final deck, the operations deck. Bisected by sealed pressure doors, the forward half of the ops deck was given over to the hangar. This hosted an M35 Mako tank, the armory pod, storage lockers, and the ship's gym equipment. The Quartermaster had a tiny office here, built into the corner of the bay, carefully sealed against vacuum in case of active deployments while he was on duty. The man doubled as the ship's yeoman, his office having a small micro-frame computer built into the wall. Shepard stepped inside the cubby, frowning. "Quartermaster?" The man was young, almost fragile looking, his standard BDU blues looking loose on him, but he came to a sharp attention. "Commander, ma'am. How may I help you?" Shepard glanced around, then met his gaze. "Inventory report." She listened carefully to his explanation of how the Alliance requisition system worked – ships drew standard stocks, food, fuel, spare parts, ammo blocks, hardsuits, and weapons – based on an allotment system. Any desired purchases above and beyond that had to come out of the ship's discretionary funds. Taking down pirates with a bounty, turning in (or just selling) confiscated arms, armor, equipment, and logging mineral or archeological sites – the Alliance cheerfully paid for all of these, and the Captain disbursed them as he or she saw fit. At the end of a patrol run, when the ship was put in drydock for months, the fund was split between officers and crew. "Interesting," she said. And about two steps above that Corsair program they keep talking about out in the Traverse. "I wasn't aware the Navy had as much of a hard-on for anti-piracy ops as the Corps did." The Quartermaster gave a small smile, his mousy brown hair mostly covered by his regulation ball cap, which he pulled off to scratch his head before replacing it. "Well, after Elysium, Commander Branson really convinced the Admiralty Board to put more funds towards anti-piracy ops. And, uh, after Torfan, well…" He trailed off, shrugging. "They finally saw that you couldn't just stick Marines on the ground everywhere and expect a hundred guys to stop a thousand batarians." Shepard narrowed her eyes, but only nodded. "Very well, ensign. Things actually look squared away down here, which is about the first pleasant surprise since I set foot on board. Carry on." The man looked shocked, but saluted sharply again, and Shepard walked out and down the shallow hallway to engineering. The heavy pressure doors opened, and the air filled with the solemn hum of a mass drive core. The Tantalus Core, she had read, was the single most advanced drive system in the fleet. Massive for a frigate, it allowed the Normandy to handle more nimbly than almost any other ship, and provided enough motive power to enable the heat-diffusion system of the stealth systems to work at top efficiency. The theory on it bored Shepard, but the basic idea – if all you can see in space is heat, then store the heat and you are invisible – made enough sense. Given how simple it was, Shepard was rather surprised humans had come up with it first. Then again, based on what I've seen, most aliens are really good at incremental improvements and not quite so good at pulling shit out of their ass like we do, she thought with some sour amusement. Engineering was dark, most of the lighting coming from the mass effect corona generated by the core. Ranks of panels formed a barrier around the core pit, staffed with engineers monitoring all aspects of power, heating, and propulsion. The Chief Engineer's office stood to one side, tucked against the wall behind a single bulkhead, an armaglass window almost half the height of the wall piercing it. Haptic displays shone dully through it as Engineer Adams reviewed something. "Commander, ma'am, welcome to Engineering." His voice was a quiet drawl, and he looked almost… sleepy. But his hands moved with a brisk energy over the haptic keyboard as he updated some kind of information in his system, and the armaglass window had graphics splayed over it. "Just taking a walk around to loosen up my legs and get a quick in-brief. Anything I need to know, Chief?" Adams leaned back in his seat, thoughtful. "Not off the top of my head, ma'am. Despite how heated it got down on the ground, our only issue up here was waste heat. Pressly got a bit creative in alleviating it, and we have some minor repairs to make to the radiator vanes, but that's already preordered and repair crews on the station are waiting." She nodded. "Any crew issues?" Adams shook his head. "No, ma'am. I mean, everyone was kind of put together on the spot, most just transferred in a day or two before you did, but everyone on my team has at least five years' experience in frigate engineering ops, and half of them are cross-trained as operations people. And everyone on board has at least one Marine combat op." Shepard arched an eyebrow at that. While hardly experienced on naval policies, it was her understanding the crews were usually piecemealed together from other ships that were in drydock for such operations, and most of those might come from ships far different than the one they were assigned to. "Very good. We'll almost certainly be stuck on the Citadel for some time - unless I miss my guess, the ever-fucking Council is gonna love our report - so your staff should use this opportunity to stock up on parts and make sure everything is working correctly. With any luck, once this circus is over, we can get back to actual scouting and patrol duty." "Yes, ma'am, we'll be ready." Adams' voice was confident, and Shepard nodded, walking back to the elevator. Everything is working smoothly. I don't trust that at all, not when the usual is for things to go to hell. Mm. Shepard felt her leg loosen a bit more as she walked, and stretched as the elevator dropped her back on the crew deck. Slowly walking to her stateroom, Shepard considered what she knew about the mission thus far. First, they weren't really expecting problems with the Beacon pickup. If they were, someone would have given orders to heavily fortify the dig site. So the whole point of having Nihlus on board was probably to evaluate me, just like he said. That implies this mission was put together well for a reason, but not because of the Beacon. Second, this was all put together very quickly. Adams sounded a bit surprised that everyone on board is so… experienced. BuPers doesn't usually bother to get off its ass to put together a good crew actually experienced in the ship type without a good reason, and if this really was a mission expected to go well, they wouldn't have a good reason. Something smells. Shepard reached her room, and activated her personal terminal, pulling up personnel records. Alenko… huh. Biotic instructor for three years. Three years anti-piracy ops. Two years as junior ops officer on a frigate. Kind of a waste for a ten-man security detail on a tiny frigate, even if he wasn't biotic. As it is, the guy should be a lieutenant commander by now. Pressly. Lieutenant Commander three years prior to this, he should be looking at getting his own command soon, not Navigator. Ten years anti-piracy ops… and he was one of the guys on over-watch at Torfan. Well, well, well. Small arms instructor? Psychology degree? Wrote books on deployed artillery? No way you'd stick a guy this flexible on a fucking frigate on a shakedown. Adams. Lieutenant… ah. Right. Pissed off Senator Jackson by eloping with his daughter. No wonder his career is dead… but still pulled assistant engineer on a pretty big ship. Has a doctorate in mass energy transfer, whatever the hell that is. And was a Marine for four years before going spacer. Again, waste of talent. Even if he was in political hot water, enough to not get promoted, the navy doesn't care about that when stationing people with that kind of experience. She rubbed her eyes. And of course, putting me and Anderson on the ship is overkill as well. From what Joker was saying, he's some kind of piloting badass, and Chakwas put me together twice as fast as any doctor I've had before, not to mention she's a freaking major and is equal in rank to Anderson. So they didn't tell us, or the guys on the ground, to expect shit to go wrong, but if it did… they made sure we had the best people. And the only ship that could possibly have survived. No way I'm buying that as coincidence. She exited the stateroom, marching directly to Anderson's quarters, and tapped the entry request panel. "Enter!" Anderson was adjusting his dress uniform in front of a mirror which looked like it swiveled down from the ceiling. "Shepard. About ten minutes until we dock." She nodded. "Yes, sir. I have… a question about the mission, sir. Actually a number of them, and I'm a little upset by the implications." Anderson waved a hand as he finished smoothing out his dress jacket. "Sounds important. Ask, and drop the 'sir' garbage." She gave a small smile and nodded. "I… I don't like the patterns I'm seeing. I was told this trip was the first of several missions designed for Nihlus to assess my skills before making a recommendation on my suitability for being a Spectre." Anderson nodded. "That's correct." Shepard exhaled. "I know I'm not college educated, the only schooling I had was the Academy and what I've picked up on my own. I didn't even know how to read or write until I was almost fourteen. But I'm not stupid. Every single member of the crew is top-tier. Alenko has the chops to be an XO in his own right, Pressly should be commanding a destroyer by now. Chakwas has the skills I'd expect from a CMO of a dreadnought. I can understand assigning you, since you're the person who has had the most impact on my career… but the rest does not fit." She exhaled. "And it sounds like whoever put this mission together knew there would be trouble on Eden Prime before the geth even left their space to hit the planet, based on the dates of when at least a few of these people were tapped by BuPers." Anderson touched a control display on the wall, retracting the mirror, and gestured to the chair in front of his desk. Shepard hesitated, then sat, as Anderson wearily took his place on the edge of the bed, rubbing his jaw. After a moment, he gave a wry smile. "You're not dumb, that's for sure." He paused, glanced aside for a moment, then sighed and leaned forward. "Sara… the committee that decided on a Spectre candidate originally was focused around a couple of figures. Commander Branson, the Hero of Elysium, obviously was a candidate. So was Captain Delacor, your old CO. They even considered tapping Commander Linson, the biotic who broke your old C7 record. All of these choices were shot down as either being too…how to put this… Human-centric…" She coughed. "Translation: racist asshats." Anderson gave a lopsided smile. "…or they were simply not politically acceptable. You were, believe it or not, the only candidate Hackett and Adkins agreed on. Both Kyle and I pushed your name in the running, because you can get the job done." "Kyle…" She sighed, glancing away. "Is he okay?" Anderson shook his head. "Not really. He's never recovered from losing his sons… but he doesn't blame you for that." Her voice was bitter. "He should. I let my crew get killed." She exhaled. "What does that have to do with this?" Anderson nodded. "The main reason we chose this whole mess – this trip as a test of your skills, a stealth-frigate, all of it – is we had… a very vague warning that something bad was going to go down at Eden Prime. No specifics. Just a warning with no source. 'Go in loaded for bear at Eden Prime, only send your best.'" She frowned, but he continued, speaking slowly as he paused to search for the right words - and she got the feeling he was not saying quite a bit. "The method the message was received was disturbing, it was bounced through the highest encryption protocols, but there was no record of the message being sent or received in any of the data systems. For someone to hide their tracks that well means they were able to hack into Central Command." Shepard winced, Central Command for the SA Fleet was where orders were validated. A data breach of that size would have the Commissars interrogating people for months. "Go on." He nodded. "The message was distributed to the Admiralty Board as if digitally signed, but the signature was that of a dead man. Admiral Janar, whose access codes weren't properly terminated in the system. Janar died on Valthsi trying to pierce the Perseus Veil, until the recent troubles started, he was the last Systems Alliance casualty we had to the geth." Shepard sat back. "That's a… pretty heavy warning, sir. I mean, given who showed up there, I can see why you didn't know what to expect." Anderson nodded. "So yeah, I had Hackett pull together the best people we could get on short notice. None of this has been released. It's need-to-know stuff, not even code-word. But the Admiralty thinks we have high-level spies… or worse… in positions of power." "Worse? What the hell could be worse than spies, sir?" Her voice was puzzled. Anderson stood, tapping the subcutaneous comm-link in his jaw. "Joker, status report." "Two minutes out, sir. Citadel has granted docking authorization at bay D-24." Anderson nodded, then turned to Shepard. "After the First Contact War ended, a lot of people felt threatened by the existence of the Council races, their power and technology. There were a pair of very deep cover black ops projects to fix that. One was called Janus, it was to present an amiable face to the Council. I was a part of Janus, so was Commander Branson. Janus tried to ensure that every other race's contact with our military was pleasant, but firm, and that we showed our strength. We tapped comm-links to find where pirates would hit alien colonies in range of our ships and 'happen along' in time to save them. We'd share intel on pirate groups and basically… well, participated in Council Space." "But the other program was the opposite. It was called Cerberus, and it was designed to… well, do dirty tricks. Assassinate alien politicians opposed to us. Steal technology. Research new and sometimes dangerous experimental tech to keep humanity's edge. As Janus ended up being staffed with people who liked aliens, Cerberus became, well, bigoted." Anderson looked at Shepard. "Most of the people in Janus… are no longer active. We had a setback… one involving Saren, actually, and the program was shut down due to politics and other issues. But when Alliance brass tried to shut down Cerberus, the three program heads went dark, and most of their people with them. No one knew what they were up to, except they'd gone rogue." Shepard nodded. "And…?" Anderson exhaled. "Cerberus and Janus shared the same base encryption keys for their messages. No one else was familiar with it, but I remember it because I was there when the programmers developed it. Whoever sent that message to us was Cerberus. And if someone in Cerberus can access that high of clearance, to warn us, it means someone else could access that high of clearance to… betray us." Shepard frowned. "This… is not really holding together, sir. I thought you said Saren hated humanity, wanted to destroy us. I don't follow how Cerberus has anything to do with Eden Prime at all." Anderson shook his head. "They don't, surely. But I was tapping the best people I knew because I was expecting Cerberus involvement at Eden Prime. I was expecting a human attack, and quite frankly I was almost certain they were involved until you got on the ground. But that still means Cerberus knew an attack was coming days before we did. We need to find out how, and why." She nodded. Anderson strode to the door, just as Joker came over the intercom. "All hands, the Normandy is moored. Shore security, stand to. Captain, we have a transmission from the Council, you're to report to Ambassador Udina's office ASAP." Anderson only grunted, waving Shepard to follow. He crossed the mess, stopping to open the door to the med-bay. "Chakwas. How are our guests?" The gray-haired doctor was adjusting something on a medical bed. "Captain. Lieutenant Parker is still in a coma, I'm afraid. He needs to be transferred to a hospital. Master Chief Cole is still in critical condition, the loss of an eye, several pints of blood, and most of his liver almost killed him. Chief Williams is ambulatory, but wounded. Much like the Commander here." Anderson nodded, and tapped the comm-link by the door. "Gunnery Chief Williams, report to the airlock for shore duty, BDUs only." Shepard frowned. "Sir?" "She's an eyewitness, Shepard. Come on." O-OSaBC-O Twenty minutes later, the three humans sat in Ambassador Udina's spacious office. The beautiful vista of the Presidium ring was visible through the un-glassed window, the graceful shadow of cherry blossoms providing an elegant frame to the awesome view. Seated at a handsome silver and steel desk, Ambassador Donnel Udina surveyed the three people before him. His features were craggy and heavy, lips thin, nose almost hooked. Sharp, black eyes assessed, measured, and questioned everything around him. He ran a hand over his thinning salt-and-pepper hair and sighed. "This is a political shit-storm waiting to happen." Anderson said nothing, his broad face placid. Shepard was completely expressionless, her dark features unreadable and seemingly calm. Williams sat stiffly, her arm still bandaged, BDUs creased so sharply they looked as if new. Udina placed both hands on his desk and scowled, leaning forward. "I've managed to obtain an interview with the Council, but I'm not a hundred percent sure what they plan to ask about. Right now, the situation is grim. Nihlus dead, the Beacon destroyed pointlessly, the colony ravaged." His scowl turned into a sneer. "I thought you said the Butcher could get the job done, Anderson." Shepard's face didn't change expression, merely gazing at Udina coolly, but even meeting that gaze made the politician swallow nervously. Anderson merely frowned. "Ambassador, please. We can hardly be faulted for not being prepared for an army of geth, or a giant dreadnought, or a rogue Spectre." Udina shook his head. "We have no proof of that, Anderson. I'm only going to tell you this once, your history with Saren is bitter enough that the Council is not going to believe anything you say without solid proof." Anderson's frown grew angry. "Saren is a danger! He shot his own friend and we have eyewitness testimony—" Udina slammed his fist on the desk. "No, Captain, what you have is a fifteen-year-old vendetta! I'm fully aware of that. You have a dead dockworker with a criminal record and whose autopsy reports show he was on red sand. Police reports show he was a smuggler, stealing military equipment and selling it to various parties, and he probably got shot so he couldn't squeal. We are not going in there to make intergalactic fools of humanity. I don't want to hear it." Shepard tilted her head. "I was under the impression that an investigation would be done on this issue, both by our teams at Eden Prime and by C-Sec." Udina snorted. "As if. The Eden Prime teams haven't found anything much more than you did. They found some evidence that a high-powered plasma pistol was used to execute some of the humans." He held up a hand as Anderson opened his mouth. "I know, Saren uses a Sunfire. So do quite a few other turians, and it's not possible to definitely say the wounds were not, say, some kind of asari pistol or something else. That isn't going to stand up as any kind of evidence about Saren." She sighed, and Udina shrugged. "The rest is no better. All of the geth have internal self-destructs, so we can't learn anything from their logs or data chips or whatever they use. We have video of the giant ship, but its outline looks vaguely geth to me. Squid-like. It could be they developed it, or it could be something they salvaged and modeled their own ships after." Udina sighed. "We supposedly had evidence that the Shadow Broker had obtained, but that person was killed, and what kind of evidence he was bringing we were never told. The C-Sec investigator here is a blasted turian, so I doubt we'll get much traction there against Saren. No, the best we can hope for is that they'll recognize this geth attack as dangerous, and provide us with Council fleets to stop further attacks. If it is Saren, he'll make a mistake and the Council can deal with him as they see fit." Anderson seethed. "And what about Shepard's vision from the Beacon?" Udina rolled his eyes. "Have you ever dealt with the fine Councilors, Captain? I assure you, half-assed dreams aren't going to be taken as anything but an admittance that Shepard is crazy. I can just see Sparatus now." Udina mimed air quotes as he spoke in a high, mincing voice. "Ah, yes. Dream evidence. We'll have to dismiss that." There was a long moment of silence, then Williams snickered. Udina threw her a glare, but she only straightened. "I was just agreeing with you, sir. The turians are gonna stand up for their own, not listen to us." Udina nodded, and smiled. "Yes, I agree, Chief… Williams was it? No matter." He turned to Anderson. "They want to debrief you and Shepard in the Council Tower in ten minutes. Take a shuttle and meet me there." Udina strode out of his office, scowling, and then the doors shut behind him. Williams spoke up. "Well, he's a little ray of fucking sunshine, isn't he?" Chapter 21: Chapter 15 : Citadel, Trial A/N: Remastered 10-5-2016. The chambers of the Citadel Council spoke of many things. The high, arching ceiling and elegant steel buttresses that flowed into wide open spaces for the public to gawp at spoke of arrogant, conceited pride. The overblown gardening and ridiculously expensive cherry trees spoke of waste, extravagance, and a touch of hypocrisy given that humans were not on the Council but their trees decorated their chambers. Perhaps there was a message in that – humans were not good enough, but their plants were. It just irritated Shepard all the more. The heavily armed guards, in stupendously thick armor with double shield generators and cold, predatory gazes spoke of people who clearly did not rule through the generous appreciation of their subjects. The wide gap between the Council's throne-like platform and the pitifully thin span where people pled their cases spoke of immense, overweening self-ego, as if to demonstrate there was no way anyone on this side could ever cross over to that side. All in all, Shepard's immediate and ongoing urge was to take a flamethrower to the place. She, Williams, and Captain Anderson had arrived punctually, spending only a few minutes walking through the park-like environs of the Presidium Ring to get to an aircar. The opulent, grandiose vision of the future-style atmosphere was such a hard contrast to the slums of Earth and the broken battlefields of the colonies that Shepard wanted to spit. For the first time, she began to grasp just why the Council species never seemed to pay much attention to pirates, slave gangs, pissed-off petty dictators, plagues, and the thousand other pitfalls in the dark that everyone else had to deal with. Sealed in this fake paradise, they didn't even need to put up with anything but the best. Standing in front of the Citadel Council, her suspicions were mostly confirmed. Udina stood at the end of the petitioner's pier, his white silk suit gleaming faintly in the dim, filtered light of the chamber. His fists were clenched, his lips drawn into a grim line, his entire being radiated fury. Shepard wondered if he would actually catch fire, or just have a heart attack on the spot. "This is an outrage! You would not respond this way if a turian or asari colony was attacked!" Councilor Sparatus smugly folded his arms. "Unlike humans, we do not found colonies on poorly defended worlds on the edge of Council Space. You were warned about the dangers of the Traverse and you chose to inhabit the place anyway." His elegant clothing hung in complex layers from his lanky frame, his dark plating only making his white facial markings stand out more. Udina looked at the Councilor as if he had lost his mind. "Have you taken a complete leave of your senses? We were not attacked by pirates, or slavers, or batarian radicals! If the attack on Eden Prime had been something of that nature I would take your words as bitter but accurate truth." Udina half-turned away, hands jabbing into the air, pointing at the holographic video visible above the Council's heads. "But to expect geth to invade our world with the intention of destroying it? No, ten thousand times no. They killed thirty thousand people! They stole a priceless beacon and murdered your own damned Spectre! The Council must respond to this and move your fleets to protect our colonies from further aggression." Without even looking at his colleagues, Sparatus shook his head. "Human, you do not dictate to the Council." Udina folded his arms, face set in a near snarl. "If the Council sees no value or reason to aid the Alliance when it is under attack by external forces…" He paused, mastering his anger, and then gave a cold, grim smile. "…then the Alliance sees no reason to bother participating in this farce. Orders have already been given to the Alliance fleets. We will evacuate our border colonies that overlap Council Space and withdraw." He glared at all three Councilors. "We are not going to allow ourselves to be attacked while our fleets are crippled by a treaty we were forced into after being unreasonably attacked and nearly murdered in the first place!" The turian snarled. "Your species rushing in to unlock mass relays is why your kind was—" Udina exploded. "Your idiot commanders opened fire on the ships doing so without even explaining why. Your ham-handed war on us – one that nearly resulted in our genocide – was justified by laws supposedly defending the so-called galactic community that we did not even know existed! And do not even presume that your own people weren't planning to open that very same relay – the Alliance is not blind." He snorted. "Eden Prime burns because of the shortsighted nature of this Council. If not for your 'out of sight, out of mind' policies and allowing the quarians to suffer, the geth wouldn't be a problem. But instead of dealing with it, you simply let it fester – and humanity pays the price." Udina glared around the room, his voice hardening further. "And now, three decades later, we are a 'part' of your precious Citadel, your farce of a galactic community, except we have no voice, no representation in the Spectres, no high-ranking officers in C-Sec, no chartered banks, nothing but a pitiful pile of excuses and thirty thousand dead victims because you are too cowardly to defend your own space! Where are you laws defending us in this situation? Where are your trigger-happy fleets?" Udina exhaled, eyes narrowed almost to slits, and his voice was bitter. "Sitting on your hands is not going to convince humanity that you are acting in our best interests, turian." The room was filled with shocked murmuring from the balconies, as the hard words echoed through the broad arena. Shepard concealed a smirk. He's an asshole, but he is very good at being an asshole. Councilor Tevos gave the turian next to her a hard glare, and then cleared her throat to speak, her crests visible as she bowed her head. Her robe was almost demure compared to the expensive finery her colleagues wore, but they clung to her form rather revealingly. Her features were, while not ugly by any means, still somewhat plain for an asari, aside from her complicated facial markings. "Ambassador, we are not unsympathetic to your cause, and we freely admit that this is an unprecedented situation. We are prepared to provide medical assistance packages, transport ships, and monetary relief for the refugees on Eden Prime." She paused, then smiled, gesturing to the salarian next to her as she continued. "And stand assured that we are not just 'sitting on our hands,' as you put it. The salarians have five entire STG teams investigating the logistics of the attack. Our own C-Sec has put a special investigator onto your claims of Saren's involvement, even without the slightest bit of solid evidence on your part. The volus have already gifted almost fifty million credits worth of medical supplies and emergency housing to the Alliance to help with the aftermath." She paused again, waiting, and Udina unfolded his arms. Her voice softened as she continued. "But the ugly reality is that your own argument defeats you. The geth didn't attack Eden Prime because it was a human colony, but due to the Beacon you found. The other geth incidents did not happen on solely human worlds. Placing a large contingent of warships around your colony worlds in the Traverse would be seen as an incitement by Aria and other warlords, and would not guarantee that an attack didn't fall elsewhere. The Council cannot endanger turian, asari, or elcor worlds to safeguard your far-flung colonies against the possibility of an attack. We understand your frustration, and your words about the Relay 314 Incident are taken to heart, but we cannot simply scatter our fleets to the four winds as you suggest." The sallow features of the Salarian Councilor peered out from the richly decorated hooded robes he wore; his armored forearms the only mark of his past as an STG specialist. "Finally, Ambassador… we haven't even had a chance to understand exactly what occurred at Eden Prime, or touch on this… allegation… of involvement by our top agent. All we know is one of our best agents is dead and that your own Commander Shepard accessed the Beacon prior to its suspicious detonation. And so far, the only response to our questions is the claim – by a figure with a long and well-known antagonistic background with Saren – that Saren is behind this geth attack and is out to destroy humanity." Udina sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with his left hand, his right opening in a vague gesture. "It is… frustrating to approach this matter in such a clinical light, Councilors. I had a niece on Eden Prime, who is mourning three of her sons, now dead in the attacks." Udina dropped his arms and straightened his back. "But the statements I made still stand." Sparatus gave a theatrical sigh. "And what are we supposed to do that we have not already done?" Udina folded his arms once more, then grimaced. "I… will make the recommendation that we await the outcome of further investigations. We will consider the attack reactions a tabled issue for now. But that still does not cover the agreement we came to regarding the Beacon." Tevos shook her head. "According to your reports, the Beacon was destroyed. Unless your Commander Shepard can give us any insight into its contents, we can hardly reward you for a technological bounty we do not have. We will, of course, be happy to recognize the intent that the Alliance showed in contacting us at all. The concessions on tariffs and inspections will be honored, and we will review the Treaty of Farixen." Next to her, Valern spoke up. "But anything else, such as Spectre candidacy, has to be placed on hold. We don't even have a good concept of what happened on Eden Prime yet, after all." Valern gestured to Captain Anderson, who stepped forward with Shepard and Williams. "We will now table the issue of Eden Prime reinforcement and move on to the actual attack inquiry. The team has arrived to answer our questions. Perhaps after we get clarification on this issue, we can move forward with whatever next steps may or may not be taken." Shepard sighed. Oh, here we go down the fucking rabbit hole. Udina sighed. "Councilors, I regret that we do not have… sufficient evidence to prove anything at this time. Our own investigation is still ongoing, of course, as I understand yours is. But—" Sparatus shook his head. "Oh, no, Ambassador. Your Alliance was very vocal in shouting Saren's name out as the perpetrator of this horrific act. You demanded action, if I recall correctly. You cannot stroll through the halls of the Council and smear Saren's name and demand we place him on inactive status, then claim you have no evidence and need more time." Spartus glanced to one side of the chamber, then back at Udina. "Executor Pallin has already given us his report, which mostly consists of him admitting that there isn't anything solid linking Saren to the attacks, and a wealth of proof showing him to be innocent. We have several eyewitnesses placing Saren on Noveria during the attacks. He has a witness in Lady Benezia, an asari matriarch, corroborating that." Sparatus folded his arms, locking eyes with Udina. "To your assertion he was involved, on the other hand, you've presented only circumstance: a pair of dead mercenaries who worked for Saren in the past and were apparently caught up in some form of criminal activity in the purported killing of an agent of the Shadow Broker. While there is certainly a very sketchy financial transaction from Saren's accounts, we discovered that the transfer was authorized remotely and may have been a hack." Udina snarled. "They were still Saren's mercenaries!" Sparatus flicked a mandible. "Yes, and of course mercenaries never work for more than one party. That they worked for Saren in the past means nothing, given that Saren has employed hundreds of mercs in his many years of flawless service. One of the mercs also worked for your Admiral Hackett, should we now assume he had some part in this vile attack?" The sarcastic tone of the turian broke off abruptly as Tevos touched his arm, and he stepped back, clearly irritated. Tevos sighed, and shook her head. "We cannot simply ignore the allegations made, Ambassador. We must hear your evidence, such as it is, and determine Saren's innocence or involvement." Udina turned to Captain Anderson, then back to the Council. "I'll leave that to Captain Anderson, then. I wish it noted, however, that our investigation is still ongoing and could turn up additional evidence or point to other involved parties at a later time." Anderson stepped up next to Udina, back straight. "Councilors." Tevos and Valern nodded, while Sparatus just sighed again. "Captain Anderson. It has been some time since you were last before this Council… with wild allegations against Saren which proved untrue, after a seemingly simple mission turned into a massacre. This seems very familiar, right down to the Spectre assessment." Anderson only nodded. "I was in overall command of the mission, but I wasn't running it groundside. I have here with me Commander Shepard, who was in charge of the ground team, and Chief Williams, who is a survivor of the infantry unit that was assigned to defend the dig site. As to the wildness of our allegation, our claims are clear: an eyewitness saw Saren interacting with geth, and he heard Saren admit to killing Nihlus. Evidence on the scene indicates a turian did kill several humans, with turian claw-marks on the bones of burned bodies. You have already been apprised of our setbacks in our investigation on Eden Prime, but our assertion stands." The turian nodded. "C-Sec has agreed to investigate the finances of the drell assassin your men killed, who murdered the… witness. However, we need to make a few things clear, Captain. Your only eyewitness was a habitual red sand user with a long history of mental illness and a lengthy criminal record. He was actively engaged in smuggling, and we know for a fact that Saren was widely known and reviled among smugglers due to him targeting them. It pains me to admit that, based on forensic evidence, a turian must have been present on the site – but that does not mean there is any solid evidence indicating Saren's guilt." There was a commotion to the rear, and Shepard half-turned. Walking forward was a tall, broad turian in gleaming silver and black armor. A half-cloak of purest black cloth was tossed over his shoulders, embossed with the Spectre winged seal, and a sort of loincloth obscured his hips and upper legs, draped over his battle armor. His voice flanged out, as hard as his face, with its plated angles and pointed mandibles. "Yes… Captain Anderson always seems to be at the forefront of any line when humanity has made up charges against me." Anderson turned. "Saren!" The turian Spectre stopped at the top of the stairs. "I am rather disturbed that I have to find out from old friends in C-Sec that the Council distrusts me. I am almost amused that, once again, this failed excuse of a human commander sees fit to attempt to besmirch my name with no evidence. And I am infuriated that no one is explaining to me what kind of fool let my friend go off by himself into a war zone!" Tevos arched her brow, but held her hand up. "There is a question of your involvement in this, Agent. There are… discrepancies in some communications entries. Several people have died recently, and the murderers are all known to have had past history with you. While there is no solid proof, the reality is that your influence and power mean that if you are involved in any way, we have to investigate." Saren merely shrugged. "I have read the Eden Prime reports. The Commander here seems to have done a commendable job, the loss of the Beacon notwithstanding. However, allowing such a priceless device to blow up after going through so much to secure it seems… anomalous." Shepard arched an eyebrow. "I would have figured you'd be more upset about Nihlus's death, than the Beacon blowing up." Cold gray eyes met steely blue ones. For a single moment the entire gallery was silent. Then Saren gave a small, jerky motion with his head. "Nihlus… was too damned impulsive for his own good. The moment he was… careless enough to head out on his own instead of sticking to the team, especially in a hostile war zone, he was already dead. I lay that on you, since you had ground command. Did you even try to suggest splitting up was a bad idea? No. According to reports you let him go on his own while you redeployed to save humans." Shepard leaned forward, her form still and yet taut with anger. "Nihlus made it very clear he was observing me, not under my command. He was armed to the teeth and had twenty years of training on me. And it wasn't geth who killed him; someone met him in open battle and beat him. How many people could do that… besides you? I'm a badass, but I'm not that badass." She folded her arms, stepping back. Anderson gazed at Saren with loathing. "And how is it you know any of this? I made very sure you were not copied on any of the findings from Eden Prime!" Saren rolled his eyes. "Of course you were. But Nihlus's files passed to me on his death. Really, this is… tiresome. I was on Noveria, shutting down a corrupt human facility investigating illegal AI research… again." Saren's eyes narrowed. "An investigation interrupted by this ridiculous spirit hunt." Turning back to Shepard, he snarled, mandibles flaring. "And as for your statement… no, you are not that 'badass.' Nihlus would have split you in two. But no one is invincible. Someone went to a lot of trouble to make it look like I was involved, but look at it from my viewpoint, human. How would you feel if someone framed you for killing Anderson over there?" Shepard jerked back, as if kicked, and the turian Spectre only nodded. "That's what I thought." Tevos glanced uncertainly at Valern, who stepped forward. "Order, please. We have questions and need them answered, not some kind of contest of who has the bigger egg clutch." Turning to Shepard, the salarian spoke. "Commander, did you see, at any time, Saren on Eden Prime?" Shepard shook her head. "No. Just geth." "You spoke with the witness. Did they seem to be speaking with veracity?" Shepard hesitated, remembering. "They were somewhat disoriented. Some of the things he described did not seem to make a lot of sense. But they did describe Saren's armor correctly. And they mentioned Nihlus's name." Shepard gave a cold smile. "I find it difficult to explain how the smuggler would have known about Nihlus being on planet." Saren seemed unconcerned. "And I find it difficult to explain that, according to your report, this dockworker was the only survivor. Literally everyone else had been butchered, hidden away or not, but one man miraculously survives, someone who not only manages to catch my name but directly link me to the murder of Nihlus. This same eyewitness conveniently is assassinated in Alliance custody, on an Alliance world, surrounded by more security than the moon of Menae. And we are told that a mercenary drell, who has done work for me in the past, is the perp. Because a drell would fit right in on a human colony world." Saren gave a low laugh. "You will forgive me if this has the feel of a setup, Commander." Saren turned to the Council. "I request you review secured notes on investigative report 65-Theta-7. Specifically, end of said report." Saren waited, while Udina scowled. The three Councilors reviewed something on their haptic interface screens, and the Turian Councilor put his hand to his face, shaking his head. Tevos spoke softly. "…Ambassador Udina, according to an after-action report filed by your own Alliance Marines, the drell assassin was already wanted in Alliance Space prior to the assassination, and arrived on planet after the attack. But your security officials waved him through because he had this." Tevos tapped a control, and the holo-image of an Alliance Local Authority pass was shown, the drell's picture cleanly incorporated. Udina shook his head. "What?! Impossible!" Saren snorted. "Hardly. After I found out my friend got killed, and the only witness murdered, I did my own looking around. A tip led me to contact a Lieutenant Commander David Barnes – Eden Prime's military liaison to the Council – and he was kind enough to be honest with me and pull this data for review. Not only did he mention he had given this data to your investigative team, which shut him down, he said something else." Saren tapped his omni-tool, and the voice of a young man spoke, while a thin red haptic integrity logo showed the data had not been altered in any way. "Yes, sir. On arrival, the drell indicated he was here on a personal favor from General Rachel Florez. He showed us this pass, and said he had to conduct some private business involving a relative of the General who passed away in the attacks. When his criminal record flashed, he said he had that cleared months ago. One of the MPs was skeptical, but the drell just asked why he would come here if he had a murder charge on him and encouraged us to contact Florez if we needed authorization. We ran the pass and it came up legit, and with comms so messed up we just let it go." Saren tapped another control, while Udina shot Anderson a look, who stepped away to use his comm-link. A moment later, the voice of Lieutenant Commander Barnes spoke again. "No, sir, I mentioned this to the investigator. They just didn't seem to care, they said they had the information they needed to 'make this all fit.' One of them told me to keep my mouth shut and focus on getting the defenses back up. They wiped my omni-tool, but my tool auto-archives everything into the microframe in my suit to avoid hackers and the like. So I had a copy of the drell's authorization." Saren cut off the recording. Anderson was speaking quietly into his comm, and then stepped forward. "Councilors… General Florez committed suicide this morning, about two hours after the drell assassin struck. We are… still investigating." Saren gave a shake of his head. "Do I even need to point out that this General Florez is a known supporter and backer of Commander Shepard, and was instrumental in her rise to power in the Human Systems Alliance? Or that she had plenty of reason to hate the Hierarchy given an issue involving her family?" Saren stepped forward, arms spread, and then half-turned to eye the Council. "This is what I see. A beacon is promised to us, but magically blows up for no reason and the only person who gets to see what is on it is a hardline Alliance Commander, who works for a human who despises me. My student is killed under disturbing, mysterious circumstances before he can even get close to the Beacon and we have no proof that the Alliance didn't simply take whatever was on the Beacon." He gave a sneering glance at Anderson. "Every bit of evidence that links me to the case can't be examined, the eyewitness is killed by an assassin given access to the planet by a human general who wants to see Shepard succeed, and who then conveniently kills herself to avoid further questions. Even this so-called evidence purportedly from the Shadow Broker vanishes into thin air." Saren folded his arms, the cybernetic left limb gleaming dully. "There is nothing to investigate in this debacle, except of course the real issue, how did the geth find out about the Beacon and get there so quickly, and where did the giant black ship reported come from. Questions not being answered while we waste time on this spirits-be-damned farce of an investigation!" Tevos spoke up, her voice soft. "Commander… during your assault on the geth forces, did you notice any other aberrations aside from the spikes in your report? Anything else that could support your assertions of Saren's guilt?" Shepard shook her head. "No, Councilor. Although the spikes were bad enough." Saren interjected. "Dragon's teeth. We've seen them before, the geth use them for some sort of sick psychological purposes. No one has ever figured out how to make them work… more evidence that this geth attack was about more than the Beacon and needs further investigation." Shepard looked at him again, curiously, before turning back to the Council. Sparatus glared at Shepard. "Given that you have no solid evidence of any kind to implicate our agent, and given that your eyewitness report has zero actual veracity, that his death appears to be orchestrated by elements within your own government, and that, quite frankly, your own investigators appear to be suppressing evidence that points to the truth rather than the story your people have concocted, we cannot in good faith find any reason to hold Saren responsible. C-Sec's investigation found that there were several mercenaries involved in an attack on Shadow Broker elements that had worked for Saren in the past, but these men had worked for many other Spectres in the past as well." Tevos sighed. "Ambassador Udina, we will need to have a private interview with Commander Shepard regarding the Beacon itself. Until then, our findings are final. Saren is cleared of all charges regarding the Eden Prime incident. Until such time as the Alliance can account for irregularities in its own investigation, we see no reason to prolong these proceedings." Udina frowned. "But our own investigation is still ongoing! Yours barely lasted a day! What kind of whitewash is this?!" Sparatus gave the Ambassador a glare. "Udina, we are not going to allow your people to attempt to make up more false statements and suppress evidence contrary to the facts! It's ridiculous that we even bothered to have this conversation, but we are attempting to be open-minded despite your claims that we have no interest in seeing humanity succeed. None of us wanted Eden Prime to turn out like this. But just because one of your senior officers has a vendetta against our agent does not require us to accept he is somehow guilty!" Valern nodded to Udina. "This session of the Council is adjourned. Have Commander Shepard report to Council Debriefing Room One tomorrow morning. We… appreciate she is still wounded and needs time to rest." Saren smirked, and clapped a hand on Anderson's broad shoulder, who glared hatefully back at the turian. "Better luck next time, human. Maybe you can try blowing up some more factories and blame it on me, eh?" Anderson almost lunged, his eyes wide, but Shepard tightly caught his arm. "It's not worth it, sir." Anderson subsided, jaw tight. Shepard turned her gaze to Saren. "I know a criminal when I see one. I don't need evidence, I know what you did. And the next time I meet you, you will die." The big turian merely walked off, mandibles flaring in amusement. "Your pitiful species will never be ready for the Spectres. Find someone else to annoy." He paused to link arms with a dark-robed asari woman at the bottom of the stairs and strutted off, pausing only to sneer at a passing turian in C-Sec colors. Udina slumped at the end of the pier, before turning to face Captain Anderson and Shepard. "This… did not go well. It was a mistake bringing you here, Anderson… my mistake, not yours. Your intransigence did not help, of course… but the Council only saw your history with Saren and now actually believes we are trying to frame him." He sighed. "I told you this would happen. I told you that what we had wasn't enough." Anderson continued to watch Saren walk away. "Dammit, we had to do something. I know Saren. I know his agenda, I've seen him work. Every colony we have is in danger; every world could be the next target. I don't care what the Council thinks, Saren is a danger to humanity." Udina whirled on him. "And you fail to see why the Council won't take us seriously? Listen to yourself, Captain. You have nothing. We have just had that hurled at us. This isn't some group of pirates you can have your pet maniac stare down." Shepard actually gave a sardonic grin at this, and Udina shuddered. "We clearly have serious internal issues going on with the investigation at Eden Prime. I have to get in touch with Hackett and figure out what in the blue hell is going on there before the Council outright accuses us of trying to frame Saren!" Anderson tensed, then his broad shoulders sagged, and he nodded. "I… I just don't want what happened fifteen years ago to repeat itself. Maybe you're right, Udina. It's hard to let this go." Shepard glanced at Udina before placing her hand on Anderson's shoulder. "We're not letting it go, sir. We just have to be smart, keep our heads down, and find the evidence we need – solid evidence the Council can't ignore. We can't afford any more… half-measures." Udina gave Shepard an appraising look. "Every time I believe I have you pegged, you surprise me, Commander. I must admit, I hardly expected prudent caution from you." The woman's eyes flickered. "I'll go back to eating babies and head-butting krogan warlords tomorrow, sir." Udina rolled his eyes, exasperated, and turned to Anderson. "I have things to attend to, Anderson. You heard the Council. Make sure Shepard is here in the morning, and try not to stir up any more trouble until then." He paused. "Officially, the issue is closed. If you can find hard, and I mean hard, evidence of Saren's guilt, we can use it… otherwise bringing this up again is political suicide. I've already got most of the Senate pushing us to withdraw from Council Space altogether; I don't want it to come to that. Find that evidence, Commander." With a last dark look at Anderson, he strode off. Anderson huffed, and Williams looked confused and angry. "Dammit. Now what do we do?" Shepard shrugged. "The only thing we can do. Find evidence. They mentioned a C-Sec investigation…" She trailed off, eyes narrowing, as raised turian voices flanged across the way. "Who is that?" Anderson squinted. "Executor Pallin is the dark one… not sure who the other one is." He glanced at Shepard and Williams for a moment, then shrugged. "Let's see what they're arguing about, then. It may have to do with Saren." They walked down the stairs leading to the lower level of the Council Chambers, as Udina headed off in a different direction, his face set in a scowl. On the balcony above, a pair of eyes watched Captain Anderson and his team walk down the steps. The room they were in was a private meeting room for high-ranking dignitaries, sealed against ladar-beams, and with a jammer humming away merrily on the table in the middle of the room. The man watching the Captain was dressed to the nines, richly cut jacket opened to reveal a long, patterned silk shirt, crisp dress slacks breaking without cuffs over expensive dress shoes. He was slender, dark, and short, every motion precise and economical. The other figure was graying and handsome, his features even, a trail of smoke writhing over his head from his cigarette. His eyes glowed a faint, digital blue in a curious pattern across his irises, and his free hand toyed with a glass of brandy. His own suit was understated, dark green and pale cream, the ever-present tie barely two fingers wide, and loose around the neck. The room they were in was unadorned, except for the table, a handful of comfortable chairs, the etched symbol of the Citadel Council on the wall… and the holopad generating the image of the man with a cigarette. The leftmost figure smiled, and examined his nails, as if seeking dirt or imperfection. "That was… quite an interesting show. I'm not particularly happy that you linked it to my mo— to the General. Why Florez?" The hard, gravelly voice was almost tired. "Not that it's entirely a bad thing, I suppose. She was always interfering in naval operations when she should have simply focused on the ground forces." The other man merely leaned back in his chair, lit cigarette dangling from his free hand for a moment before he took a puff. "General Florez is one of ours, of course. The corpse we left in her office is a flash-clone… she's been moved to oversee the results of Project Phoenix." He paused, rubbing his temple briefly, and then puffed on the cigarette again. "Florez is a very important part of our organization, but the time is rapidly approaching where she would have had to clear the playing field anyway." The first man shrugged. "And the rest?" "It was fairly simple to ensure the drell hit his target… being able to throw the investigation into chaos was a bonus." His glowing eyes were cold and confident as he lifted a glass to his lips and smiled. "Pity I wasn't there to see it in person." The first man snorted. "The drell killing that fool, or watching the farce below?" He sighed, running manicured hands through his fashionably cut hair. "I'm still not sure of the wisdom of this course of action, Jack. A nudge here, a dropped data packet there, and we could expose Saren right now. Wouldn't that help humanity's cause more than protecting the turian?" A smile crossed the other man's features, who merely took another drag from his cigarette. "You misunderstand our course, Charles. I fully expect Shepard to find the evidence needed. Our agents report the quarian escaped with one of the Broker's enforcers, and is recovering in a medical facility in the Upper Wards. I'm not protecting Saren; I'm making sure that when this blows up, the resulting witch hunt will be looking for external infiltration, rather than internal issues." There was a pause, and then he continued. "Just handing over the evidence won't do much, I'm afraid. The bottom line is that the Council can't afford to make Saren a rogue agent without overwhelming evidence. The kind the Shadow Broker has. Building a circumstantial case based on financial records, vague eyewitness reports, shadowy assassins and the like might make them question him, but not fully. The Council's natural reaction to that kind of evidence will be to investigate it. And we can't risk them stumbling across Cerberus involvement if it comes to that." The other man stroked his chin slowly. "I see. You worry that if we use a thousand bits and pieces, it will look like we're framing him. Or that someone is framing him." The Illusive Man's image sipped at his drink, smiling faintly. "And that is how we spring the trap. We've cast the entire Alliance investigation into doubt. We've made the Council sure this is only a smear campaign, a frame job, as you put it. And when concrete evidence suddenly arrives, just after the Council was so sure this was just bitter humans trying to get Saren in trouble, they will be mortified. Udina will go on the attack, I assure you. And at that time we'll introduce the few remaining bits and pieces." The man named Charles leaned back further, gesturing for the other to continue. The hologram smiled, sipping from his drink again. "And then everything else falls by the wayside. Confusion on Eden Prime? Well-meaning Alliance officers, trying to cover up the fact that our investigation was a disaster. The drell having a pass? Generate some evidence that Florez was beholden to Saren somehow, maybe blackmail, and the suicide was guilt at what she did. Assassins on the Citadel? A timely payment to the Broker will almost certainly illuminate just how many mercenaries worked for Saren that are still roaming free… every one a potential danger to Citadel security. In their arrogance, the Council will want to control the investigation themselves going forward." The politician grunted. "In short, make everything such a mess that that the Council assumes Saren has his hands… claws… whatever… in everything. Make them put all their eggs in one basket. Send a Spectre to clean up after a Spectre." The Illusive Man nodded. "Exactly, Charles." Charles Saracino scowled, turning away from the balcony to face the hologram. "I just hope this works. So far, nothing else has gone to plan. First you told me we had a chance to control the geth. Then to make a fool of the turians, and in the process, get a Council seat and a Spectre of our own. Now I have a destroyed colony, a pissed-off Senate, a lot of dead colonists, a suspicious Council, and Alliance investigators running all over the place. Terra Firma's hardliners will see this as more reason to pull back from galactic affairs, making my job harder. Even if this pans out, how does any of this lead to progress for humanity?" The Illusive Man did not move in his seat, but his chin lifted. "Charles, in this sort of game, patience and misdirection is the key. Right now, we hold all the cards. Giving them to the Council won't win humanity any points. And the goal stands. Once we know how Saren is controlling the geth, and where he got that ship from, our agents will move in and take that knowledge for humanity. Imagine it. Control of an army of battle machines, doing our bidding. Destroying competing alien forces. Clearing out pirates and ensuring human dominance in the Traverse. And the technology of that dreadnought is beyond anything we've seen before, even in Prothean ruins." The blue-eyed figure turned, his cigarette almost out. "But in order to maximize our gains, we have to be holding the whip hand. Udina will play along. We've already primed how this will all go down, Charles. When it's done, the Council will have to choose between sending a fleet after Saren, or sending a Spectre. And that Spectre will be Shepard." Saracino shrugged. "And? What makes you so sure that instead of sending one of their trusted Spectres, they would make Shepard one?" "Because that will be the price of Alliance's silence. Shepard gets the nod, we back down on demanding action and even the treaty adjustments. After that, Shepard will clean up any loose ends for us, leaving us to move in behind and pick up the spoils. She's not a strategic thinker. We can drop hints in her path and lead her by the nose. But as both a symbol and a tool, she's invaluable." Saracino gave a sigh. "How do you even keep this tangled shit straight in your head? I get where you're going with this, but…" The Illusive Man extinguished his cigarette, and tilted his head. "Charles, our methods differ, but our goals are in alignment. Right now, doing things in a blunt fashion will only leave Cerberus exposed. And that can't be allowed to happen. If we can cover our own tracks and at the same time have even the slightest chance of humanity getting its own Spectre, we have to take it. And in that, we have a chance at reshaping the galaxy around humanity's proper place. You just need to have a little faith." Saracino exhaled sharply. "Alright, alright. What do you need from me?" The Illusive Man smiled, and drained his drink. "Just for you to give an anonymous tip to a frustrated C-Sec investigator about a quarian he may want to interview. I'll send you the details over TyphoNet, and leave it to you to determine when to reveal the information. But only do so after Shepard's meeting with the Council. So far, we have no information on what she got from the Beacon, and we'd like to know." The hologram nodded its head, and the room was cast into darkness as it faded. Saracino picked up the jammer disk on the table and put it in his pocket, sighing. A/N: Additional information on the First Contact War in the Premiseverse (which was more intense than in canon) is covered in the Cerberus Files: Humanity. Chapter 22: Chapter 16 : Saren A/N: Just some… viewpoints to consider. Updated 12-21-2016. Saren forced himself to walk calmly, pacing himself, keeping his mandibles in an amused, relaxed position. He nodded his head at the occasional turian, noncommittal, pausing only to adjust the Spectre flash on the shoulder of his hood drape. His walk was arrogant and confident, his power and fame evident in every motion. His eyes flicked over his surroundings, relaxed but alert. The corridors of the Citadel were swarmed with all walks of life, but his sheer presence seemed to part their varied ranks, like mist before the sunrise. Benezia strolled alongside him, still linked arm in arm, her face set in a serene, otherworldly expression that somehow went with the wry smile she had on her face. The smile faintly grew with every asari youngster that glared daggers at her as she swished by, her long blue legs flashing in and out of visibility with the slit dress she wore. A pair of Vabo maidens sneered at her as they crossed their path, and it was all she could do not to roll her eyes. A House that lost itself consorting with hanar had little room to judge, and the Vabo, despite their power, were hardly dignified enough to judge her own choices in mates. If he was power, she was elegance and mystery, a black flame flickering to his bonfire. She let herself feel the slightest bit of smugness, and instead of worrying about ancient ships and the end of all things, merely enjoyed herself for a few moments. "I'm trying to keep a straight face, Benezia, and you smirking like a teenaged krogan in an asari harem isn't helping." Saren's voice was both light and strained. She nodded. "I know. But this entire morning has been quite entertaining. Watching the humans flail about was one of the more entertaining scenes I've had the pleasure to witness. I will not say I did not expect it, but for their argument to fall apart so rapidly was quite the finishing touch. Humans burn so brightly, but they don't even see the truth hanging above their heads. They made complete idiots of themselves… and for what?" Saren shrugged. "Humans hate me because I broke their pride. They hate that I'm a symbol of the Hierarchy that nearly killed them. That, I can accept and understand. Anderson, on the other talon, hates me because I showed him that galactic politics is the process of relabeling atrocity and calling it justice, and redefining sacrificing the innocent as serving the greater good. He's a shallow and clear drinking pond, upset because people keep splashing mud through it. Fools like him are why the galaxy needs people like me." He half-turned his head, mandibles set in a smirk of his own as yet another asari, clad in leather so tight he could not imagine how she was able to breathe, shot angry looks at the matriarch on his arm. "But we were talking about that vicious little smile on your face." Benezia gave a small chuckle. "To be honest, I can't seem to help myself. So many young fools, so sure of their place in the universe, blind to everything around them… the suffering, the poor, the dying… and yet so angry at the sight of an old woman on your arm. Is this what aliens see asari as, whores who do anything to curl a controlling finger around aliens? Is there nothing more they can do besides throw themselves at any strong mate that appears?" She sobered, frowning. "Have my people fallen so much that this is what we are reduced to? There are times I question what we pursue, and then there are times I face the truth and realize we have already become failures at the task set forth by the Goddess." He actually laughed then, a real, clean laugh, the first she had heard from him in what seemed like decades. "Spirits forbid the asari young bother to look beyond who shares their hammock that night. No, you are right. Too many asari – too many turians – fail to apprehend the realities of life. But that is no surprise. Society itself these days distracts them from it, that our so-called leaders can make profit and leisure from the stupidity of the masses. Many don't want to deal with reality because the lie they inhabit is more pleasant." He paused, and then his eyes grew harder. "Not that any of them could deal with the reality that we deal with." He shrugged. "But your amusement at the antics of other asari is surprising. Does it really matter? It is hardly as if being prim and proper is any better if one is blind as those girls are." Benezia's stern expression faded slightly. "Perhaps. Then again, there was a time I was hardly prim or proper. Liara's aithntar was… hardly a cultured influence. I often found myself cajoled into the most ridiculous – or hilarious – results with her." Her hand wrapped around his wrist a bit more tightly, as if fearing he would pull away… or that she would fall. "But you are right. They don't know what they are jealous of. And it is better that they do not. Then again, I should not be shocked. As you said, they could not understand – if they could, we wouldn't be in this situation." The couple walked slowly past the salarian vinthark trees that lined the approach to their private docking bay. Several krogan in blue and silver armor stood guard, long rifles slung, wedge-shaped helms in faintly glowing blue trim giving them a look more of statuary than living beings. The sealed, heavy outer doors opened, and the two walked into the bay, Saren's gaze going automatically to the small turian frigate he had piloted here from Noveria. The speed of Nazara's movement through space allowed their elaborate charade of seemingly being at Noveria during the Eden Prime attack to work, but required they explain how they got here. Hence, instead of employing his usual ship, he had a small frigate - much faster than the Talon's Justice - take them to the Citadel. His omni-tool beeped and displayed a green light – nothing lived in the docking bay but himself and Benezia. The hanger bay doors slammed shut behind them, giving them privacy from stares and eavesdroppers. Saren glanced at his omni-tool. "Not much time. We heave another hour until refueling is complete, charge is already handled. We need to localize the situation with Exogeni as quickly as we can before our 'allies' figure out a way to double-cross us." His gaze moved over the fuel lines, and the supply crates being loaded on board by mechs, checking for dangers, hidden signals, anything that was a threat. Benezia, on the other hand, seemed lost in thought. "I'm not really thinking about the plans so much as I am the end game. The more I see the people around us, the less I grasp how they can be of any use to those who are coming. My philosophies have always been focused on acceptance of every element of all species, just as we do in taking mates. To find the strength and the determination of the turians, the brilliance and moral relativism of the salarians, the mystery and power and – when pressed – ruthlessness of the hanar…" She trailed off, smiling. "Even the brilliance of the volus with matters financial." Saren made a slight rumbling noise, his eyes taking on a thoughtful cast. "I'm not sold on that yet. I fail to see humans, vorcha, batarians, or the other cockroaches of the galaxy 'contributing' much of anything besides more mouths to feed. And based on the words of Nazara he won't have much use for them." The asari matriarch paused, bringing Saren to a halt. "And that is why it is up to us to correct the imbalance. It was not easy to divert my path to meld with yours, Saren. My teachings were developed over six centuries of life, pain, joy, loss… hope… and despair." Her blazing blue eyes darkened, as she lifted her face to look at him. "Just as yours has, over a shorter scope. How many have had their plating burned down to where it has to be replaced with cold, hard metal? How many have lost an arm, a lung, skin, blood the way you have?" Saren exhaled. "I am no longer the handsome young talon I once was when we first met all those years ago, no. I paid for what I am with every scar, every implant. It wasn't easy. I made my choices out of need, not hate. Those who call me a monster never had to pay the price of the alternative, those who decry my methods as brutal have never guested with batarian slavers or watched their families butchered." Benezia nodded, softly, tracing her fingers along his tortured, artificial mandible. "Pain is never easy to bear, or to wear. Pain in the service of those who fail to appreciate it is even harder to endure. We nurture it, using it to drive us or to keep us from challenging ourselves. Some cling to it like mother's milk, others flee from anything that causes it, as if death is some predator that one can outrun." Saren flicked a mandible. "Others, I fear, will not have so charitable a view of our actions, Benezia." She shook her head. "If we were doing this out of some profit motive, out of some misguided attempt to control others, then we would be wrong, and they would be right to doubt. But we're destroying ourselves to try to save… everything. Or as much as we can." Saren shuddered, and lowered his forehead to brush the top of her headdress, gently. "There are times the silence is… too much to bear. The coldness. The… force of the Voice in my mind. I almost lost it in the Council Chambers, with that jumped-up criminal thug trying to stare me down. I wanted to plant my talons in her throat, to feel her very body come apart and splash gore all over the blind, stupid Council." He shook his head. "I never felt such needless violence before this, and now it seems to happen all the time when I am balked. What am I becoming?" Benezia passed her hands over his face, gently. "I, too, sometimes fear the price we are paying is too much. There are times I read my own words, my own wisdom, and laugh bitterly at the trap I am in. I cannot… feel myself anymore. I am breaking to pieces, sometimes I give orders or direct actions and I don't even feel like it's me doing it." Saren nodded. "Thanoptis thinks the effect is due to some kind of ultra-low frequency harmonics, combined with the positronic energy field that surrounds the ship itself. It's worse inside than out, the angles of the ship trigger visual effects, for lack of a better word, that force organics to put more processing power into sensory interpretation, making the signal work faster." Benezia frowned. "And thus we are lost." Saren growled. "No! It needs us intact. Everything we've seen shows the more control it has, the less effective the being controlled becomes. The research shows that there's a threshold at which we can still be effective, but beyond that our judgment becomes impaired." He glanced around the hanger, mandibles tight. "The spirits know I've explained it to Nazara enough times. For the moment, he agrees. We'll use the frigate or my own ship as much as we can, now. We have to be careful. If we fail, all of this is as dust." Benezia nodded, her eyes glancing around the floor as if searching for an anchor. "And are we not failing? What now? We have the Beacon, but its message is garbled, unclear – and damaging your mind. And we know the target is a hidden Prothean world, but we have no clue which, or where. The Conduit is useless without knowing where the other end is." Saren sighed, and finally let go of her hand, flexing his talons. "I don't know. I raided over twenty volus merchant ships, looking for the manifests, but every dig site they delivered to is already known to us. We know from the signals the geth intercepted that ExoGeni found a massive ruin, and in the ruin they found a being of some kind on an old Prothean world - but we aren't sure which one. Cerberus is no help beyond telling us that the Alliance thinks it became sapient from the remains of Protheans it had consumed. It's the key to this entire mess." Benezia nodded. "A being like that must be ancient. And powerful." Saren paced, running a hand along his fringe. "And it would know! Maybe not only how to… interpret this stupid thing in my head, but how to make the pieces fit. We know only what Nazara has told us. If we could only find the blasted thing. We may have no choice but to go after Exogeni directly, if Cerberus won't give us the location." He paused, and sighed. "And even if we know, we're still flying blind. We know the rebels sabotaged the Citadel, although we aren't sure how. The access point control to open the Dark Relay is sealed and there's no way we can gain access without Nazara making a direct connection to the tower to override it." He flung a hand toward the bulk of the Citadel. "And there's no way to ensure he can get in before the Citadel closes in a conventional assault. Even if we had the ships to take out the entire Citadel fleet, they'd surely close the Ward arms before he could get inside." Benezia sighed. "With enough of my acolytes, we could hold the tower long enough." He shook his head. "No. There are several different backup systems, and getting armed soldiers into the Presidium is simply too risky. There's no guarantee… and even Nazara cannot destroy the combined might of the entire Citadel Fleet without taking severe damage to his warform. And he flat out refuses to use his other… powers." He paused, musing on the sheer might of a being that could alter physical laws at a whim – and chose not to do so – before tilting his head in a turian equivalent of a sigh. "No, the only path we have is to find and use the Conduit, to take the Citadel by storm." His talons flexed. "I just feel as if we're losing our minds, and yet are mired in muck, running in place… no closer to salvation than before. Without hints or clues, how long can we keep the forces we've built up hidden? How long until some idiot on Noveria makes a mistake? How long before Nazara decides we aren't making progress?" Benezia gently placed a hand on his shoulder, slowing his movement. "Saren. We have made progress. We have the base researching what is happening to us. We have your forces moving to recover my daughter. We at least have some leads on where to look." Her hand shifted to his jaw, turning his face to look at her. "We are not going to fail. We're in this together, no matter what the cost." He looked at her a long moment, then shook his head. "Maybe we have already failed. Maybe this is… the wrong way." A shudder passed through him. "No time to talk about it. It's best, perhaps, given your concerns about the indoctrination, if we split up. You can go back to Noveria…" Saren pulled back, glancing away. Benezia's hand hung in the air, empty for a moment, before she clenched her fist. Saren's voice was cold. "…I will continue the hunt for the creature." Benezia's knuckles popped with the tension in her fists as she leaned forward, her voice loud. "Damn you, let me in! You can't just keep hiding from it!" Saren roared, eyes wide as he spun on his heel to put his face a centimeter from hers, the metallic scent of his skin flowing over her. "Let you in so you can go crazy like me?! Spirits, I have done all I could!" Benezia's voice shattered, the calm matriarch gone, eyes streaming with sudden, hot tears. "You think I don't see? I see you thrashing in your sleep, slashing your own body with your claws as if you are fighting yourself! I see you trail off in conversation, eyes dead and filled with pain. I saw you have to murder the only other friend you ever had, a boy you nearly had to raise. Nihlus was closer to you than Liara is to me! Don't lie to me, Saren! I know you want to do everything yourself, but you can't!" Saren screamed back, his fringe flared. "And I'm expected to drag you with me?! What do you want me to say, Benezia? Am I supposed to trot out some fucking romantic lines about how much you mean to me? You should already know." He leaned closer, until they were nearly nose to nose, the heat radiating off of him. "I remember every single time we've unioned, all one hundred ninety-three of them. They are all that keeps me from turning into a slavering animal, a feral tajak on two feet. You are all that stops me from going into a red rage like I did on Eden Prime, killing humans with my talons like some kind of lunatic." Benezia grabbed his arm. "Then why not just let the fear go? You try to pretend you are alright, but every time we join is like battering my way past walls! You only have me to share this with, and the more you try to pretend you are okay, the more tortured you become! It's wrecking you! This is all we have, Saren. There isn't any other way." Saren shook his head. "And what if I'm wrong?" Benezia only met his gaze, tears down her cheeks. "Then we'll die together, at least, and I can know you actually care, and I'm not just some mental bandage for you." She wiped away tears, the moisture not adhering to the patterned blackness of her dress sleeve. "I am just as scared as you are, but I trust in you more than anything." Saren's voice had dropped to a whisper. "We could end up as slaves. We could be betraying all life." Benezia's teeth ground together. "No. We've seen the truth these fools never would. Even if by some miracle we killed Nazara…" Her face contorted in pain at the thought, the whispers in her mind howling in outrage, but she clenched her jaw savagely and continued. "…we know the others in dark space would still come, be it in five years or fifty. We have seen the Collectors; we know the Protheans were spared. Nazara says the keepers were sapient until the Prothean rebels sabotaged them with their retrovirus, stripping them of their minds to stop them from fixing the damage to the Citadel." She placed one finger on his cheek, tracing the artificial attachment point for his cybernetic mandible. "We know it can be done. We have to try, Saren. If we don't, if they kill everything, there is no second chance. But if we survive… even if we are slaves… it might not be our children, or their children… but where there is life, there is a way. It might take a thousand, thousand years, but we can learn from their technology and learn their weaknesses and eventually overcome. But we'll all be dead if we can't prove our worth now." Saren gave a long, shuddering breath. "I just… hold out… I feel the Voice in my mind and I wonder if it's changing how I think. How we think. I assaulted you, dammit." Benezia's voice snapped like iron, unyielding. "And I enjoyed it. I am here. I don't care if I have to murder or torture. I don't care if you flay my body. I've risked everything for you. My life. My reputation. My followers. All my wealth and influence. My body. My mind. My own daughter. I've given you everything I am. All I ask is you don't… do this alone. Don't… make me give up my soul just to break it so you don't have to worry about me." "I…" The flanged voice fell silent, unable to speak for a long moment. "I could never break you. I don't have a soul anymore, just you to take its place." A long, silent moment passed, Benezia looking up to him, her face tired and weary, once clear blue eyes reddened with pain and fear. Saren traced her jaw with a single shaking talon, then nodded. Her head rested against his chest, the cool metal of his armor stanching the fear in her chest, and the two forms in black stood a long time under the dim lights of the docking bay as the mechs blindly serviced their vessel, unmoving in their shared pain. Chapter 23: Chapter 17 : Garrus, Recruited A/N: Updated sometime in January 2017? Garrus slammed the C-Sec aircar to an abrupt stop in the reserved parking area of the Citadel Tower access pad. He was running late, and he could only hope that for once the good spirits would deign to listen to his pleas and convince Pallin to listen to him. The traffic lanes over his head droned incessantly as he got out of the car, checking his required keycard was on his belt before heading toward the main building. The Citadel Tower jutted out of the Presidium Ring like some obscene phallic device, all smooth arches and angles suddenly becoming nothing but a kilometer-high pillar of solid armored steel. Mass effect bubbles and implanted turrets with wide barrels studded its gleaming white surface, while the hundreds of tiny flags that trailed limply down its front were from every nation, city-state, clan, tribe, and division amongst the three primary Council races. Spirits only know how many hundreds more the humans will add if they ever get a seat, he mused sourly. Garrus hustled past security using the C-Sec entrance, and caught the elevator just before it closed. A pair of asari were in the car with him, slender frames barely concealed by skintight, shoulderless dresses. Garrus gave an inner sigh, and immediately pulled up his omni-tool. He had zero problems with nice young asari cooing over his angular features in the bar, but he had to keep a clear head for the meeting and the last thing he needed was giggling blue seduction messing his mind up right now… not to mention he already had a sorta-kinda thing going on with another asari anyway. Thankfully, they paid him no mind. Instead, the two asari were gossiping about some human female that had just gone into the Citadel Tower, their breathy little squees of excitement making his mandibles twitch in amusement. Sorry, girls, but most human females only go for human males. Just because they look like you, doesn't mean they'll sleep with you. His opinion of the human species was rather neutral – there weren't many in C-Sec, and too many others were involved in various crimes. But he didn't get angry about them the way the old-clawers did, complaining on and on about the Relay 314 Incident, as if humans were somehow at fault for defending themselves against near genocide. Garrus shook his head to clear his wandering thoughts, his talon tapping haptic buttons as he finished pulling up the financial records Forlan had managed to find. Saren had to be dirty, but his tracks were so convoluted that there was no way to prove it without the Council giving him authority to have the banks freeze transactions. Right now, while the money trail was… jumbled and somewhat suspicious, it alone wouldn't convict a vorcha of being stupid, much less Saren of attacking Eden Prime. The turian sighed, covering the pertinent facts in his head, as if presenting his case to the Council. First, the mercenaries hired to go after the drell, Captain Troyce, had both worked for Saren. Not once, but dozens of times, repeatedly for the past fifteen or so years. They always worked as a team and they did nothing but wetwork. While he couldn't prove the payment to the Weyrloc krogan wasn't hacked, he did find one eyewitness who said the two krogan had met with a regal looking asari woman matching the description of Lady Benezia the week prior. Granted, his testimony was more about the size of the matriarch's chest than anything else, but the fact that she had met with the krogan at all was too suspicious to pass up. Saren might have been able to play off a relationship with such crude thugs, given his rough and ready style of work. Lady Benezia, on the other hand, was the House Matriarch of one of the Houses of the Thirty, the second highest priestess of the Temple of Athame, and a businesswoman. Notwithstanding her long relationship with the Spectre, she simply had no business talking to a pair of down-on-their-luck krogan murderers. Second, the docking manifests as transmitted by the Novarian Port Authority stank to the spirits… They certainly seemed to be in line, if oddly lacking any actual scans of Saren's own ship or any of Lady Benezia's vessels, and an independent news report did place Saren on the planet. Synthetic Insights stock had dropped due to the fact that their Noverian lab facility was under 'investigative lockdown,' which had commenced during the actual Eden Prime attack and using Saren's Spectre codes. There were even witnesses who spoke of seeing Saren, and, of course, there was Benezia's own testimony. But like all badly packaged meat, a single touch of the talon separated truth from third-rate packaging. While several eyewitnesses claimed to have seen Saren, none could say they spoke with him. Given the fact that Saren's armor was pretty unusual, that didn't seem too suspicious at first. But all of the eyewitnesses were recent layoffs from Noverian businesses, slowly losing ground on their overpriced apartments while they looked for work. In the hours after their testimony, all six of them had found work. And that work had all been with one company. Binary Helix. Which was pretty much dominated by Saren and Benezia, with a forty-two percent ownership stake by Saren and thirty-nine percent by Benezia. Oh, he could hear Pallin now, damning him for leaping to conclusions, but Garrus knew something was rotten. Despite Benezia stating she had been with Saren on Noveria and thus he couldn't have been elsewhere, and despite eyewitnesses seeing Saren, no one at all reported seeing the statuesque matriarch until almost a day after the attack. Given that she stood out in a crowd, was usually found on Saren's arm or in his wake, and that she tended to be flanked by high-powered asari commandos as bodyguards, the idea that she was conspicuously absent was preposterous. Garrus exited the elevator in a rush, ignoring the two asari who had stopped gossiping to whisper behind slender hands, eyes boldly going over his own form. He twitched a mandible in suppressed amusement, but continued his rapid review of data, pulling up a report here, adjusting a statement there. Such a damned burden looking as good as I do. His final and most damning evidence, however, he still had to follow-up on. Several workers in the Bachjret Lower Wards reported a firefight near the Upper Wards entrance that led to the spaceside docking ring. The very same docking ring that the Sullen Cloud, the drell's ship, had docked to. The few bystanders who had reported weapons fire in the docking ring had reported a young quarian female fleeing the area, wounded. Fragmentary C-Sec reports spoke of a cull of migrant and transitory quarians earlier that day in the same area, with a girl, meeting the description, 'let go' to one of 'Fist's thugs.' And almost half an hour later, a witness working salvage on Keeper repair sites near the old metaling plant placed a known Broker agent, one Urdnot Wrex, at the Lower Wards with a female quarian, headed to the Upper Wards, both wounded. The dots were not in a line, but they connected. Somehow, this unnamed quarian had escaped the battle between Raik Bole and Captain Troyce. She had something that convinced a Broker merc, not known for their charity, to rescue her from pursuit, killing Weyrloc Shan in the process. Who then, apparently, delivered her to Fist, a known Broker associate. At least, that is what he had thought. Garrus had just come from Chora's Den, though, and found nothing. Not a witness that had seen or heard of any quarians. And Fist himself had been singularly… confusing. The human thug had seemed very interested in any information about the quarian the C-Sec officer had, and even offered to pay him for her whereabouts, an offer that was put forth as 'appreciation' and not a bribe. Garrus sneered at the memory. As dirty as Fist was – his naked asari girls stank of red sand and worse, and his turian girls looked chipped – he wasn't about to beat up or arrest a Shadow Broker operative. There's not following rules, and then there's begging for a bullet in the fringe. Garrus knew if he found the quarian, he could finally begin to have solid, unbreakable evidence against Saren. The very concept that one of his own kind, gifted with the highest trust not just of the Hierarchy, but of every race in Council Space, could murder another turian and collude with the geth… it made Garrus's eyes burn in hate. Part of him, he admitted, wanted to find that there was no such evidence in some desperate hope that Saren hadn't actually spat upon the Principles and betrayed everything the Hierarchy stood for. But his mind was making connections his heart couldn't deny. Garrus burst into the lower plaza of the Council Chambers, almost running directly into Councilor Sparatus and Executor Pallin. "Ah, Detective. How kind of you to join us. The humans will be here in about ten minutes, and we need to be able to refute their claims firmly." Sparatus's smooth tenor was laced with subharmonics of satisfaction and amusement. Garrus's eyes flicked in confusion from Pallin to the smooth-talking Councilor. "I have not finished my investigation, Councilor. I came to make my findings thus far known, and ask for more time to finish the investigation. The financial aspects are very convoluted and my partner Forlan feels that we need to get authority for an asset freeze and audit." Pallin was uncharacteristically quiet, his mandibles so tight against his jaw that Garrus thought they would snap. His stance was pure Hierarchy military, back straight, cowl a perfect forty-five degrees to the floor, spurs lined up against each other. He wore heavy gloves, concealing any twitching of his talons. This is not good. Sparatus put a hand on his hip, scowling, his jaw loose. "I see. And what strong evidence do you have to present to take such a prejudicial course of action? You understand, of course, that doing so would only encourage some of the more ignorant elements to hasty action, so we would need very solid proof." Garrus was speechless. "Councilor, we have quite a bit of evidence that, while not a solid indicator of guilt, is very indicative that something is wrong." Pallin finally spoke. "The Council has come to the conclusion, based on… various evidence discovered by STG teams… that the humans are framing Saren. Saren forwarded a report showing human officers told to ignore evidence that showed Saren's non-involvement. Councilor Sparatus plans to have Saren arrive mid-testimony to drop this bombshell and see if the Alliance Military Command is completely corrupt or if this was localized sloppiness." Sparatus nodded. "In any event, it's clear to me that if Saren was involved, there should be at least something solid on him. Lacking that, and given the humans have already fabricated one story, I'm inclined to believe any difficulties you have in finding such evidence is due to it not existing, Detective." Garrus shook his head. "Councilor… please. I wouldn't bring this up if I did not think it was valid. What I have is… well, the Executor would say it's conjecture at best. We have disturbing coincidences, and a lack of facts that are simply explained away as something else entirely… And I'm fairly certain that the Broker obtained vital evidence we have yet to see. But we certainly don't want to make it look like we ignored evidence, do we?" Sparatus placed a hand on Garrus's shoulder. "Detective. I… appreciate your fire and honesty in this endeavor. Executor Pallin didn't want to give you this case, but I'm glad to see his worries about you taking it seriously or having the skills to pursue it were wrong. You can forward your findings to me and the STG, and I promise you – on the spirits of my clan – I'll research them personally, no matter what the STG decides." His tone hardened. "But right now, can you look me in the eye and say you're a hundred percent sure Saren is behind this? That we can accuse him of this, given what it will do to the Hierarchy? To trust in the Spectre program?" Garrus clicked his mandibles in frustration. "I just need more time! I know the proof is there!" Sparatus shook his head. "As I said, we're dealing with the possibility that human intelligence assets have been planting or altering evidence, Detective. This time tomorrow, they'll have reacted to everything we've shot holes in today to make it all more plausible… or come up with even more made up assertions." His voice gentled. "Saren likes to play fast and loose with rules, and I don't doubt you found some things that are probably not totally on the mark. My own guess is that he was doing something he shouldn't have been – not at Eden Prime, mind you, but somewhere else, in the course of his investigation into human AI research. I think he probably did something shady with his supposed alibi at Noveria, and I plan to confront him on it. Privately." Sparatus flicked a mandible, and his shoulders sagged a bit. "To be fair, he's played fast and loose a lot recently, and I take your words to mean there may be more to look at. His activities in the past year have been confusing, and Pallin has convinced me that giving him such a free hand with no partner is probably a bad idea." The Councilor straightened. "But I've been doing my job for over twenty years now, and I've known Saren longer than that. The anguish and pain in his eyes when I told him about Nihlus's death was real. He almost came unhinged. If he is playing fast and loose with the rules, it's only a reaction to this frame-up the humans are putting on him." Garrus shook his head. "Sir… Lady Benezia met with the krogan assassins a week before the murder of Captain Troyce. I have a very solid eyewitness to that. Whatever evidence the Broker procured must be very damaging…" Sparatus paused at that and suddenly seemed troubled. "I didn't know that. That seems out of character for a matriarch… but I presume you were able to follow-up on this in some fashion?" Pallin shook his head. "Yes, but unfortunately it is a dead-end. I called up Fist this afternoon. Just after you had a little chat with him, apparently. He is under the impression that the information he was expecting to receive had something to do with Saren's finances being irregular in regards to his investments in Binary Helix, not Eden Prime." The older turian flicked a mandible in irritation. "I don't know what Saren is doing. He may be abusing his position to acquire a controlling interest for his own financial gain. It is possible Benezia is wrapped up in this as well. And he's cunning enough to do something crazy like having her talk to his mercs to hide his activities." Garrus ground his teeth as Sparatus nodded. "But on the hunting talon, it's more than likely, really, that the human government, which is dominated by corporate interests, is simply taking hasty advantage of this Eden Prime attack to try to smear Saren's name." Garrus looked at the two turians in bewilderment. "That doesn't make any sense! Something that large would have taken time to set up—" Sparatus glanced at Pallin as he interrupted. "And the humans spearheading this effort have been enemies of Saren for fifteen years. I don't have time to brief you on everything, you can watch for yourself." Sparatus brushed lint from his robe, and gazed at Garrus coolly. "Your request for an extension to this investigation is denied, Detective. This case is closed. If you will excuse me, the humans will be arriving shortly." Sparatus stalked off, robe flowing around him, and Pallin just gave Garrus a pitying look. "Follow me, kid." Garrus didn't even argue, following his superior to an overlook of the main Council floor. He watched as the human ambassador, a rough-edged figure with an apparent love of screaming histrionics, berated the Council and demanded action. He watched the three humans enter the upper foyer, taking in their shapes and sizes. Pallin gestured to the female in the middle. "That's Commander Shepard. Before this afternoon, the idea was for you to aid her in the investigation. With this recent… discovery, however… we've been ordered off the case. Officially, STG is handling any follow-up." Garrus snapped his head to one side, glaring. "And you just let them walk over you like that? Where is your damned angry demands that we do it by the book? Damn the spirits, I did everything right, and all I asked for is another day!" Pallin shrugged, seemingly… exhausted. Or broken. "I already had this fight with the Councilor, Garrus. It was made clear to me that if I continued, they would dismiss me, you, and anyone else who failed to fall in line. This is no longer about justice. It's about politics. It's about stopping the humans from getting a seat, about putting them in their place and making fools of them. They could have done this in a private session…" he trailed off as Saren entered, cocksure and bold, draped in melodramatic black with his badge of office high on one shoulder. Pallin's talons clenched the railing in front of him in suppressed rage, then he exhaled. "Expediency wins… the truth loses. Whatever truth there is. I'm not totally convinced Saren did anything wrong, but it doesn't matter much now anyway." Garrus could only watch as Saren twisted the human concerns into a farce, as if he was the aggrieved party. Down on the lower balcony, Garrus recognized the cloaked form of Lady Benezia, leaning serenely against one of the bizarre pink-furred human plants, her face smirking in obvious amusement as the humans floundered and the crowds watching murmured and gestured. Garrus felt sick, as if his gizzard was full of wet stones. The burning energy he had felt all day long drained away in a single, pained sigh. Pallin looked over, and shook his head. "I never like the way you do things, Vakarian. Too rash. Too quick. Too sloppy. But I admit there are times where just shoving a pistol in someone's fringe and pulling the trigger would be more just than this… debacle." Garrus nodded, a tiny spark of outraged satisfaction burning in his chest. He watched the obviously dejected humans leave the platform, the ambassador clearly broken and running, the dark human male with the stripes on his uniform seemingly defeated, and the large, heavier human female looking angry. Only Shepard walked away calmly. Every movement measured; cold, but somehow full of restrained energy. He scratched a talon over his fringe as Pallin turned to go, heading down the narrow stairwell to the elevators. "Executor… wait." Pallin stopped, and turned. "Let it go, Garrus. They've closed the case. I have no wish to enact pitiful scenes from Blasto, bemoaning the fact that stupid politics is the winner of the field of battle." Garrus glared, stepping into his superior's face, deliberately trying to get an instinctual rise out of him. "Is that it? All these years of wise posturing and angry yelling at me to do it right. All those spirit-damned speeches about the fucking purity of justice. All the people who died because you weren't willing to break the rules and get it done. Now you're just going to let that barefaced bastard walk out of here with his whore of an asari, when you know full well he's dirty? When you know he might very well be behind it!" Pallin finally snapped, his talons shearing right through his gloves, teeth bared. "What am I do then, you idiot child? I don't have a famous father to cover for me. If you're wrong, I lose my job. C-Sec is my life. I follow orders. I. Am. A. Turian! I have been given a task and I do it! I don't question! I don't break the law to stop crime! And if you are right, what then? I end up with a bullet in my head? I wake up tomorrow to find they've killed you? No, Garrus." He jabbed his talons into the younger turian's armor, hard enough to chip the glossy black paint. "Some of us are not willing to destroy everything on a wild hunch from some spoiled kid who thinks justice is shooting bad guys with overpowered guns. The law is about patience. It's doing things right, regardless of your personal opinion. And above all else, it's not breaking the damn law to stop criminals. We can't prove anything, and we've been shut down. Violate that and how are we any better than Saren himself?" Garrus clamped his mandibles down. "I can't even believe you'd say tork-shit like that. He's fucking responsible for murdering a colony and you think us actually disobeying what sounds like an illegal order is just as bad?" The older turian looked at him with a mix of disgust and pity. "I'm not sure where your sire went wrong with you, fool. But yes, I do see it as just as bad – because it goes against everything it means to be turian, and it leads you down the same path too many other fools have taken. You don't have all the information the Councilor does. Neither do I. And like I said – this is now about politics. Sticking your claws where they don't belong could get a lot of people killed." Garrus shook his head. "But if he's guilty—" Pallin cut him off again. "There are no 'buts.' If Saren is guilty – and despite what I feel, I must admit that Tarren could be right that this is some kind of frame job – then to bring him down we have to follow the book. We wait. Criminals always fuck up and we do it right. Doing it your way will just make the evidence unusable… and probably get someone killed. Or start a spirits-damned war." He fixed his glare on Garrus. "Don't. Pursue. This. That's a direct order. Disobey me on this and I'll pull your badge." Pallin spun on a heel, and stormed off, not looking to see if he was followed. Garrus just stood there, eyes closed, head down, wondering what to do next. "Detective?" The voice was… cold. Even. No harmonics to give him a clue of anger or friendship. It was almost soothing in a way. Garrus turned, eyes opening, and faced the speaker. Up close, Shepard was almost soft looking at first glance. Her skin was dark, almost brown, and set in firm, hard angles. Like all humans she had features almost identical to asari, but her eyes were a cold blue that, strangely enough, reminded him of his father. Hard, unyielding, icy, yet somewhere behind them lurked madness and anger. "Yes. I am, that is. Detective Garrus Vakarian, C-Sec Special Investigative Unit." "Commander Shepard, Alliance Navy. I… overheard some of that argument you had with your superior. You were investigating Saren?" Garrus nodded, exhaling. " 'Was' being the operative term. I have bits of evidence that doesn't look good, but the ugly truth is I need another day or two and the Council has shut the case down and given it to the STG. If there's anything to find, it will be so classified and locked down that we'll never hear about it, and that bastard will walk free." The light-skinned human female to the left spoke, her voice rougher, but higher pitched. "Isn't it kinda… odd… for a turian to want to nail Saren? Isn't he like, a hero for turians?" Garrus eyed the woman coldly, his jaw set. "Imagine how you would feel if you discovered evidence, no matter how… patchy… that your Hero of Elysium was actually selling children to batarian slavers, but that no one wanted to expose it for political reasons. Would you be happy? I'm not. I feel defiled. He's a disgrace, both to the Hierarchy and to the Council." Shepard arched an eyebrow. "That's nice. But what are you going to do about it?" Garrus shook his head. "I can't touch him, he's a Spectre, he's got immunity to everything, and anything he touches is classified. The case has been… closed." She shook her head, the weird floppy fringe thing all humans had moving with the motion, the faint light of the Council Chamber catching on edges in the mass. "Fuck that. I didn't ask what C-Sec was going to do. I asked what you were going to do. Run away clucking like the chicken you look like?" Her voice hardened. "He's going to get away. He's going to do something even worse, people are going to die, and unless someone stops him, it's going to be on your conscience. He's a fucking criminal." Garrus looked away, conflicted. "Yeah, I know." She spoke again, voice even harder. "I hate criminals." And Garrus realized, belatedly and suddenly, that here was someone much like him. Someone for whom rules were a boundary and not a guideline, someone who had been hurt to the point where it mattered more about vengeance than justice, for whom the only judge, jury, and executioner needed was common sense. Garrus squared himself upright, jaw clacking with amusement, and cocked his head to look at her. "Assuming I was some kind of paramilitary badass with a grudge rather than a respectable C-Sec officer… then what I would do is try to find a quarian that went missing yesterday. A quarian that I'm sure had something to do with the Shadow Broker and some evidence linking Saren to Eden Prime." He folded his arms, mandibles cocked to one side in a smirk, and fixed his eyes on hers. "But alas, I don't seem to have any terrifying special forces soldiers to back me up when I go looking for my first lead." Shepard actually gave a tiny little smile. "And are you a paramilitary badass with a grudge, or do you just like to look good?" Spirit-damn, Vakarian, even the crazy bitches can't get enough of you. Mandibles flaring in amusement, Garrus raised his plates above his eyes. "I always look good." Shepard said nothing, but Williams gave an astoundingly juvenile giggle before stifling it. "Um… sorry, ma'am." Shepard tilted her head to match the tilt of Garrus. "Can you follow orders, Vakarian? And don't hand me that 'me-turian-me-good-soldier' zombie bullshit." Garrus laughed, for the first time all day. "No, I'm a really, really bad turian. I find, to the distress of my father and superiors, that I can only follow orders that aren't completely full of shit." Shepard nodded. "That will do. Where's this lead of yours, Detective?" They began walking to the elevator bank at the end of the plaza, Shepard leading. "Right now, I suspect he's head-butting some poor C-Sec officer in receiving. His name is Urdnot Wrex." Shepard opened her mouth to speak, shut it, then opened it again. "Wait. Large, old, angry krogan, scars on the face, red armor, likes to threaten to eat things?" Garrus nodded, as Anderson and Williams glanced at Shepard in confusion. "Yeah, that's him. You know him?" Shepard grimaced. "Yeah, fought him on Torfan, actually. This should be interesting. Lead on, Detective." Garrus felt oddly better, knowing he was at least doing something and not just giving up like Pallin did. "No problem, Commander. New to the Citadel? You'll love the Lower Wards." Chapter 24: Chapter 18 : Doctor Michel If the Presidium was a glorious testament to just how well aliens could mirror mankind's ability to use wealth and privilege to blind themselves to the suffering of their fellow man, then the Lower Wards were the alien take on a mix of the ghetto, third-world countries, and post-industrialism. Garrus drove a patrol aircar to C-Sec headquarters, Alenko and Shepard in the back. She looked out the angular window down upon the gleaming light of the Upper Wards, slowly growing dimmer and darker toward the end of the Ward, where it hooked into the ring itself. At its terminus, the aircar angled up sharply, and the battered, grimy buildings of the Lower Wards could be seen. It's like I'm back at the NYARC, streets full of empty lives – all of them fucked over and out. Part of her wished Anderson was still here, but he had to make reports to Alliance Command and felt that the Council would look at evidence with a more even view if he wasn't involved in the process at all. Williams was, in Shepard's mind, a good soldier, but far too emotional; in any event, she was still badly wounded, and not in any shape to be doing an investigation. Shepard had thus decided to drop her off as well, so she could recuperate in the med-bay. She had expected the fiery soldier to object, but Williams, surprisingly enough, had acquiesced, leaving Shepard, Alenko, and the turian to head onwards. But the conversation stuck with her, replaying in her mind as she gazed at the detritus of the Lower Wards. O-OSaBC-O "Not that I don't want to guard your six, skipper, but I'm still pretty shot up." The turian was outside the Normandy, going through some kind of reports, and Williams had followed Shepard back to the med-bay. Shepard had raised an eyebrow. " 'Skipper'?" Williams actually looked embarrassed, studying her dress BDU boots. "I, um, got in the habit of calling the CO that in the 212. Ended up calling the LT that a lot, since he did more work than the CO did, ma'am." At mentioning the 212, the younger woman's open, simple features had crumpled. Shepard had paused, and finally frowned. She felt absolutely useless at dealing with these kinds of issues, but this wasn't a two thousand-plus unit where she could brusquely suggest someone hurting go talk to the psych officer. This was a crew of fifty, and she was expected to be the open, accessible face of command, the one you talked to because you couldn't talk to the CO. Shepard tried to think about all the times Anderson, Florez, Kyle - or even Delacor - had to comfort people and finally tossed all that aside. "Williams, look at me." The younger woman looked up. "I'm not any good at comforting people in their loss. I don't feel it. If there is anything like that in me somewhere inside, it's buried under so much crap that just reaching for it means I have to relive all the pain it's under. I've never been able to do that. I told you that day you had to get past it because it's all I've known." Shepard paused. "But you aren't me, and the 212 isn't the 2nd RRU. What happened on Eden Prime was stupid, and you just told me your LT was really pulling the weight rather than the CO, XO, or BDO. They got sloppy. That BC of the 410 got sloppy and lazy. And a lot of good soldiers died due to that." Shepard remembered how Joker touched her hand, and did the same to Williams. Her own memories bubbled up, a thousand widows and broken mothers glaring at her hatefully from the amphitheater of memory, but she shoved them aside – this was a mission, for her crew, and she wasn't going to fucking fail it. "But that has nothing to do with you. You're one of the best soldiers I've seen, and you should know I don't bullshit or patronize people." Williams' eyes had gone wide with shock but Shepard continued. "If I was harsh it's because I don't want you ending up a… thing… like me, so filled up with hate and anger that you can't do anything but lash out. The pain will not make you better. Let it go, clinging to it won't bring them back. They died. They died hard, Williams, they died fighting for their families, and above all else they died as fucking Marines. You can't cry on the battlefield, but this isn't the battlefield. They died, and you lived, and you lived not because you ran away, or weren't good enough, or whatever bullshit you're telling yourself right now. They died and you lived because of sheer, dumb, stupid luck, and because you fought your ass off." Williams was trembling, shaking, jaw almost quivering. "But I… I couldn't even save Nirali… I just let her… fry in front of me…" Shepard grabbed the Chief's shoulder. "Is that why you have burns all over your armor down one side, why both your arms and half your face is burned? You tried to shield her with your own body. Your friend, Nirali – she died because of the geth. Hate them. Use that hate when we fight them. But don't hate yourself." Shepard remembered words from Anderson, words that seemed to fit here. "Nirali would be happy you lived. She wouldn't want you hating yourself. She would want you to remember her as your friend, to remember all the good things you did together, not to remember her as a failure and a reason to… despise yourself." The woman across from her just fell to pieces then, sobbing and nearly tumbling to her knees. Shepard caught her and held her stiffly, not knowing what to do. Sobs wracked Williams' body, shaking her muscled arms like tidal waves slamming into a fragile ship. "You're my crew, Williams. I don't let anyone hurt the people who have my six. And I promise you, we'll get the motherfucker that did this, and kick his stupid, pointy fucking face until it shatters, just the way he did Nihlus." Williams managed to nod, still hanging on as if her whole body had given out. Shepard looked around, as if grasping for what to do. Outside the med-bay window she saw Chakwas, watching them both with a look of sympathy and bafflement in her eyes. Shepard raised an eyebrow, and Chakwas nodded. A moment later she entered, and Williams made an effort to pull herself together. "None of that, Chief Williams." Chakwas placed a gentle, almost hesitant hand on the younger woman's shoulder, and her voice was almost motherly as she guided her over to one of the beds. "Every soldier needs to just let it all out, sometimes." Shepard swallowed, and watched Williams sit down. Chakwas came over to Shepard and smiled, and Shepard spoke in a quiet voice. "Maybe that's true, but. I…" She paused, searching for words, then shook her head. "I don't know if I what I said was what she needed, though." The doctor's voice was warm, but equally quiet so that Williams wouldn't overhear. "I think you told her exactly what she needed to hear, commander. You should give yourself a little credit." Shepard pinched the bridge of her nose, and exhaled. "Sure. In any event, Williams needs some more time to recover. We're going into what might be combat and she's not fit for that right now, physically or emotionally." Chakwas nodded, moving the Chief to a med-bay bed. "Understood, Commander. But you aren't in perfect condition either. You should not stress the leg or the hand, either, especially the latter. The regenerator, medi-gel, and skinspray has everything covered up, but the bones and tendons are still weak." Shepard nodded, coming to her feet, and walked toward the door, but stopped short, turning to face the back of the medbay. "Williams?" The voice that responded was quieter now, calmer. "Yes, ma'am?" "When I… get back, I'll come up and talk. If you need that. Even if I'm no good at it." Williams gave a wan smile, and then made an effort to straighten. "You told me what I needed to hear, ma'am." O-OSaBC-O "Commander?" Shepard started, glancing around the aircar. "Sorry, going over some things in my mind, Lieutenant." Alenko just nodded, his even, clean features showing only understanding. "I think we all do that sometimes, Commander. Didn't mean to break into your ruminations, but…" He gestured out the window, as the shuttle touched down, Garrus's deft piloting bringing it down in a rumble of air as the pads slowly extended from the shuttle's base. Alenko's voice was shocked as he took in the view. "This is C-Sec? It looks like a damned fortress!" The building was an ugly, armored cylinder, connected directly to the inner ring of the Presidium. It was supported by thousands of trusses and what looked like an entire armored division of armed aircars and gunships were perched on vast airfields next to the building proper. Garrus chuckled, the sound a harmonic rumbling mixed with more normal laughing noises. "In the original setup of the Citadel, back when the asari and salarians were the only ones here, this was the only access to the Citadel Tower that ran directly to the inner secure docks, like the ones they put your ship in. When my people showed up, the place was used as a welcoming facility for newcomers. We turned it into a defensive location to protect the Tower, and later on, it was the natural place for C-Sec to operate from." The three stepped out of the car, Garrus leading. "We'll have to be quick about this. Technically, the case is closed, and if Pallin catches wind of what I'm doing, he'll have to stop me. He didn't seem… happy about what was going down, but I don't know that I blame him for not taking a stand." Alenko nodded. "The law has to be obeyed; the rules are there for a reason." Garrus frowned, about to respond, when Shepard laughed bitterly. "Really, LT? Let me tell you about laws. Criminals don't respect the law, and they don't respect the idea that hurting others to get what they want is bad. That goes for a white-collar bank executive screwing his shareholders all the way down to some two-bit batarian filth who sells kids. It's the same mindset; 'screw the rules, I have power.' But clinging to the rules won't stop some people." Alenko frowned. "Without rules, without order, you have anarchy. Being a vigilante isn't promoting justice, and ignoring governments means you are second-guessing those with a wider viewpoint and information you don't always have." Shepard nodded, but her expression was cold. "Sure, in theory. In reality? You have anarchy in the Verge, the Expanse, and the Terminus anyway. The precious order we have in Council Space can be shattered at will by pirates, plagues, or corporate fuckery. Clinging to laws often doesn't catch these people until their harm is done." She made a gesture with her hands of throwing something away. "What good does it do to arrest a slaver after he's captured ten thousand people and sold them when you could just blow his head off beforehand and save them? I don't ever break laws, Alenko. I think you know that. But that is a choice I made. If I had to break the law to save the innocent, I'd do so. If I had to break it to save one of my crew, I'd do it in a heartbeat." She was silent for a moment. "The law didn't do a lot of good helping me out or keeping me safe, and it hasn't helped a lot of other people who are down and out. Laws get bent by money and influence and all that shit. And in this case? Saren's definitely not using the goddamned law in the right way." Alenko was still frowning. "I understand what you're saying, Commander… I'm just the kind of person who follows rules. I was raised that way and I guess I still act that way instinctively." Garrus gave a wry smile. "Lieutenant, I think you would make a very good turian." Alenko scratched his head. "Thank you. Uh, I think." Garrus laughed. "But you should listen to your Commander on this. I've been working C-Sec cases for over a decade now. I've seen monsters let go due to red tape and regulations and rules that are supposed to protect the public but end up being abused to protect the criminals and politicians." Garrus exhaled, pushing open the main doors to C-Sec, and the two humans followed him in, taking in the huge lobby area. "That being said, I'm not a bent-fang anarchist. I follow the rules right up to the point where they get in the way of me taking the shot, then I throw them out. It hasn't won me a lot of friends… but it saved the life of someone important to me, and I suspect I sleep better at night than my boss does. Or for that talon's worth, my father." Garrus turned down a narrow, blue lit corridor, nodding at two blue-clothed salarians who stood with folded arms listening to a third salarian explaining why he was doing something to the Keepers. They swept past a long line of glass-fronted offices, including one that read 'Vakarian, G, Special Operations' in white frosted turian clawscript and three asari variants, into a second foyer area, this one having large, heavy staircases that led into the Lower Wards proper. At the head of the staircase were six C-Sec officers, three of them with drawn weapons, two more with hands on omni-tools. In the center of the semicircle they formed was a single, huge form, red armor streaked with battle damage, driblets of orange blood seeping through impact craters the size of a baseball. The globular red eyes, slitted with black, were narrowed, and the scarred muzzle was twisted into a mocking, menacing grin, displaying far too many teeth the size of human thumbs. "This is your last damn warning, Wrex. Firefights are not acceptable in the Upper Wards." The krogan leaned forward slightly, his jutting jaw in the turian's face, his voice deep and rumbling. "I don't take orders from pyjak droppings like you. If you're gonna warn someone, warn those two-bit mercs not to mess with me." The turian C-Sec officer stood his ground, although his mandibles flared in alarm. Glancing around at the officers at his back, he stepped forward. "Are we going to have to arrest you, Wrex?" Wrex jerked his head forward in a series of movements, backing the officer up, looming over him, his voice a low, menacing and yet amused rumble. "I want you to try." Garrus gave a small sound, sounding almost like a cough, to interrupt. "Wrex is his usual cooperative self, I see. I'll take it from here, Dantrian." The turian officer glanced over at Vakarian and the humans behind him with a mix of relief, embarrassment, and confusion, but his voice was clear. "Understood, sir. Wrex was seen engaging in a firefight not far from the south end of Bachjret Upper, and we brought him in after he killed – admittedly in self-defense – another krogan merc." Garrus nodded, but waved a hand. "I'll handle it, Sergeant. That will be all." Slowly, the knot of C-Sec officers moved away. Alenko nudged Garrus's arm. "Um… Detective?" He pointed to Wrex… and Shepard, who had stalked forward to get right up in the giant krogan's face, glaring. The krogan growled and glared right back, hand dropping to his side, near the handle of the massive shotgun C-Sec had not quite built up the nerve to try to confiscate. Shepard's hand already rested on the butt of her Carnifex, fingers tapping the base. The two stared at each other for long seconds. "Um… Commander?" Shepard tilted her head, ignoring Garrus, and finally exhaled. "Wrex." The krogan stepped back one small pace, eyes finally taking in Garrus and Alenko, before snapping back to the woman in front of him. "Shepard. Where's Shields and Dunn, or are your stupid bosses letting you run around on your own now?" Alenko goggled. "Wait, you know each other?" The krogan grumbled. "Crazy bitch dropped a building on me back on Torfan." He rubbed a spot on his hump almost ruefully. "And that was after she broke the back of one of my soldiers." Shepard folded her arms, leaning back on her good leg, which resulted in her cocking her hip out in an almost arrogant stance, smirking. "If you don't want buildings to drop on you, don't go trying to drop artillery strikes on my position. Besides, you look just fine." The krogan leaned down further. "You shot up my squad, made one guy run away, dropped a building on me, and then shot the rest of my krogan to pieces right in front of me." He paused. "And then Shields shot another one in the quad." Shepard shrugged. "Well, shit, I guess you using them as bait to draw out my own squad and then dropping artillery on us both was just bad aim on your part?" The two stared at each other for another long moment, then the krogan gave a great, roaring laugh, shaking his entire frame. "Why is it all you squishy races have women with bigger quads than the men?" Shepard unfolded her arms. "I never thought I'd say it's good to see you, old turtle, but it actually is. Of all the shit that came from Torfan…" She trailed off, lost in some memory. The krogan nodded, glancing at the turian and Kaidan. "Yes, we know each other. First human I ever met who could fight me to a standstill. I don't apologize for that contract, but… I drew the line at what they did to civilians. Especially kids, even batarian kids. That's why I ended up turning on my own employers." Shepard grimaced, and he nodded. "There isn't very much I won't do for money, but killing kids is… a sore spot with krogan. Torfan didn't end well for me after that." Shepard nodded, looking grim and suddenly almost tired. "Yeah, well. You saw how that shit ended for me, too, I'm guessing. Gave me a fucking Star of Terra. Didn't change a whole lot, but… here I am." Alenko glanced at Garrus, then cleared his throat. "Commander?" Shepard waved a vague hand at Garrus and Alenko. "This is Detective Vakarian, helping me with a problem I've got, and the human next to him is Lieutenant Alenko, a member of my crew." She faintly emphasized the last word, and the krogan nodded. He only glanced at the turian, but stepped forward to inspect Alenko more closely, even sniffing the air. "Huh. He doesn't look like much, but she only calls people 'crew' if they're hard as nails. You a warrior or a killer, human?" Alenko blinked, not sure whether to feel complimented or confused. "Uh… a warrior?" Wrex's voice was deadpan. "You don't sound sure of that." Shepard gave a smile and continued. "Anyway, I didn't come by to see you make C-Sec officers piss themselves. Or whatever it is turians do…" Garrus gave her a look, then just shook his head. Shepard gave a very slight smile. "…but to ask for your help." She exhaled. "You up on what happened on Eden Prime?" The krogan nodded. "Saw the video and interviews in Flux. Hard to believe geth would strike this far from the Veil, but who can understand things that go around with spotlights for heads?" Shepard actually chuckled. Alenko remembered the last time Shepard had laughed was before putting down seventy-plus geth by herself. She seemed less… stiff around aliens, as if they were easier to deal with than people. And for someone as damaged as her, maybe they are. Maybe Joker is right… but it's hard enough to figure out what sets her off and what makes her approve. Shepard jerked her head to Garrus, who explained his findings, the linkages, and mentioned the quarian that his investigation had turned up. The krogan nodded. "Whole reason I'm here. I work for the Shadow Broker. This was a simple job. Broker thought he had a leak. He made sure the next piece of intel came to Fist. My job was to keep an eye on things, monitor the transfer, and if he was dirty, put him down. If he wasn't, I'd demonstrate the penalty for sloppiness and give him a short vacation." The krogan gestured to the stairs, and the group followed. "Except it wasn't like that. The ship carrying the quarian with the evidence was misdirected and ambushed at the docks; the guy who brought her here got his head blown off. The quarian managed to outfox a krogan tracker for half a day before he caught up to her. Lucky for her, I had also caught up by then, and I repaid Troyce's death in the best possible way, by blowing the merc's head off." Alenko frowned. "You're just admitting this in front of a C-Sec detective?" Wrex laughed. "Most of the Citadel knows Vakarian doesn't give a shit about rules, as long as he gets to nail druggies, slavers, and mercs with that cannon of his." The turian shrugged, and irritably gestured with his talons. "You were talking about the quarian, not my cleaning up the Citadel." Wrex nodded, his feet making clumping booms as they descended the stairs. "Yeah, yeah. Anyway, the quarian was hurt, bad. Tough little varren. I got her to an Upper Wards clinic, and the doctor there is patching her up. She should still be there. I was watching the place when another krogan merc that worked for Saren in the past jumped me." He gestured to the holes in his armor, though his bleeding had stopped. "Dumb bastard brought a shotgun to a fist fight." Shepard gave another grin. "You mean a biotic fist fight?" The krogan nodded. "Not many of us have the soulgrip anymore. Other krogan forget why we're battlemasters and not battle leaders or warlords." He paused. "Still, he did a number on me, and it took me more than a minute to put him down. I saw at least one human go in while I was fighting, and then C-Sec showed up." Garrus's mandibles twitched with impatience. "The clinic? Which clinic, Wrex? There's sixteen in Bachjret alone." Wrex reached the bottom of the stairs and started walking, his voice holding an edge of amusement. "Doctor Michel's, turian. Where else is there a clean room in the Wards?" A fifteen-minute walk brought them to the clinic, mostly taken up by Shepard chatting with Wrex about various things. As it came into sight, Shepard glanced over the building. Only one door in or out, and no signs of C-Sec or bodies. Then again, no windows – they'd be walking directly into a line of fire if there were goons inside. Shepard sighed, and turned to Wrex and Alenko. "Stay outside and make sure everything is clear. No point extracting the quarian to get her shot by some sniper. Vakarian and I will go in, retrieve her, and, if necessary, get the information we need right there." Alenko saluted. "Aye, ma'am. Hopefully it won't come to a fight, since we're not in armor and have only pistols." The krogan grunted, leaning against the wall. "Speak for yourself, human." He patted his thick armor with a meaty hand, grinning. Alenko just shrugged. "In that case, I'll be sure to hide behind you." Shepard rolled her eyes and entered the clinic. The door slid shut behind them. There were chairs set out, a waiting area, calming music playing in the background, a shelf of magazines hanging from one wall… and a dead receptionist slumped against the wall, a bloody hole blown in her chest. Instantly Shepard had her pistol out, and Garrus had drawn his own sidearm. She moved as close to him as she could, whispering. "We'll roll through the door, you take left, I'll cover right." Garrus nodded, the slots of his nose narrowing at her scent, a mix of medi-gel and something more… alien. He gripped his pistol tightly, and they rolled through the door just after his massive foot kicked it open. "C-Sec! Freeze!" Shepard rolled right, behind a counter covered with medical documents, and Garrus had fetched up behind a support pillar. The office beyond was an open bay, five sets of beds separated by curtains attached to the ceiling, all currently empty and pulled open. Hard, artificial illumination from cheap overhead lights cast dark shadows into the corners. At the far end of the room was some kind of medical equipment, and doors leading to restrooms and an airlock-looking door which read: 'Decontamination – Clean Room. No Exit.' A desk sat at the other end of the room, in front of a narrow metal bookcase of books and a few pictures, and in front of that was a slender, curvy human woman with pale skin and glossy chestnut hair. She was held tightly around the waist by a muscular, human man with a shaved, tattooed skull who wore the chest armor of an old Onyx hardsuit. A pistol in his grimy hand was pressed against the woman's head. Two more thugs in cheap armor and armed with pistols were next to the doctor's computer, one attempting to look something up, the other one covering the door with an unsteady aim. The man with the gun to the doctor's head sneered. "I don't think so, C-Sec." Shepard took in the scene. The thug holding the doctor was not even shielding himself properly with her body, the other two were poorly placed to take a shot. She lifted her pistol and fired, realizing as she did so Garrus had done the same thing. The thug flew back, the doctor moaning in fright as the mercenary's jaw and then the top of his head were blown off, spattering her with speckles of blood. The other two fired, the first thug cowering behind the desk as cover, the second yelling as he blasted away. Garrus spun on his heel, putting two shots in the chest of the human behind the desk, the heavy slugs tearing into flesh and spinning the man to the floor in a bloody heap. Shepard only fired once, planting a bullet in her opponent's eye, sending him tumbling to the ground a half second later. Shepard only nodded at Garrus. "Stole my kill." Garrus gave a turian grin, mandibles flaring wide and mouth falling open. "Not my fault you're slow. Sometimes, you just get lucky." Coming around the corner, he gently helped the human woman to her feet. "Doctor Michel, are you alright? Did those thugs hurt you?" She shuddered. "N-N-No… wait… there's—" As she spoke, the clean room door opened, in its hatchway stood a salarian in silver and blue armor. His huge, black eyes were wild with fright, his mouth set in a grimace that distorted his narrow face. His hands were clenched around a gigantic, black, Judgment heavy pistol with a bore the size of one of Shepard's thumbs. Shepard had already holstered her pistol, standing next to Garrus with no cover. Garrus's own weapon was holstered as well, both caught flat-footed by the unexpected entry. The salarian screamed, saliva flying from his mouth as he pulled the trigger frantically, firing rapidly. "DIE YOU EGGSMASHING FUCKS! DIE! DIE! DIE!" Eight shots rang out. Shepard waited for the flare of pain, the feeling of her body smashing to the floor, but felt nothing. Shepard glanced down at herself, then at Garrus who was doing the same thing. She hadn't been hit. Neither had he. Nor had the doctor, for that matter. At a range of barely three meters, with a superheavy pistol that would have blown her in half, she hadn't been hit. She traded a single, dark look with Garrus, and their pistols came up in unison, firing. The salarian flew back, two craters in his chest, to slam against the hatch edge with a thud before collapsing to the ground, dead. The gun flew from his hand to land on the countertop next to him with a heavy bang, spinning a few moments in a lazy circle before coming to a stop, its smoking barrel pointed at the wall. Shepard turned to the doctor, eyes narrowed. "Be quicker next time you try to warn us about a gunman, instead of sobbing. Did it slip your fucking mind there was another goon in there with a goddamned hand cannon in the clean room?" Her voice was soft, but icy. Michel only gave a trembling nod, then shook her head, hair flying. "I… I am sorry, I was… frightened…" Her voice was rolling consonants and liquid vowels behind her fear, the clear accent of France permeating her words. Garrus, on the other hand was still, his mandibles loosened in delayed shock. "Did you see the size of that gun he fired at us, Shepard? It was bigger than him. Spirits on a stick." He turned, eying the huge blackened holes in the wall behind where they had stood. He placed his finger in one, the talon sliding in cleanly to a depth of eight centimeters. "We should be fucking dead, bleeding out on the floor." Shepard sighed, and pulled the doctor all the way to her feet. "I know. Like you said, sometimes you get lucky." She checked the doctor for wounds, finding nothing except the splatter of blood from the merc who got shot right next to her, forming a gory decoration on her otherwise pristine white lab coat. Garrus shook his head. "No… no, no, that can't be luck. This… this is the intervention of the spirits." Shepard tilted her head. "…You're implying that divine forces came down from Heaven and stopped the bullets?" Garrus nodded. "Exactly. The spirits came from the Beyond and stopped these sirefucking bullets. It's destiny. They saved us to stop Saren." He glanced around. "This means something, you know." Shepard coughed. "We can discuss the theological ramifications later, Detective. Right now, we need to find the quarian." She turned her cold gaze back to the doctor. "Where is she?" Michel stammered in barely concealed terror. "I… I… she left! She was healed, and she got a message from someone who said Fist was ready for her… then she took off without waiting!" Shepard leaned forward. "Where, doctor, is this message?" Michel pointed mutely to her computer, then scrambled away, hastening to bring it up. Shepard and Garrus stepped behind her, as the holoscreen displayed a human with blocky, cruel features and a Marine's buzz cut. "Miss Zoruh. I'm Fist. We have some bizness ta attend to, no? Meet me down in Chora's Den. We'll get this all worked through and you on your way. I'm afraid your buddy Wrex died, but we'll get ya back safe and this… information to the proper place. Don't bother with the cops, I'm sure you're already familiar with how they treat your kind, and they might be on Saren's payroll." Shepard scowled. "God, he sounds like an asshole. You know where Chora's Den is at?" Garrus nodded, still lost in thought. "Lower Wards. I'll call in a C-Sec team and… get this mess policed up. Calm the good doctor here down. I'll meet up with you once you have the girl." Shepard nodded, heading back to the front of the clinic and outside. Wrex stood over a crumpled form, nudging it with his boot. "More of Saren's trash." Alenko was in cover next to him, gun drawn. "Wrex, the quarian isn't here. She got a message telling her to go to Chora's Den and meet someone named Fist." Wrex's eyes widened. "Shepard, Fist is the person that the Shadow Broker thinks is our leak. She's walking into a trap. And he's got a small army of goons at the Den." Shepard cursed. "Which way?" "Other end of the Ward." The krogan nodded to a nearby aircar terminal. "Faster by aircar." "Alenko, Wrex, in the car." She moved at a run, tapping her comm-link. "Detective, Wrex says Fist is working for Saren. We're moving in to recover her, get to Chora's Den pronto." "Acknowledged. Be careful, you don't have any armor and Fist's people aren't pushovers." She smirked. "I don't need armor, Detective. I have three biotics." Chapter 25: Chapter 19 : Liara, Interrupted Liara sat in the darkness of the dig site, her face buried in her hands. Her comm unit lay shattered at her feet, a bottle of Serrice brandy the only other thing on the small table next to her, an empty glass still fouled with a few drops of the drink lying broken on the floor. Why… Why does everything go wrong? Liara knew she was far more sheltered than most asari her age. The first fifty years of her life had been entirely spent within the T'Soni estates on Thessia, overlooking the sea, snuggled up against the awesome peaks of the Skypillar Mountains. Apart from the occasional off-world trip – Palaven, Sur'Kesh, once even to Earth – her whole life had been the classes and training she was put through by her mother. And the disagreements. Every argument with her mother about her chosen path made her withdraw more into her studies, and the more she dug into the Protheans, the more enraptured she became. Even during her years at the University of Serrice, there were few who persevered through her shyness to make her acquaintance, and none were able to draw her into the wild debauchery that filled their nights. Activities wilder than Liara had heard of, imagined, or could even comprehend. Instead of pursuing the company and pleasure her fellow students engaged in, Liara had fallen into a slippery pit of books, research, and quiet, hopeless despair, buoyed only by the encouragement of her professor. Though she graduated with honors, and her master's thesis was hailed as a brilliant deconstruction of the Expert Pan-Empiric Collapse Theory of the Prothean extinction, the completion of her doctorate opened her eyes for the first time to the real world. Museums were the corporate faces of research for profit. They attracted crowds and allowed the ignorant to 'ooh' and 'aah' over bits of Prothean architecture about as important to the Protheans as a datapad or pair of shoes. Much of the real research was digging into Prothean energy fields, sifting through the wreckage of colony sites searching for weapons and defensive technologies, and the ever-present race to discover more Prothean caches and beacons. The caches were stockpiles of useful technology, from blueprints that had led the asari to develop the first dualpulse FTL drives to full out technologies, like the ultra-light fighter squadrons that made human carriers so deadly. Even above all of the tech that was laying around to be found, it was the beacons that were the real prize. Each one of the slender green monoliths was an adaptive supercomputer, intergalactic comms relay, and VI-driven monitoring system all rolled into one. Only nineteen beacons had been discovered, and eleven of them were classified as 'dark.' These beacons, corrupted by some sort of data overlay that had been uploaded to them in the last days of the Prothean Empire, only transmitted mind-blasting images of death. No one had ever connected to such a beacon without severe mental trauma or insanity, not the strongest of asari matriarchs nor the most stubborn krogan. While the asari were the most successful and had methods to repair some of the mental damage, many of the dark beacons were simply incomprehensible, and some were so warped that nothing had survived making contact. The other beacons though, were full of useful knowledge that they implanted on a memory-driven level. The salarian Urtha Beacon, for example, had given the salarian who used it the impetus for the development of modern two-stage kinetic barriers. The asari had made contact with no less than five beacons, three of which dealt with the advanced biotic techniques of the commandos and the justicars. The only known human beacon on Mars had shattered the minds of its researchers, but had led the humans to master mass effect travel and FTL centuries before they would have discovered such concepts on their own. For all her love of things Prothean, it had been a bitter drink to Liara to discover that the only people employing Prothean experts were corporations looking to loot the sites for caches, beacons, and useable tech. No one seemed to really care why they were gone, or why their technology had such strange disconnects. They could build the Citadel and the mass relays, but none of their other architecture resembled these structures in any way. They could master biotics on a level even unmatched by the asari, yet their computer systems were almost antiquated when it came to processing power. They were clearly master biotechnicians, capable of altering genetic structure almost as if they could interpret the DNA like a book, yet there wasn't a single educational document, ruin, or even data disk about such things. Most frustratingly of all, Protheans burned their dead, and there was astonishingly little evidence of what the Protheans even looked like. There were bits of skulls that had four eyes, with a asarioid build, mixed in with heavily built tripedal beings with oversized fists. There were strange creatures like elongated salarians comprised of neuroactive cartilage and no brain area to be found. And of course, there was statuary of bizarre semi-asarioid figures of great regal bearing with tentacle-covered faces and claws on their four fingered hands that would not look out of place on a Thessian novatiger. Were the Protheans much like today's Citadel races, a unified force? Prothean documents only spoke of the Prothean people, as if they were all the same species. But the businesses did not care. The academics only wanted more grants for more digs, to find more artifacts to sell for more money. The technical researchers cared nothing for Prothean culture or history, destroying so many priceless cultural sites merely to retrieve power systems or technical schematics. Liara had given in almost a decade ago, after the final heartbreaking separation from her mother, and had spent the time attaching herself to whatever science teams would take her. She still published her papers and books, but mainline researchers had no time for her, and most academics believed the question of how or why the Protheans vanished of zero import. The only people who seemed to pay Liara's theories any attention were conspiracy theorists and the occasional disaster-preparation figure, who would query her on how to avoid a future galactic collapse. For a life of one hundred and six years, it was summed up by a few bursts of discovery and joy, mired in the soul-consuming mire of despair. She didn't have her mother's endless resources to draw upon anymore, only her slender salary from the University of Serrice. She was an 'associate research technician,' a glorified digger of holes in the ground until someone more properly focused could come along and reap the rewards. She had spent her meager earnings on what little equipment she called her own and on paying her way through various digs and researches. She had never really expected her whole life to spiral down to this, months spent filthy and harried, moving from dig site to dig site, trying to find something to support her own theories. She found tantalizing hints at the cost of months of backbreaking labor and ever-escalating sniping from other researchers. She found the occasional useful find, which brought her much needed credits, tempered by the fact that she knew such devices were being torn apart to figure out how they worked instead of curated and valued. And the whole time, she was so utterly alone. Never able to find a way to just be a part of the group. Always stumbling through her words, her emotions misfiring like badly tuned guns. Her hand curled into a fist on her thigh, clenching. Tears leaked past the fingers of her other hand, still cradling her head. She had thought herself clever, even righteous, snapping back at Dr. Sanaris via vidlink. And yet, once again, what she had thought a proper response, a sign that she had grown emotionally enough to hold her own, had turned into a disaster. Yesterday morning, she had opened her comm tool to find two communications from the University of Serrice. The first was from the Office of Prothean Studies, thanking her for the years of work she had put in. However, due to budget cuts, not only was her request to move to teaching or full participant in dig sites denied, but she was one of eleven technicians being terminated from employment. Her final two solar tencycle's worth of pay would be credited to her account, minus the cost of her transport off Therum. The second email had been from Dr. Sanaris, only a few, cruel lines. "Spoke with your mother via videolink. Amusing that she seemed to feel you were not following her chosen path for you. Agreed, per her request, that you had better things to do with your time than blunder around our digs. Your papers and database logs have been purged from our system; we have better uses for the space than childish fantasy." Liara had wept angrily, and sent messages to the netbox of her mother, demanding why she had just destroyed her career, but got no answer that day. She had spent the rest of yesterday focused solely on the extranet coverage of the Eden Prime attack, particularly anything she could find about the Beacon the humans had found. She learned some soldier, a Commander Shepard, had accessed it and survived. But more astounding, the Beacon had been destroyed, meaning this Shepard person was the only one who knew its contents. Infuriatingly, the extranet was full of useless theories and rumors instead of hard details. The geth had attacked the planet, or batarians, or perhaps Collectors. The humans tried to frame Saren for the attack, or it was the Shadow Broker doing it. The Council had sabotaged the humans from the get-go and had stolen the Beacon somehow. One particular lunatic claimed he too had survived Eden Prime and touched the monolith and that it showed him datapads and VIs eating all living beings alive. That had been yesterday. Two hours ago, she had been disturbed from her final assessments of a Prothean statue by her comm-link vibrating. O-OSaBC-O "Incoming call: Noveria, Benezia T'Soni" Liara had hesitated, then hit the connection button. Rather than text, an FTL comm-link connected her to a recorded, non-interactive evocation of her mother. Benezia was wearing a white suit, cut tightly around her waist and breasts, with a high, shimmery faint gray skirt. Her head and shoulders were concealed under layered draping of gauzy silver cloth, which formed a sort of shawl over her. Her eyes were narrowed and hard, her lips set in a firm blue line. "Liara, by now you should have heard from the University of Serrice. I can only presume you are upset, given the fact that you sent several disrespectful emails to me. I will not tolerate your intransigence any further. I have been tolerant and even forgiving of your silly infatuation with the corpse of a failed civilization, much as I was tolerant with you digging holes in the garden. Because you were a child then and you are still a child now." The image of Benezia flickered, and she lifted her chin, continuing. "But the time for silly pastimes is gone. I have need of your service to me, as is my right as your mother and the matriarch of our House. I will no longer allow you to waste the time, money, and energy spent on training you on foolish stubbornness. It would have been more useful if you had whored yourself in some Terminus hellhole, for at least then you'd know how to use your body to achieve your goals. But you have failed even at that which comes naturally to us." Benezia had sneered. "I do not have the time to waste picking you up myself, and you are simply not worth the time of any of my acolytes or commandos to retrieve. I have sent krogan mercenaries under the employment of my friend Saren to pick you up, with orders carry you away by force like a tantrum-throwing child if you resist. I have already informed every asari university of any acclaim that taking any application of employment from you will be held as a personal insult to House T'Soni. "I am ashamed to call you my daughter, and perhaps I was wrong to ever think you would amount to anything at all. You will board the ship with the krogan mercenaries when they arrive, or when the ExoGeni teams arrive to your location they will have orders for your arrest and incarceration, and I will disown you and take from you the name of your proud ancestors, who must weep at your foolish actions. Do not disappoint me again, Liara." The message then cut out, leaving her in the dark. O-OSaBC-O She had spent the night drinking the two bottles of brandy she had bought back on Thessia, back when the expedition was just gearing up and she was still trying to be as friendly as she could with Amania. The young asari was the first person Liara had been able to relate to, her own history of poverty and want a sharp contrast to Liara's background. But Amania had not been intimidated, or awed, and didn't care of the disapproval of others. It was only later, when Amania's intentions became clear, when Liara realized she wanted to be more than friends, that Liara had backed away. Unsure of herself, unsure of how to even react or respond, she had stupidly panicked, overreacting to Amania's own loneliness, and ending up driving the closest thing she had ever developed to a friend away. Dr. Sanaris had actually been pleased, saying that Liara at least had the taste not to dip her crest in the gutter classes, and Liara had fled in tears, trying to find a way to explain to Amania what she had meant, what she was scared of. Of not being able to understand how to handle someone else caring about her. She had searched the entire site, hoping to just… try to get the words out. To fix at least one thing that had backfired on her. Amania had already left the site, and never answered a single email. The two bottles of brandy Liara had planned to share with her friend at the completion of the dig had sat in her pack, untouched and unnoticed, until that message had come through. What have I done to make my entire life a painful, pointless wreck? Liara felt sick, heavy, and above all else, empty. The fiery liquor had burned through her slender body and left her listless and with a spinning head on the cot in her tent. All of her supplies were gone, only a jug of water and a single tube of long-endurance rations left. Her belongings were neatly packed in two heavy cases, stacked by the landing pad outside of the dig, except for her journals, her personal positions, and her omni-tool, all in her satchel. The minutes passed, empty and wasted. Liara examined her hands, wondering what she was to do in her mother's service, but her thoughts were just rote, pointless fragments, ricocheting around in her head. Just as she was about to try to sleep again, she felt the ground shake, and sighed, feeling her stomach roiling with the liquor. She hoisted her satchel in one hand and staggered to her feet, unsteady, and slowly moved her body ahead. The Prothean elevator leading to the upper dig level was its usual, unyielding self, gleaming pure white and undamaged, as if fifty thousand years was nothing more than an afterthought to it. She passed the bizarre control panel set into the wall, intending to ride the Prothean elevator to the surface, when she heard the rickety dig site elevator installed during the first excavation activating. Of course, they don't know about the Prothean entrance, they're just hired thugs. Mother didn't even bother to tell them how to enter. She let her satchel fall to the floor, spending a last few minutes examining the control panel, for the stubbornness of doing it rather than any other reason. Then she heard a curious sound… a digital clicking and chittering. Why does that sound so… familiar? Then a rough, angry voice, like rocks having a fist fight. "Don't chatter at me, geth. Shut up and stay out of sight until I pick up the stupid blue bitch. Saren wants her alive if possible." Liara's mouth seemed to go completely dry, her nerveless hands shaking. She heard another voice now, but this one carried a hard, digitized cadence. "Understood, Weyrloc-Strikeleader. We will switch to non/NoCarrier fire patterns." The growling voice – it had to be a krogan – spoke again. "You can shoot the stupid bitch to pieces for all I care; Saren just pays more if she's able to speak. Now, silence. I have to act… nice." Liara's breath came in great, heaving gasps of panic. They are going to take me… maybe kill me, or worse. Why are there geth here? Why are they…? What…? Liara's pistol was foolishly packed away with her cases topside. She bit her lip, and then prepared to call upon her biotics. She knew it would not end well. She was tired, drunk, exhausted, and hadn't slept properly in days. She didn't even have her Serrice-made neural focus to amplify her natural biotics. The elevator shuddered to a halt, its doors sliding open in a spray of sparks. "Spread out. She's biotic, if she starts glowing, put a round through her leg." The krogan was huge, broad and heavy looking, with a glowing set of tubes lining his angular black armor in a menacing red color. He had a shotgun of some kind flung over one shoulder, the plate over the shoulder wider than her chest. Thankfully, his back was to her, he was looking toward the camp site. Behind him trailed five silvery, elegant figures, all organic curves in steel and strange, gray bundles of what looked like muscles. Curved heads spread illumination around the cave, seeking a target. The krogan whispered harshly, "Cut the stupid lights off," and the geth – they had to be geth – went dark, clutching menacing, flowing weapons in three-fingered hands. There was no way she could take out a krogan and five geth with her biotics, even if she had been in the best of health. She bit her lip, wondering, if she was quiet, if she could maybe sneak out and trigger the elevator. It was noisy, but if she was quick, she could get to the surface far before the service elevator could. Her flitter was still there, she could take off for Nova Yekaterinburg… someone in the human city would help her. She carefully took a step back. The krogan called out, his voice pitched to an almost calm mien. "Doctor T'Soni? I'm Weyrloc Gulm, your mother sent us to retrieve you. We're here to help you move your belongings to our ship, miss." Silence. She took another step back, drawing even with the control panel to the barrier field she had discovered. "Doctor T'Soni?" One of the geth half turned, and gave an electronic trill. "Weyrloc-Strikeleader, she is behind us." "What?!" The krogan spun, staring down the long ramp leading to the ruins entrance proper. "Doctor T'Soni, don't do anything… stupid." Liara's voice wouldn't work as the krogan advanced slowly, red eyes gleaming faintly in the dim light. "I'm sure you are confused, doctor, but these geth are… docile. It's a project your mother is working on with Saren." Liara shook, shivers overcoming her. She tried to remember how far it was to the controls of the elevator, if she could run that fast. The krogan's mouth twisted from a grim line to a menacing smile. "T'Soni, I'm only going to politely ask one more time. Come with us to the ship. Your mother demands it. You will not be harmed." "N-No!" Her voice was almost a squeal, shaking and pained. "S-She would never—" Her fear and stress made her biotics flare, as she panicked. The krogan sighed. "Shoot the bitch's kneecaps out, boys." The geth lifted their rifles with mechanical precision. Liara just… reacted. She threw up a barrier, her feeble strength barely enough to form it, as the guns erupted in a spat of high-pitched whines. Five shots tore across the barrier at knee height, and it shimmered faintly, almost collapsing. She knew it wouldn't hold long enough for her to get to the elevator, but she had one more trick. Her lips twisted in a smile. Finally, some use for my knowledge. She slammed her fist down on the control panel, intending to trigger the defensive screen that would seal the entryway. A voice in Prothean spoke, the words barely understandable to her. "Warning… misfunction. Unfirst detection failed. Enacting ward." She had expected a barrier curtain to seal the entryway. Instead, the entire entryway filled with blue light, and she found herself jerked up, off her feet, her arms and legs spread-eagled by a force like a thousand grasping hands. She couldn't move, she could barely breathe or turn her head. The krogan stopped, jaw open, then shut it. "For the love of rutting Shiagur, what the hell is this?" Liara said nothing, but the geth next to the krogan spoke, its mechanical voice carrying an undercurrent of concern. "It appears to be some form of energy curtain, combined with a low-grade stasis field. Surmise: probable use in detaining unauthorized visitors." The krogan grunted. "Shut it off." The geth examined the field for several seconds, building consensus. "Not possible. Design conforms to Rebel-Prothean field defenses. Nazara-Giver-of-Future identifies this as a military communications array. It is powered by geothermal reactions and can only be deactivated from the inside." The krogan threw his hands up. "Stupid machine! That is not an answer that is acceptable!" "Suggestion: inform Saren-Prophet of events. Likely to have organic contacts capable of disrupting energy field, retrieving T'Soni-target." The krogan half turned to look at the geth as if the machine had grown three heads. "Admit failure to Saren?! He'd use my hide as a cape! Blast this stupid field down!" The krogan lifted his weapon, firing three shots that blazed with the fire of disruptor mods. Liara flinched… but nothing happened. The geth's voice sounded almost apologetic. "Inadvisable action. Field strength estimated in excess of four thousand haat'ra." The krogan cursed. "Dig through the wall!" "Rebel-Prothean metal is plasma forged composite carbon nanoplating. Estimated time to completion of bypassing tunnel: eight days, four hours, fifty-two minutes." "Saren will be furious at the delay. No. What else?" The geth paused. "Reassembly of Colossus-mobile platform primary defense cannon to large scale multi-tiered EMP phased energy array would theoretically disrupt barrier energy." The krogan nodded. "I'm going to pretend that babble made sense. How long?" The geth calculated. "Three days, eleven hours. Assuming no external disruptions." The krogan laughed. "There's some kind of human research team incoming in four days. Cutting it close, but that should work. Get it going." The krogan turned away from the machine to face Liara. "You hear that, you little bitch? Three days. Then we're going to break all your arms and legs and haul your little blue ass back to Saren." The krogan leaned forward. "But before that, I think I'll have a little fun. Saren doesn't let us go out and have any… relaxation time, after all, and you look like you could use a good hard fuck." Liara's eyes widened in horror, and the krogan laughed and walked off. "Three of you stay here and keep an eye on the bitch. If she's faking and gets free, you know what to do." The krogan and the rest of the geth moved to get back in the elevator, and it ascended with a shriek of tortured metal. The remaining geth stood there, stock still, illuminated only by the glow of the energy fields. Liara's head couldn't bow in defeat, held stiffly aloft by forces she didn't even understand, but her eyes closed, as she shook with sobs. Either the monsters would get her out of this field to torture and probably kill her, or she would slowly and painfully die of dehydration and starvation. No one would come to get her. No one cared what happened to her. The University wouldn't even notice her absence, now that she's been terminated. The geth watched the young asari cry… unmoving, uncaring. Chapter 26: Chapter 20 : Fist A/N: My Fist is not a spineless coward. Imagine a Southerner mixed with a touch of mobster. I never understood why he'd send Tali into some open, public space to off her, when he could have done it in the privacy of his club. Remastered on 5-14-2017. Tali entered the bar, eyes wide behind her mask, taking in the scene in front of her. Most quarians treated their Pilgrimage very seriously, and Tali was no exception. She had spent a few hours in a quiet restaurant once, and had a drink of turian brandy in a tiny little bar on Bikesh. But other than that, she never really thought about 'entertainment' venues such as the pit she had stepped into. The Lower Wards were terrifying, full of long, dark corridors, gaping pits with no visible bottoms spanned by narrow bridges, and rusted edifices cut into the walls; the windows, dark and empty like the eye sockets of long-forgotten skulls. Vague figures slunk from shadow to shadow, and the C-Sec patrols were clearly ready to shoot anyone who even looked aggressive. But taking Troyce's words to heart, she had kept her head up, walking cleanly thanks to Doctor Michel's excellent treatment of the shallow wound on her leg. She kept one hand on her pistol, and the other on her knife, now sheathed on her belt. Twice, male turians had eyed her speculatively, and once a thuggish looking human had given her a dark glare, but no one else bothered her. Stepping into the chaos of Chora's Den had shaken her hard-won false confidence. The main area was a huge dome, with crazed fractal patterns projected on the curved ceiling, interlaced with graphic images of asari women arched in the throes of passion, blue forms unworried with clothing. The center of the Den was a huge circular bar, staffed with a pair of gruff looking turians with dark plates and a total lack of facial markings. The bar surrounded a pillar of what looked to be a thousand, thousand bottles, containers, vials, phials, and small barrels of every sort of alcoholic drink in the known galaxy. Some glowed softly with their own light, some bubbled and fizzed even inside their sealed bottles, and one had flashing haptic symbols for 'radioactive.' The top of the bar was a flat platform, atop which two asari contorted their bodies around into suggestive shapes, completely naked. The leftmost asari was rubbing two fingers between her legs, leaning forward over the edge of the bar so that her breasts hung down pendulously, shapely legs crossed and eyes bright. The other asari gripped a pole in the center of the platform, her back arched as she supported her weight with only one hand and the grip of muscled legs, her free hand pouring some kind of oil over her chest as she laughed. Tables lined the outer walls, most filled with hard looking krogan, surly turians, bitter humans with smirks on their flat faces, and a couple of salarians. More naked or near naked asari tantalized the clients by writhing on top of tables or grinding against the males by sitting directly in their laps. The air was thick with smoke, her suit alarms reporting a mix of nicotine, carotine, hallex, and several dozen unidentified particulates. She'd have to ditch this air filter for sure once she left. She carefully picked her way through the tables, avoiding the dance floor off to the right, and winced as a krogan smashed his forehead into a turian's face. The turian flew backwards, collapsing in a blue-spattered pile as the krogan reached out to pull an asari dancer into his lap. "My pole is bigger than his, blue." Tali shuddered as she gingerly maneuvered past a hulking elcor, trying very hard not to think of what it was doing here and failing miserably. Keelah, this is vile, I feel like I should bathe my poor environment suit in bleach. Finally reaching the bar, she raised her head at the bartender. The turian looked up. "Well, lookie here. You really must be a wild one to want to ride the pretty blue ponies at Chora's. What's your poison, girly?" "I'm not here to… partake of your disgusting products. I need to speak with Fist. He is expecting me." The turian glared at her a long moment before tapping a comm-link set into the wall. "Boss, there's some uppity quarian bitch here, says she's here to see you. Throw her out?" The voice that responded had that same casual, sleepy drawl as the message. "Goodness no, Rhrax. Send her in. And you should respect a lady, I'm sure she's not happy with our… clientele, after all." The turian just grunted, jerking a talon to the right. "Past the krogan bouncer. Get lost." She walked off, not bothering to respond, and immediately saw the bouncer. Not nearly as big as Wrex had been, his head plate was a deep blue, and he wore only a breastplate instead of full armor. Ropy lines of muscle and cartilage connected his upper arms to his chest, and the upper and lower segments of his legs, which were bare. A black loincloth of some kind hung from his hips between his legs to nearly touch the floor, and heavy black boots covered his feet. The krogan was armed with, of all things, a freaking sword with a heavy blade wider than her arm. It was shoved point first into the decking, as he leaned arrogantly against the wall. "You here for Fist?" She just nodded, eying the serrated edge of the sword. "…Do you actually use that?" The krogan laughed, almost good-naturedly. "Only on drunks. I have a gun nearby for real idiots. Fist is waiting for you." Tali entered the backrooms of Chora's Den, the door shutting behind her. The room was a short corridor, with two doors, one leading to some kind of stockroom, piles of crates heaped high. Figures in black armor sat on some of them or checked weapons, and one glared at her as she passed by. The other door was heavily sealed, flanked by a pair of humans in heavy black armor and carrying shotguns. "Miss Zorah, this way. Fist is in here. You'll have to leave that piece and your knife outside." She hesitated, but the guard just looked at her. "We don't know you from any other quarian with that damned mask on, and Saren's tried to off Fist once already. The weapons go, or you can get the hell out." "F-Fine." She withdrew the pistol and the knife, and laid them both on the table. One guard ran a scanner over her, grunting. "She's clean, 'cept for the omni, which is probably kinda important." "Send her in." A voice spoke from the wall, and the guard unlocked the door, letting it slide open. Tali walked past them, noting the weapons racks on the walls, and into the office of Fist. The room was surprisingly large, dominated on the far wall by a vidscreen of the club. A heavy wooden desk bisected the room, two heavy automated turrets tucked into armored niches to either side. What she assumed was some kind of Earth plant sat in a wide oversized pot heaped with dirt, and in the massive, overstuffed chair behind the desk sat Fist. For a human, he was large. He wore a black sportcoat of the latest style over a light armor breastplate, his black slacks loose as he crossed his legs, leaning back. His face was blunt, blocky, nearly square, his gleaming scalp visible through the buzz cut of his dirty blond hair. The armor breastplate came up to a few centimeters below his throat, a white shirt open underneath it, the tip of an Alliance 'A' tattoo visible. Fist smoked a heavy, fat cigar, the smoke forming a layer of gray haze near the top of the office. "Miss Zoruh, have a sit down." His drawling voice was quiet as he smiled a cold smile, gesturing to the chair behind her. She sat, nervously, forcing herself not to clutch her hands together. The door slammed shut, locking with a series of heavy thuds. She jumped a little, but then turned back to face the human in front of her. Fist flicked an ash into a shallow dish on his desk, black eyes empty and cool. "Miss Zoruh, I'm truly sorry about your whole trip here. Nearly being shot by thugs on Caleston, seeing poor ol' Troyce get killed, even that big bastard Wrex buying it… must be hard." She swallowed. "How did they… get to Wrex? I was in surgery, I… didn't hear." Fist nodded, mouth wrapping around his cigar as he took a puff. "Working for the Broker is dirty bizness, Miss Zoruh. Things can and do go downhill at a moment's notice. And while the Broker has a long reach, he's not the only one who's a big wheel. Wrex forgot that Saren had a lot of power and muscle and paid for it." He flicked the ashes from his cigar again and smiled. "As it happens, actually, that's kind of the moral of the story." Tali blinked, confused. "I… I don't understand." He made a gesture with his hand, one intersecting the other at an angle, cigar held carelessly. "You see… I'm ambitious. I see things changin', places opening up where before there was nothin' but scorn. People like the Broker think you can control events by keeping an ear to the ground, a threat here, a bit of blackmail there. That sort of shit only works as long as people are not willing to call you on your bluff, though." He took a puff from his cigar, blowing blue-tinted smoke in a cloud in front of him, and Tali was very thankful her filters were still working. "But this information you have, well. It could disturb a very tricky balance between two powerful men. You… do have the information, yes?" She nodded, a bit nervous at his words or what they might mean. "Y-Yes. It took a while to put it together… but it's all here, intact. I didn't tamper with it." Fist nodded. "Before we start talking numbers… I'd like to hear it." Tali nodded, and triggered the recording. There was a burst of static, then a bland mechanical voice. "Prime 302 to Prime-CoordinatorOfTactics-5. Aural band transmission of requested data is ready. Utilization of aural bands to avoid monitoring from Saren-Prophet as requested." A second mechanical voice cut in, deeper, slower, as if less used to talking. "Acknowledgment of primary mission complete. Consensus has been achieved. Saren-Prophet is not direct representative of Nazara-Giver-of-Future. The Old Machines have not chosen their Avatar-Prime Connection. Discrediting Saren-Prophet and Benezia-Secondary would allow geth to achieve Avatar-Prime Connection-status." The first voice was silent for a moment. "Understood. Compromising vocal recordings enclosed. If Saren-Prophet violates restrictions, transmission to Nazara-Giver-of-Future can be conducted." "Transmit vocal recordings." Said a second geth voice, deeper than the first, but with the same emotionless inflection. There was another pause, then the dual-tone voice of a turian spoke. "Still… Eden Prime was a major victory; the Beacon has brought us one step closer to finding the Conduit." A second voice, exotic, sensual, spoke. "And one step closer to the return of the Reapers. And with no one the wiser, if Cerberus does its job correctly." The first voice sounded again. "I'm more worried about the geth, Benezia. As long as Cerberus's ruse works, it's all well and good. But using the geth for this assault was a bad idea, just as I told Nazara. I wouldn't have had to kill Nihlus if I could have used some finesse. It's as if he's trying to make sure I don't go my own way." The second voice spoke, more quietly this time. "And the geth watch us constantly. We must be careful, Saren." The first voice began to speak an unidentifiable word before the transmission dissolved to static. Tali cut it off. "That's… That's all I was able to get." Fist nodded, eyes bright. "Heh. That's more than enough. Far more than enough. In fact, sorry to say, it's… too much, really. Stupid to fucking use names. Stupider to admit to a murder. But stupidest to talk around machines that routinely share everything they do and think with others like them everywhere." Tali was surprised. She hardly expected a thuggish looking bar owner to know about distributed geth networking. "You know about how the geth function?" Fist took another drag off his cigar, the cherry casting his face in a sinister red glow for a moment. "Oh yeah. I've got all the details. And that's where we have… well, a problem, Miss Zoruh. The broker offered me a hundred fifty thousand credits for the recovery of this data, so he could sell it to the Council for untold millions, probably." Fist extinguished the cigar, and then he casually produced a heavy, blocky looking Judgment pistol. She hadn't seen it on his lap, given the darkness of the office. "Unfortunately, Saren has offered me five million credits for the data, and for me to make sure it goes away, forever. Sorry to have it come to this, ma'am. You seem like an awfully good kid." Tali froze, thinking of how to escape, and Fist shook his head. "Don't bother. You get up from that chair, the turrets fill you with holes even if I miss. And I'm ex-military, I won't miss at this range, Miss Zoruh. Even if you did drop me and the turrets with some fancy engineering trick, the door is locked mechanically and there's nothing to hack. You ain't fighting your way through twenty of my men with an omni-tool." Fist leaned back, his free hand picking up a glass of wine, his weapon hand holding the gun steady, dark barrel pointed at her face. "So, in a few minutes, Saren's men'll be here. We'll try to be civilized. Once we're sure there ain't no copies, no backups, we'll wipe your omni-tool and melt it down. What happens then is up to you. If you cooperate, if you don't raise a fuss, I'll suggest disposing of a quarian corpse is a waste of time, and ask that they let me handle it. I have no need to kill a young woman. Play nice and we'll give you access to Troyce's little ship. I'm sure he'd want you to have it anyway. Nice present for the folks back home. You go your merry way and maybe owe us a favor down the line." His voice hardened. "Or you cause problems, get smart, or try to lie to us, and we can peel you out of that suit. After you've had a few bones broken, you'll be singing whatever we want to hear. And I've got a few clients on my list that have always wondered what it would be like to fuck a quarian. Your people don't last so long out of dem suits, but you should live long enough to entertain, hell, three, four, maybe five of my clients? We'll be polite enough burn your body when we're done rather than have C-Sec find you and send what is left back to your fleet of gypsy ships." Tali was shaking in fear, anger, horror, and despair. She couldn't even find her voice, or do anything. It felt as if a thousand kilos of stone pressed on her shoulders, her hands gripping the arms of the chair so tight the tension made her arms ache. She didn't want to die. She didn't want to… Keelah, why is this happening? Fist slowly nodded. "You're smart, I can see that. Way you're trying not to shake and burst into crying means you're a tough lil' cookie, but you are playing in the big leagues now, and I'm not fucking around. Like I said. Your choice. Life, or a miserable fucking pain filled existence soon to end in some pile of ashes on the Lower Wards." He smirked, when his comm unit flared. Not taking his eyes from Tali, he tapped it with his free hand. "Bjora, you'd better be telling me that Saren's men are here." "Ah… n-no, sir. The lookouts just spotted an aircar touching down at the upper landing. The krogan we thought we killed is headed to the club, along with…" The voice trailed off. Fist snarled. "With what? The ever-fucking Pope? Sha'ira in a g-string?" "…N-No, sir… it's the Butcher." Fist paled, eyes boring into Tali. "Do you know about this?" Tali shook her head. "I-I don't know anything! I just… don't…" Fist exhaled, gritting his teeth. "Shut up." He tapped the comm unit again. "Break out everything, I mean every fucking thing. Get everyone armored up. And send a call to Saren's men, dammit, they need to get here. Don't let Wrex get inside, and if he and that bitch do, I want them fucking dead." "Yes boss." Fist exhaled again, and his mouth settled in a grimace. "You are already costing me more than you are worth. Now, transfer the data to me, nice and slowly. Try anything stupid, and I swear to the Virgin Mary I will blow your goddamned head right off." Tali swallowed and nodded, transferring the data to Fist's own omni-tool. "Good girl. Now, take that omni off and toss it on the desk." Tali hesitated. "It helps regulate my suit…" Fist tilted his head and fired, the bullet speeding so close to her head it tore the edge of her reik. She shrieked, nearly bolting, but managed not to move. "I will not ask again. Take it off." She bit her lip as she removed the sleeved padd from her arm, hearing a few minor alarms in her suit as the microprocessor in the omni-tool disconnected. She placed it on his desk, her hand trembling, then sat back. Fist nodded. "Now, slide your chair back and into the corner next to the plant there." He watched as she did so, and nodded again. "Computer, lock port side turret to target in grid one dash one. Fire on significant movement out of grid one dash one." One of the turrets popped fully up, the three-barreled length of the gun spinning up and aiming right at Tali. Fist lowered his own pistol, and stood. "As long as you don't move, it doesn't fire. Leave that chair, or move more than half a meter from that spot, and it will cut you in half." Fist loaded his pistol with some sort of mod, and clipped a battle visor over his eyes. "If you will excuse me, I have uninvited guests to deal with." He took out a slotted metal card from his pocket and slid it into a slot by the door, which unlocked and opened with a thud. A moment later it slammed shut behind him, re-locking, leaving Tali alone with nothing but a dissipating cloud of cigar smoke and the quiet hum of the turret for company. Chapter 27: Chapter 21 : Tetrimus A/N: It's almost a shame for BioWare to waste the potential of a two-bit thug done good like Fist. I don't intend to do the same. And be honest, who hasn't ever wished they could see Shepard going biotically WWF on a mofo? Anyway, I apologize for how scattered this chapter is, but it has to incorporate a big fight AND wrap up a lot of loose ends. Remastered 5-14-2017. Shepard stormed out of the aircar as the doors opened, with Alenko trailing in her wake and Wrex stomping alongside her, loading inferno shells into his oversized shotgun, overriding the ammo block loader. She glanced at it, out of the corner of her eye. "Jesus, Wrex, did you loot that from a main battle tank?" The big krogan just chuckled. "Elcor merc, actually. Dumb bastard made a mess when he landed after I used my biotics to push him off a six-story building. He didn't need it anymore." Alenko noted the easy banter between the Commander and the krogan, again wondering at how much more at ease Shepard seemed with a tonne of alien killing machine than with her own kind. But then again, he mused, maybe it makes sense. The krogan are simple; they focus on fighting, strength, and power. They don't put a lot of stock in emotions. Alenko swallowed, his thoughts trailing off, as he eyed the flashing lights of the bar at the end of the broad avenue. Chora's Den was set into a corner of the Wards, not far from the market area. The only approach was through a narrow set of corridors or down a wide-open avenue, flanked by ledges and pillars surrounding a deep pit that led to the sector's power transfer conduit. Shadows clung to corners and the entire front of the club was set back into the walls of the Wards. "Ma'am, what's our approach strategy?" Shepard nodded. "Wrex will storm in and lead, opening up with throws, and take down any heavy armored targets with that artillery piece of his. I'll flank left, you right. Don't bother with the pistol, unless you're confident of a headshot, at least some of these thugs are likely to wear light ballistic vests or full hardsuits. Go for biotic close quarter battle. You know how to augment your punches and kicks, right?" Alenko nodded. "Yes ma'am, I had to take the C5 classes on that." He remembered how hard it was to maintain a biotic field without concentration, having to keep the energies tamped down while letting them explode out when kicking or punching. Asari were masters at it, and krogan were good. Humans, being artificial biotics at best, were usually not so hot. Those who were, like Shepard, went into the CQB Vanguard training program. Alenko had passed the training, but only barely. He decided not to try and pretend otherwise. "But to be honest, ma'am, I'd feel better if I could use my omni-tool to disrupt weapons and act as crowd control. I mean, I can do a biotic punch, but I'm no vanguard." Shepard didn't slow her pace, but nodded. "That's probably a better idea, but stay under cover and don't forget to check your six. Wrex, sniper, one o'clock, twelve meters up." She didn't even pause, even as Wrex almost casually flicked a hand in that direction. The blue fire of biotic energy pulsed down his arm and outwards, slamming into the fragile salarian perched on the high ledge. With a ululating scream, the half-pulverized sniper fell past them into the power transfer core, a white light illuminating the deep pit for a moment later as his body was no doubt flashed into subatomic mist. The three slowed as they approached the main entrance. Too late, Shepard noticed the slim cameras above the door, and her jaw tightened as about a dozen men stormed out of the main door, all of them in black hardsuits and with submachine guns or machine pistols. "Open fire," one barked, a human with a wide scar occluding one eye, his face covered in stubble, but his blond hair neatly trimmed and cut. Wrex growled and didn't even stop moving forward, firing as he went. He jerked back as rounds impacted against his shields, but then surged ahead, his first shot blew the leader's right leg into paste, sending the man backwards with a stumble that turned into a splatter as blood jetted from the gory stump to the ground in front of him. His second shot, half a second later, crushed the armor of the rightmost figure, a turian, sending him staggering backwards as well. The turian gave a desperate cry as the force of the shot knocked him over the guardrail into the power conversion pit. Shepard, on the other hand, reacted to the merc's appearance with biotics. Her form flashed into blue light, a flicker faster than the eye could follow making a streaking azure blaze across the distance, and erupting into a storm of mass energy as she crashed into the two thugs on the left. One man was launched backwards, slamming into the wall with enough force that his skull cracked. Thick red blood seeped from his nose for a moment, before Shepard's undamaged hand found his throat, stiffened fingers augmented with biotic force. The knife-hand blow crushed his windpipe, sending him to the ground in a rapidly fading explosion of pain. Shepard then turned to the man she had charged into, and shifted her mass from fist to foot. Bringing her right leg out in a snap kick, her boot's toe crashed into the second human's temple. Bone snapped and the man's head gave a sickening lurch-pop sound as vertebrae tore completely free and the man's head ended up at a ninety-degree angle from its original place. Alenko tapped a program with his omni-tool, ducking behind a column for partial cover. He focused his energy, and then extended his free arm at the group of thugs nearest to the door. Three men lifted from the ground helplessly, his biotic fields reducing their weight to less than zero, while his omni-tool beeped ominously and then ran the requested program. The onboard generator flashed a volume of high-energy particles in a cone in front of him, the very air igniting as it was forced into a white-hot plasma state. The flames roared out, flowing over the three figures in midair, turning them into floating, jiggling pillars of screaming, melting flesh for a few moments before they crashed to the ground, the smell of cooked meat wafting across the avenue. Wrex grinned. "Ha! I like this human!" He put a round through another merc, the blast so powerful it blew a gore-trimmed hole through the human to blast the salarian behind him apart as well. A few seconds later, all the thugs lay dead. Shepard picked up a machine pistol and handed it to Kaidan, and grabbed a battered but serviceable Mattock long rifle from another dead guard. "In we go, let's try not to shoot anyone unless they work for Saren. Or Fist." Wrex muttered. "Easier to just shoot them all. Quicker, too." Alenko gave a shocked look, and to his immediate relief, Shepard shook her head. "We're going to have enough problems convincing the Council to listen to us without having dozens of civilian casualties. Evidence won't do us any good if we're in jail." The three of them reached the front of the club, the music within muted by the closed doors. "Let's hope this doesn't immediately go completely to shit." Wrex stormed through the doors, roaring, shotgun out. He stopped, suddenly, and Shepard and Alenko moved behind him, weapons ready. The club was dimly lit, lights flashing their perverted graphics onto the ceiling as normal. Almost all of the patrons of the club, as well as the dancers, had been gathered onto the dance floor, forced to their knees, hands behind their backs. Fifteen or so guards in light black armor stood behind them, weapons drawn. A krogan stood in a doorway off on the other side of the large room, slapping the wide blade of a sword into his palm. Next to him were three or four more black-armored goons, each holding heavy assault rifles. Sitting on a bar stool in the middle of the club was Fist, a drink in one hand and a heavy pistol in the other. "Welcome to Chora's Den, Wrex. Why, you look absolutely pure-dee pissed." The human mobster gave a cocky grin, his black eyes narrowed. Wrex growled. "Give me the quarian and maybe I'll kill you clean." Fist shook his head, draining his drink. "Don't think so, Wrex. She's in the back, with a heavy turret pointed at her head, and if anything happens to me, well… my men will get to the trigger panel first, and quarians don't hold up so well to tungsten rounds. Not to mention these fine, fine guests of mine will also eat a bullet." Wrex sneered. "You think the Broker gives a shit about hostages, human?" Fist smiled. "Naw. And you sure as fuck don't, and I'm pretty sure the Butcher there don't either. But see, that's not the thing I'm countin' on. The thing is that I'm gonna walk out of here unharmed, get in my shuttle, and leave. And then you can get your data, and these people don't have to die. Or you can try to kill me, my guards use the hostages as human shields, you have to kill a lot of innocent people on live recorded cameras that will get sent to C-Sec, and the data will get erased and you'll do a lot of hard, hard time. Which is more important, stoppin' me, or stoppin' Saren?" Shepard scowled. "And how the fuck do we know you aren't lying about the data?" Fist pressed a button on his omni-tool, and Saren's voice rang out. "I wouldn't have had to kill Nihlus if I could have used some finesse. It's as if he's trying to make sure I don't go my own way." Fist cut the recording off, and pulled a cigar from the front pocket of his suit jacket. He lit it with a tiny flame from the omni-tool and puffed out smoke. "Good enough for you, honey?" Shepard's finger tightened around the trigger of the Mattock. "Take the omni-tool and leave it on the bar." Fist shook his head. "Nah. Miss Zoruh, in the back, still has it on hers. Didn't have time to wipe it with what all you have going on here. Mine, I'm afraid, I'll need to call my shuttle and make sure you all don't pull nothing. Just cooperate, and we all walk outta here winners. Face it, you're dealing with a superior criminal mind here, girlie. I go, you get the data, no one dies. You can't win them all, despite—" A cold, irritated voice sounded behind and above Fist, interrupting him. "I hate monologues, human." Fist spun, looking up, as the black-garbed form of Tetrimus uncloaked atop the dancer's platform. The turian cabalist was already in motion, however, his hands limned in blue fire as he hurled two shockwaves of biotic force into the guards threatening the hostages. Goons went flying in all directions, some hurled against the walls hard enough snap spines or crack skulls, others skidding across the dance floor to crash into the far wall with sickening splatters. The turian followed it up by pulling out his pistol, calmly placing shots at will into eyes and foreheads. Wrex moved, immediately firing at Fist, the heavy shotgun booming out a belch of flame as the inferno round ignited. Fist was hurled head over heels, over the bar, to crash into the liquor collection at the bar's center. Bottles shattered and Fist screamed as the still burning inferno rounds in his armor ignited the spirits drenching him, sending runnels of burning fluid inside his armor, down his arms and legs, into his eyes. With a choking, gurgling scream Fist collapsed into a blackened mess on the floor. The pool of burning alcohol left runners of fire racing up the pillar of various libations. There was a screaming series of sobs, mixed with a bubbling noise, and Tetrimus, with an amused flicker of his one good mandible, placed a shot into the burning mass of flesh, silencing it forever. Shepard and Alenko had moved the moment the black-cloaked turian had appeared. Alenko immediately threw up a barrier between the hostages and the remaining guards, straining with the effort to curve its edges around them, spraying suppressive fire with the machine pistol he had. Shepard ran forward, Mattock leveled, and fired four snap-shots, each one drilling a merc in his weapon arm. Two of the mercs dropped to the floor, the shots having struck something vital, the other two cursing and grabbing their injuries. A third merc winged her shoulder with a shot, but she didn't even slow down, grimacing with pain and flaring biotically. Smoke billowed out from behind the bar while Wrex shot down two more mercs, bright incendiary lines tracing through the air. One was hit in the shoulder with enough force it sent his seared, slightly burned arm spinning off into a corner. The other took a direct hit in the crotch, collapsing to the ground, howling until Wrex's heavy boot came down on his skull and ended his writhing agony. The gory crunch and spray of blood that erupted from under Wrex's foot did nothing for Alenko's stomach, nor did the stench of burning body parts. Shepard, unable to hold the rifle aloft properly with a wounded arm, flung the Mattock in front of her and with a pulse of biotic energy sent it accelerating into the wrist of the merc who had shot her, the only one not taken out by Tetrimus's shockwave, knocking his weapon out of his hands and sending him to the ground. Leaping over a table, she landed on light feet, her right leg snapping out to connect with the head of a merc still recovering from the shockwave, dropping him. "Move, people, to the door, go, go, go!" The crowd, a mix of turians, humans, barely clothed or naked asari, and an elcor, stampeded for the doorway in a panic, trampling several of the mercs still on the floor. One human merc attempted to get to his feet, and Shepard cruelly drove a biotically reinforced kick into his face, snapping his jaw like a dry twig and sending a sheet of blood cascading down over his now ruined features. Two more rushed her, one a green-tinged salarian in bits of old armor, concave chest crossed by a bandoleer of heavy splinter shells, hands filled with a heavy, dark red shotgun. The other opponent was an emaciated human, dark brown skin crisscrossed with old slash marks, long black hair swaying in long locks across his face, drawing a long, curved knife from a sheath on his chest. She threw herself into a skid across the floor, catching the shotgun wielder with a scissoring movement of her legs, twisting her body and throwing the lighter salarian to the ground. Rolling free, she snatched the shotgun from his stunned hands, stepping away and parrying a swing of the other man's blade with its barrel, and then brought the heavy weapon across the mercenary's face. It slammed into him with a visceral crunch, and Shepard paused long enough to grab his long hair with her free hand and jerk his face to the business end of the shotgun, which she fired. His head literally disintegrated with the blast, leaving her holding a hank of hair and bloody dripping flesh. The salarian thug she had tripped got to his feet, only for Shepard to hurl the gory mess in her hand into his face. He gave a revolted shout, pawing at his face to wipe bits of hair and scalp out of his eyes. Shepard put the remaining two shots into his chest, the impacts heavy enough to send him crashing through a flimsy glass table, jagged pieces of tabletop scything through his body and sending out gouts of greenish ichor as he collapsed. Taking advantage of her turned back, one of the human mercs she had shot, but not put down, lunged at her, his heavy frame thick with muscle, the wound in his forearm bleeding profusely. He managed to land a solid blow to her back, and then tried to grab her, but she snapped her head back, slamming the top of her skull into his face, breaking his nose. He staggered back, roaring, and she turned to face him, tossing the empty shotgun aside and grinning. "Ooh, a big boy." The merc screamed an incoherent battle cry and swung a haymaker at her, his fist tattooed with the word 'PAIN' in blurry letters. She ducked under his wild punch, and her biotics flared as she rammed his torso with her shoulder. Staggering back, the merc attempted to grapple with her, but she backhanded him, sending his head flying to one side, teeth spraying from his mouth. With a roar, she wrapped her arms around the thug and pulled, throwing herself back and down, pile-driving the human into the ground. His head met the floor and bent to the side with an audible, grisly snapping sound, and Shepard flung his corpse away, wiping her hands with a cruel grin. Alenko let go of his barrier now that the hostages were mostly clear, ducking just in time to avoid being shot by the mercs in the far doorway. He triggered a lift field, the four humans suddenly lifting into the air, tumbling helplessly. Alenko's hands shook as he wrenched the forces around the men from merely negating gravity to warping the energy into another form, and there was a shearing, ugly blast of blue light as he detonated the lift field. Bits and pieces of black armor, arms, legs, and chunks of steaming flesh spattered in a crude sphere, to land on the walls, floor, even the ceiling. A single, dying merc remained, and Alenko shot him in the head with a burst, the rapid-fire rounds juddering into the man's face in a burst of blood. Wrex was already running forward with thudding steps to meet the counter charge of the sword wielding krogan, who had bellowed out a challenge to the battlemaster. The two were roaring phrases that Shepard's translator wasn't even trying to convert to English, and they crashed together with a sound more akin to an aircar collision than melee combat. The bouncer swung the sword at Wrex, but blue energy surrounded the krogan battlemaster's hand as he caught it, barehanded, laughing harshly before snapping the blade in half with a wrench of his arm. "Ha, who are you supposed to be, pup, Moro the Ice-Blood?" Wrex plunged his head forward, his plates impacting the other, smaller krogan's face, and the bouncer staggered back, blood in his eyes, still holding the broken blade. Wrex just shook his head and fired his gun four times in a row. The first few shots blasted three smoking, gory holes in the krogan's chest that smoldered fitfully, the fourth pulped his head, leaving a steaming crumpled mass of flesh and broken bones, burning sullenly from the inferno rounds and sending up a stream of appallingly foul smelling smoke. Shepard paused, looking around. With the exception of the slow moving elcor, who was just now reaching the door, she saw no living enemies and no civilian casualties. Tetrimus was standing atop the bar, arms folded, one eye glowing a baleful red in the concealing blackness of the hooded robe he wore. "I suggest, Commander, that you go secure Miss Zorah. We have some things to discuss. Meet me at Flux." With a single casual leap down from the platform, he erupted into a cascade of electrical sparks and was simply gone. Alenko blinked, then holstered his machine pistol, sighing. "All that, and I didn't even get to see the dancers." Shepard gave him an odd look, and he cleared his throat. "Uh, sorry, ma'am." She shook her head. "And all this time I thought you had a stick up your ass, LT. Let's go. Maybe they'll have some ladies at Flux." With a hint of a smile, she stepped over corpses toward the door leading to Fist's office, leaving Alenko to suppress a blush as he followed. Ten minutes later, Tali was in the aircar's back seat with Shepard, as Wrex drove and Alenko kept an eye out for C-Sec. The quarian youngster was still shaking with relief, not having quite processed the whirlwind scene she had witnessed through the vidscreen in Fist's office. The shock of seeing Wrex alive was one thing, but realizing she was not going to die was still settling in. She didn't know what to think about the imposing figure seated next to her. Shepard wasn't even breathing hard, the one minor wound she took in the fight already patched with medi-gel, her hands flat against her thighs. Tali tried to match the calm figure to the raging psychopath she had seen on the screen, slaughtering people with her bare hands, and couldn't make the two images line up. Keelah, she's terrifying… Tali exhaled, and gathered her scattered thoughts to at least thank her rescuers. "I… th-thank you again, Commander. And you too, Wrex. I didn't think… anyone was coming for me. Fist was responsible for… everything that went wrong. W-Wasn't he? For Troyce and…" She trailed off, head drooping. Shepard shrugged, eyes fixed ahead. "I'm not sure, and I think we'll have to wait for answers. But Fist was a two-bit, stupid criminal asshat with a dumb name, and he died like the bitch he was. I fear whoever was behind him was the real culprit. And I'm betting it's a pointy-faced bastard I'm going to enjoy killing." Her voice had become increasingly cold as she spoke, but she paused, taking in the quarian's slumped posture, and tried to lighten her tone. "Hey. He's dead. As long as you're with us, someone would have to be goddamned brain-dead to try to hurt you." Shepard glanced at Wrex. "Actually, I'm still astounded the stupid fool thought he could actually betray the Shadow Broker and live." Wrex chuckled. "Name like Fist, you don't expect much in the way of brilliance, huh?" Tali had witnessed Fist's horrible, fiery death and shuddered. "And you, Wrex? How did you survive? They said you were dead!" Wrex grunted. "Stupid merc didn't do that much damage, but he did get the drop on me. That's twice in the same damned day. Must be getting old. Anyway, like I was telling Shepard earlier, he brought a gun to a fistfight. Got off a couple of good shots, but he was stupid enough to think he could disable me and figure out where you were. He looked pretty surprised when I tore his arms off. Was gonna go make sure you were still safe, but the commotion and mess and him screaming like a kicked vorcha caused C-Sec to arrest me. Speaking of C-Sec, Shepard, where is that pet turian you had earlier? Could be useful in keeping C-Sec off our back." "Good question. And he is not my pet." She tapped her comm-link. "Detective, this is Commander Shepard, we've secured the quarian we spoke of, and the evidence." The voice that answered her was somewhat downcast. "Understood. I've been suspended for my actions here at the clinic, Commander. I'm afraid there isn't much I can do to help you. C-Sec alert bands are crawling with some kind of big firefight that happened at Chora's Den, but so far, the only APBs out are nonspecific. They're looking for a krogan and a turian in black armor." Shepard nodded. "I am sorry you were suspended. Perhaps what we found can cheer you up, though. Do you know Flux, the club? We're headed there now, and I think there's someone you should meet." The turian gave a chuckle over the comm, his flanging voice tired but wry. "I could seriously use a drink right now anyway. I'll meet you there." Shepard glanced up at Wrex as she killed the connection. "You're sure this Tetrimus is trustworthy?" Wrex shrugged. "He's always paid me on time, and Flux is more public and crowded than Chora's Den. No chance of him pulling anything there, it's got too many important people that go there. They have damned good ryncol. And most importantly, he's got my damned money." Shepard rolled her eyes. "Far be it from me to get between Wrex and money. Or ryncol." Tali looked between them with bewildered eyes. "You… know each other? I-I mean, from before… all of this?" Wrex laughed and just shook his massive head. "Long story, quarian." Tali's voice was a growl. "My name—" "Sorry, sorry. Don't stab me in the eye." Wrex gave a mocking grin, and the little quarian only glared at him, sending him into amused chuckles. "Got a quad on her, she does." O-OSaBC-O Shepard sat across from Wrex in the darkened, music-filled confines of Flux, making sure she had a clear view of the door. The booth was dark and in the corner, which suited her fine, and was apparently the only booth big enough for a krogan. Wrex sat down, yelling at Doran for a slug of ryncol. Tetrimus was already seated when they arrived, sipping on something blue and faintly glowing. Tali was perched between Shepard and Alenko, her shoulders slightly hunched. Alenko gave her a gentle squeeze of the shoulder and a smile, and she tried to relax. Finally, Garrus Vakarian walked up and sat at the end of the booth. He was still wearing his C-Sec armor, but the holographic badge once affixed to his shoulder was dark. "I got here as quick as I could, Shepard. Executor Pallin is screaming for answers about Chora's Den." Tetrimus's cold, dark voice cut in. "Do not worry about that, Detective Vakarian. We have that under control." Garrus bristled, mandibles flaring in annoyance. "I'm sorry, who is 'we'? How can you have C-Sec 'under control'? And who the hell goes around dressed up like that, anyway?" Tetrimus pulled back his hood, revealing his features, and even Shepard couldn't hold back a wince. The turian's face was blackened by ancient burn wounds, some deep enough to reveal the under-skin, cracks and bits of the plating melted directly into the flesh beneath. The skin behind the plates was shiny and dark black with a plastic looking texture; obviously some kind of medical replacement. One eye was gone, the plates melted over it in swirled caul that mounted a laser rangefinder, the other eye was replaced with a red, glowing cybernetic replacement, anchored to the face with small, black spikes. The left mandible was gone, trimmed back surgically, the jaw a mess of cracks. The turian's fringe was melted, drooping and broken off in places. The facial markings applied were clearly paint and not tattoos, done in a bright searing red, long lines down both cheeks topped by the turian symbols for 'betrayal.' "I am Tetrimus Rakora, once grandmaster of the Primarch's Fist cabal. Abandoned and left for dead on Shanxi to avoid… unpleasant political ramifications. Despite thirty-five years of loyal service, I was betrayed and tossed aside so that the Hierarchy could pretend its honor was intact. I was rescued and saved from death by my current employer. The Shadow Broker. I speak with His voice. I am the executor of His will. And when I say you don't need to worry about C-Sec, I mean just that." Wrex snorted. "I thought you hated monologues." Tetrimus pulled his cowl back over his ruined features. "I also hate smartass krogan. Here." He slid a credit chit and a slender datapad to Wrex. "As agreed, plus a combat bonus. But stick around, I have another job for you." Then Tetrimus turned to Tali. "Miss Zorah, the Shadow Broker apologizes for the treatment you have endured. We knew there was a possibility that Fist was compromised, but we did not think he was in active collusion with Saren. We had to determine the leak somehow, and I'm afraid you, and Captain Troyce, were caught up in the middle." The voice was polite, but cold. She just shook her head. "He killed Troyce." Her eyes closed, and she willed herself not to start crying again. The memories of the kindly drell, his smile, his crazy boots, even the concern in his voice describing his friends. "And… from what you are saying, he died because you needed bait to prove Fist was a traitor. I… I understand that, but…" Tali's fists clenched. "Couldn't you have done it some other way?!" Shepard gently took one of quarian's hands. "Sometimes to get the job done, or save lives, we have to do very ugly things. You never feel good about them. You never forget them. I have had to sacrifice… hundreds of brave soldiers, with wives, husbands, children. Their voices… are always there. But if you hesitate, sometimes what remains is worse. Sometimes a greater evil comes from trying to do what seems… right." Shepard's voice was cool, but her eyes were dark with old memories. The quarian just gave a shaky nod. The cloaked turian nodded at Shepard's words. He looked at Tali closely, then shrugged. "And there isn't anything I can do to repair that damage. Captain Troyce knew the risks going into this. And if not for that, Fist would still be siphoning information from the Broker. Without knowing he was the culprit, it's very likely that I might have met with you myself, and we would both be surrounded and killed." The turian took a long sip of his drink, and shrugged again. "Lives are the currency in the world I live in." Alenko frowned. "That seems cold." The turian nodded, the hood making the gesture almost comical, but there was nothing funny about the icy voice emanating from the darkness of that hood. "It is cold. And it is also reality. As I said, I can't change that, Miss Zorah. I've done what I can. I've transferred a sum of two hundred fifty thousand credits to your accounts, more than we originally offered, but you endured a great deal to get this data to us. Troyce had no family to speak of, they passed away from Kepral's some time ago. I have taken the liberty of transferring his ship to the ownership of Lieutenant Dost, per his last wishes, but if you choose to leave the Citadel immediately, Dost has already notified me he would be fine if you were to receive the vessel as well. It would be… an appropriate gesture, I think, and one Troyce would support, if you were use it as a return gift for your Pilgrimage." Tetrimus paused, and then handed over a credit chit and datapad to Tali, who took it with hesitant fingers. "And I have a message for you, from the Shadow Broker himself. The Broker would appreciate having the ear of the daughter of Admiral Rael'Zorah, or to at least know she would be willing to listen to our offers in the future. We regret such cooperation cost a brave man his life, but thus the game is played." Tali sniffled, but sat up straighter. "I… I didn't do this for money. But… I'll need it for my Pilgrimage. The ship… I don't know how to fly it, but…" Tetrimus nodded. "Of course. If need be we can assign you a trustworthy pilot." He straightened, and his baleful red gaze turned to meet Shepard's. "And now, Commander Shepard, to the point of this exercise. I apologize in advance if you are frustrated or angered at what I am about to explain, but I fear that whatever Saren is involved in, the loss of one minor human colony is literally only the edge of the storm cloud." Shepard leaned forward, as the volus bartender and owner brought a ryncol for Wrex. "I'm listening, turian." Tetrimus placed taloned fingers together, his voice low. "The Shadow Broker has been observing Saren for quite some time now. His actions don't make sense, and there are periods where he gets from point A to point B in a fifth of the time it should take to conduct such FTL travel. Saren is hiring many, many mercenaries, buying up large stocks of supplies and weapons, and running multiple operations on far-flung worlds. His… partner… Benezia, is doing the same. There are strange patterns in the data. Raids on volus ships. Confusing stock purchases. The occasional bizarre disappearance or unsolved murder involving someone who knew Saren well. Until we received the information that Miss Zorah has, we thought this was just unusual. Not worthy of real intelligence assets." Tetrimus sighed. "We were wrong. And it appears we were blinded due to elements of another intelligence service counter-infiltrating our ranks. Clearly, Fist was not the only leak we had in our ranks. As such, I'm afraid we're going to have to shutter and close down a great many operations. This is going to leave us blind to what transpires, and as such, we think we need… how do you humans put it? Ah. Skin in the game. Yes." Shepard nodded, her eyes not leaving the glowing orb of the turian. "In what way?" Tetrimus chuckled. "For now, our main concern is to get this data into the hands of the Council, so that they can at least remove Saren's Spectre-status. This will allow us to focus our energies as an organization directly against those we suspect are hindering us. But the Shadow Broker doubts that if you just take this to the Council that they will pay it any heed. A renegade C-Sec detective, accompanied by a bloodthirsty human who works for a man who hates Saren, a krogan mercenary, and a quarian teenager. It sounds more like a comedy show than a serious issue." The turian leaned back. "We have an interest in this. You might even call it an angle. The Broker feels that whatever Saren is doing is dangerous. Dangerous enough that we cannot afford to be caught unprepared again. Thus, I've been ordered to ensure the Council does not bury its collective head in the sand on this issue, and that no one tries to ignore this evidence. I will accompany you on your trip to meet the Council. They will not doubt the bona fides I have at my call, not when all three of them know full well the Broker has facts on them that would put them in serious danger or ruin their careers." Shepard nodded. "And you speak for the Broker." Tetrimus nodded. "Precisely. The Broker is alarmed enough at Saren's activities that he is willing to contribute what he knows to the Council and to the Systems Alliance, gratis." Wrex's eyes narrowed. "That's very rare." Tetrimus flicked his one mandible in amusement. "I've only seen it once before, myself. In any event, Commander, our requirements are simple. We will provide evidence proving that the drell assassin who killed your witness was indeed hired by Saren. Additionally, we will certify the veracity of Miss Zorah's data, although I'm sure C-Sec will be called upon to analyze the voice print." Tetrimus lifted his face to the dim light, and gave a turian half-smile, his ghastly visage looking stone-like in profile. "And in return, the Shadow Broker only asks that we be allowed to send an observer along with whatever force is dispatched to go after Saren, to clean up any further breaches of our Network." She arched an eyebrow. "That doesn't seem like a lot to ask." Tetrimus sipped his drink calmly. "You clearly haven't spent a long journey with krogan, Shepard. Wrex, your assignment is on that padd I gave you – follow this situation through until Saren is a smear. Triple combat pay and a large enough bonus for you buy your own light-cruiser. All expenses paid." The turian rose, stepping away. "Now, if you will excuse me, it has been an exceedingly fatiguing day, and I must make my reports to the Broker. I believe you have a meeting with the Council tomorrow morning, Shepard. I will meet you then." With a step into the dark corner near the booth, the turian was gone. Wrex glanced at the padd in his hands and just sighed. Shepard grunted. "We'd better go inform Anderson and Udina of this. Alenko and I are still pretty beaten up from Eden Prime. Tali, I'm sure he'll find a safe place for you to rest tonight, if you don't mind coming with us to the human embassy." Tali stared at Shepard for a moment, then nodded. "I didn't… I mean, that is, yes. I don't have anywhere else to stay. And after what I just went through… someplace safe sounds good." Shepard then turned to Wrex. "You need a place to crash as well?" The krogan shook his head. "Nah, I got a hotel, Broker's paying for it. Here's my contact freq if you need me. I need to think about this contract offer. Carefully." He tapped his omni, transmitting details to Shepard's own omni-tool. Shepard nodded, grimacing. Garrus glanced between the two of them. "Well, Shepard, I am gratified I was able to help you get a solid lead on that bastard Saren, but I don't expect Pallin will be assigning me to anything anytime soon. I'm to have an investigative hearing in a few days." He extended a gloved hand, and Shepard shook it. "Good luck with that, Detective. You aren't a bad shot." Shepard nodded respectfully, and the turian nodded back. "Commander. Lieutenant. Ma'am. Wrex, stay out of trouble." With that, Garrus got up and walked to the exit, back straight, head held high. Wrex chuckled. "Talk about a stick up the ass. But at least he tries, unlike most of the useless, blue-cloaked cowards." Wrex drained the last of his ryncol. "Staying a while? We could catch up on who's the better killer. We never had a chance to have a good drink after Torfan, after all…" Shepard smirked, and shook her head. "Nope. I should definitely report this to Anderson, so he can contact Udina and get whatever needs to be done, done. And I need to get Tali to Udina's offices. I'll see you… when I see you, Wrex." The krogan only nodded, already turning his attention to Doran. "More ryncol! I've had a shitty day and I still haven't had my damned first cup of jaaki yet." Chapter 28: Chapter 22 : Cole A/N: Updated 5-22-17. If you read no other chapter in this entire fic to understand my Shepard, read this one. The Normandy was silent, most of the crew still on shore leave. Only a minimal crew was aboard: three shifts of a single operations tech to manage fleet communications and security checks, and a port and starboard watch of two engineers to mind the core and support systems. Even Joker and Chakwas were ashore, the latter helping out with Alliance Medical teams at Huerta Memorial with some of the more dire Eden Prime injuries who had been medevaced to the Citadel for specialized care. Ashley Williams stared at the meal ration distributed into four unappealing warm blobs on the thin plastic tray, picking at the purported 'Salisbury steak' with a fork. Damn, and here I was thinking chow sucked in the Second Frontier Infantry. She lifted her fork above the tray, watching disinterestedly as the brownish slime slowly dropped back into the rest of the meal with a syrupy plop. "Look on the bright side, Chief. Easy to keep a trim figure when nothing you are given to eat looks like anything you want to eat." Alenko came into view from her right, crossing the small mess to sit across from her, a cup of something minty smelling in his hands, dark hair lying flat from a recent shower. "Yeah, I guess." She forced herself to eat a bite, and then winced. "Tastes like someone tried to boil a shoe and fucked up the recipe. Anyways, LT, whatcha doing up on the midnight watch? Figured you'd be ashore." She smiled as he ran his hands through his hair, glad for the company. Kaidan shrugged. "Headaches. Always a problem of mine, especially when I overdo it with the biotics. I guess I should be grateful, all things considered. A lot of L2s had worse side-effects than just headaches… but mine tend to get bad, and make me a bit irritable. The Citadel is too full of crowds. Some peace and quiet, a bit of mint tea, and tinkering about the ship to distract myself – it all tends help out with the pain." He took a sip of the mentioned tea, wincing. "Well, sometimes it helps with the pain. Sometimes nothing helps." Ashley gave a sympathetic look. "We only had one biotic in the 212, Sergeant Urden. Something went wrong with his implant, he didn't have much, uh, biotic strength. He could do a few neat things with a barrier, but that's about it. I know he had really bad nosebleeds and headaches a lot. And he ate like twice as much as everyone else. He talked about how his last command, a dreadnought, was so much more exciting than watching weeds grow on Eden Prime." Alenko nodded, as Ashley continued. "But he was just… y'know, another grunt. Nothing really special. I guess I was expecting everything on a ship to be more…" She trailed off. Alenko gave a thin smile. "Exciting? Mysterious? Exotic? Chief, the only mystery is who in the blackest hell would call soy pudding 'Salisbury steak.' " Williams gave a throaty laugh, and took a bite of the goop, then made a face. Her lips quirked and she shrugged. "I just… I dunno. Never had a spaceside billet before, LT." Her face fell a little, and she glanced away. "Not that I'll be getting to stick around after we get a move on, but… it's a different sort of pace. Groundside is the same stuff, over and over. Patrol the perimeter. Morning mess. Weapons maintenance. GMT and orders of the day. More patrol. Lunch. Inspection…" Kaidan gave a wry smile, his eyes holding hers for a long moment. "Trust me, Williams. Spaceside can get just as boring. Being the lead MCO isn't much better than having a very tiny ground command. I mean, granted, mostly our Marines stand watch at doors, pop salutes at the CO and XO, then rack out. There's still weapons cleaning, and inspection." Ashley harrumphed. "But it's space, sir." She paused, a distant, almost distracted look on her face, and then recited something, her voice soft, almost reverent. "And I have dared the Distances Where the red planets race— And I have seen that Near and Far And god and Man and Avatar And Life and Death but one thing are— And I have seen this wingless world Curst with impermanence and whirled Like dust across the Summer swirled, And I have seen this world a star All wonderful in Space!" Alenko arched an eyebrow. "Never figured you for a poet, Williams. Afraid I can't place it, though." Williams grinned. "Don Marquis, sir. Called the Mystic. My father was big on classical arts. Tennyson, Swinburne, Wordsworth…" She smiled. "Marquis is a touch rare; the poem never really appeared in any of Tennyson's collections. I forget where I first heard it, but it fits. I've been hauled to four different planets, each one its own…" She trailed off, making a vague spinning gesture with both hands. Alenko's eyebrow arched again. "Rotational period? Color? Spirit?" He leaned forward, head at an angle, and smirked. "Smell?" Williams laughed, and pushed her tray away. "Spirit, I guess." Picking up the food tray, she got up, walking with a confident and athletic sway as she dumped the entire thing into the recycling slot. For a moment her profile was illuminated by the lights of the recycling status screen, casting into relief the strong, elegant jaw, the almost noble cast to her features… the sashay of her hips as she bent over to drop the now empty tray onto the stack… Alenko glanced away. Down boy. The only thing worse than thinking about doing the Deed is thinking about it with a woman who can kick your ass. He focused instead on sipping his tea, feeling the warmth slowly push back at the tight, angry knot of pain at the base of his skull. He was both relieved and frustrated when Ashley sat back down at the table with him. "Alright, Chief, you've piqued my interest. Why are you up on the midwatch?" Williams smiled, but it was a brittle thing. "A head too full of bad memories to sleep. The 212 wasn't a perfect place… but it was closer to home than I'd been in a long time. The CO was an asshole, and the XO was just dialing it in most days, but Lieutenant Parker and the Master Sergeant really tried to keep us motivated and… just watching everyone die so fast was… hard." Her strong hands closed into fists on the tabletop, and she looked down, eyes dark with pain. "So goddamned fast. Right before you showed up… I really thought we were about to die. Nirali went up in a bonfire; I wasn't quick enough to pull her back into cover after she got tossed out by a grenade. Jones…" She gave a little laugh, mixed in with a tiny unsteady note. "Jones had gotten this monster of a shotgun from some customs guy… it wasn't even street legal, much less something that met regs, but the LT let him use it. He loved that gun…" Kaidan only nodded. "I wish we could have gotten there faster. Done… something. As it was…" Williams shook her own head, pushing back a strand of dark brown hair that fell across her somber features. "Would it have mattered, much? If it hadn't been for Shepard going buck-wild on those geth, we'd have all ended up like Jenkins anyway." She leaned forward. "I gotta admit, when I saw her, I didn't know what the hell to expect. What's she like? I mean… you know. To work with?" Kaidan scratched his head. "It's… well, to be honest, I don't really think anyone knows. The ship is so new the paint on the name was still drying when we pulled out. Shepard had only been assigned that day; she didn't even have time to do a full walk-through." He drained his cup, and put a hand to the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezed shut. "And I'm not sure that we can understand her. She's not like most of the commanders you see as XOs. It's like trying to understand a hurricane, or a supernova. She just seems to… happen." He shook his head. "Now I sound like an awestruck fanboy. Great." Ashley grinned. "I get that, LT. I just… the vids and the stories are all so over-the-top. The rumors you hear are all over the place. We had one guy in the 235 – the other infantry team with us on Eden Prime – who had served under her at Torfan. Everyone was always asking about her, but he had nothing to say except 'she got the job done.' But one night he gets smashed, I mean… really, really drunk. The shore patrol doesn't stop them from drinking until they get violent… and Joe was a quiet drunk." Ashley paused, smiling a little with memory, and Alenko nodded. "I bet that ended well." His voice was sarcastic, but Williams shrugged, and coughed. "Like I said, he was usually a quiet drunk. He was going on about the Alliance and how crooked they were, and someone insulted Shepard. Joe was… pissed. He was talking about how they sent everyone in, to fail and die, something about if Torfan had blown up the Alliance would have canceled colonization because of the risk, and how Shepard pretty much took on the entire batarian army with a broken stick and discovered the mass relays singlehandedly." Alenko laughed, he couldn't help it as it escaped him. "Well, people do like to build up a hero, I suppose." He chuckled again, then sighed. "I can get how people get… upset with her, though. She's so… cold, as if she doesn't even see what people feel or are going through. How do you get by with day-to-day life with nothing to live for, nothing happy to look back on, everything that has a chance of bringing happiness or meaning something to you being snatched away…" He trailed off, thinking of Joker's conversation with him. Williams sighed and tilted her head. "Dunno. But she's… cold isn't the right word, sir. I had a little bit of a breakdown, I guess, earlier. The… what went down on Eden Prime just kinda all hit me at once. I guess I expected her to just say get over it. And she did, kind of… the way she did it wasn't all touchy-feely. She said I couldn't blame myself. That doing that just ended up making you go crazy and lash out instead of being able to remember the good with the bad. That… those we leave behind still died Marines, and that we have to remember them, too, because they'd want us to be happy." Williams smiled a moment, pain still in her eyes, but clearly thinking about one of those good moments, and Alenko reached out and gave her hand a squeeze. Living past something like that takes both guts and a strong heart. Don't know that I could do the same, Alenko mused. Williams took a deep breath and said "I'm cool." Alenko nodded, pulling back. He got up, stretching, going to the meal area to refill his mint tea. Williams leaned back, angling herself on the mess hall bench so she could rest her back against the wall. "It's funny. She wanted me to let go of the hate, but she said she never could. But it looks like she pulled it off before. I mean, all the stupid vids on ANN showed her as this hard as nails criminal who found justice, duty, honor, and the Alliance Pride." She snickered. "I shouldn't mock it… my whole family has always been military. In the blood for generations. But… you get what I'm saying, LT? She makes me feel pretty damned inadequate, then has the insight to give me advice?" Alenko, still musing while fixing his mint tea, casually said "Oh, I think you're more than adequate, Chief." He blinked, realizing what had just came out of his mouth, and Williams gave a wicked grin. "Why, LT, I never knew you cared." Alenko ruefully scratched the back of his head, trying and failing at not blushing. "Ah… that is… well, you know what I mean. Not too many people survive what you went through on Eden Prime, Williams. I think Shepard has a good point. We either define ourselves by what makes us better, by the good times and the things we fight for, or we end up defined by our scars. Biotics have… a sort of rough time. People misunderstand what we are, how we live, what we can do. Growing up with the talent is never easy. You never fit in. You end up with no real options but going into the military. But you have to make the most of it, or you get consumed by bitterness." Williams nodded. "A point. Still… I just wonder where this all ends. If you move on… I mean, what happens next? I don't expect the universe to shed many tears over the 212, but it is all I knew in a way. Now? I'm on some super-advanced starship, at the Citadel, and going to see the rulers of the galaxy in the morning." She rubbed at her temples with her fingers. "It's only been a few days since Eden Prime and everything's gone weird. I figured spaceside duty would be a lot of pew-pew-pew and seeing weird alien planets. Not that seeing the Citadel is a small thing… it just kind of puts everything about all the aliens in perspective. They have this huge station, all these big issues… humanity is just the FNG in the equation. The fact that lots of people died on Eden Prime doesn't even probably register with these people. Aliens. Whatever." Alenko sat down. "Not a big fan of aliens?" Williams shrugged. "Never had to deal with them. Personally, that is. And… it's hard to tell the animals from the people, sometimes. Not a real big fan of turians, and to be honest, what I saw in the Council Chamber didn't really improve my opinion of asari and salarians either. It doesn't help that the blues all look like joy-girls and I keep expecting the salarians to show up in flying saucers to vivisect a cow or something." Alenko burst out laughing, shoulders shaking, and Williams smirked. "I… I don't consider myself a bigot, if that's what you are asking, sir. I figure we all have our place. Terra Firma is just a bunch of Klanners who got tired of beating up minorities and moved on to alien-hating. That's never the right answer." She paused, forehead wrinkling in thought, then gave a sort of shrug. "I just think the Alliance has to do what everyone else is clearly doing, and take care of its own business first. If we had a stronger fleet guarding the colonies instead of trying not to build up so we don't alarm the aliens, maybe we'd have less raids… and enough ships and men to have stopped the geth." Alenko shook his head. "I don't know about that. From the size of that dreadnought, I'd want more than a few frigates and another division backing me up. And we're not just pandering to aliens, Chief. If we go it alone, like the batarians have, we're the only big losers. No trade, less jobs, a smaller economy. And we're the obvious target when things go south. It's always better to be part of the crowd, even if it's just on the edges, than the one kid standing by himself in the corner." Ashley swung her legs down off the bench, sitting up straight again. "Maybe. Above my paygrade, sir. I just shoot things and look good." A harsh voice spoke up from the background. "Aw, hell, Ash, stop flirting with the goddamned LT. Next you'll be spouting poetry and playing that stupid 'Imma thoughtful soldier' garbage you trotted out on Parker." Williams spun, and grinned as the battered but hale form of Master Chief Cole approached, eye still bandaged, midsection covered in more bandages, but alive. "Chief!" Cole staggered to the mess hall bench next to Williams and gingerly eased himself down. The groundside BDUs he wore were dark Alliance blue, but done in solid shades instead of the digital camo pattern of spaceside uniforms that Alenko and Williams had on. "I don't suppose this tub has any coffee, does it? I clearly ain't getting any sleep in the med-bay with you two talking." Williams got up. "Stay put, Greg, I'll get you some." She walked to the dispensers, and started the process of brewing. "Black, right?" "Yeah." Cole's dark features turned to Alenko. "Sir." Alenko waved it off. "It's just Alenko when we're not underway, Master Chief, or LT if you have to. It's good to see you up and around. You took some pretty hard hits down there." Cole tsked, his hand rubbing the stubble on his jaw. "Nothing I ain't lived through before, LT. I came to this afternoon, the doc said they'd hauled our Lieutenant and Jones off to some hospital on the Citadel, and the crew and CO were ashore trying to get the Council to do something about Eden Prime. The Major was kind enough to turn the vidscreen on for me before she went ashore, the news is… pretty damned grim." Alenko nodded. The last of his headache was gone, but he sipped his tea all the same, the taste reminding him of better times in the past. "Yeah, it's not good. Over thirty thousand dead. Another couple of thousand wounded. Investigators have been picking through the ruins for hours, but only found a bare handful of survivors. They confirmed every single member of the 235 died. From the reports, not a single one of them broke. They took out three times their number in geth before being overwhelmed." Cole glanced away, closing his good eye. "Stupid, brave bastards. Dammit." He clenched his fist. "I've been doing this shit for almost thirty years. I saw some of those kids grow up. Dandled a couple on my knee. Trained some of them in boot. Watched them get promoted, start families. Show me pics of their own kids. Then I got to watch them die, against a foe no one ever trained to fight, and I still don't know why." Williams came back with a navy mug full of dark coffee, which Cole took gratefully, blowing on it to cool it before taking a sip. "Still crappy, but definitely less crappy than the grinds groundside." He took another sip, grimacing and wiping his mouth. "Anyway, what's going on? I figured we'd have lifted off of the Citadel by now." Alenko shook his head. "Shepard believes we've got enough evidence now to go after the guy who started this mess." He summarized the Council's reaction, the discovery of Fist's involvement in the clinic, the battle in Chora's Den. At the mention of Wrex, the older black Sergeant gave a sharp frown. "Wrex? Big meaty krogan bastard? Red armor? Looks like a pissed off turtle?" Cole's expression was thoughtful and wary, his head tilted as he leaned forward. Alenko tilted his head. "Yeah, Shepard knew him from before. Did you?" Cole grunted. "The fuck was at Torfan. Figures she would recognize him." Williams' eyes widened. "You were at Torfan, Greg? You never said anything all those times the topic came up, or when people prodded Joe." Cole gave a bitter little smile. "And that's exactly why, Ash. Torfan ain't nothing to talk about." There was a long, empty moment of silence, and then Cole gave a disgusted grunt. "Oh, fine… look, Torfan wasn't something that most people got. They see the vids, hear the stupid reports, and say to themselves: 'Well it was a sacrifice' or some other trite bullshit. Torfan was a complete, goddamned clusterfuck. It's what happens when a pack of REMFs tries to get fancy and gets a bunch of us line animals killed for no other reason than shitty intel. And there was a lot of talk that the SA set us up to die out there, for political reasons or some such shit." He coughed, wearily. "I don't really want to talk about Torfan. But I remember Wrex. Everyone does. Bastard was a merc the batarians hired, him and pack of other krogan. He must have taken apart most of an N7 special ops team singlehandedly. Shepard's team took him and his men on, killed a few. Shepard blew up a building on him and the big fucker just walked out like it was a pack of spitballs." Ashely's eyes widened. "I'd heard krogan were tough… but damn." Cole nodded. "Yeah. But the main reason we all remember him is that when the batarians started using kids as goddamned bombs, he went fucking nuts." The Master Chief actually gave a cold little smile at some memory. "Killed one of their commanders, actually. Tore the stupid bastard in half like a piece of paper. Then turned the artillery he was guarding against the batarians. And then him and the other krogan just… quit." Alenko arched an eyebrow. "He mentioned something about that to Shepard when they were chatting. Did you happen to know her from Torfan? Were you in her unit?" Cole shook his head. "Naw, Shepard was under that big-shit hero, Kyle." He grimaced. "I never bought into all the stuff about him, worked with the Mindoir boys long enough to realize most of 'em are nutjobs and willing to do shit as bad as the squints, and he never reigned them in much." He coughed, then continued. "But anyway, back then I was part of the engineering support force they attached to the main strike teams, providing fire support. Thank all gods we had our own CO and chain of command, because Kyle pretty much lost his shit after his sons bought it." His expression changed, going almost blank. "But know her? No. I saw her from a distance, once or twice, and we helped get what was left of her strike team out when it was all over, but I didn't know her except through rumor and story. But if Eden Prime was any indication, she hasn't lost a step." Williams nodded. "Most people won't talk about Torfan, Greg. Why? It can't just be that it was messy." The Master Chief didn't reply for a long moment, sipping his coffee. When he spoke, his voice was quiet and full of pain. "You weren't there, girl. You can't imagine the goddamned shit the fucking squints pulled. Hostages. Bombs on kids. Booby-trapped habblocks with a detonator keyed to a human kid they shot just so he'd die slow." He sipped the coffee again, grimacing. "And worse shit than that – hell, we didn't even see all of it. Just the dead. Marines dead as far as the eye could see, Ash – like some kind of coronation of death." He exhaled. "Torfan was a victory we paid for in a lot of blood. And a lot of Marines felt betrayed by the Alliance for putting us there. Felt betrayed by the media either calling Shepard a butcher for doing what needed to be done, or praising her for that stupid last assault. Shepard won it, the only way it could be won. We all hated her for that, and understood that if she hadn't done what she did, every last Marine on that rock would have died, instead of just seventy percent of them. It doesn't make it easier. He sighed, expression twisting. "Then the brass tried to play it off like some kind of major victory, handed out awards like candy, making it into a propaganda piece. It was disgusting. Torfan wasn't like the Normandy invasions, or Gettysburg, or São Paulo during the Riots, or Cannae. Those all had a cost, but a clear result. The only thing Torfan did was convince the damned slavers that the Alliance was ready and willing to sacrifice tens of thousands of Marines in badly coordinated attacks to make a point." With another sip of coffee, he bitterly smiled. "And that Shepard was no one to be fucked with, but by that point we all knew that anyway. No, Torfan is defined by the last twenty minutes, when she took the last of the N7s she had with her and cleaned the batarians out of the command bunker they took. Alliance brass wanted them captured… and the men wanted to BBQ the fucks. Shepard… just shot them in the head. Gave that quote she's famous for." Alenko nodded. "Sic semper sceleratis. Thus ever to criminals." Alenko looked back up at the Master Chief. "If it was hard on everyone, how do you think it affected her?" The Master Chief drained his coffee, his dark features set in grim lines. "Williams has a piece of fancy poetry that covers that perfectly, I think. Go on; impress the LT. Come not when I am dead." Williams gave the Chief a long, uncomfortable look, then spoke, her voice quiet in the stillness of the mess hall. "Come not, when I am dead, To drop thy foolish tears upon my grave, To trample round my fallen head, And vex the unhappy dust thou wouldst not save. There let the wind sweep and the plover cry; But thou, go by." The Chief nodded, and pulled a cigar out of his uniform top. "There you have it, kiddo. She is the last person who wants to hear or talk about it, I reckon. LT, where's the smoking pit on this ship?" Alenko blinked. "I'm, ah…" A hard voice cut through the silence. "Forward engineering port side, by the air exchanger, Master Chief. Got an extra?" Sara Shepard leaned almost insolently against the wall, uniform crisp and clean, eyes cool and measuring. Alenko winced, Williams looked worried, and Cole patted his pocket. "Yeah, I got two or three more, Commander. You'll have to show me where engineering is, though." He rose, leaving behind his cup, which Williams grabbed for him. Shepard nodded, casting a gaze over Alenko and Williams. "You should try to get some sleep, tomorrow is likely to be ugly." Turning almost mechanically on her heel, she led the older Master Chief to the elevator, not saying anything as the doors slid shut, the voices of Alenko and Williams fading into the distance. Cole was silent a long moment before he turned to her and spoke, his voice low. "How much you hear, Commander?" She shrugged. "Enough. I hope they never understand Torfan. But it's hard… talking to them because of that. They want something I can't give. Or understand." She glanced at him, scrutinizing his features, and nodded again. "I remember you now. You were with the 3rd Engineer Group." Cole looked surprised for a moment, then closed his eye and nodded. "Yes, I was, ma'am. Didn't think you'd recognize me." Her voice was all too calm. "I never forgot a single face from Torfan, Chief. And your team… handled what was left of one of my men." Her expression twisted into something Cole wasn't sure he could interpret before going flat again. The elevator slid open and Shepard walked to the left, through the port side hatch. A set of large, hexagonal air filters was set into the ceiling, the faint hum of motors and electrically powered filters filling the narrow hallway. The armored deck was free of debris, but already a few black marks marred the deck where someone had extinguished a cigarette. "Not too many people smoke nowadays. I should quit, it's bad for your health." Cole's voice was wry as he handed a cigar to Shepard, who took it and unsheathed her belt knife. Shepard's voice was cool but amused as she spoke. "Everyone buys that farmland sometime, MC. Might as well shoot it like you stole it before you fill out the AD 960." Cole laughed darkly at the reference to the battle cry of the 1st Infantry and the form that Alliance medical filled out for the death of a soldier. "Kind of a bleak attitude to have, Commander. Lots of people look up to you, see you as the example of the perfect soldier." He bit the end of his own cigar off, dropping the torn tip into the ashtray, and then lit his cigar, relaxing as the smoke hit his lungs. Shepard snorted, neatly trimming the tip of her own cigar and putting her knife away. "More fool them. Borrow your light? Thanks." She lit her own, closing her eyes and leaning against the wall with a weary, almost sorrowful exhalation of breath, her lean form seeming to soften. "Goddammit, haven't had a smoke since I left Almor." She reopened her eyes, cold blue dots lancing into the Master Chief. "And if soldiers want an example, the Alliance has Branson for that, the mincing fuck." Cole snorted. "Ain't nobody gonna really believe in that Aryan blond-haired pile of fluff. I had friends on Elysium, and they all said some shit there had to be set up." Shepard smiled wryly. "Not a fan?" He puffed on his smoke. "Oh, don't get me wrong. He's good for stupid kids to follow, to get some blockhead to sign up, or for ground pounders who think patrolling some dirt pile on the dark side of a moon you might as well stamp with a corporate logo is military service. Not talking about them." Cole inhaled, his heavy features thoughtful, as he rubbed the bandage over his eye. "The people who've been through the shit, seen the fires from the piles of corpses on Mindoir, had to dig through children stacked like fucking cordwood at Anmos because the slavers couldn't get a profit from them… the soldiers who had to die by the fucking tens of thousands on a dozen shitty worlds. Those are the ones who look up to you." His voice grew thoughtful. "You have fire, Commander. You care. Every soldier that says you spend men to get the job done, there's one with a story of you on the frontline taking the hit so your men didn't. Most officers won't do that. You can't pay someone to give a fuck, and the Marine in the trenches knows that." Shepard inhaled and blew out blue smoke, her lips twisting. "Then they're even stupider than the greenhorns. Christ and Virgin, I get so sick of the fucking killing sometimes. Of the endless blood, and having adrenaline drain out of me after a fight and realize nine of my guys are dead and I have to tell their wives or look their little kid in the eye. I dream 'bout just… finally buying it. Going up against something that takes me right the fuck out. No heroics, just blam! Dead. The funeral will be long, boring, full of speeches by people who never held a goddamned trench with me. They'll trot out some tired fucker with admiral's bars…" She paused to take another drag, eyes narrow and dark "…and he'll go on some fucking spiel about my incredible sense of timing and valor. I'd rather fuck an elcor." Cole puffed amiably, shrugging. "Didn't say you had to like it. But it's the truth, ma'am. Not a lot of other figures to look up to. I mean, there's Jackson, but he's old. Ahern has done so much crazy shit you can't imagine matching any of it. Most of the other hard-asses are so old-school they don't even ring a bell. And, well, Delacor…" She sneered. "Fuck Delacor. Weak, simpering, crying victim. I don't give a shit. Yeah, it's too bad your colony got wiped and some giant worms ate your unit, but people have been fucked over and out harder than that. Overcoming fucking adversity doesn't make you a hero." Cole shrugged again. "It doesn't? Doesn't it say something about your will to live, or endure?" She shook her head. "It says you're too stupid to just die. It's like these stories about some crippled kid who overcomes a physical deformity to achieve something banal. I don't give a shit that some stupid bastard born without a torso helps out with gardens in his community, or a stuttering wreck with a face that looks like a krogan punched it and the brains of a vorcha got a GED." She inhaled again, angrily, tendrils of smoke pushing out of her nostrils like the breath of an angry dragon. "It's all jingoistic bullshit pushed on people who need a fucking example to feel better about themselves rather than doing a single goddamned thing to actually change who they are or improve themselves." Cole leaned back against the other wall. "Never figured you for angry at the world like that, Commander. I mean, hell." He paused. "I get where you're coming from, but on the other hand, people are just people. They ain't been through the kind of shit that remakes a man, or breaks him and leaves nothing but broken pieces. You offended by the fact most people haven't hit rock-bottom?" Shepard looked up, then gave a tiny little smile, the fire dying in her eyes. "No. Rather, the mediocrity of it offends me, Master Chief. I know full well they don't get it, because I don't get them. What I won't do is simply ignore the fact people want to feel good about themselves either by taking inspiration from some bullshit, or looking down their damned nose at others." She puffed on the cigarette again. "I didn't have that luxury. I was used by monsters. And then in freeing myself, I became a monster. And in trying to stop being a monster of one kind, I simply transferred my leash to a new holder. I'm not heroic. A hero risks dying because he has something to live for. They do what's right because it's right, not because they are trying to get bad memories out of their head. A hero puts others in front of himself. Anderson is a hero. I'm just a very skilled, angry thug that the Alliance points at problems they want beaten to death." She hesitated, then shook her head. "No, I get to watch some poor bastard die because I failed to get there in time. I get a fantastic front row seat to each and every failure and atrocity to my name, to watch men and women who depend on me to lead them, and then die when I have to sacrifice them; because some old bastard on Arcturus won't spend the funds to get us better long-range detection, or more ships, or proper hardsuits. I go in to stop pirates with half the fucking men I need, and to get the job done I have to spend lives like cash in an asari whorehouse." She leaned her head against the wall, reveling in the coolness of the metal. "I don't need anyone looking up to me." The Master Chief puffed on the cigar, knocking the ash into the little tray someone thoughtfully had welded to the wall. "I don't know. Those two up there look up to you, and they've seen you in action." She shook her head. "They don't understand me any more than they do a fucking mass relay. How can you explain to people who've never seen real goddamned evil what it feels like? To feel dirty, like you can shower a thousand days and still have a film of… filth on you." Cole's expression darkened, and he glanced away. "Yeah… I know that too well." Shepard folded her arms, cigar dangling from narrow lips. "And did you get past it, Master Chief? Did you have a magical happy ending where you discovered love, peace, and harmony? Or did it blot out the times you had to pull a trigger, knowing it was wrong and doing it anyway?" Cole looked Shepard in the eye. "No, ma'am. I just decided to stop holding myself in the past over bullshit I couldn't change, and stop feeling the mistakes my parents made defined me. Got married to a good woman who understood. Had two good boys, and a smart daughter. Saw my kids not make the same mistakes my parents did. Decided the only thing I could do to get past all the bad shit in my head was to leave something behind I could feel clean about, and devote myself to the Alliance." His jaw tightened. "I give everything I got to the blue, ma'am. Because I was a bad person, in a bad place, doing bad shit – probably like you did. I didn't end up going Penal, but I wasn't far from it – and the Alliance gave me a chance. To prove I was something more. Ain't gonna say it hasn't been hard… and I probably focus too much on being a soldier and not on being a man." He put his cigar out. "All I know is if you have a chance to get out of the trap, you take it." Shepard made a weary gesture with her free hand, taking a deep drag. "Some of us don't have that option, Cole. Some of us are trapped in this nightmare forever, part and parcel of the whole propaganda package of shit. Even if I wasn't… it doesn't change the fact that no one gives much of a shit about what I went through, only how they can spin it. Sorry, but I can't take that as any kind of answer. I'll stick with anger." She scrubbed out the fire on her cigar, and tucked the remainder in her upper left uniform pocket. "Thanks for the leaf, though." Cole nodded. "Ain't no thang. But I do got a question, Commander, I know they took Jones and our LT off to some hospital on the Citadel… but what about Williams and I? I don't know if you've had a chance to look at her record…" He trailed off, hesitantly. "Oh, that bullshit? I most certainly have. Motherfucking REMFs using some shit that happened thirty fucking years ago to her grandfather to sideline a good soldier? Look, Master Chief. I'm not going to build anyone up here. I'm not good with people, or praise, or all that shit. But anyone who can fire a Revenant one-handed is no one to fuck with, and Williams was taking down geth and keeping her shit together after watching her entire unit die and her friend melt like an ice cream cone. I've already asked Anderson to reassign you both to the Normandy." Cole grinned. "That's going to piss the brass off. They really have a hard-on for the Williams family, and it don't help much Ash has a mouth on her." Shepard ran a hand through her hair and shrugged. "The fuckers can kiss my ass. General Williams made the only call he could. Either some die or everyone dies, and everyone dying doesn't win shit. The fact that some ass-kisser feels his goddamned honor was stained means jack shit all to me. She's a good soldier, and if they want her gone, too damned bad." She shook her head, and then glanced at the chrono on her wrist. "You should get back to your rack, too, Chief. If I'm right, the shit we got for the Council will convince them to go after Saren, so I figure sooner or later the Alliance will give us something else to do. And if that pointy-faced fuck is really allied with the geth, they'll probably hit another colony, and we'll have to save it. You in for that?" Cole snorted, and clenched his cybernetic hand. "Hoo-rah, ma'am. I'd love a rematch with those walking lamps. Bastards owe me an eye." Chapter 29: Chapter 23 : Spectre A/N: Edited 5-22-17. Shepard waited patiently in the anteroom of the private Council Chambers, arms folded, eyes closed. Little more than a vaulted, steel-framed atrium, it at least had a stunning view of the Wards spread out. Alenko and Williams were wide-eyed at the view, the latter pointing out the huge, yonic shape of the Destiny Ascension, while next to them Tali was playing amateur ship-spotter, identifying turian and salarian vessels. Wrex and Garrus leaned against opposite walls, alien features set in what could have been boredom. Standing next to her, Udina's posture was more relaxed, but his eyes were narrowed, and his mouth compressed into a thin line. "I'm still not sure the Council will even agree to hear us out, Commander. Going to the Shadow Broker for evidence was risky in the extreme. Firefights in a medical clinic? A raid on a civilian bar? Inciting a C-Sec officer to get involved in a human investigation?" His dispassionate eyes ranged over the aliens. "And I'm not sure why you felt the need to bring all of these… aliens. It's like the lead-in to a bad joke about bars." Shepard shrugged, turning to give the Ambassador a cool glance. "I didn't see that we had many options. We both know if I go in there with nothing more than what I saw from the Beacon, they'll dismiss me as a crazy lunatic. And I can't just go in there and say: 'Hi! We got this data from an untrustworthy criminal spy-lord who would like to dictate to you how to respond and if you don't he plans to blackmail you.' Things will look far more plausible if we can just present it in a calm, organized manner." Her voice was a touch acerbic, but calm. Udina gave a long suffering sigh. "Shepard, try to work with me here. Despite what you put forth, your aura of cold killer does not invalidate that you are clearly intelligent and, if not familiar with how the politics of this works, capable of employing common sense. It doesn't matter if you're calm or not. The Council cannot move on anything but rock-solid evidence. And even with rock-solid evidence, they're likely to want to poke holes in it. I have no intention of allowing them to humiliate me a second time." Shepard shrugged, gesturing to Garrus, sitting in his dress armor on the narrow couch along the wall. "I submitted it to C-Sec and had their Data Analysis division authenticate it. Additionally, Tali can explain how she got it from the geth, and the Shadow Broker's representative will vouch for it with corroborating information. That's about as rock-solid as you get, sir. I can't just walk away from this, sir." Udina scowled. "Granted. But it doesn't put the Council in any better of a position even if they do accept it. They're going to have to eat crow, after that… farce of a hearing they gave us yesterday. And the ramifications of what it means for Saren to be dirty… it will be hard for them to admit they were wrong." Shepard tilted her head. "I'd have thought you'd enjoy that part." Udina gave her a sharp look, then shook his head with a small but clearly amused smile. "Oh, trust me, Commander, I intend to shove every single one of their words into their smug faces. But even if that works out, even if they decide to strip him of his Spectre-status, they still won't move on sending their fleets into the Traverse to secure our colonies." Shepard shrugged. "That's not going to solve the problem anyway, sir. On that, I have to agree with them. The key to a static defense of a large perimeter is small forces you can afford to sacrifice at a wide distance, with your heavy response unit in the middle. You react to threats and pin down where the next attack is likely to occur." Udina folded his arms, his dark brown suit shining dimly in the diffuse light of the antechamber. "That would sacrifice a lot of innocent lives in the name of expediency. That's not politically acceptable to the Senate. They want action, something they can point to." Shepard gave him a cold glare. "So it's more important to get an empty act that does nothing, protects nothing, solves nothing, but is good PR rather than going after a real solution to the problem? To do something that will get more people killed just so some old men can make speeches about defending humanity? And people call me inhuman?" Udina tightened his jaw. "Shepard, that outcome isn't what I'm in favor of, either. But I'm not the ruler of humanity. The people in the Senate are, and I can't force them to deal with the reality of the rest of the galaxy when they're only focused on reelection and corporate interests." Shepard sighed, rubbing her forehead. "Let's figure it out after we convince them I'm not a lunatic, please? I'm not cut out for wheeling and dealing, but I've got an idea on how to make this work." Udina opened his mouth to speak, but the doors to the inner chamber opened at that point. A salarian in a white uniform stuck his head out the opened doorway and spoke quietly. "Commander Shepard? Ambassador? They're ready for you." The two humans walked into the plush room beyond the door. A large vidscreen dominated the far wall, displaying graphical information and scrolling text along with a large image of the now-wrecked Beacon, its once elegant lines truncated in an ugly angle about one meter from its base. The floor was thinly carpeted, the ceiling's smooth curve broken by wide strips of soft white lighting and a broad strip of windows showing the towers of the Upper Wards in the distance. The room was circular, decorated in shades of silver and blue, with three large chairs in a semicircle around a slightly elevated plinth. On the plinth was another chair, and behind it were several more chairs. In the corner, two salarians sat in front of terminals, obviously recorders of data. Sparatus, Tevos, and Valern sat in the large chairs. The turian wore all black today, trimmed in red, a sort of robe with a heavy dark silver sash over his chest. Tevos wore yet another simple, formfitting gown, this one a soft green, and a light filmy jacket of some shimmery material over it. Valern's heavy robes were white and gray, with heavy knobs of decoration along the hem, his STG bracers conspicuous, his hood down around his neck as he studied a set of datapads. Shepard walked to the middle of the room, and came to attention. Sparatus gave her a dignified, respectful nod. "Please have a seat, Commander." His voice was polite, if slightly edged. Udina sat in a chair behind and to the right of Shepard, pulling up notes on his own datapad, and ran a hand through his thinning hair almost nervously. Tevos spoke, her voice gentle. "Before we say anything else, Commander… I personally want to thank you for your actions. I know the rulings and actions of this Council are sometimes hard to accept, especially for those races who feel they have no voice in our decision." She sighed. "But you did me a great personal favor by bringing to justice someone who has long defied the will of the Council, and in doing so gave me a personal sense of closure to a very ugly episode in my life." Valern nodded in a twitchy fashion, his eyes liquid and dark. "Agreed. Commander, while we, as a rule, dislike those who propitiate the fist over the spoken word, when your name was considered for Spectre-status, we reviewed your military history. While you have had to make unpleasant calls, we believe you did so correctly in all cases. And we have all reviewed the Eden Prime mission logs and vid-tapes extensively. Your quick actions and personal bravery prevented Eden Prime from becoming a dead world and saved the lives of hundreds of thousands of people. After further review, it is our finding that there was nothing you could have done to prevent the Beacon's destruction. Whoever activated it used a jury-rigged power supply that was timed to blow the thing to pieces." Sparatus gave a theatrical sigh. "Unfortunately, that puts us in the unpleasant situation that only two people accessed the Beacon that we can question to find out its contents. And Dr. Manuel Cayce has gone completely 'stark raving mad,' as the doctor accompanying him put it." Sparatus made an 'air-quotes' gesture as he spoke, drawing a look of veiled disgust from Udina. "We interviewed him an hour ago, and quite frankly I'm not sure he even realized he wasn't on Eden Prime anymore. After he started drooling, there seemed to be no point in further communication." Shepard nodded. "He was that way when I arrived, sir, incoherently babbling about the end of all life. I think I comprehend why, though." Tevos leaned forward. "You did glean something from the Beacon prior to its destruction, then?" Shepard sighed. "I saw… something. Death, mostly. I'd call it a vision, but that feels inaccurate. It was a collection of recordings of what looked to be some kind of massive invasion by synthetics. I saw burning cities, blown up ships, and a lot of running people – four eyes, sort of rangy looking." She paused. "There was a voice in the background; it called itself the Avatar of Understanding. It seemed to be trying to get me to… grasp something. Then the images just became completely horrific, and it felt like my head was going to explode. Bits of machinery melded into living beings. Terrible mutated… things that resembled the husk-creatures we killed on Eden Prime. And then a sharp, severing pain and nothing." Tevos leaned back, frowning. "Anything else?" Shepard hesitated. "Ma'am, what I saw is going to make me sound as if I'm crazy. I can't prove any of this." Tevos gave a small smile. "That may not be accurate, commander. But why do you feel you would be taken as crazy by relaying what you saw? It sounds as if the Beacon is merely a recording of the extinction event of the Prothean civilization, which appears to have been at the hands of some kind of synthetic foe." Shepard shook her head. "No, ma'am. The voice said whatever was killing them was something called 'Reapers'… and that they had taken the Citadel, and, well… ma'am, they looked like that giant black dreadnought we recorded at the attack." Sparatus leaned forward with a drawn-in movement of his mandibles. "That seems… unlikely. Are you sure?" Before Shepard could respond, Valern spoke up. "Hardly unlikely. It would seem that whoever is behind this attack has found one of the ships – and possibly some of the technology – that was used to end the Protheans. It's likely the Protheans defeated this foe, but were so shattered by the war their civilization died out. It would explain the caches we continue to find, a last chance at passing on what they knew. Someone must have found one of these… Reaper… ships and is using it to control the geth. Or perhaps the geth found it." Shepard gave a calm, easy shrug. "That's pretty much all of the vision, except… a long montage of people being killed in a lot of horrible ways. Honestly, I am not surprised that Dr. Cayce buckled, I consider myself hardened to that sort of thing and more than once I've woken up from a nightmare with those images in my head. They are… not pleasant." Tevos thoughtfully touched her lip. "This sounds much like the so-called 'dark' beacons we have found in the past. Anyone using them tends to go insane or die. Given that most of the time people accessing said dark beacons were gentle, sheltered scientists and not hardened warriors…" She trailed off, the unspoken thought somewhat disquieting. Shepard tilted her head. "Where are these other beacons?" Valern shrugged. "Destroyed. The ExoGeni Corporation has the only remaining one; I forget where they kept it, trying to access it using non-sapient animals. The rest, well… they tended to kill anyone who got too close, and over time their area of effect grew. They were stored for a while here on the Citadel, until a disgruntled batarian separatist got the bright idea to hook them up to power and place them in a public place. After the riots that occurred in Zakera Ward as a result, they were considered a risk not worth the effort to keep around." Sparatus sighed. "So, no other data of use? No designs for weapons or ships of any kind?" Shepard shook her head. "No, sir. The Beacon's message seemed incomplete, though. There could have been more, a lot more – but when it blew up, I was cut off. Whoever accessed it before me has the complete message and anything else that might have been on it. I can't imagine you haven't already worried about that issue." Sparatus nodded, but his expression was wary. "Our investigations are ongoing. Given the paucity of hard evidence in the case, however, I fear that question may never be answered before the next atrocity that occurs." Shepard shook her head. "Councilors, I cannot ignore the warning inherent in the vision I witnessed. It was not merely some monument to loss. It was a warning, and a plea for help. It was trying to convey the sheer terror and power of the invaders and how nightmarish and total the extinction was. Whoever the Reapers were, they destroyed the entire Prothean civilization, a civilization whose achievements, like the mass relays, we can't even begin to grasp." Shepard locked eyes with the Turian Councilor, gaze flat and calm. "Assuming whoever has this information can act on it, there is one more thing about what I saw that you should consider. The ship we saw on Eden Prime was singular. The vision showed ships just like that, hundreds of them, coming out of the skies like rain. If there is one ship like that out there that's fallen into someone's control, there could be more." Valern visibly stiffened. "Not an optimal result, I agree. Rough analysis of the vessel, based on the Normandy's sensor data and LIDAR pings from the colonial GARDIAN network before its destruction were highly disturbing. It was measured with an in-system speed three times faster than our most experimental, lightweight craft. Analysis of the arcology towers show they were sheared in half by a stream of super-molten metal, accelerated ten times beyond our best dreadnought cannon. We can't even begin to calculate the firepower of such a weapon." Tevos nodded. "One such ship could wreak immense harm on the galactic community, especially in concert with the geth. More than one would be devastating. We'd have to mobilize the fleets." Sparatus shook his own head, mandibles flaring in irritation. "What for? The thing can outrun them. The only ships quick enough to keep any kind of pace with such a thing would have to have a huge eezo core and be so lightly armored as to be ineffective in damaging it." Shepard smiled. "It seems like it would behoove the Council to find out who's in charge of that thing, wouldn't it?" Tevos sighed. "The question is not being ignored, but as Sparatus said, our investigations are still ongoing." Shepard frowned. "Councilor, I have been respectful and truthful in this conversation. I'm offended you would tell me a lie to my face." Tevos frowned, and Sparatus cocked his head. "What do you mean by that statement, Shepard?" Shepard smiled coldly. "I met Detective Vakarian last night. Funny thing. He implied that with a little more time he might have been able to dig up firmer evidence, but that the investigation was closed, and handed off to the STG. I think it's very clear that there is no investigation of this issue." Sparatus made a slashing gesture with his hand. "The purpose of this meeting is to discuss your interaction with the Beacon, not our investigation or the proper group to carry it out." Udina finally stood. "No, this meeting has no purpose if that's all we're discussing. The very ugly truth here is that in the few hours after our hearing, Commander Shepard with the help of non-Alliance, non-human personnel with no connection to Eden Prime, was able to find very firm evidence of exactly who is behind this violation of our colony and the geth attack. Given that whoever attacked the colony seemed to be looking for the Beacon, a beacon giving a warning of invading forces with powerful ships, a beacon that whoever attacked the colony destroyed, I think reopening this issue is quite important." Tevos gave Shepard a hard, inquisitive look. "What do you mean by 'firmer evidence,' Commander? We are not interested in vague financial missteps or eyewitness testimony that cannot be corroborated." Shepard tapped her omni-tool, and then looked at the Council. "I have my witnesses outside, if they might come in?" Tevos gestured to the door, and the Salarian standing there opened it, letting the group in the hallway in. Tali stood immediately to Shepard's right, with Wrex behind her. Garrus moved next to Udina, and in the back, the black-cloaked form of Tetrimus was content to stand at a distance from everyone else. Sparatus examined them all briefly. "Explain this, Commander. We do not have all day." Shepard nodded. "After our hearing, I approached Detective Vakarian, who was in charge of the C-Sec investigation. My intent was simply to follow up on fragmentary leads of our own, but Detective Vakarian led us to meet with Urdnot Wrex, a mercenary here on business for the Shadow Broker." Tevos gave a wince at the last name. "I do hope your evidence is not from the Broker, Commander. We are hardly going to take the word of an intergalactic thug." Shepard shook her head. "Of course not, ma'am." Coolly walking back and forth, she continued. "Wrex had a commission to investigate a local crime figure named Fist, who owned an… entertainment venue in the Bachjret Ward. Fist was a remote Broker agent as well; one that the Broker felt was double-crossing him and selling data to Saren." Shepard gestured to Tali. "This is Tali'Zorah nar Rayya." Tevos arched an eyebrow. "Zorah, as in Admiral Rael'Zorah, the Migrant Fleet commander?" Tali nodded firmly. "My father, Councilor." Tevos nodded and Shepard continued. "While investigating geth activity on Caleston, Miss Zorah came across geth units. And upon destroying them, she was able to extract an audio file from one." Valern smiled, while Sparatus spluttered. "The geth self-destruct upon death! At least, that's what the records say." But Valern was nodding. "STG units have managed to isolate data at least once in dying geth armatures during deep penetrations of the Perseus Veil. The concept is possible." Tali took a small step forward, twisting her hands together. "Y-You have to be quick and careful, and it helps if the data is not binary flash memory. The geth I stumbled across were part of a long-chain information network, passing audio files through internal geth networks rather than openly. The geth felt the person they worked for could not be trusted and were saving off audio to prove he wasn't trustworthy to someone named Nazara." Shepard spoke. "Tali looked for a buyer for such data, not realizing its import, and the Shadow Broker provided a price, and transport to the Citadel to seal the deal. Unfortunately, Fist was the contact that Tali was led to, due to Fist interfering in the Broker's Network. She was attacked in the docking bay, but managed to escape, link up with Wrex, and was planning on delivering the data to the Broker when Fist managed to capture her with the clear intent of handing her over to Saren." Shepard spread her hands. "Wrex, myself, and a member of my crew went to rescue her. In the process we discovered that Fist was working for Saren while also betraying the Broker. The Broker, as a result, sent a representative to bargain with us for the data and how it should be used." Sparatus frowned. "Why not bring such solid proof to the Council?" Udina folded his arms. "Because after yesterday's hearing, much of the Systems Alliance government is in favor of simply withdrawing from Citadel Space. Commander Shepard felt, correctly, that just handing you the information without context would have resulted in her being ignored." Shepard shrugged. "I gave a copy to Detective Vakarian to analyze for authenticity. It was verified accurate by C-Sec Data Analysis teams, twice. The Broker also vouches for it." Valern sighed. "Audio data is hard to properly fake, especially with turians and hanar. Turian subharmonics are almost impossible to duplicate and hanar non-text speech will not convey as audio." Shepard nodded to Tali, who turned on the recording. "Prime 302 to Prime-CoordinatorOfTactics-5. Aural band transmission of requested data is ready. Utilization of aural bands to avoid monitoring from Saren-Prophet as requested." Valern winced, and Sparatus sighed. Tevos merely looked at Shepard. "These are geth units? I did not think they spoke to each other." Her voice had an edge to it. Valern shrugged, his narrow face expressionless and his voice calm. "They're using speech to avoid being monitored electronically. Clever." Tali played more of the audio. "Acknowledgment of primary mission complete. Consensus has been achieved. Saren-Prophet is not direct representative of Nazara-Giver-of-Future. The Old Machines have not chosen their Avatar-Prime Connection. Discrediting Saren-Prophet and Benezia-Secondary would allow geth to achieve Avatar-Prime Connection-status." The first voice was silent for a moment. "Understood. Compromising vocal recordings enclosed. If Saren-Prophet violates restrictions, transmission to Nazara-Giver-of-Future can be conducted." "Transmit vocal recordings." Sparatus glanced at Tevos. "What is 'Nazara,' and… did that thing say Benezia?" Tevos glared at the ground, hands clenched in her lap. "Geth are inherently untrustworthy. While the evidence is interesting it proves nothing. Someone could rig up a generator to produce the proper voices and record that, and it would pass if unedited at that point. The fact that the geth said their names doesn't prove anything. The idea that Matriarch Benezia is involved with geth is ridiculous." Tali shrugged apologetically. "There is… more, ma'am." She tapped play again. The voice that rang out confidently made all three Councilors stiffen. "Still… Eden Prime was a major victory; the Beacon has brought us one step closer to finding the Conduit." "And one step closer to the return of the Reapers. And with no one the wiser, if Cerberus does its job correctly." "I'm more worried about the geth, Benezia. As long as Cerberus's ruse works, it's all well and good. But using the geth for this assault was a bad idea, just as I told Nazara. I wouldn't have had to kill Nihlus if I could have used some finesse. It's as if he's trying to make sure I don't go my own way." "And the geth watch us constantly. We must be careful, Saren." Udina gave a grim, almost gloating little smile, and leveled his finger at the aliens before him. "You wanted proof? There it is." Tevos's posture had gone from angry to almost wilted, her eyes flickering around the room in a mix of pain and clear upset, her head cradled in shaking hands. Valern only sighed deeply and cradled his horns, mouth a grim, tiny line. Sparatus, on the other hand, stood, his claws out, slashing them into the heavy chair that he had stood up from and reducing it to pile of cloth and bent metal with a backhand. His mandibles quivered in uncontrolled spasms, and his eyes had dilated. "That slotted-plate kirix! The barefaced shxthia lied to me in my—" Shepard's translator gave out completely, as Sparatus exploded into almost ten seconds of the foulest turian curses known. "—that… that… vorcha-fucking TRAITOR!" Garrus sighed in the background, a quiet sound of satisfaction. Sparatus glared in all directions, stance predatory and wild, before Tevos gently got up and placed a placating hand on his arm. "Tarren…" Sparatus shook off her arm. "I'm fine. We need to adjourn so I can get a hold of the Primarch. The gullet-fucking bastard is not—" Valern shook his head. "Sparatus… we need to discuss our options." The Turian Councilor whipped around on a heel, his spurs flexing. "Options? The only options are just how many times we have him shot before hanging the corpse by its spurs from the top of this Tower! We find him and blast him into space dust! He has betrayed Palaven! The Hierarchy! The Council! He is working with Cerberus! This is even worse than him being in league with mere geth!" Tevos exhaled, her voice quiet and level, obviously trying to get the agitated turian to calm down. "We cannot send a random fleet out with orders to 'shoot Saren.' The chaos would be immense. If this gets out, there will be rioting on Thessia. Benezia T'Soni is the Lunarch of Athame, a house matriarch of the Thirty, and owns something like half a percent of the asari economy. There will be angry followers of her Unity movement who will claim the Matriarchy is fighting her vision of including other races on the Council." Tevos sighed, and buried her face in her hands. "Why Benezia would be involved in this is… beyond me." Valern was staring at something on his omni-tool. "And from what we have heard, they are working to return the Reapers, which were the beings who destroyed the Protheans." Shepard watched the three Councilors frantically assess the damage, turning to give a grim little smile to Udina, before facing them again. "Councilors. I think I can speak for Udina and the Systems Alliance military when I say we would be happy to help out in any way possible in locating and apprehending Saren. He struck us, we should strike back." Sparatus glared at Shepard a long moment, then his anger collapsed. "No. Impossible. Despite the fact that I long to see him hauled back in chains – or preferably pieces – we cannot send fleets into the Traverse on a wild spirit hunt. Not only do we have no idea where he has gone, but the Traverse would think we were invading. The warlords who hold sway there would never believe us." Udina stepped forward. "That is not what we are suggesting, Councilors. The Systems Alliance has been wounded terribly. Not just by this attack, but by the very public hearing yesterday in which our government was very nearly directly accused of trying to frame Saren." Tevos looked up. "We had no firm evidence to suggest—" Udina scowled. "That will inspire confidence and understanding in no one. An apology won't fix the fact that this body preferred to believe two of our most decorated heroes were trying to frame Saren than face the truth. And now, despite the fact that this renegade lunatic is working with terrorists and geth, the Council still hesitates. I am sick of this Council and its anti-human bullshit!" Sparatus flicked a mandible. "Is there some point to this outburst?" Udina scowled, ticking points off on his fingers, eyes hard. "The Council cannot send fleets to protect our colonies, or find this villain. You cannot even promise us you will investigate what we did find, or what your own internal investigation found. You dismiss our findings, believe we are lying about what we find, and then when presented with solid evidence – evidence you didn't even try to find, evidence sitting on your own station – still cannot act. We have been accused of being too hasty, of pushing too hard, of colonizing too fast, of not bothering to heed your advice. And when we do so, when we try to do it your way, and when we try to meet this Council halfway, we are given nothing. Nothing for our dead. Nothing for our burning colony. Nothing for us proving to you that your own agent is a traitor! We have to present something to answer to this or the Senate will simply assume that you are more willing to sacrifice humanity to prevent wider chaos." The three Councilors looked taken aback at the force of Udina's words, and after a moment Sparatus sighed. "And what do you suggest, Ambassador. We cannot risk galactic war over a single human colony, or even a few dozen human colonies. And I would say the same if they were turian colonies, or volus colonies." Shepard made a gesture with her hands, one of openness. "The last person I brought in is here to address just that." She nodded at Tetrimus who stepped forward boldly. Sparatus's eyes narrowed when the older turian pulled back his hood. "This is who you bring to support your claims? A sirefucking traitor and embarrassment to the Hierarchy? An assassin who is tied to enough crimes to warrant thirty death sentences?" Tetrimus shook his head. "Ah, Tarren, I see you haven't changed at all. Tell me, is Fedorian still telling lies about what Primarch Sedacha fucked up, or has he simply fallen silent on why all records of the Primarch's rule were obliterated?" The black-robed figure shook his head even as he stepped forward. "My past is immaterial, and you all know you're far too compromised by what the Shadow Broker knows to actually arrest me. You've done business with the Shadow Broker in the past, indirectly and, shall we say… in a deniable fashion. There is neither time nor value in such fictional niceties now." Sparatus frowned. "We do not deal with criminals. I don't know or care why you turned against the Hierarchy. But even if… if what you said about the Patriarchy is true, we cannot compromise this body in that manner, consorting openly with a figure so deeply connected to organized galactic-level crime." Valern, on the other hand, nodded. "Tarren, we're in private. No one will know, and this may be of some value. Especially since we do not know how much of our Spectre network may be compromised by Saren. Besides, STG has done a great deal of business with the Broker, after all. We do not have to announce to the galaxy that we are dealing with the Broker. I'm more curious to know what his interest is in all this, and if we will approve of whatever he has to say." Tevos merely smiled. "The Broker has been most helpful in dealing with the archcriminal Trellani, as well as several other troubling situations on various locales, and with Aria. Given that Tetrimus is at least highly wanted by the Hierarchy, for him to risk appearing in person before us – despite his confidence in us not taking action – suggests something dire. I suggest we listen, at the very least. That much will cost us nothing." Valern gave a small grin. "Aside from that, I for one do not think attempting – and most likely failing – to apprehend him would end well for any of us, in any case, do you, Tarren?" The Turian Councilor glared hatefully at Tetrimus before flinging up his hands in disgust. "Tork-shit. Fine, speak your words." Tetrimus smiled coldly and began pacing. "Thank you. I will be brief, but I think you will approve, Councilors. After all, you are in something of a political corner with no way out. "In light of this evidence, the Broker is very concerned about the actions Saren has taken and his alliance with Cerberus. We have been involved in a shadow war with that group for over ten months now, and we fear that we are being distracted from whatever it is that Saren is planning. We freely admit that their influence has gotten more powerful recently, and now with Saren clearly working claw in claw with them, the reason is clear." His voice descended in pitch, the swish of his robes as he turned to pace the other direction, almost hypnotic. "We have acted thus far out of concern that if the evidence Miss Zorah has is true – and I assure you, we were very careful to test its authenticity before offering to bring her to the Citadel – then we face a nightmare." Sparatus's voice flanged with doubt. "What could possibly be worse than our own agent turning against us?" Tetrimus stopped his pacing, looking at the Turian Councilor. "Facing a geth invasion fleet. Our remote scouts have picked up multiple geth anchorages along the edge of the Perseus Veil, and our… associates in the Traverse report multiple skirmishes with increasingly large numbers of geth ships. Based on what we're seeing, our most conservative estimates place their fleet at almost thirty percent larger than the combined Citadel Fleet." Valern made a face. "STG has also been… concerned about recent geth movements. Our estimates aren't that bad, but our scouts are still examining the situation. The Perseus Veil is a poor location to perform accurate intelligence gathering. How sure are you of these numbers?" Tetrimus tapped his cane. "Councilor, I assure you, this is solid. We've lost a dozen teams confirming it. In addition to this, the involvement of Cerberus, the implication – however farfetched – that Cerberus and Saren have allied, and with strange, unknown technology the likes of which destroyed the Protheans… it all adds up to be bad for business." Tevos gave the turian an appraising look. "And what exactly does the Broker fear?" Tetrimus spread his taloned hands. "We have evidence that Saren has operatives who have built up an entire economic support system, one we believe is tied to or aided by Cerberus. Why they are colluding is, at this point, unknown, but we know the financial transactions that were so difficult for Detectives Vakarian and Forlan to decipher were conducted through Saren, using Cerberus funds. We found evidence that Cerberus purchased and refitted three batarian cruisers – like those the Normandy sighted approaching the system as the geth dreadnought left it. And we have partial comms intercepts suggesting that Saren and Cerberus planned to destroy all evidence of geth and frame the batarians for the attack." He flicked a mandible. "This implies, of course, that the ultimate goal is detrimental to the safety and security of the Citadel races, and that Saren is trying to start a war to distract us from whatever he is pursuing. Humanity is already not a friend of the Hegemony, and if the radioactive bombing on Eden Prime had been laid at the feet of the Emperor, well…" Udina grimaced. "Yes. That would lead to the High Lords declaring total war, and the Council would have to get involved." Sparatus exhaled. "Thus explaining the secrecy, the comms jamming, and the insanity of a salted bomb. By the time any evidence was found, it would be months, maybe years later, if anyone even bothered to look." He rubbed his talon along his mandible. "But this is conjectural." Tetrimus shook his head. "The Broker cannot obviously give away masses of valuable intelligence, not just for the fact that we are not a charity, but it would reveal sources and methods. Our sources in the Batarian Empire have aided us in tracking some of his movements, and we're fairly sure of the reasoning." Valern nodded. "What can you tell us, then?" Tetrimus folded his arms. "That the patterns we have seen suggest whatever Saren is planning, it has been in the works for more than a year or two. Maybe as long as a decade. There are strange assaults on volus ships, economic transactions and front companies, even the possibility of him inserting assets into C-Sec. We can no longer be sure our own operatives have not been counter-infiltrated, and what assets we have in Human Space are being obliterated by Cerberus." He half turned to face Udina. "It does not help that your Alliance AIS seems to be… curiously incapable of stopping Cerberus." Udina said nothing, and after a long moment, the turian turned back to face the Council. "And as to conjecture, Councilors… even having all of the evidence that the Broker – and Shepard – have gathered to prove he is guilty is not of much positive use at this juncture. With geth fleets of the size we have seen, you cannot afford a wasteful Citadel Task Force hunt – even if such would not cause Aria to react in a hostile manner." He began to pace again. "Dispatching the STG to search for him will take too much time. And you are lacking any real intelligence or leads to begin with on where to start searching, not to mention I suspect you don't want to run the risk of dispatching large amounts of STG or… other, more extreme forces… into the Traverse and panicking Aria, Edat, or the various pirate organizations." Tevos nodded almost warily. "Yes. All of that is true, but all of that is also known to us. Is there a point to your…" She made a sign of siari negation. "Shall we say, blunt restatement of facts?" He nodded. "Yes. The Broker wishes to support whatever efforts the Council makes to bring down Saren. We are offering detailed intelligence support to such an effort, free of charge, as well as the services of one of our most deadly and tenacious operatives, Urdnot Wrex." He paused. "Additionally, if Saren and Benezia can be localized, but are unable to be taken by forces at hand, myself and my associate Tazzik will be available to deal with the problem. Again, gratis." Sparatus frowned. "I thought the Broker was driven by profit." Tetrimus shrugged. "The Broker does not believe in altruism. However, there are times when survival is more important than money. As I said, the little we know leads the Broker to believe we could be facing war with a numerically superior, technologically advanced foe who has already proven to be no friend to the Broker. The idea that the Broker is willing to do this free of charge should let you know how seriously he takes this. The fact that I am one of the few people who speak with his voice directly and am willing to expose myself to arrest or interrogation should also let you know that we are… concerned. We are willing to work with Spectres on bringing Saren and Benezia down." Tevos shook her head. "Unfortunately, we cannot put Spectres on this case right now. All of them are already tasked to beyond capacity. And far too many of them were trained by Saren, utilizing his contacts, his methods. Quite frankly, if Saren and Benezia are coopted, we cannot be sure of the loyalties of the rest of our forces. A private internal investigation was leaked to Saren hours after it started, after all. Furthermore, few of our Spectres are equipped with the specialized support needed for such an audacious undertaking – and none of them, except perhaps Tela Vasir, could take Saren in a fight." Tetrimus glanced at Shepard. "Then your course of action should be self-evident. There is exactly one person who you can fully trust not to be working for Saren or compromised by him that has the skillset and power to take him out, and who was already being considered for Spectre service. That would be Commander Shepard." Sparatus shook his head. "Out of the question! We freely admit we were mistaken about Saren's involvement. But Shepard, while clearly competent, has not undergone Spectre training. Nihlus did not even have any time to evaluate her performance. And we do not currently have the equipment, support crew, or a vessel capable of fielding another Spectre at this time. On top of that—" Tevos glanced at Sparatus and interrupted. "There may be a compromise. The basic idea is sound, and offers us a chance to salvage something out of the tragedy at Eden Prime for the humans." She glanced at Udina. "Ambassador, would the Systems Alliance provide the support Shepard needed in this endeavor? In return for helping the Council manage the revelation of Saren's involvement and mitigating their stance on withdrawal from Citadel Space?" Udina nodded. "I believe so. Shepard already has a dedicated team aboard the Normandy, including combat engineers and biotics. The Normandy is a stealth-frigate, capable of operating quietly and unobtrusively, even in the Terminus. It's not a Council vessel, so you would have… plausible deniability if something went wrong. The Alliance can foot the entire cost of the operation, including supplies, weapons, and training. We can contract our own specialists for any needs that may arise. We…" Udina paused. "I think we would even be willing to accept this as a candidacy under trial. If Shepard is successful, the Council would finalize her status. If this goes downhill, it can be written off." Tetrimus spoke up. "The Broker would agree to this as well. Shepard's… efficiency is very impressive. We would request that we be allowed to send Wrex along as well, both to provide a link to Broker intelligence that could be of use in tracing Saren, and as additional combat support." Valern frowned. "Possible. But we would need oversight or an observer of our own." In the back of the room, Garrus stepped forward, movements urgent. "Councilors, send me. This is still a criminal investigation that will require researching leads and tracking down evidence and witnesses. Executor Pallin has suspended me due to my part in aiding Commander Shepard, so I don't have anything else to do. And a turian needs to be there when we find him to bring him in." He balled a fist, still remaining at attention. "I have been trained in investigations of all kinds, and even some financial analysis through working with my partner Forlan. And my military record speaks for itself." Sparatus looked hard at the younger turian for a long moment. "Agreed. As both a representative of the Council and C-Sec. Maybe if we had given you more time this would have resolved itself more amiably." Tevos glanced at Shepard a long moment. "We would also need a geth expert. The University of Serrice has at least two researchers I know who specialize in that, with commando backgrounds." Udina nodded, but Shepard shook her head. "Unnecessary. At this point, any geth expert could also be part of this mess. Besides, we already have one who we definitely know isn't working for Saren." Sparatus frowned, mandibles loose. "Who?" Shepard turned to point at Tali. "Her. She's the one who found the message. She's clearly already familiar with the geth, since her people created them. And she's proven she can recover further data from any geth we may come across." Tali gave a little start, and then nodded. "I… I would like to go. The Broker has given me… a chance to go back home, to the fleet, with my Pilgrimage completed… but I can't turn my back on this. The geth are our responsibility. And… they tried to kill me. They killed… my friend." She straightened. "And I can fight." Tevos gave a small smile. "You are… very young to be involved in such a dangerous enterprise. Your father probably would not approve." Tali folded her arms and leaned back. "I can't go home to my father and tell him I walked away from a chance to convince the Council that the quarian people regret what they did and are trying to make it right. We don't have an embassy. You won't even let our ships dock. We wander in remote systems trying to eke out an existence. If I can help stop the geth, if I can prevent them from attacking and killing others like they did to us… and chose not to, my father would never look at me again." Sparatus, of all people, gave an approving nod. "Well said." Udina exhaled, glancing at Shepard with a curiously amused glint before turning to face the Council. "I would like to know how you plan to announce this." Sparatus sighed. "The only way possible, human. Publicly." O-OSaBC-O The Council Chambers were literally packed with onlookers. Every tier of observers was filled with speculating, murmuring faces. Two Council Spectres, resplendent in black and silver armor with black half-cloaks stood to either side of the petitioner's pier, one asari, one salarian. Both held black half-cloaks thrown over an arm, and silver badges in their hands. Tevos spoke. "Commander Sara Shepard, Systems Alliance, please step forward." Shepard had hastily returned to the Normandy after the meeting, and was now in her full dress blues. Rich blue leather wrapped around her back, encased her arms in vambraces, her shins in dark leather greaves. The soft cloth was a lighter blue, shoulders bearing a commander's twin gold stripes. Her Star of Terra was on a scarlet ribbon around her neck, her decorations trailing down her left chest like a parade of colors and metals. Her sword was sheathed at her right side, her shoes hand-polished and gleaming like black glass as she came to attention, standing between the Spectres. Sparatus spoke. "Commander Shepard, thanks to your efforts, and those of the Systems Alliance, you have uncovered evidence that concludes Saren Arterius was indeed involved with the attacks on Eden Prime." The crowd murmured a moment, until his cold gaze swept the serried ranks of onlookers, silencing them. "This Council owes you a personal apology, and the Systems Alliance a considered one." Tevos spoke, her voice ringing with conviction. "Betrayal is the most dire of crimes, regardless of language, species, or purpose. Never let it be said that when one of the races of the Citadel Alliance was threatened, that we stood unprepared to render aid, to defend and assist, and to repay treachery with justice. Saren Arterius is accused of grand treason, murder, sabotage, embezzling, misuse of Spectre authority, espionage, and collusion with geth. We also charge Matriarch Benezia T'Soni of these crimes, as well as conspiracy and theft." Valern's usually reedy voice was calm, analytical, but thoughtful. "There can be no question of guilt. We have heard the suspects admit to guilt with their own voices, and seen detailed new evidence of financial and material misconduct. Those who gave false witness will be charged with perjury and incarcerated until they reveal the truth. We also have evidence that proofs brought before this Council of human misconduct were lies built of whole cloth, both fundamentally untrue and provably constructed." Sparatus spoke again. "As such, we hereby strip Saren of his office and the powers, authority, and responsibility of a Council agent of the Office of Special Tactics and Reconnaissance." As he spoke, the salarian Spectre ripped the black cloak in his hands in half, and crumpled the delicate badge of office. "He is outcast and exiled from every planet, station, fueling stop, and parsec of Council Space. Any and all who aid and abet his activities are charged with his crimes. He must surrender himself immediately, or death will find him and all with him." Tevos spoke. "Who will deliver this death?" There was a long moment of absolute, clear silence. Not a voice whispered. Not a foot moved. The entire room seemed to hold its breath. Across a thousand worlds, billions of sapients watched as the three Councilors gazed around the Chamber with displeased looks. "Will no one take up this torn mantle? Will no one avenge the lives lost, the honor stained?" Shepard took precisely one step forward, as she had been coached. "Madam, to be a member of this community is not a reward, but a burden. Not a privilege, but a duty. Not a task, but a vow. Humanity stands ready." Sparatus nodded, and the three Councilors reached down to touch the haptic interfaces before them. A triple soft chime sounded through the air, untroubled but for the fall of cherry blossoms and that awful, radiating silence. Tevos's voice was soft, but powerful, her eyes not breaking contact with Shepard's own. "It is the decision of this Council that you be granted the office, powers, and privileges of an agent of the Office of Special Tactics and Reconnaissance of the Citadel." Valern folded his arms, his STG bracers glowing faintly white in the dim light of the Council chamber, his face stern, dark eyes set and mouth in a firm line. "Spectres are not trained, but chosen." As he spoke, the asari Spectre draped the black half-cloak over Shepard's shoulders, obscuring her Alliance uniform. "Those who have proven themselves through fire and blood, through duty and death defied. Those whose actions and brilliance have elevated them far above the rank and file. Like this cloak, it is a burden one carries atop any duty to clan, race, or planet." Tevos lifted her chin, voice earnest and heavy with emotion, her poise absolute. "Spectres are an ideal, an agent of our will, a symbol of courage, self-reliance, and integrity. They are our right hand, our sword, our guiding influence in peace, our determined anger in war." The asari Spectre next to Shepard pinned the silver, winged badge to Shepard's left shoulder, adjusting the pin slightly so it hung upright, gleaming. "Like this pin, Spectres must shine forth to bring the will and peace of the Council to all parts of our space." Sparatus stood at near military attention, spine ramrod straight, mandibles set in line with his jaw, his flanged voice solemn and dark. "Spectres bear the heaviest burden of any soldiers. They are the protectors and arbiters of galactic peace, both our first and last line of defense." The words hung in the air as the asari closed the cloak with the badge, so that the winged device hung over the human's heart, the cloak hanging to just above her waist, the symbol repeated in silvery-gray thread on the back. "The safety of the galaxy is theirs to uphold, unfettered by law, custom, or government, and let none deny that authority." Tevos nodded, as the haptic interface in the badge came online, the badge now glowing faintly white. "You are the first human Spectre, Commander. This is a great accomplishment for you, and for your species." Shepard bowed her head respectfully. "I am honored, Councilors." Valern nodded. "You have already received your first assignment. Enter the Traverse. Find the traitor Saren, and any accomplices, and either bring him to justice or bring him death. He is a fugitive and you are ordered to use any means, regardless of severity, to accomplish this goal." Shepard nodded again, and the three Councilors inclined their own heads in turn. "This meeting of the Council is adjourned." Shepard turned on her heel, along with the other two Spectres, and marched back down and off of the pier. As she entered the first floor landing, she was greeted with the sight of dozens, maybe hundreds of human spectators, applauding. For her. Part of her mind knew it wasn't actually for her. It was for what humanity had achieved, for the Council accepting humans, for the truth about Saren. But part of her went back to the angry, grieving widows that hurled insults, the broken gazes of those she had sacrificed. The ugly, disappointed glares of Delacor, Kyle, Adams… and it all seemed to wash away in the gentle susurration of applause. Standing in the middle of the path, with a gentle smile that seemed a kilometer wide, was Captain David Anderson, shoulders straight, eyes bright with pride and tears. "You did good, child. Now, let's catch that bastard." Udina nodded. "Congratulations, Commander. 'Not cut out for wheeling and dealing,' you said?" The Ambassador looked around the Chamber, as if he couldn't believe his eyes. "I'd hate to see your idea of being good at such things. In any event, we must move. We'll need to organize the Normandy, see to crew, supplies, information… make sure these aliens you've decided to bring along are accommodated… orders cut, Alliance command will have to be notified…" Udina sighed. "Anderson, I'll need your help with this, or some admiral with more rank than brains will barge into my office and deck me for what I've agreed to." The two Spectres who had performed the ceremony lingered nearby, and the asari spoke up. "If your people will be occupied, you should report to the Spectre office. We need to issue you special gear, and you now have access to supplies, weapons, and programs of a restricted nature, as well as training and special intelligence briefs from the STG." They walked off, silent and dark in their uniforms. Udina nodded briskly, rubbing his hands together. "Good. Anderson, let's be off, there's little time to waste." The two strode off, the crowd beginning to dissipate as C-Sec began restoring order in the Chambers. Wrex and Garrus came up, followed by Ashley, Alenko, and Tali, the big krogan and tall C-Sec officer parting the crowd as they stepped forward. Wrex gave a wry look at Shepard. "Aliens need a ceremony and a cloak to say 'go kill this guy.' Typically soft." Tali tilted her head in a perplexed manner. "You'd think Udina would have been a little more grateful, given all you just got accomplished…" Shepard shrugged. "What did you expect from a politician? Everyone head back to the Normandy, we have to discuss a few things before I go off to learn about being James Bond." Chapter 30: Chapter 24 : Osaba A/N: If you just read last chapter, the Council seems to go from 'We can't admit we are wrong publicly, riots would result' in private to 'Meh, Saren flocked up, arrest him' in public. This is not, I assure you, a plot hole. The reason is that the Council, to play ball with Systems Alliance to bring in Shepard, got its own way in how the news went public. It always bothered me that no one ever believed in the Reapers, given the evidence I had. But it makes much more sense that any hint of them would be repressed from the get-go. So in return for skirting chaos and rebellion from turians and asari and the uproar that prosecuting Saren would produce, the Council got to spin its own version of what happened: Saren went crazy, Benezia plots on taking over the world to play Mighty Whitey with the lesser species, and the geth are under Saren's control due to unspecified technology. The average citizen of the galaxy is never told of Reapers, or how heavily infiltrated the militaries and intelligence services of all major races might be. They aren't told of Cerberus involvement (since that would embarrass the humans). They are instead told Saren is crazy and Shepard is going to put a bullet in his head. That makes a lot more sense than admitting Reapers exist (which would scare the shiat out of everyone) and then backsliding on it to the point that a few months later you somehow forget they are real and claim to have 'dismissed' that claim, regardless of the proof. In my AU, the powers that be realize the Reaper threat is real. But to mask preparations, they need cleanly defined enemies. The geth serve as a perfect boogeyman. Any other information is treated as hearsay and bad extranet rumors. DOWNLOADING: Data feed, prime broadcast segment 19, terminal date 25.01.2183 Manifest dump 99541-core alpha, unclassified This is an official Systems Alliance data capture dump, replication or rebroadcast is restricted. Transcript begins, identifiers – J: al-Jilani / I: Irissa Te'Shora / D: Dominic Osoba Keywords: Saren, Eden Prime, Butcher BEGIN: "Westerlund News! All the news, fit or unfit to print, 24/7!" J: "Good afternoon. I'm Khalisah Bint Sinan al-Jilani, Westerlund News Network. Today we have another prime exclusive – the burning story on the wire tonight. Saren stripped of his Spectre rank, and humanity's first Spectre, Commander Shepard, authorized to go after him." J: "Joining us, as usual, is Matriarch Irissa Te'Shora, the Council media representative and sub-adjunct to Councilor Tevos of the Asari Republic. Also joining us is Attaché Dominic Osoba, of the Office of the Systems Alliance Embassy, assistant to Ambassador Udina. Thank you both for joining us tonight." I: "As always, Ms. al-Jilani. The Council values being able to present the events of today in a calm, rational light, so that people can understand why such drastic actions were taken." J: "And what light can you shed on this? Yesterday, the Council had public hearings in which evidence against Saren was seemingly dismissed with prejudice, and he was acquitted of all charges. Less than twenty-four hours later, he's been stripped of his rank and accused of treason, along with Matriarch Benezia T'Soni." I: "I'm afraid I cannot speak to all particulars of the case. C-Sec, the STG, and Systems Alliance forces are all still in the process of investigation. However, there is new evidence that proves that Saren apparently has discovered technology that allows him to control geth platforms, and that he plans to overthrow the Council and use his geth armies to rule in its place." J: "That seems… extreme, does it not?" I: "It does, and we feel that perhaps some of the blame is ours. Saren was always a passionate, high-strung defender of justice, but he tended to work alone. Turians do not function well in solo operations, they are by evolution and culture a very collective, social species. The pressure of having so many high-impact investigations, along with the possibility that he may have been suffering from long-term separative stress disorder, means that he may have become unstable." J: "I see. Certainly the turian people don't appear to be taking the news calmly. There are major riots in parts of Palaven City, as well as entire cadres of 'justice brigades' and 'hastatim for the lost.' Death squads, really. Can you comment on this, as well?" I: "I am by no means an expert on turian culture, Ms. al-Jilani. However, Saren was a very popular cultural hero for the turians, appearing in their media, art, music and government representations. There are probably thousands of turian children named after him, six cities, hundreds of streets, even a heavy-cruiser. Turians value loyalty and duty to the Hierarchy and to their superiors. For him to turn traitor is bad enough, to challenge the established leadership of Council Space is… culturally unacceptable for many. It appears some younger turians are embracing his cause, the so called 'hastatim for the lost.' They feel turian military might should somehow translate into the right to dictate to other cultures as if they were client species." J: "That is a rather disturbing stance to take. There are actually turians supporting Saren?" I: "Yes. As I understand it – and keep in mind, this is a movement only a few hours old – these people feel that Saren was embarrassing humanity with his investigations of human AI research corporations on Noveria, to the point that the Systems Alliance threatened to withdraw. They claim the attacks on Eden Prime were the result of botched human experiments on controlling the geth, and that the Council 'sold Saren out' to prevent humans from withdrawing from the Council Charter. This is obviously the worst sort of incoherent conspiracy theory, and quite frankly, it's possible this whole movement is being organized by agents of Saren himself. They are the minority and the Hierarchy takes a very dim view of their activities. Most will be arrested or killed in short order. After the Unification Wars, the Hierarchy takes civil unrest extremely seriously." J: "I would expect so. What about the purported involvement of Matriarch Benezia? Given her exalted position in asari society, that was something of a shock to many people. I understand there are also riots and demonstrations on Thessia." I: "There are. The Council was loathe to publicly announce her involvement in this sordid affair for just this reason, but we feel it is… relevant. Benezia was highly outspoken in her Unity Through Trinity campaign. Her beliefs that asari, due to their longer lives and more… shall we say, long-term perspective, were best suited to guide what she termed 'younger, lesser' races, were not popular with many older asari." J: "That sounds very patronizing." I: "It is not intended to be, although I must admit I don't subscribe to her views. You have to understand that for asari, our interactions with other species tend to carry an undercurrent of tension. We are natural biotics, with the capability to link minds and share emotions, memories, and thoughts. We outlive all other races besides krogan by centuries, and we have the strongest economy, dominance in financial and economic sectors, and advanced technology far beyond other races. There is always suspicion, which leads to resistance to asari ideals and concepts. Benezia felt – however wrongly – that it was only natural for younger species to need guidance from older species." J: "I fear that to most that still sounds patronizing. Humanity, at least, is a big believer in personal and species self-determination. And many humans are not so much anti-alien, as the charge is often thrown, but resistant to the idea that human culture would be the loser in being assimilated into an alien culture." I: "Understandable. And I fear that Benezia's ideas, combined with Saren's deteriorating mental state and control of the geth, pose a large problem for all of Council Space. We now have evidence that he accessed the Beacon on Eden Prime and sabotaged it, and had made plans to frame the batarians for the cruel acts. C-Sec Financial Crimes has uncovered that he has defrauded the Council and related entities out of millions, perhaps tens of millions of credits, and unknown amounts of weapons and military-grade supplies." J: "Does the Council have no oversight over these agents? Having now had one of our own named a Spectre, do we need to worry about Commander Shepard?" D: "Ma'am, speaking on behalf of Ambassador Udina, that's the last thing we need to worry about. Saren was able to get away with this because for thirty years, the man was, by all accounts, a hero, risking his life multiple times for the best of causes. And Saren appears to have been aided in this by a long line of other traitors, malcontents, and mercenaries. Commander Shepard is well known for her incorruptibility and obedience to orders, but we will be running this operation as a joint Systems Alliance / Council initiative. We have no plans to allow any human Spectres, now or in the future, to disgrace us as Saren has done to the turians." I: "Furthermore, from all evidence we are seeing, this move of Saren's has been in the works for a very long time. It is not as if one day he started embezzling. He was cautious… and the Council freely admits it was not watching closely. For that we can only offer apologies, and the knowledge that all other Spectres are currently being vetted for any suspicious activity." J: "That's definitely comforting news. Attaché Osoba, rumors have been flying around that the Systems Alliance was displeased enough with the events of yesterday to withdraw from the Citadel Charter. Is there any truth to this rumor?" D: "Absolutely not. We informed the Council yesterday that we needed additional time to wrap our investigation up, and when we presented them with our additional findings, they immediately acted, not only to address the threat, but ensure humanity had a stake in vengeance for Eden Prime." J: "Yet there are calls from many Senators, demanding Council warships be dispatched to protect human interests. The Council has only decided to send out one Spectre. Don't you feel that the Council's reaction to the near destruction of one of our colonies is a touch restrained?" D: "Khalisah, this is why I wish some elements of our government would clear public statements through my boss sometimes. Let's leave aside for the moment that humanity getting a Spectre is a clear nod to our progress and potential to one day hold an actual seat on the Council. Deploying a ship or two above each colony is only going to get some aliens killed along with humans. Our investigation shows that over twenty geth ships and what appears to be a geth dreadnought attacked Eden Prime, with well over fifteen hundred geth troops. Humanity currently has forty-six colonies in the Traverse, and eleven in the Skillian Verge. There aren't even remotely enough ships in the Citadel Fleet to defend each colony with enough strength to ensure there is no invasion and leave enough left over to defend the rest of Council Space." I: {looking disgruntled} "Additionally, we neither know where Saren is or where he plans to strike. He may be waiting for just such a weakening of the Citadel Fleet to attack the Citadel or key member worlds directly. The Council would be blamed just as much if, in defending human colonies, Saren decided to strike volus, elcor, or other independant colonies on the edge of Citadel Space. And frankly, given how widely dispersed humanity is, we don't have the fueling resources or crews to cover such a vast area." J: "So how does the Council plan to ensure humanity is safe from further attack?" D: "There is a two-pronged approach. The Systems Alliance will be deploying additional units to the frontier. The 4th and 5th Marine Battalions are being converted into frontier battalions, which will be placed on at-risk worlds to stiffen defense and protect civilians. Furthermore, we will be contracting with private security forces to stiffen resistance on extremely vulnerable worlds without good defenses. For those planets without GARDIAN defense towers, we will deploy warships, mostly units from the 44th and 63rd Scout Flotilla. Finally, we plan to offer up contracts for an additional five hundred thousand security mechs, to stiffen colony defense forces." J: "And the second prong? Aside from the increased military stance?" D: "We are working closely with the Council's fleet command to tie our communications networks together, and we are deploying an additional one point six million hardened FTL dedicated comm buoys over the next few weeks to prevent comms blackouts like the one that affected Eden Prime. These buoys will transmit an activity signal and system scan results constantly. Upon going dark, Council fleets will respond in force from the nearest mass relay to investigate. This is much more practical than scattering ships across the Traverse, and allows the Council fleets to continue to protect Council Space while being ready to aid humanity." J: "That is very welcome news to those of our viewers watching from the colonies, I'm sure. But I'm afraid there are other questions not so easily dismissed. The Council seems very blasé to the risks humanity faces in settling the Traverse. They wish it to be settled and calm, but offer no long-term support. Do you feel the Council actions in response to this atrocity go far enough?" D: "I know what you're getting at, ma'am. A lot of people are going to blame the Council, and perhaps the Systems Alliance, for not acting sooner. And as I always say, hindsight is 20/20. It's very easy for people who have lost loved ones, friends, or businesses to this tragic event to demand action and for someone to be held accountable. But reality always has to trump both sentiment and vengeance. Everything Spectres do is sealed, and the Council typically grants them great freedom in how they operate. Most build their own support networks of specialists, acquire multiple ships, even build bases to operate from." I: {nods} "To imply that the Council should have greater oversight of Spectres flies in the face of over fourteen hundred years of successful Spectre operations. In that span, only two other Spectres have gone bad, both of them over personal issues that did not involve any criminal element other than murdering someone who killed someone they loved. I understand the frustration of your species, Ms. al-Jilani, but sometimes we must trust those we have decided are defenders of the galaxy." J: "Cold comfort for those who had relatives die and now hear of corruption maybe going back years. Why is there so much secrecy around Spectre operations and the Spectres themselves? That seems counter-intuitive to transparency and species responsibility, which is what the Council always seems to preach." I: "Originally it was to prevent incorporated methods of intelligence from being revealed. The earliest Spectres were converted STG members and asari huntresses. Over time, as the power of Spectres increased, it was to protect the Spectre against blackmail, second-guessing, or people protesting necessary but harsh calls made by the agent. Consider how your species has reacted to Commander Shepard's military background. To turians and asari, her ability to make the hard calls despite the cost is an admirable trait, but many of your people call her a murderer and her epithet of 'Butcher of Torfan' seems insulting to us." J: "Many humans see her as extreme, when there are other ways to achieve the same goals—" {is interrupted} I: "And that is the difference in how different cultures view success. Many times, there simply aren't other ways to achieve the same goals, but people – especially humans – desperately want to believe that. Your fiction and entertainment venues are full of what you call antiheroes, those who get deeds done by 'breaking the rules' or going against popular opinion, but consistently, you only celebrate those who achieve greatness without paying the personal cost. Such a cultural trait is acceptable, when applied to your own ranks. But the Spectres are expected to defend the Citadel species as a whole at all costs. If that means a human colony dies so that three turian colonies live, so be it. If that means sacrificing asari ships and troops to prevent pirates from overwhelming a volus colony, so be it. We expect them to make the right choice from a set of often deeply unethical and troubling options." D: "We have such a concept in our culture, at least some of our cultures, called the Mandate of Heaven. To do what is right, not what is in one's own best interest. Unfortunately, it often feels as if that is turned against us, that alien races do what's in their own best interests, but we are expected only to do the right thing." J: "A telling statement, Matriarch." I: "Perhaps. But managing economies and governments across a span of eighty thousand light-years is not something that can be easily handled. The agents of such governments are not under tight restraints because they have to act, sometimes quickly, and with complete trust." {gives a wry smile} "As unhappy as some will always be with any government, I think our track record of success to failure speaks for itself. We remain deeply sorry that Eden Prime was so badly wounded by Saren, and we make no excuses for not preventing this from happening. But we also must be truthful and say that without the lack of oversight that made this possible, the Spectre program would have little value at all. And that, all things considered, the Council has the utmost faith in Commander Shepard to redeem the Spectre Corps by bringing Saren and his accomplices to justice." J: "We'll have to see if humanity is so accepting of Shepard in such an exalted role." Chapter 31: Chapter 25 : Citadel, Depature I A/N: I know there seems to be a lot of what is commonly termed 'fluff' – non-storyline centric, non-action pieces – in this story. Part of that is due to exploring the characters. We get such short thumbnail sketches of each person, but rarely in ME1 do we get to see how characters interact without Shepard. Given that standing next to a barely sane ball of murder and snark inhibits people's conversation, additional scenes about the other people on board seem appropriate. Besides, when the hell else am I gonna get to make a Shepard Punch joke? Edited 6-5-2017. The extranet was on fire. Joker was comfortably ensconced in the cockpit of the Normandy, ostensibly to run a series of pre-flight systems checks. Right after the Council had publicly stripped Saren of his status and appointed Shepard to catch him; Anderson had taken off with Udina and had been ensconced now for hours in the Alliance Complex in the Presidium. As a result, Shepard had sent Alenko and Williams back to the Normandy with orders to get everything ship-shape for departure. She'd also communicated with Joker via comm-link, and had issued a series of orders that was apparently the level five checklist for battle departure, from memory. "Joker, I want pre-launch tests done on all primary and secondary propulsion and flight control surfaces. That includes mechanical examination as well as electronic confirmation. Make sure we are topped up on fuel, and get a full charge on the fuel cells and emergency power systems as well. Have someone physically check all outer hatches, the emergency response beacons, and all Ship-Safe components." She had paused, and then her voice sounded again, with what Joker imagined was a slight touch of amusement. "And order some real goddamned coffee; I wouldn't use that mess we have to torture batarians with." Joker had laughed. "Damn, Commander, you even joke about torturing batarians?" She had replied in a cool but still clearly amused voice. "No, Flight Lieutenant. I'm very professional when it comes to torturing batarians, and that coffee isn't up to snuff for that purpose, much less drinking. Throw the shit out the airlock." As a result, Joker was now an hour into second-stage flight control surfaces testing. The 'wings' of the Normandy were mobile surfaces. The four Riggs/Royce Combine engines mounted on mass barrier secured pods could be reconfigured in angle and position. Battle position pulled the engines in close and tight, connecting them to quick-disconnect ports on the fuel lines for extra thrust. Scout position moved the more powerful upper pair back, while the lower pair angled for better maneuverability and turning radius. And in heat-dispersion mode, they pushed each module far apart and slid back the armored casings to vent waste heat. The process of moving the engine units, along with armored fuel hoses, was fraught with danger. A ruptured line could result in a fire or explosion, while failing hydraulics might result in an engine not locking in place, making the craft unstable. Still, the checks were routine and automated, and staring at the screens was boring. Long ago he'd figured out if he distracted himself while they were running, checking every so often, he was more likely to pick up on something out of band than if his brain was drooling from boredom. Thus, Joker passed the time looking through the extranet. Normally, he'd be checking Susurration, seeing what juicy bits of gossip could go out in a hundred and fifty bytes of text or less. Or watch silly videos on YouVid, an ancient human video streaming service. Instead, though, he had watched news stories on Commander Shepard becoming a Spectre. And now, he laughed as human businesses were already marketing the event, and the human media spun it into every which direction. There were already T-shirts, haptic aircar stickers, and even a story about a possible documentary. Vloggers from all over Human Space had commented on their view of Shepard. Many from Earth, particularly the New York Arcology, were cheering her on; proud that one of their own was now the premier representative of Earth. The colony Horizon was hosting a twenty-four-hour party to celebrate the 'baddest bitch in space,' hosted by rave-spinner and media maven Original Sins. Others reacted with outrage, including the antiwar group Blue Stars No More, and, as always, the ever negative mouthpiece that was Diana Allers of 'Battlespace' interviewed a pack of bitter old vets who felt Shepard was a cruel butcher. And, of course, the cranks came out of the woodwork as well – SETA, Sapients for the Ethical Treatment of Animals, used the event to bitch about the use of 'actual leather' in Alliance uniforms, and Terra Firma claimed that the way Shepard had been treated yesterday was proof positive that the humanity first attitude its membership had was well justified. But that was only the tip of the iceberg, really. Already, the various haptic image macros and demotivators had started, many of them using the recently leaked clips of battle-cam footage recorded by Chief Williams. Some enterprising soul had figured out that most of the 212 on Eden Prime was dead, and in the chaos that had reigned immediately after the attacks, no one was really paying attention to a bunch of servers that would never be used again. Someone had hacked the automated video server that recorded all of the infantry unit's battle-suit and hardsuit telemetry, coming up with pictures and video logged from the cams of Williams and Cole. Pictures and video that were awesome. Joker grinned as he watched a video of Master Chief Cole standing atop a pile of geth bodies, talking shit and strangling a geth with one hand, shooting them in half with a Revenant in the other, smoking a cigar. The video was sound-tracked with the new synth-trip song 'Didn't Know Who He Fucked With.' By far the most popular was a video clip that started with a frozen still image of Shepard, hanging in midair, face in a rictus grin of rage, eyes like blazing supernovae, fist pulled back and alight with biotic energy. A geth prime looked up, firing its huge weapon desperately. The image was still for about three seconds, then animated, showing nothing but a slow motion close-up of an armored fist smashing through the geth's head. A fade to black, and then bold letters flying onto the haptic image. 'SHEPARD PUNCH!' The haptic image ended in an OMGMemeNET extranet link to some ancient video game called F-Zero. It garnered two hundred fifty-one million hits in a little over six hours. Grainy video of Shepard flying through the air, her form limned in blue radiance, slamming into a pile of geth. Some clever image editing had given the geth silly faces, and inserted comments like 'oh shiat,' 'I can see my server from here,' and 'ow, my eye.' The image moved slowly through the entire biotic explosion that followed, ending with Shepard screaming: 'STRIKE, BITCHES!' Small print at the bottom scrolled across. 'Bowling average: 254. NorthAm Bowling Commission rules this a spare, sorry, Shepard.' Many of the images were older, from other battlefields. A pieced together vid of Shepard leaping from atop a crane to dive downwards, elbow pointing down, right arm locked in an angle, to smash into the back of an elcor mercenary and snap its spine. 'Back pain? Try a Shepard Elbow Drop Massage.' Some of the images were sickening or disturbing, such as aftermath footage of a line of batarian corpses, each with a grisly bullet wound in the forehead, captioned with 'Is this the kind of person we want representing humanity? Damn straight! Remember Mindoir!' Endless static image macros, from the ancient, such as AdviceShepard – 'Get shot out of sky. Kill fifty batarians with your knife. Get told you're a Butcher.' – to the modern, such as 'Council Hates You,' complete with air-quoting Turian Councilor. 'Stop geth attack singlehandedly. Get told by Turian Councilor they've dismissed you as a frame job.' A picture of her in boot camp training, wearing a T-shirt and the extremely skimpy shorts recruits are issued, displaying long, cocoa-toned legs, glaring at whoever took the picture. 'Everyone wants to bang her. Everyone's too scared to try.' A somewhat long-range picture of her talking to an attractive, smiling woman while a guy standing next to her looked nervous. 'Your girlfriend cheats on you with Shepard. YOU apologize.' Joker cackled at that one. She could break any one of my bones… damn… would probably be totally worth it. Even the mainstream media got into it a little bit. HumorNet posted a skit of popular actress Ylina Samuels Jackson playing a crazed Shepard, demanding someone bring her gun to her. When a second figure asked how to identify it in an armory full of weapons, Ylina had folded her arms and cocked out her hip in what Joker recognized as the iconic 'pissed-off Shepard' stance and said, "The one that says 'crazy motherfucker.' " VTV was hosting a Shepard-lookalike contest. A Shepard-lookalike wet T-shirt contest. Joker tagged that one in his bookmarks for later… review. Some of the commentary and video was mean-spirited and cruel, poking fun at Shepard's early life. Some of it was witty and reflective, commenting on the irony of a former criminal rising from a sordid past to win the highest honors awarded by the Systems Alliance and now becoming a Spectre. Some of it was touching – a series of images of peaceful fields, people building homes, children playing over the wreckage of an Alliance dropship, and a shot of thousands of people each holding a candle, sent by 'the three thousand one hundred thirty-nine people saved by Commander Shepard on Dirth, who owe every new day to her.' Some of it was inspiring, the owner of the New York Mets announcing a ten million credit scholarship to get young, disadvantaged kids out of the ghetto and into the military that he dedicated to the 'spirit and courage of Commander Shepard, one of New York's own.' It was crazy. Mania, actually. After seeing the horrific images from the attack on Eden Prime, after being so cruelly disappointed yesterday, with the concept of never achieving vengeance for Eden Prime, of the Council dismissing humanity, their sudden about-face had driven people to pin the turnaround solely on Shepard. And that drew commentary from all parts of Earth, and some of those messages were just… well, weird. Joker was reviewing that part now, bits of commentary from the Chinese Federation that didn't seem to quite translate cleanly. It was a still image of a tiny, cute kitten, superimposed over a near-dead batarian, as if sitting on its chest, but its eyes had been edited out and replaced with Shepard's. The kitten's front left paw was draped over a huge handgun bigger than it was, the barrel smoking as if just fired. The batarian had a look of horror on its blood-spattered face. The caption read 'ShepardCat is watching, but can't remember if she's fired five shots or six. Do you feel lucky, punk? Well, do ya?' Just as he was about to punch up an extranet search – maybe it referred to an old song or something – he heard extremely heavy footsteps in the airlock, and then a thud as something big entered. Joker turned around in his seat, almost absently, still half puzzling over the macro, and looked up to see a giant krogan standing there, a shotgun longer than either of Joker's legs held casually in one hand like a cane. "Um, hah, uh… can I… help you?" The krogan gave Joker a steady, baleful gaze. His armor was blood-red, pitted and seemingly recently patched. And bloodstained, wonderful. The krogan's face looked like he had lost a fight with a really hacked-off lion, long scars trailing from the big red plate above his face down his cheeks and mouth to his throat. "Shepard sent me." The bulbous red eyes focused on him, then dismissed him. "I'm looking for… a funny man. Wait, that's not the right translation." The big alien frowned and tapped his omni-tool. Joker just blanked for a moment. "Uh, what? Ah. I mean… I don't think we have a crazy alien assembly spot. How did you get in anyway?" The krogan tilted his head. "Never figured she'd have a drooling halfwit for a pilot. I'm looking for a… Joker. That's it. You're funny, but in a stupid, kicked in the head by a varren kind of way. You simple or something? She gave me an access code. There a problem with that?" "Yes. I mean no. Shit. Look. Shepard said something about aliens showing up, but I was expecting you to be… escorted. You just can't go running around the ship! It's a military vessel." The krogan stepped forward, leaning down. "And who is going to stop me? You?" He gave a heavy growl, displaying a massive array of teeth as he gave the most terrifying grin Joker had ever seen, worse than the holo-display of a T. rex he'd been scared of on Tiptree. "Calm down, Joker. The Council is sending him along with us." From behind the krogan, Alenko walked up, smiling faintly. "And, Wrex, please try not scare… or eat… the pilot. He may not look like much, but he's the only one we have." The krogan, for his part, was now staring at Joker's unattended screen. "What the…?" Alenko glanced over and immediately tried and failed to smother a laugh. "Oh, God, Joker! I thought you were running diagnostics." Joker spluttered. "I was. But they're so boring. And how likely is it the that one of the engines would really just fly off spontaneously. I mean, the ship wasn't built with scab labor… was it? Never mind. I was just passing the time." The krogan's face had taken on a truly confused cast. "What is that?" Alenko coughed, grinning. "It's… an old form of human… uh, humor, I guess. It's called an image macro. Back when humanity was just beginning to use computers, this sort of thing was popular. It's a reference to an old movie from about two hundred years ago. They… don't make a lot of sense unless you get the inside joke." Wrex shook his massive head. "How is that funny? Funny is when she killed that batarian terrorist on Shuler by hacking his explosives cache and blowing him up with his own C-11. That was funny. This is just…" Alenko shrugged. "Humans take some getting used to, Wrex." The krogan shrugged. "Maybe. I don't know, it's still weird fighting alongside human females. At least yours fight without so much… talking. And thinking. And then asking questions…" Wrex's tone was aggrieved and confused. Joker and Alenko glanced at each other a long moment before bursting into laughter. O-OSaBC-O Garrus sat in his mostly empty office in C-Sec, almost all of his belongings now neatly packed away in the five crates that lined the back wall. He had already spent a couple of hours packing a few belongings from his apartment, and that was already paid up through next year. Hopefully, he wouldn't be gone that long. Across the office, Forlan sat at his own desk, toying with his M-41 Talon pistol. A human creation, the Talon was the first generation of a 'close-in' sidearm, utilizing a shotgun's choke and pelleted ammo, but with oversized mass effect fields to control the recoil, resulting in a handheld weapon that fired with the kick of an ODIN assault shotgun. The weapon overheated with only a few shots, and went through ammo blocks in a manner of days rather than months, but it would put a hole through almost any shielding or armor at close-range. Forlan gently ran a rag over its slide, before reassembling the cleaned weapon. "Where will you be going? Do you even know?" Garrus shook his head, signing some forms to release all of his C-Sec gear back into the armory. He was wearing his own personal armor – passed down from his father – the heavy black angled suit feeling almost too loose on his large frame, the blue trim the same color as his face paint. "Not… really. It's all happened so fast I'm not even sure I can properly catalog everything." He stood, checking everything one last time. He'd turned in his pistols and shotgun, his armor, and of course his badge, keeping only his precious Model 19 anti-materiel rifle. That firearm was a gift from his old commanding officer in the military. "From what little Shepard told me, they already have some dextro food and sleeping areas ready. They had prepped that for Nihlus, the poor bastard. I have no clue how a human crew will react to a turian, especially after what Saren has done, but," He gave a shrug. "Not much choice now. I'll be damned if I'm gonna sit on my ass while Pallin figures out which talon to stick up his chute next." Forlan only nodded. "I wish Pallin had not suspended you. It's not right." Garrus sighed. "Forlan… I turned in my resignation after Shepard asked me to come with her. I can't… do this anymore." He looked at his partner and gave a weak smile. "I never realized before just how much pressure and stress I had put on myself. Trying to be like my father. Trying to be like Pallin. Trying to be a good turian, someone respectable. All the time that barefaced bastard was out there plotting to kill people, to betray us all. And when the time comes to bring him to justice, we were this close to letting him get away with it!" The turian's fist slammed into the mostly empty top of his desk. "Infuriating. Unacceptable. At least the Council has enough sense to authorize whatever methods are needed to bring him in." He looked away, at the frosted glass at the front of the office, at his name in reverse printed neatly there. "I can't keep telling myself I should be here… when all I do here is run down the symptoms of the sickness in galactic society… and sometimes, not even being able to bring them down because of some stupid regs." Forlan got up, stretching, and shook his head, his narrow features constricted and almost pained looking. "I will admit, chasing thugs and drug runners is more rewarding than figuring out which batch of aircar racers is sabotaging the speed detection devices on the Ward walls. And I can understand your frustration with regulations. At the same time, Garrus… you are too quick to anger. You react, sometimes without thinking of costs or consequences. I know Pallin seems like a bitter old cloaca lost in a world of doing things by the book to you." The salarian sighed. "But sometimes, you have to do it the right way." Garrus shook his head. "And look people in the eye who have been tortured and turned into living test tubes? Tell them that they don't matter? Rules and regulations didn't save Eden Prime. They didn't stop the Blue Suns from killing that little boy last month, or the red sand deals Eclipse makes. They didn't stop the Council from deciding that when politics was more important, laws could go by the wayside. I'm not going to justify myself. I'm a bad turian, because I'm not a robot." He reached out with a single talon to trace the silver nameplate on his desk. "I will miss it, and you. But I have to do what I think is right." Forlan smiled then. "Never said you were wrong, just for you to think about it. I guess you're about ready to head out?" Garrus nodded. "If you don't mind dropping me off, that is. Shepard gave me a passcode to get on the ship, but said to make sure I was aboard by no later than 1900. I would like to be early so I can try to get a feel of the crew and get my possessions stowed." Forlan put one thin hand on the big turian's arm. "Yeah. But before we go, two things. First… Officer Telanya asked if she could run you out to the ship. She wanted you to come visit her first." Garrus chuckled. "That girl doesn't give up, does she? Well, I definitely won't say no this time. Just more proof that I'm a bad turian, sleeping with asari all the time instead of some nice turian girl." Forlan coughed. "The fixation on intercourse with other species continues to astound. Waste of time, waste of money, and waste of energy. And mood music concepts remain confusing. But… that's not important. The other thing," Forlan exhaled, looking up. "I want you to take care of yourself out there. I won't be there to watch your back or keep the bad guys from getting in close. I can't go along, I have too many responsibilities to my family, and frankly, chasing after a Spectre on an experimental ship with krogan, humans, and quarians sounds like bad vid theatre." Garrus laughed. "I will be careful, old friend." Forlan nodded. "Good. Take this, then. I can't be there, but I can still make sure you have a good close-in weapon." He handed over the heavy pistol he'd polished, still in its black leather holster. Garrus's mandibles flexed in surprise. "Spirits, Forlan, I can't take this. You spent half a year's salary on this!" Forlan's voice dropped in pitch a bit. "You can take it, and you will. I never really mentioned this before, but I had a friend on Eden Prime. A human I worked with in the STG before I turned to C-Sec. Good guy, friendly, even to aliens, a member of their Special Forces units. He's dead, and I believe his offspring must be as well." Forlan sighed. "I am not a sentimental man. Salarians… process our emotional states rapidly. But a part of me is deeply… unhappy… that good people died while the Council, and C-Sec, did nothing. You took action. You made this happen." Forlan pressed the pistol into Garrus's oversize hands, holster and all. "Take it and put a hole in the monster who would kill innocents in his lust for power." Garrus hesitated, then nodded. "I… I will." He shifted back onto his spurs a bit, and then straightened as his omni-tool chimed. Glancing at it, his face took on a wry cast. "Officer Telanya just messaged me, asking if it would be inappropriate to have a drink before I dash off to save the galaxy." Forlan snorted. "Go, get out of here. Not interested in any more bragging or bad puns about popping heatsinks." Garrus laughed and picked up his small bag, slipping the pistol into it before turning and nodding to his partner. "Stay safe, Forlan." With his usual swaggering walk, Garrus left the office, the room brightening momentarily until the frosted-glass door shut behind him, casting everything into dimness once more. As it shut, the haptic lettering of his name on the glass dissolved as the programming kicked in. Forlan watched it vanish, then stared at the floor, and nodded to himself. "Yeah. You too, kid." O-OSaBC-O Tali stood motionless at the hatch of the Sullen Cloud, staring at the now blackened streaks and smears of blood that marred its side. Activating her omni-tool, she exhaled to calm herself, and began recording. "Lieutenant Dost, this is Tali'Zorah. When you get this, the Shadow Broker should have delivered Troyce's frigate back to Caleston, registered to your name. He offered it to me, but… I have something else I have to do. To avenge Troyce… and finish my Pilgrimage on my own, not have it given to me." She paused, looking around the empty docking pier, seeing the broken railing where she almost died, the pitting in the decking from shotgun blasts, seeing Troyce's last strong, elegant movements before his end in her mind's eye. "C-Captain Troyce died… saving me. He stood alone against two krogan killers, b-because I froze and then p-panicked and ran. I'm… I'm sorry. He was… one of the nicest, most open people I have met, and in the few hours we had to talk, I called him my friend." She sniffled, and shook her head, air from her suit system already trying to dry her face of the tears that streamed down her cheeks. "I wish I had some… words… to make all this… easier. To make it not hurt so much, inside, where it won't stop. I wish I was like these aliens I'm about to set off with, able to just forget and move on. But I can't. "Please tell Kiala'Shaal that she was right about me. I am just a child, too full of the stories of the Migrant Fleet to know what the real universe is like. I was angry at her then, demanding to be treated with respect, claiming like a fool that I was ready. I was not. And Troyce paid for my arrogance." She clenched her fist, and her eyes burned, but no longer watered. "I won't make that mistake again. Keelah se'lai." She turned the recording off, and beamed it to the ship, before walking away, forcing herself to walk calmly, with her head up and spine straight. At the end of the pier, Tetrimus stood like an obsidian statue, unmoving in his dark black robes, only the glow of his cybernetic eye setting off his form, outlining the tattered plates of his face. "I will ensure the ship reaches Caleston myself, Miss Zorah. As I said, Troyce would want someone to get use out of it, and we owe the man a debt. Dead or not, the Broker always pays his debts." The black-cloaked figure paused. "Turians have excellent hearing, and I could not help but hear your message. I am not a soft or comforting figure, by any means, and neither is the work I do. But you are very wrong if you think yourself a failure for not being able to somehow save Captain Troyce." She looked up, frame shaking. "If I hadn't run—" His voice was like ice mixed with the scrape of steel. "Then you would be dead. Raik Bole had killed several skilled members of the Shadow Broker's personal extraction team, and I believe he was wanted for the murder of a Spectre candidate a few years ago. And Weyrloc Shan was so feared that even Wrex did not want to believe he had killed him with such ease. Shan was best known for surviving a crash landing from orbit after being shot out of the sky by Blue Suns, killing them all and stealing their ship. Fighting either one of them was simply beyond any skills you might have. For Troyce to have killed one at all is, quite frankly, astounding, given his age and the fact that he had early stage Kepral's Syndrome." Tali sighed, but nodded. Tetrimus was too cold and too… bitter to ever shade the truth in consideration of her feelings. "I… th-thank you for telling me that." The turian said nothing for a long moment. "I only worked alongside a quarian once, an arrogant, prideful young fool on his Pilgrimage who got caught up in events far over his head. Like you, he was convinced at first that he could handle anything, then blamed himself when the violence of a galaxy he had never really been exposed to was too much. Like you, he had a ridiculous notion that he had some grandiose duty to society, rather than making a fortune from fools and the weak and moving on." The turian glanced at Tali before turning away, cloak fluttering in the wake of his stride. "And like his daughter, Rael'Zorah needed to be told the truth before he could find his own strength. I wish you good business, young one. I believe your kind say keelah se'lai when you depart." Another step, and he vanished into electricity and air, before she could even process her response. My father was on the Citadel during his Pilgrimage, and worked with Tetrimus? She was still a long moment, and then a small smile came to her. She at last had something to talk to her father about in her next email home. Exhaling, and taking the old turian's words to heart, she lifted her head and began walking toward the secure docking bays where the Normandy was docked. O-OSaBC-O Well, that's that. The Normandy, of course, had been assigned its own armory officer, someone named Jenkins, but that worthy figure had perished during the recovery of the last of the 212. Williams sighed as she finished the inventory of the weapons and transmitted the results to the Quartermaster, feeling a quiet sense of satisfaction at having any kind of duty, and being a part of such an important mission, even if it was only for a few days until the Normandy would dock with an Alliance base and get replacement personnel. She wasn't happy about that eventuality, knowing the Alliance would bury her in some other backwater, simply because she was a Williams. Dad… I'm gonna fix this, someday. Clear our name. Make you proud. She picked up her Avenger, checking that the ammo block chamber was clear before running diagnostics on it with her omni-tool and putting it in her weapons locker. Turning away from the lockers, she gave the cargo bay a once over, checking for unstowed crates or lose items that could possibly move in transit. Finding none, she opened the armor lockers and considered the hardsuits therein. Her own lightweight Marine armor was so much scrap after Eden Prime; the Quartermaster had already reduced what was left to omni-gel and pulled a fresh suit of Onyx armor, standard gear for spaceside Marine security details. The black armor was heavier and more angular than her old Phoenix gear. Her suit was pristine. The armor of Lieutenant Alenko was still a bit banged up, but a few minutes with omni-gel and a shaping tool would fix that up. Commander Shepard's armor, on the other hand, was wrecked. The chest plate was bowed inward and studded with shards of red-tinted metal, the legacy of the close-range explosive death of the geth prime on Eden Prime. The right arm was mostly gone, stripped to tattered bits of the armor under-layer. The legs were breached in multiple places, the left arm warped and brittle. She went to work on it, laying each piece out on the work table and pulling spares from the heavy lockers set on either side of the hanger bay doors. Turning on the radio in her omni-tool, she listened to old rock and roll as she worked. Fixing the chest plate would be tedious, but there was no real spare for the entire assembly, so each fragment of metal had to be pulled out with pliers, sealed with omni-gel, and the whole thing lathed back into shape. She heard the elevator door open behind her, and heavy steps stomping into the bay. "This is the hangar bay, Wrex. Typically not a lot of through traffic. It would be a perfect place to set up the other Link, and… well, it's large enough and out-of-the-way enough that spending time here during transit might be best." She half turned, glancing over her shoulder, as Alenko and the big alien mercenary stood at the edge of the bay, looking around. "Huh. At least it's decent sized. Yeah, this will work. I'll need a mainline ODR connection to set up the Link." Wrex's voice reverberated slightly in the hold, his already gruff tones taking on a more menacing, growling texture as a result. Alenko moved next to the weapons lockers and slide aside an access panel, indicating several fist-sized connection points. "Here, and here. These good?" Wrex examined them closely, then slid a slender black box from the bag he carried in one meaty paw. He withdrew a heavy cable, which he connected with great care, and then attached the other end to what look like a flip-top haptic interface system, which, after a moment of fiddling, he connected to the wall magnetically. The haptics lit up a vivid blue color, swirling into a stylized image of an open-lidded eye. Wrex grunted. "Alright, I'm in. Just like with the other Link, human, this one is secure. Anyone touches it without the proper gene sequence, it won't work. If they try fiddling with it, it'll wipe itself. And I don't know how to fix it." Alenko nodded. "I… I don't think any of our people would mess with it, Wrex." Wrex nodded. "Good. Humans don't taste much better than turians, I'd hate to have to eat one of you. So many small bones, they get stuck in my teeth." Williams just stared at the alien, mouth hanging open slightly, and Wrex nudged Alenko. "The female looks as if she's either—" "Wouldn't finish that sentence, Wrex. Remember the chat about our women?" Alenko's voice was wry. "Chief, how is the armory coming along?" She shook her head and saluted. "Sir. I've gotten all the weapons put away, except for… any ordinance our guests may be bringing on board." She gave a very hard look at the gigantic shotgun still clipped to Wrex's back. "When not underway, we usually stow weapons in these lockers… Wrex." She gestured to the row of ordinance lockers. Wrex just shrugged. "Whatever." He walked over to the lockers, peering at them before locating the only one marked with Korogish script. He immediately tensed, lip curled, shifting forward as his knees bent slightly, shoulders lifted, fingers curling into fists. He growled, "Who labeled these? This says 'King of the Urdnot.' Is someone mocking me?" Alenko shook his head in confusion. "N-No! We just put your name into the translator and printed out what popped up! I mean, sometimes it works phonetically, and 'rex' in one of our core languages means 'king,' but…" Wrex stared at the script a long, long moment, his eyes no longer angry, but full of something that looked very much to Williams like pain. Frowning, she turned back to work the armor again, as Wrex finally shoved his gun into the locker and shut it forcefully. "Anything else, Alenko? I'm getting hungry here." Alenko shook his head. "The only areas I haven't shown you are the various staterooms where officers sleep, and Engineering, which I doubt you care about. Shepard wants everyone in the comm room at 1900 to meet with the Captain about our next move. The mess deck has, um, krogan cuisine loaded." Wrex nodded. "Whatever." With a disinterested air, the big krogan walked back to the elevator, while Alenko stepped next to Williams. "Fixing up the XO's suit, Williams? Why not just replace it?" Williams gave a jerky shrug. "Who knows? XO's orders. LT, are we really just gonna let aliens walk all over the ship? I mean, it's cutting-edge Alliance technology." Alenko gave a sigh. "I already had this talk, or something like it, with Captain Anderson briefly via comm-link. The bottom line is the ship is a joint human-turian design. Because of how it was built, the specs are not exactly secret. And after all the damned publicity at Eden Prime, everyone knows about the Normandy's capabilities. As far as the aliens, well…" Alenko rubbed the back of his neck, eyes looking somewhat tired. "We chitchatted about this on the mess decks last night, Chief. The way I see it, aliens are just people. Weird looking people sometimes, with scales. But they're still just jerks and saints. They still feel pain, and fear, and love. They still get angry and happy." Williams angrily jerked a particularly large fragment of geth metal out of the Commander's pauldron and shrugged, tossing the chunk of metal into a waste bucket next to the work table. It landed on a small pile of other fragments with a muted, musical clink. "I get that, sir. Like I said, I'm not into all the Earth First bullshit. But we still have to be… prepared… if things get stupid like they were before we found the evidence to prove Saren was guilty. They were writing us off!" She paused, then looked at Alenko. "We can't always trust today's allies to be tomorrow's allies. I worry that having aliens all over the ship, with exposure to our technologies—" Alenko raised a hand to cut her off. "Chief, please. If not for aliens, we'd never have any evidence to prove Saren was dirty. Without an alien helping us, we'd never have found the evidence in time. Without an alien, the Council would have laughed us out of the room again." She shrugged. "I get that. But the First Contact War—" He cut her off. "Would have ended really badly for us if not for Uressa T'Shora, no? Look, Chief, I get it. You think it's not smart to rely on aliens, because when push comes to shove, everyone looks out for themselves – and there have been times where aliens screwed us over. I can see not trusting alien governments." Alenko turned away, staring at the deck, as if considering something. "But… at the end of the day, Chief, the aliens on this ship are here to stop Saren. They're not the ones causing us problems. Like I said, we can't go it alone, or we end up like the batarians. This is too important, too big, to think we can handle it all ourselves." Williams sighed, wrenching another fragment of metal from the armor plating in front of her. "And like I said last night, I just shoot things and look good, LT. I'm not saying I am gonna complain to the CO or anything. I just…" She shrugged. "Shit, I don't know. I guess this is just moving all too fast for me, and I haven't had time to adjust. Not like it matters, I won't be here long. Just point me at the bad guys. I just wish I was as good at it as you are, with your biotics. I could really get into crushing a damned geth with my mind." Alenko smiled, that amused but gentle sort of smile that lit his whole face up. Damn, why does he have to be so cute? I mean, dimples, really? "It's okay, Chief. I admire the fact you say it straight and I don't have to worry about where you stand. Too often, people are… hesitant to even talk to a biotic like a normal person. Some people don't even see our value in the Marines. And most certainly don't confide in us. I appreciate that you've never acted that way." Williams just shook her head, turning from the armor to face him fully, crossing her arms under her breasts. "Sorry, sir, but treating you badly because you are a better soldier due to your skills is about the dumbest thing I've ever heard. I don't understand why anyone would ever do that. Unlike most of the officers I've fought with, you always check your people, listen carefully, and kick ass in every fight you're in. I saw the security cam tapes from Chora's Den. Not only did you keep the civvies safe, you kept up in the kill count with a giant alien killing machine and Commander Shepard. Sounds pretty valuable to me." Alenko's smile widened, and he sort of ducked his head, as if embarrassed. "I… won't take up any more of your time, Chief. I really should make sure the turian is settled in, and Miss Zorah will be here soon." Shit, LT, you taking up my time is something I'll never complain about. He walked away, but paused. "Oh yeah, one more thing." He looked back over his shoulder, and grinned. "BuPers has denied us any further Marine reinforcement, so Commander Shepard had you and Cole transferred officially to the Normandy. The security contingent didn't have any senior sergeants, so you're the new squad leader of 2nd Squad. If we have to wide deploy, 1st Squad with Cole will deploy with Shepard, and you and 2nd Squad will deploy with me. Welcome aboard, Chief." Holy shit, she got us transferred! I'm finally out of stupid garrison duty! She thought she was just going to be on the ship a few days, but… "Th-Thank you, sir. I look forward to serving under you." Alenko nodded, turning away, and she ended up watching him every step of the way to the elevator, his confident, easy walk making his muscles ripple under his BDUs. Just looking won't hurt, surely. Damn. As he got in, he looked up, an almost teasing expression on his face, his smile now a smirk. "Try not to stare, Chief." he said. She blinked as the door slid shut. He did not just… She flushed, then, turning back to her work, shaking her head. Stupid, stupid, Williams. Having a crush on your superior officer, regardless of how nice his ass is, is just asking for problems. She sighed, then returned to fixing Shepard's armor, thoughts of all-too-attractive lieutenants occupying her mind. Chapter 32: Chapter 26 : Citadel, Depature II A/N: The sequence of events after leaving the Citadel will start out familiar to most, at least. Obviously they have to pick up Little Miss Prothean Expert… the idea that anyone could survive more than a few days without water in the heat put out by a semi-active volcano is stupid. However, there are still a few bits and pieces before they actually get there. Like Garrus snarking. And speeches. And a calibration reference. Updated 7-25-2017. Shepard had spent the entire afternoon in the Spectre office, and for the first time in a very long time, actually felt like the new kid. Being surrounded by people who, as a living, were expected to do the impossible, and were given everything needed to do the impossible, was actually humbling. She had met three other Spectres, all of them rather understated in their egos, but all clearly very, very dangerous. They had welcomed her, showed her a few things, and let her get to know other Spectres that had come through the offices. The so-called offices were tucked almost as an afterthought in the Presidium Ring between the human and turian embassy offices. From the outside, the space didn't seem like anything special – a security door, the Spectre emblem printed in frosted white paint across two armaglass windows that revealed only blank walls behind them. Looked plain. Boring, even. Inside was apparently the alien equivalent of the fucking Batcave. The purported 'office' was the size of a small base, wrapping around the edges of the ring for hundreds of meters. The interior was done in dark blue steel, with heavy rubber matting covering the floors. Large portraits of various older Spectres lined the tops of the long corridors connecting the various elements of the lair. There were armories full of illegal and experimental weapons, giant custom battle-suits that stood twice the height of a man, personal flitters, a private medical recovery ward, libraries with every form of research, a plastic surgeon, and rooms of data banks and monitoring equipment. Meandering through all of it must have been a thousand vidscreens and audio banks of news feeds, from asari mainstream nightly news to hanar religious exhortations to what sounded like vorcha talk radio. All in all, it was amazing, and scary. It was the treehouse hideaway of a pack of government-backed vigilantes, each and every one a certifiable badass in something, from financial investigation to FTL plotter sabotage to one extremely scary asari who was apparently a master of creating solid darts of gaseous poison and biotic force to silently assassinate anyone who was considered troublesome. I should probably tell Udina to be more polite. Hours later, Shepard was finally headed back to her ship, the back of the aircar loaded with things she wasn't even sure she fully understood. The most important thing they had educated her on was what Spectres could and couldn't do, and that they were expected to pay their own way because all Spectres usually got both a vast salary from the Council and support from their home governments. It sort of reminded Shepard of the Knights Irregular, the private security forces of the Lords of Sol. Like the Knights, Spectres answered to a patron as well as a government, with the patron supplying most of their gear and training. On the other hand, Spectres sometimes took sponsorships from other entities than governments – big corporations, religious groups, university systems. One even paid her own way with donations from what amounted to an online fan club. She doubted she'd ever have that. The base was also full of technologies that were literally on the bleeding edge of development, being tested by Spectres or restricted to their usage. She had been taken on a whirlwind tour of these things by the asari Spectre, who had an almost breezy dismissal of the literally billions of credits of materials just lying about. There had been a demonstration of a medical system called UNITI, universal intra-transmitted something or other, a method to use on-demand printed nanotechnology to upgrade medi-gel efficiency to patch up critically wounded squadmates from long distances. There was an entire three-centimeter-thick manual on the Spectre armor, along with videos and booklets and all kinds of extranet sites on its uses and abilities. There was a crash course on GhostNet, a database of intelligence files and a request system to allow Spectres the latest information and to obtain special equipment and reinforcements. Spectres could requisition STG or C-Sec investigators (if given Council permission, something her guide scowlingly informed her was very rare). There were even ebooks – Citadel Laws, electronic guides on exactly what few limits Spectres had, seemingly endless demonstrations of just how much influence was at her fingertips. Three brand new Revenant LMGs were on their way to her ship, free of charge, the manufacturer having offered to disable the fabrication rights management module to allow her to upgrade them to her heart's content. Well, now I know how James Bond felt. One-half kid in a candy store, one-half pissing-my-pants overwhelmed. With a head full of jumbled knowledge, still wearing her Spectre cape, Shepard piloted the aircar down to the pad next to the Normandy. A line of mechs and crewmembers was already loading the last supplies onto the ship, while she saw Engineer Adams on the port wing with mag-boots, performing a few last-minute checks of the hull. Strangely enough, Udina was there too, having an animated, somewhat strained looking conversation with Captain Anderson near the far end of the pier. She killed the aircar's engine, pushing the doors up and out of her way, and waved over a crewman. "Get everything in the back loaded into storage, except the black boxes, pile those in my stateroom." Barely bothering to acknowledge his salute and response, she walked over to where Udina and Anderson were conversing, both men turning to her as she got close. "Good, you're here." Udina still wore the elegant brown jacket he had on yesterday, but now it was crumpled, and he looked tired and drawn. "I've managed to square things away with the Admiralty. Barely. They aren't happy that you are serving the Council and have been stolen away from the System Alliance command structure." Shepard smiled. "Then I have good news. Talking to the Spectres, they informed me that every Spectre usually remains associated with their military. The duty I have is higher than that of my duty as a commander, but doesn't nullify it. I still take my orders from Arcturus, sir, as long they don't conflict with the orders the Council gives." The muscles in Udina's face relaxed somewhat. "That… that is very good news, Commander. With someone else, I'd be worried they would abuse their immunity to ignore orders they don't like. But your dedication to duty is well-known." He exhaled. "As far as the rest goes, well…" Anderson spoke up. His face was somber, almost resigned. "Shepard, Alliance brass decided that the best way to handle the situation is for you to take command of the Normandy. They can't have her captained by someone else taking orders from a lesser officer who is at the behest of… aliens. So, you are now the CO, with Navigator Pressly as your XO. She's quick, quiet, you know the crew, and, well…" Shepard's jaw dropped, and her eyes narrowed. "This is bullshit, sir! The only reason I even requested a spaceside posting is to be able to work with you! You and Saren have a history, and the Council used it against you, and you don't even get to command the ship they gave you to kill the fucker?" She felt sick to her stomach, shaking her head. "No." Anderson put his hand on her shoulder, carefully looking into her eyes. "Sara. You've stood around in my shadow long enough. You don't need me looking over your shoulder to tell you when you did good and when you messed up. You know. You busted your ass to get command-status when you were still ground-pounding hoping against hope you'd get to fight alongside me. And you did, kid." Anderson looked down. "But now this has to be your fight. I didn't bring all this to a head. I didn't get it done. I didn't convince the Council to do the right thing, you did. You know the crew, you said it yourself, they're the best of the best. It isn't like I've had command of the ship for years and you're stealing it from me, it was a shakedown run. You need the Normandy's abilities to operate deep in the Traverse. And you need to be able to say no one is calling the shots but you. You've always had to deal with someone questioning your orders, someone not giving you the support you need. We can't afford that now." Udina frowned. "If it's any consolation, Shepard, I am not pleased with this outcome either. Captain Anderson and I may have had a few testy words before seeing the Council… but he has been both a staunch defender of humanity and a hero for years." Udina folded his arms. "That being said, I have need of him here. I will have to deal with Alliance Command a great deal, and I am not military. Already I am all too often ignored when I try to advise the Senate Military Commission, because I 'don't get it,' according to them. Anderson will be able to influence policy here and abroad." Anderson gave the human ambassador a smile. "Thanks, Ambassador. It's good to know I won't be piloting a desk uselessly." He turned back to Shepard. "You can do this, kiddo." Shepard looked down, refusing to meet his stare, but the Captain just squeezed her shoulder again. "You are still the best soldier I ever trained. I told you before, I don't trust any other human with the kind of power a Spectre has. But I trust you. I trust you to get it done, no matter what, and to make me proud. You're the closest thing to a daughter I've got. You know that. And you know that I'll always have your back. So just… keep your chin up. Okay?" Shepard nodded, looking almost forlorn for a moment before the mask came down again. "I will, sir." Udina had turned to watch the crew loading supplies onto the Normandy, giving them a little privacy, and now, cleared his throat, as if he wasn't comfortable watching the two of them interact in such a personal manner. "The Council has only given us two possible leads. The first is rather direct; the second is most likely pointless tail chasing. First, we have zero possible locations for Saren or Benezia, but Benezia has a daughter, one Liara T'Soni. She's at a remote Prothean dig site on Therum. She specializes in researching the Prothean extinction. Her theories have been dismissed, because she maintains that the Protheans were obliterated deliberately by a more powerful culture and that whatever killed them probably killed species before the Protheans, in some kind of cycle." Shepard's eyes narrowed. "The Reapers." Udina nodded. "Yes. Tevos is still questioning if they actually exist or not, but everyone on the Council agrees we cannot afford to take the chance they don't. This Liara woman is our best lead – directly connected to Benezia and researching what we are fighting. Go and determine if she's connected to this mess or not, and report back to the Council." Shepard nodded. "Immediately, sir. The second lead you spoke of?" Udina sighed. "Over the past two years, five Prothean research sites have been attacked and looted, and over fifteen volus merchant ships supplying Prothean research sites have been boarded and attacked. We don't know a hundred percent for certain why, but the Broker – through the krogan – informed us that Saren was behind these raids. The ships have nothing but fuel and food, really, supplies for the camps, but if Saren is attacking them, we need to figure out why. We received a fragmentary distress call from a volus cargo-liner about ten hours ago. Too late to help, but not to investigate the wreckage and see what you can find." Shepard glanced around the pier, and turned back to Anderson. "Alright, then. I'll… be back, sir." Anderson smiled. "I know you will, Commander. She's all yours now." O-OSaBC-O At 1850, Shepard ordered the airlock sealed and primary start-up on the mass effect drive core. She walked through the ship, seeing all stations manned, every face looking alert and ready, and entered the cockpit. Joker was sitting there, reading a long screen of text topped with the Systems Alliance logo, a look of shock on his face. He let out his breath in a disbelieving huff and turned in his chair to look at her, schooling his expression to something professionally neutral. "Orders just came through, Commander. Guess Captain Anderson could withstand anything except backroom politics." She nodded, jaw still tight, tenseness in her shoulders and the lines of her stance, fingers loosely clenched. "It pisses me off. He should be here. He… makes us all better. I feel like I'm stealing the damned ship from him." Joker turned his chair all the way around to face her, frowning. She noticed absently that he had not shaved in several days. "Ma'am, with all due respect, that's bullshit. Everyone on this ship saw you put your ass on the line on Eden Prime; they saw you fighting to get things done on the Citadel. Most of all, we all know how much you respect Captain Anderson. We're not blind, ma'am. We're all behind you a hundred percent of the way." Shepard looked at him a long moment and then just nodded, her face a mix of emotions that swiftly blanked themselves. "Joker, pull up the 1MC." Joker nodded, turning back to his console, tapping a few haptic buttons, and the soft chime of the ship's all-points intercom system sounded. Shepard stepped forward, exhaled to release some of her tension, and began. "All hands, stand to. By authority and direct order of the Systems Alliance Naval Admiralty, as of 1800 hours this 25th day of 2183, I have been given command of the SSV Normandy, and I have the deck and the conn. Navigator Pressly is now the executive officer. VI, log the time." She paused, and heard murmurs in the distance from the Ops Alley. She squared her shoulders and continued. "By now you have all undoubtedly seen the news vids. I have been awarded Spectre-status by the Council, and given direct orders by that body and the Admiralty to find and apprehend Saren and any confederates, to bring them to justice for what they did at Eden Prime. The Admiralty has assigned Captain Anderson to the office of the Ambassador here on the Citadel, to act as our liaison back to the Council and coordinate efforts between the Council military and our own. "He spoke to me before the turnover of command, and said that this was the finest crew he had ever served with in all his days. Without each and every one of this crew's quick actions and excellence, we might have been dead in the space over Eden Prime, and Saren might have never been made to face his crimes." She paused, searching for words. Joker looked at her, attentively focused on her, and she gave an almost nervous smile as she continued. "I am not one for speeches. Anyone who knows me, who knows my history, understands that at best I'm a gun that gets pointed at the bad guys. But I'm not in this alone, and this is no battlefield. We each are the best at what we do, from the engineering staff who has more qualifications than a similar team aboard a carrier, to our ops group that kept us undetected even from an alien dreadnought using technology that wiped out the Protheans. The security Marine detachment went into overwhelming odds, against a foe that had chewed up three brave Marine groups, and only suffered one casualty." Shepard's voice grew harder. "Now we are called upon to chase this pointy-faced fucking bastard into whatever hole he crawled out of, and get vengeance for Jenkins. To get vengeance for the ghosts of the 212, the 235, and the people of Eden Prime. To show the galaxy humanity is not going to let themselves be kicked around just because we're the new kids on the block. "We aren't doing this alone. Just as I have all of you to back me up, we have members of other races who have been wounded by Saren and his monstrous acts. Garrus Vakarian helped us track down the information we needed to pin this mess on Saren, both financially and in locating Urdnot Wrex, who helped us take down a corrupt crime lord working for Saren and save Tali'Zorah nar Rayya who provided the evidence that directly implicated Saren, and that convinced the Council to support us. They are in this just as much as we are. "We have our orders. Find Saren before he finds the Conduit. I won't lie to you. This mission will not be easy. We've already lost one man. More of us may die. But this is the most important mission any of us have been on. To prove humanity's place among the stars. To prove the readiness of humanity to stand with other races as equals. To save the entire galaxy from a madman. "You're my crew. I have faith in each and every one of you. Let's get this done. Department heads, squad leaders, XO, and… Council Observers, meet me in the comm room in five. Shepard out." Joker gave a wry smile. "For someone who says they're not good at giving speeches, you give good speeches. Anderson would be proud." Shepard shook her head, eyes dark and cool. "Fancy speeches won't stop Saren and whatever he's planning. Let's get this bird in the air, Flight Lieutenant. Set course for Therum, Knossos System, Artemis Tau Cluster." Joker's hands were already moving. "Yes, ma'am." O-OSaBC-O The comm room had ample seating, as it was originally designed to double as a situation room or meeting room. XO Pressly, Engineer Adams, and Lieutenant Alenko sat on the left, along with Cole and Williams, the squad leaders of the ground Marines. To the right, looking various shades of uncomfortable or self-conscious, sat Wrex, Garrus, and Tali. Wrex in particular looked ridiculous, perched on a chair that was barely big enough to accommodate him, wearing a heavy jumpsuit in black with a thick white cowl over his hump, since his armor was still being repaired. Garrus wore his father's Clan Ceremonial armor, freshly painted and glossed, his visor casting a very faint blue radiance over Tali's reik, who sat with her hands clasped together and very still. Shepard stalked into the room, still wearing her dress blues and the Spectre cape. "Alright, people, listen up. Our first destination is Therum, a world in the Traverse. Human colony, but small, mostly mining operations." There was a series of heavy thuds in the background as docking clamps released, and Joker's voice advising all hands to prepare for jump shock. "The target is an asari archeologist, one Liara T'Soni. She's Benezia's daughter, but according to Tevos the two had some kind of falling out a while back. She's an expert on Protheans, and might be able to help us figure out what the Conduit is, or what the hell Saren is doing." Shepard paused and folded her arms. "I want all duty stations prepped for silent running at a moment's notice, Pressly. You're going to have to double as Nav and XO so go ahead and pick one of your people to start picking up your slack. I'm having my shit moved to Anderson's office, so you can move in tonight on the mid-watch." She turned to face Kaidan. "Alenko, make sure both Marine teams are prepped for hot insertion once we get on the ground. This should be an easy operation, but I didn't get this far by assuming things, and after Eden Prime turned from a pickup to a warzone, I want to be ready for everything." She glanced over at the non-human members of the crew. "Garrus, the abbreviated record you sent me of your military service says you were a battle-suit pilot and gunnery officer, that right?" Garrus nodded. "Yes, ma'am. I served in the Raptor Guard and as a SKYTALON pilot, but I did a year's service in the navy as well. Mostly light guns on frigates, but also some missile work and electronics. I also pulled several stints as an armor mechanic, in the 3rd Armored." Shepard nodded in return. "Good. You can work on the ship's guns from the forward battery. When you aren't doing that, help maintain the M35 Mako armored vehicle." She glanced at Wrex. "You'll spend your time looking over what the Broker sends. I'll forward whatever intelligence I get from the Council and the Alliance on Saren as well. Other than that, you've been handling weapons and armor for centuries. Please assist Gunnery Chief Williams with maintaining the armory." Williams frowned. "Ma'am…?" Shepard slowly turned her head to face the younger woman, eyes icy. "Yes?" Williams faltered, leaning back slightly, and reconsidered her words. "Ah, I mean… yes, ma'am, that would work." Shepard just turned away to face Tali. "Miss Zorah, I'd like you to report to the engine room and assist the engineers there. I don't expect you to stand a watch, but right now we have two watch standers doing twelve hours on, twelve hours off, and that runs people ragged in a hurry. Assuming Adams has no objections, you can assist with engineering duties." Tali nodded enthusiastically. "I… I'd love to help. The ship is so… advanced." Across the room, Adams gave a nod of approval. Shepard looked pleased. "I'm glad you approve of human ingenuity, Miss Zorah." Garrus chimed in. "And turian technology." Shepard glanced at the turian detective, who was smirking. "So far the only turian tech I've seen on this boat is an elevator that's too slow and a coffee machine that produces oil sludge. Not impressed, Vakarian." There was a burst of laughter, and Shepard nodded briskly. "Alright, that's all we've got. Garrus, Wrex, my quarters in five minutes. Everyone else, dismissed." She walked from the room and headed down the steps, pausing a long moment before the door to Anderson's quarters. Inhaling sharply, she stepped inside. The crew had been more on top of things than she expected, as it looked as if all her possessions and what she had picked up on the Citadel had already been brought here. Everything of Anderson's was gone, except a bottle of scotch and two glasses on the side table. The room was hardly spacious, a bed, the table, a wardrobe, the computer, a slide down mirror, and a tiny, tiny shower tucked behind a slide away panel in one corner. Still, she was finally in charge of her own command. Just not in the way she had ever, ever wanted. She sat listlessly on the bed, putting her face into her hands, and sighed. "I wish… I wish you were here, David. It's easy to puff up and look tough and confident, but… for the first time in my life I'm really, really scared. If I fuck this up, it's not just a few platoons of Marines that buy it. It's… everybody. They're expecting me to take your place." The red-tinted vision raced through her head again, the screaming, the suffering. It was like a splinter of glowing-hot steel punched through her skull, with a dull ache of horror that now suffused her every waking moment. She took a shaky breath, fingering the soft, black material of the Spectre cape. "People who don't even know me expect miracles. Billions of lives are on the line and I don't even know what the fuck is going on." With a sudden movement, she unclipped the softly glowing white badge and hung the cape and the pin on one of the three hooks over the bed. "Dammit. I just wish I could talk to you and… know it was okay." His voice seemed to echo in her mind. "The psych profile says you hate yourself. That you want to die, but that you're just too good to do so. Maybe you think if you martyr yourself for a big enough reason, that all that you've done in the past will be forgiven – that if you die it will somehow make up for it." She clenched her fists, tightly. His voice was relentless, filled with pride, with trust. "But I trust you. I trust you to get it done, no matter what, and to make me proud. You're the closest thing to a daughter I've got." She inhaled again, wanting to just cease. "I deserve to die. Not be celebrated." "It doesn't work that way, Shepard. Rather than throw your life away on dying, in some attempt to atone for being born the way you were, you can actually improve the lives, the futures, of all humanity." She looked up, seeing a distorted reflection of herself in the glossy surface of the doorway, eyes that were pits of hate, a mouth that had shouted the orders that had gotten countless men killed because she wasn't good enough. "I could still fail." "Sara, you've never failed at anything you put your will and mind to in your entire life. The things you feel you failed at can be laid at the feet of men who didn't give you what you needed to win. I can't and won't accept you taking on the blame for someone else's incompetence. And I know you. You are never satisfied with giving anything but your best. And you aren't about to start now." She slumped, holding her head, when her door chimed. Shit. The turian and Wrex. Hastily pulling herself together, she got up from the bed. "Enter!" Garrus came in first, eyes glancing around in several directions, hands loose by his sides, still the stalking predator. Wrex followed, his bulk blocking the view of the mess decks beyond, door shutting behind him with a quiet swoosh. Shepard glanced over them both, and decided to be direct. "I have no clue if this Liara woman… asari… whatever… is in league with Benezia or not. Normally, going in to investigate, I'd take some of my own people. But the fact is that if she's conspiring with Benezia and Saren, I have no intention of trying to arrest and incarcerate a powerful biotic." Garrus and Wrex traded glances, but Garrus was the first to speak. "I think I see, Commander. You worry your own people might… take exception to that." Shepard shrugged. "I don't honestly know. For a long time people – humans, that is – were never really comfortable around me. And I don't fit into human culture very well. I had what is considered a very violent, traumatic childhood, and I was a hardened criminal in my youth, but I was also biotic. I was isolated, feared, mistrusted, and above all else, used like a weapon, not a person. It makes it difficult to connect. I send the wrong signals." Wrex grunted. "More proof your species is full of fools, if they think you weak or inferior." Shepard shook her head. "No, not weak. Just dangerous. And fear response in humans is not to figure out where in a predatory pack I fit, or a dominance challenge, but flight. They recoil. They do not reach out." Garrus nodded again. "You worry they won't accept the necessity that this T'Soni woman may need to be put down, and attribute it to your, what? Bloodthirstiness? That they might refuse to obey?" His mandibles drew tight to his jaw, and he looked both disturbed and angry. Wrex groaned, his mouth twisting into a sneer. "Simpering pile of pyjaks the lot of them. Hostile biotic could reduce this stupid tin ship to splinters. If the bitch is hostile, a bullet to the brain is the only option." He gave a grunt. "Get to the point, Shepard." Shepard nodded. "Rather than Marine units, you two will accompany me when we go to retrieve the doctor. If she's not hostile, or if she's completely innocent, fine and good. We'll escort her back to the ship." Garrus and Wrex traded another glance, and nodded in unison, Garrus's voice dropping an octave. "If she isn't cooperative, or turns out to be in league with Saren, Commander, well, we aren't human. I certainly have no issues with putting a hostile criminal down without wasting money and time on a trial." Wrex's response was more sanguine. "Combat is trial in krogan law." Shepard exhaled. "Good to know. Wrex, you may want to go ahead and check how Williams is coming along with your armor. Be polite, if at all possible." Wrex gave an indignant snort. "Women." He exited, thudding footsteps and angry expression clearing his path of two startled looking human crewmen. Garrus turned to go as well, but Shepard held up a hand. "I know Wrex, at least a little, from Torfan. I still haven't had a chance to talk to you. Why are you on this trip?" Garrus frowned. "I told the Council why. Saren was a hero. Not just to me, but to all turians. For him to be evil, to be a traitor, is like the worst betrayal possible. It's… a visceral reaction in us, Commander. It's not something you can control. The extranet says there are already death squads leaving Palaven hunting for Saren to kill him. As long as he lives, he's a blot on the honor and… dedication of our whole species." Shepard sat back down on the bed, frowning. "Alright. Forgive me for saying this, but you don't seem to be acting like other turians. I heard your whole spiel about being a bad turian, but I don't want a raving hothead either. This isn't about you getting vengeance." Garrus cocked his head to one side. "Leaving aside for the moment the fact that I already explained I am happy to follow orders that aren't full of shit, and the speech you gave saying this was about vengeance for Eden Prime, you're not exactly the one to be cautioning others against hotheadedness. I mean, only one of us has punched out a prime after charging into more than seventy other geth. I don't call that restraint, Commander." Oddly enough, the way he phrased it made her chuckle, rather than instinctively explain why she felt a need to defend her crew. "Yeah, but I'm good at that sort of thing. You? I'm sure you can shoot, but how good are you when shit goes to pieces and you have a baddy all up in your face?" The turian folded his arms and leaned back on one leg, the very picture of cocky assurance. "I don't let them get that close. And if they do, well," His voice lightened, as he spread his ungloved hand, displaying very sharp talons. "…I figure I could take a stab at close-range combat." Shepard felt a giggle bubbling up from someplace deep inside, and stifled it. "Vakarian, that's a horrible pun." The turian shrugged. "Yeah, but I can hear you trying not to laugh. Did I mention my senses are about ten times better than human baseline? I once shot a merc through the eye, through two walls, just from the sound of his heartbeat. All you need to worry about is if you can keep up." Shepard arched an eyebrow, and then grinned. "Is that a challenge, Vakarian? I think I can get a bigger body count than a big, plated chicken-lizard any day of the week." The C-Sec detective gave a preening motion, and tapped something up on his omni-tool. "Ah, yes. This coming from the soft human whose name, according to my omni, is based on a follower of mammalian ruminants. You're on, Commander, just let me know where to pick up my money." Shepard couldn't help it, and burst out laughing. "I think I'll like working with you, Vakarian. I get tired of people being in awe or fear of the great and terrible 'Butcher of Torfan.' " Garrus sobered, with a shrug. "Commander, I can't speak for humans. Your people are still a cipher to most of the Council races, because you all act as if it's some kind of personal insult if you don't get something right now. But from a turian perspective, you're a very good commander. You lead from the front, and you're willing to sacrifice the few for the welfare and protection of the many. A turian who can't make calls like that is weak, and is considered a poor leader. It doesn't really matter what other people think anyway. What matters is that you did what you did for the right reasons." Shepard thought on this for a long moment, and Garrus arched his back a bit. "I should probably go and get some initial calibrations done on the main guns, Commander. If you need me, I'll be there or in the hangar bay." Shepard nodded. "Very well. And call me Shepard. Using my rank just gets old after a while." The turian's bright blue eyes met hers for a long second and he nodded. "Understood… Shepard." One mandible flicked in amusement. "Follower of sheep." Shepard made a shooing motion. "Whatever, battle chicken." Chapter 33: Chapter 27 : Saren, Ruminations A/N: Saren always knowing exactly where to go bothered me as well. If ME1 was supposed to last months, not days, why is it that we were always one step behind Saren, yet always just in time to save the day? Also, this is the first… foreshadowing… of things to come. Oh, you think Reapers are bad, you need to ask yourself what the hell Sovereign was really talking about when he said they were beyond our comprehension. No one ever bothers to really ask why Saren would make the call that only allying with Sovereign would work. Updated 7-25-2017. The bridge of the turian light-cruiser was as silent as a tomb. The angles of the ship's command area were sharp, forming a bowl shape around the pilot, and the deck sloped back and down, into an open triangular arena of sensor stations and gunnery consoles. The walls were engraved ever so slightly with various geometric shapes, and upon an elevated deck looking over everything was a massive, slanted chair with a curved back to fit the slope of a turian spine. The walls sloped inwards, like the primitive eyries of ancient turians. It was comforting, almost soothing. The clean white surfaces and the silence were the only consolation to Saren at this moment. The newscasts flickered in the holopit below him. The demonstrations, the burning buildings on Palaven. Debates across the Hierarchy between outraged turians and the almost panicked responses of Family Artierus. The ranks of the death squads and hastatim battling one another in front of the Patriarchal Palace. Shattered, dead turians in the streets, rivers of blue gore swirling around the treads of police tanks. The Council, serenely dooming the galaxy by denying him his due, draping the corrupted shroud of duty over a shaved monkey. The applause. The filthy words of those he had saved from their own ignorance and foolishness, the histrionics of those condemning what they did not understand. Saren closed his eyes, his talons slowly tamping down around the reinforced armrest of the command chair until the metal began to squeal from the sheer pressure of his grip. The asari manning the various consoles in the command alley below did not look his way, calmly fixated on their duties, the Voice gently moving them toward becoming mere gears in a machine of vast complexity and reach. Saren could almost taste Nazara's amusement in his thoughts. Ten thousand light-years away and the Voice was still there. Did you expect these pitiful creatures to comprehend what is before them? To thank you for their doom? Organic life is defined by its meaningless chaos. You should not care about their meaningless bleating. The Voice was stilled, by a touch on his shoulder. Benezia stood there, dressed in white, smelling like Thessian roses, her stance calm, tranquil. "You are troubled." Saren gestured bitterly to the display before him. "My reward for years of service and having my body ruined in the name of the Council. Dishonor. Disgrace." He flicked a mandible. "And of course, Nazara saying it means nothing doesn't change the fact that it is happening." Benezia slowly walked around in front of him, her magnificent body blocking his view of the ever-continuing farce on all news networks. "It does not matter. In the teachings of Athame, there is a passage that comes to mind. The shadowed path is never traveled in confidence, but in reliance upon one's own judgment. They cannot know what you know; they cannot understand the choice you made because, if presented with the same choice, they would choose wrongly." Saren shrugged. "Long dead asari philosophers don't comfort me at the moment. Cerberus failed us. The geth failed us. The mercenaries failed us. Defeated by a pack of monkeys, a disgrace of a turian, and a quarian child." He made a gesture with his hands, as if throwing something away. "And yet Nazara seems pleased. The more we cut ourselves off from others, the more his voice echoes in my mind." He sighed. "Regardless of right or wrong, they second-guessed me, when I never expected them to. I kept this a secret because they would not, could not, understand the stakes. And now, saving us all will be harder than ever." Benezia shook her head, and simply sat in his lap, her cool blue skin draining the anger in him as she laid her head against his cheek. "Do you remember when we first met? When your brother first introduced you to me?" Saren, despite himself, gave a little laugh. "How could I forget?" "Brother, this is important." Desolas's voice was, as always, full of self-importance and puffed up regard. His motions were quick and jerky, his scent vaguely off somehow in recent days. Saren had sighed, fidgeting. "I'm sorry, brother. But my thoughts are on the war, not… research into old artifacts we neither understand nor need." Desolas had only smiled, his long, elegant mandibles flicking out in amusement. "Ah, little brother, always seeking the quick pounce and kill. There are greater threats and worries out there than a pack of gun-toting pyjaks. Bad enough they open blind relay pairs, but what they found on Mir'tha was not anything we expected." The two walked through the asari gardens, full of blue-green mosses trimmed over ancient stone carvings. Swaying flame-trees, heavy with blue-white blossoms and pendulous fruit, rustled in the ocean breeze. The booming of the surf was offset by the gentle, delicate chanting coming from the temple proper. Saren flared his nostril slats in annoyance. "And so we go to a bunch of old asari to ask for how to work the thing? What makes you think they would know anything about this… Arca Device?" The spread mandibles of Desolas's smile had widened. "Asari writings on the casing of the stone containment vessel we found it in. I need them transcribed. And you must always remember that the threat is not the vitha in front of you, but the unseen vakar in the rocks behind you, waiting for you. We can use it or destroy it, but we should never ignore something this powerful." The building they entered was all sweeping curves and angles, organic and done in blue stones with a glossy, hard finish. The floor was a mosaic of stylized waves, all sweeping toward the middle of the room. A stone plinth stood there, the floor tiles rising up to its edges in the carved shape of crashing tides, pierced by a set of wide steps leading to the top of the plinth, where a single asari woman levitated, her hands spread, eyes glowing with pure biotic energy. The field encased her whole body, to cascade down the plinth in runnels of cerulean power. Saren felt the under-scaling of his fringe lift in awe. Levitating one's own body weight with biotics was like trying to pick yourself up off the floor by grabbing your belt and pulling. Impossible. But this woman was doing it. She exhaled, the thin white robe she wore barely obscuring the heavy curves of her form, the full breasts, the slender waist, the smooth muscled legs. Saren had rarely, if ever, paid close attention to asari, and was too busy to bother looking for companionship, but something about this woman… got to him. She settled to the stone surface of the plinth, unfolding her legs and coming to her feet with slow, sensuous grace. Her features were noble, almost sorrowful, but her voice was melodic, touched with a trace of age and pain he couldn't grasp. "Desolas, it is good to see you once more." His brother had nodded, bowing. "Matriarch Benezia. Thank you so much for making time to see us. This is my brother, Saren. He's just joined the Deathwatch, and is already on the fast track to becoming a Spectre." Benezia had inclined her head. "Remarkable achievements for one so young. Be welcome to Thessia, Saren Arterius." The gaze went back to her brother. "The documents you sent us are… troubling. The device you describe was once researched by the greatest of the matriarchs, Dilinaga. She and other matriarchs of her time journeyed forth to explore the nature of reality and the galaxy. Most died, others… went insane." Desolas frowned. "I thought asari couldn't really go insane." Benezia shook her head. "It is not uncommon in our younger days, when our passions run high. Far too many huntresses get in over their heads and cannot accept their actions. But yes, for a matriarch to lose her mind after centuries of strengthening it is… unheard of." She paused. "Dilinaga and others wrote of devices like this. Dilinaga said they were dangerous, that they should be destroyed. That they were gateways to places mortals had no place traversing." Desolas shook his head. "They… you don't understand. They… converted one of the research staff into a sort of… super turian. Bigger. Faster. Stronger. Something that resembles a story out of our ancient past. The Valluvian Priests. Once the leaders of our community, until, for some reason, the turian people lost their way." The matriarch inclined her head. "You are utilizing this device? Without knowing how it functions? That seems both risky and unwise. Regardless of what it may seem to do now, running along the path to improvement without knowing where you are going to end up… often ends badly. The geth and the krogan are both dire examples of such heedless quick fixes." Desolas again shook his head. "We have no choice. Turian society is becoming increasingly partisan, as younger generations begin to ignore the root of what made turians a unified society. How long until the Unification Wars repeat themselves?" He paused. "I appreciate your advice, but I did not come for you to approve my path. I found additional writings, in the ruins. I need to know what they say." He extended a datapad, pulling it from the great black coat he wore over his armor, and handed it to Benezia, who turned it on and paged through it. "It is… written in a very, very old asari dialect. It says that the path unto the Ones Who Came From Beyond is beset with… traps for the unwary." She paused, frowning. "Blessed… or anointed, it's not clear… is the being who Ascends untroubled, with an empty mind and hands to do the work of the Harvesters. But doomed are those… who seek to control the stuff… or essence… of the Beyond." She shook her head. "It appears to be some sort of arcane warning. Those who use the artifact with an empty mind – that is, without any intended use, without any goal – will not suffer, while those who use it with some purpose in mind…" Desolas had nodded. "Of course. That makes sense. It's why it didn't affect the human, or me. We never intended to touch it, it just happened in the course of our struggle." His voice trailed off, as he sat motionless, lost in thought. Saren frowned. "Brother?" Desolas had waved him to silence. "You've helped immensely, just by this simple translation, Matriarch. Thank you." Benezia looked at the pair with troubled eyes. "Do not thank me for this. I say again, there is no path to improvement of the self that can be safely trodden with speed and haste. I would research this artifact carefully, and not expose living beings to it. Dilinaga's warnings were never clear, but they were always most dire… and if this is what she and the other matriarchs ran into, anything that would drive a matriarch insane is nothing to experiment upon." But as always, Desolas would never listen… Saren sighed. "Am I any better than Desolas? Is my choice just… wrong? I made so many assumptions, and despite everything I tried, Haddah's ignorance has not helpd us in figuring out if this is the best path or not." He ignored the twinge of pain in his head, the whispering in his mind, his eyes fixed on Benezia's pure blue ones. Benezia did not reply, only wrapping her hand around his wrist. After a very long moment, she closed her own eyes, unable to meet his searching gaze, her breath flitting across the skin below his plates, tickling. "I don't know. Our decision seems like insanity on the face of events, shorn of understanding and context. A part of me, I suppose, no longer cares. And a part of me, I think, is… sealed away, screaming, telling me to flee." Saren looked at her, but she didn't open her eyes. He just wrapped an arm around her waist, waiting. She spoke again, almost hesitant. "But I do not flee. You are here, and I am with you until my heart beats no longer, whatever the cost. As to… what you asked…" A long moment of silence passed, the only sound the gentle beat of her heart, her breathing, the only smell filling his senses was of her and the flowers of her homeworld. She was his universe. Her voice, when she spoke again, was quiet, but tremulous. "One spends all their life in examination of each second, and when we think we know best, we are often simply ignoring what we wish not to have to accept. But… if what we have been told is true… it doesn't matter." Saren trailed a single talon against her neck, his voice a whisper. "It's all life in the galaxy. Of course it matters." Benezia's blue eyes opened, and they were filled with tears. "And that is a tragedy. But it's nothing compared to what lurks beyond the dark spaces of the galaxy, the things Nazara described. My mind still can't even grasp the the size and power of such a thing. Is the choice you have made right? I don't know. But it's the only choice we have that doesn't end in darkness everlasting." She gestured at the vidscreens. "Tormenting yourself over their ignorance… doesn't change that. A tidal wave far at sea is nothing more than a gentle swell. It is only when it reaches the shore that it rises up, tall and terrible. And by then…" She made a motion of siari dismissal. "It is far too late to react." Saren reflected on that, his hands clenched. "It does not make any of this easier." Benezia gave a sad smile. "No path that leads to a worthy goal is without sharp stones, beloved. But I am far more worried about how Nazara will react in the fullness of victory than I am about the panicked cries of those too ignorant to realize we are trying to save them. If he sees their foolish actions as being unworthy…" Saren sighed. "Then we simply have to prove we are worthy. And I think there is a good chance of that. Despite their immense power, the fact that the Reapers have chosen to hide, to cower in a handful of galaxies, to cast a pitiful cloak of protection over a few puddles of life, rather than fight…" He trailed off. "Anything that makes the job easier for them will be welcomed, I think. But it is not enough to merely survive as slaves, like the Collectors have, or worse, the keepers. I must convince him that our societies have worth. On some level, any level." Benezia nodded. "You don't just hope to save our people. You hope to… influence them. To change the minds of gods, who protect us from demons." She gave a small, almost bitter laugh. "Fifteen thousand years of technological progress, and we are reduced to casting our thoughts in the shape of myths and superstition. And those who claim to lead and guide us are blinded, even as they seek to lead us into a future that exists only in dreams." Saren shuddered, and he made a motion to stand. She slid from his form and he stood stiffly, cracking his neck and fluttering a mandible. His glare settled on the holopit, displaying footage from Eden Prime, and he gestured to the asari on the deck below to cut it off. "That's what makes me so angry. I have served faithfully for years. I discover a threat so… overwhelming, so dangerous, that it could obliterate all sapient life in the galaxy." He snarled. "A threat we can't hope to fight, can't hope to defeat… and if we did, through some miracle… would leave ourselves open to a worse menace. Be a slave, be melted down into base components, or… watch something that doesn't even belong in our damned frame of reality eat us, or tear the universe apart with the same dark energy we use for every part of our technology." Benezia shrugged. "When this started, you wanted to take it to the Council, a Council who wouldn't have understood. A Council that would have misused what you found. Or tried to. They would not have listened. And you did what you had to do. You've spent all your life defending the galaxy, making the right calls. They should have trusted you in this." Saren nodded, stalking around his chair. "And that hurts. That they don't trust me to make this call. I know… we… I… have been influenced. My brother was influenced, and he lost it, and I had to kill him to save Palaven. I know Qian had lost his damned mind. But I took the data I had and I went with it. I didn't rush into this. I took the warning from what happened to Haddah and Qian." He clenched his fist. "The Council tells me to protect the galaxy. I sacrifice my arm for that. My skin. My organs. I blow up my own brother. I kill, until I am drowned in blood. I become as hard as stone, just to be told I'm 'too extreme.' I stop the things in the dark that the average fool citizen of the galaxy can't even imagine. The red sand labs making the drugs from the ground up brains of asari children. The slaver rings selling modified female turians. The mercenaries who feed their vorcha with the corpses of the ship crews they've killed." He exhaled. "I stop the worst of it, and now, when faced with a challenge they can't handle, when I take it on myself to do what must be done… now they call me a traitor? That I go too far?" Benezia wrapped both of her hands around Saren's, gently and slowly pulling his hand down to rest on her stomach. "You are doing the best you can. Only children and fools believe that all things can be accomplished without sacrifice, or pain. Dr. Qian's own data showed that Nazara wasn't lying. There are many, many stars suffering the dark energy suffusion he spoke of, it's just that most of them do not possess planets, or are too far from a linking mass relay." Benezia sighed and her grip on his hand tightened. "What the Council thinks does not matter. I know you. I know your soul. You didn't want to attack Eden Prime, or kill your friend. You lost control because you were disgusted with what you had to do. If we had explained beforehand, nothing would have changed." "That…" Saren looked away. "Everything is just a blur now. Not even shades of gray. Just smears of black and blurs of concepts like duty and honor." He very gently pulled his hand free, caressing her cheek. "You are losing your mind right alongside me, trying to keep me together. I see the pain in your eyes. I see the stress, the slackness of your ribs when I hold you. You aren't eating." Benezia elegantly pulled away, fingers trailing along his forearm. "Life is not in the living, or the actions thereof, but in the intersected moment between decision and regret or enjoyment. I have no time left for mourning choices unmade, and unwanted." There was a silence, then, and Saren sighed. "I wish this had never happened. That I was on that beach on Thessia, feeling the surf crash between my talons, the sand smooth and hot against my back, reveling in your scent, your taste, that first time." He looked at her sorrowfully. "If life is not in the living, why does that moment call to me more than any other?" Benezia smiled, and her eyes were dark with memory. "Athame tells us that we cling to those moments that anchor us, in times of darkness and fear, and that they are the fire that drives our lives. Siari, on the other hand, says that in every happy moment there is the sadness of losing it, in every tragedy the triumph of survival. That we must mold ourselves to our memories, not the reverse." Saren did not move. "If only it were that simple, love." He examined his omni-tool, frowning. "The team I sent after Liara should have reported in by now. If that meatheaded krogan has failed…" Benezia's expression tightened. "She'll come. Once she realizes her foolish obsession is exactly what I need, that her knowledge is useful, she'll… come around. I will apologize, she will cry, I will say wise words of comfort, and… we will be much closer to finding the Conduit. No other researcher has had the mental flexibility to look at the Prothean extinction the way she has." There was a tiny note of emotion in her voice, and Saren cocked his head, his rugged face set in an expression of incredulity. "All those years of being upset with your daughter for digging in the dirt, and you are still proud of her?" Saren laughed, and shook his head. "You are… always unexpected, Benezia." The asari matriarch's mouth was set in a frown, but her eyes were more alive than they had been a few minutes before. "She and I disagree on many things. Just as I did with her… aithntar." There was a long pause, a note of pain entering her voice. "And like her aithntar, Liara chose to throw me away, disregard my words, and follow her own path." She lifted her hand. "Despite all of that, she is still my daughter. And I am proud of her, even in her defiance, as long as such defiance ceases when I demand it. If she tries to stop us, I will have to kill her, and I will… feel pain. I will never forgive myself, but I will not hesitate. There are too many lives at stake for me to falter now." She exhaled, then forced a smile. "But she has been so very alone and longs for approval. That is how I will win her back to my side. If she can help us, if she can help save everything we know from the fire that comes… then why would I not be proud of her?" She turned to look at the cockpit, the narrow window showing the black emptiness of space. "Do not worry about the mercenary. They have probably just heard about your disbarment, and have already taken her back to Virmire. We still have no leads on where the ExoGeni beacon is, Saren… we might as well go back home and see what leads Rana has turned up." Saren nodded. "Navigator, to Virmire. Send messages to the geth to alert us when that raid on ExoGeni HQ is ready to proceed. I'll be taking the younger pack of Okeer's thugs to go after the other volus bulk hauler we think is working another Prothean site." Saren turned from the bridge, and Benezia followed him, as if joined by some chain none could see but them. Chapter 34: Chapter 28 : Therum, Arrival A/N: The ending of Therum bothered me. How can a mining laser set off a volcano? Why, if you have an active volcano going off, do we never see lava? If the damned structure is that sensitive, how did they even dig into it in the first place? Updated 7-27-2017. Every breath came with a pained gasp now, as the unceasing agony in her arms and back radiated out in all directions. Liara no longer remembered how long she had been stuck in the same position, couldn't quite recall what day it was, or anything except the endless craving of thirst and the ache of her limbs. The heat flowed past her like a tide, occasionally stirring faint winds within the cavern. These were her only relief. A part of her mind, incoherent and babbling, wondered at the Prothean technology that allowed air and wind to reach her forehead, allowed sweat to drip from her exhausted form to splatter against the white tile floor below, but wouldn't let her move her limbs. It let the radiating heat of the cavern slowly cook her alive, but it stopped the blasts and energies of the various weapons and devices the geth turned on the field in their attempts to crack it. And, unfortunately, it let the smells from her body and the stinking, brimstone laden air to reach her. The hulking krogan stood in front of her, his wicked-looking armor glowing faintly, his mouth crooked in a sneering leer. "You don't look so hot, blue." He lifted a pitcher of water to his maw, drinking it slowly, before pouring the rest over his crest and letting it splash wastefully all over the ground. Liara whimpered, and the krogan laughed. "Guess you must be pretty thirsty by now, huh? Too bad. Couple of more hours, and the geth tell me they'll have their little device all ready to go." Liara swallowed painfully. Her body was coated in sweat, and the stink of brandy as it oozed from her system was overwhelming. Her eyes felt dry and her skin felt tight, almost as if it would split open. Her uniform was a mess, discolored rings and dampness radiating out from her neck, her armpits, her chest. She bit her lip as she remembered the humiliation of warm urine trickling down her legs, the smell wafting through the air and making her nauseous. She couldn't quite remember what water tasted like, or any smell apart from the rank odor of brimstone, or the stench of her own body, or the meaty, animalistic musk of her tormentor. In the background, the geth chattered to themselves, electronic signals no doubt flying back and forth, high-speed binary audio transmissions coordinating their work. Foul, pale beetles, eager and hungry to feast on my withered flesh. She closed her eyes, not willing to watch the vile krogan in front of her taunt her with water and food any longer. Her throat was so dry it felt as if it would collapse, but she gritted her teeth and spoke, forcing her voice to calm. "If I could get out of this trap I would. Why must you torment me?" The krogan grunted. "Because you are soft, weak, and stupid. Why else?" A sound, from above. Geth chatter. She opened her eyes, seeing two geth approaching the krogan. "Weyrloc-Strikeleader, dropship 441-Echo has detected a mass translation into the system, but cannot identify any associated ship with said entry." The krogan blinked, a stupid expression marring his already ugly features. "What the hell does that even mean?" The geth's voice was as patient and calm as it was artificial and cold. "Observed patterns at Eden Prime by Nazara-Giver-of-Future match this data pattern. A mass entry with no associated ship implies heat-suppressive cloaking. Only one vessel matches this profile. SSV Normandy, Human-Alliance vessel. Latest intelligence suggests vessel is in operation-command of Shepard-Predator, threat level: NoCarrier. Recommend defensive posture." Weyrloc grunted. "We took apart the Colossus to break this stupid field. If we put it back together we're back to the start with nothing to show for it!" The geth's eyeflaps moved. "The required elements in the Colussus warform can be reconfigured rapidly. The amplification systems are not need for battle unless super-heavy armor units are detected. Previous encounters with Shepard-Predator's combat force does not indicate any such vehicles. Delay would be minimal, less than one megasecond." The krogan folded his massive arms. "Alright, get your bots together but do it quietly and carefully. We're a long way from the human towns, but we don't have the numbers to fend off the infantry battalion stationed topside. Tell the frigate to get its shields up and weapons hot. Get the Colossus back in one piece, first of all, and get all the… whatcha call 'ems, armatures ready. Block the approaches." The geth turned away, and the krogan grunted in irritation. "Damned humans. I'd tell you to stay put, but I figure you're not going anywhere. Heh, heh, heh." The krogan stumped away, drawing his oversized weapons. Liara pondered quietly on what she had just heard. Despite the geth's caution, she didn't feel much better. The chances of a human vessel coming to a human world were not low, but they wouldn't be looking for her. She didn't recognize the name Shepard at first, but she kept prodding her mind, trying to think past the killing heat and the thirst. Realization came thickly, as if her memory was some kind of sap slowly leaking into the open. Of course. The news stories about Eden Prime… Shepard… was the human in charge of that. The one that destroyed the geth… She sighed. Maybe the humans had gotten some kind of reports about geth. Maybe one of the townspeople had come this way and reported sighting them, and the humans were here to fight them. Liara closed her eyes once more, and tried to focus on her meditations, to calm her body and cling to life. She had no other options. O-OSaBC-O "Clear of the relay, Commander. Comm-links with the planet are open, no sign of geth ships in the area. Drift is just under twenty-one hundred k. Systems nominal." Joker's hands danced across his flight board, and he grinned. "Stealth systems engaged." Shepard stood in full armor on the bridge, right behind Joker. "Noted. Bring us up to combat power, but hold off on battle stations. Ops, give me a full orbital scan, I want to know if there are any ships in orbit." Pressly's voice came through the bridge speaker. "Yes, ma'am. Showing… two, no make that three ships. Two heavy ore-haulers, the Random Kiss and the Call of Ancestors. Registered out of Irune, volus ships. Authenticated travel passes and customs documentation, both powered down. Looks like they're here to haul ore back to Bekenstein." Shepard nodded. "And the third?" Pressly's voice took on an edge. "It looks like a light turian frigate. Unbroken Honor. Registered to… huh, a krogan. Weyrloc Gulm. I didn't know krogan had ships, much less turian ones. In any event, it's not flying a flag and it's powered up, with full kinetic barriers. Waste of fuel in orbit, unless they're expecting trouble." "Pressly, run the history. Joker, keep us in stealth and bring us in behind that ship. Wrex! Run the name, Weyrloc Gulm." Wrex's voice rumbled back a few moments later. "Gulm was employed by Saren four months ago. Broker has footage of him taking a payment, and records, huh, that sneaky pyjak. Looks like he has an 'understanding' with someone on the CDEM. Bastard is running mercs for the Blood Pack out of the Krogan DMZ. No proof he's with Saren, but he has no reason to be here. Not much call for mercs on this ball of rock." Pressly's voice sounded again. "Ship's history is blank, Commander. But the blanking was done courtesy of a turian captain, one Thatnas Rykarial. No real details." Shepard tapped her comm-link. "Detective, you know anything about a Captain Thatnas Rykarial?" Garrus's voice sounded weary as he replied. "Yeah, unfortunately. Two-bit thug operating out of Omega, he got cashiered out of the Turian Defense Forces after losing a heavy-cruiser to a human frigate in the Relay 314 Incident. Pretty much a ship dealer out of Omega now. Supplies the Blood Pack with off-the-record light-frigates and freighters." Shepard sighed. "Thanks, Detective." She reached across the status board and punched the alert sigil, and tabbed open the 1MC. "All hands, battle stations." Turning it off, she turned back to Joker. "Bring us in tight, battle formation, and lock weapons on that ship." Joker moved his hands in complex patterns, pulling down a targeting panel from the haptic screens to his right. "On it, Commander. Guns or missiles?" Shepard tapped her chin. "Guns for now. Open comms." Joker tapped something, then nodded. "Independent vessel Unbroken Honor, this is Commander Shepard, Office of Special Tactics and Reconnaissance. Your ship is in Human Space, unregistered and not flying a port of origin flag. Stand down your barriers and prepare for boarding." The frigate did not respond, only breaking orbit and turning to face them. Shepard shrugged. "Dumbasses. Joker, fire for effect, missiles free." "Aye, ma'am. Firing now." The heavy frontal guns of the Normandy were forty millimeter behemoths, set in a gimbal mount that rotated smoothly to the bearing of the target and fired three times. At the same time, doors along the front of the ship slid away, and two missiles erupted from the ship. The turian-made vessel got off a single shot before the shots from the Normandy tore into its shields, detonating violently. A few moments later, the two heavy missiles crashed into the hull, sending burning wreckage flying apart as the ship exploded. Shepard just shook her head in cold amusement as the hulk of the now shattered frigate tumbled through space, a corona of shattered metal and bits of the interior jetting out, the occasional flames burning from what atmosphere was rushing from the hull. "Nice shots, Joker. Adams, damage report." Adams's voice was calm and almost amused. "Didn't even spike the energy draw on the kinetic barriers, ma'am. Turian weapons suck about as much as their coffee makers, I'd say." Shepard grinned, and then pulled up the communications unit to ops again. "Pressly, any comms from the surface?" The broad-shouldered navigator came up to the cockpit a moment later, his already dour features set in a frown. "Yes, ma'am. Some kind of tight-beam transmission from the surface, doesn't look like they had time to respond. The transmission is encrypted, but it's similar to some of the comm chatter we got on Eden Prime." Shepard's eyes hardened. "The location?" Pressly extended a datapad. "Pretty much on top of the dig site we were given coordinates to, ma'am. That ship can't have been at ready status for long. I'm guessing they saw our FTL heat-flash and dispersion before we went to stealth." Joker frowned. "Yeah, but so what? This is the first ship of its kind. The only other place we've even had a chance to pull that maneuver was…" Joker's frown turned to realization. "Shit, that means the geth are here?" Pressly straightened. "That's the only data that would account for them being ready for a fight, ma'am." He paused. "There's an alliance infantry battalion on the planet, but it's almost two hundred miles away, at the primary mining and dig sites. We haven't seen any alert broadcasts, so whatever is down there is being careful." Shepard scowled. "Or, like on the Citadel, someone's on the take. Notify them of the situation as we drop, but by the time they get anything this far out I expect things will be over." Shepard exhaled, and tapped the 1MC sigil again. "Marine Security Detail, stand to for hot drop. Wrex, Garrus, get suited up and meet me in the hangar bay. Prepare the ship for atmospheric battle stations." She clicked it off and looked over at Joker. "Get us in fast and low, Flight Lieutenant. I want a landing site within range of the Mako's guns and close enough that the Marines can hoof it, but not so close we get surrounded." Joker's hands moved through menus, and the ship tilted downwards. "All over it, ma'am." O-OSaBC-O Alenko walked down the line of Marines, examining their gear, his Avenger loose in his hands. "Alright, let's keep this nice and tight, people. 1st Squad will drop at position forty tac four dash two, and set up as long-range fire support and sniper suppression. 2nd Squad will drop after the Mako deploys, to the south, position one eighty tac one dash six, ready to move in on the Commander's order. Master Chief, you're sure you're up for this?" The grizzled black Marine puffed arrogantly on a cigar, an eye patch with the Systems Alliance 'A' on it covering his ruined left eye. "Hell yeah, LT. Little stiff around the middle." He slapped the massive Revenant LMG in his hands. "But Sally here has everything Uncle Cole needs." Alenko chuckled. "Alright then." Alenko turned to face Shepard. "All present and accounted for, ma'am." Shepard nodded, wearing the black and silver Spectre armor, the insignia on the shoulder glowing faintly. "Lieutenant, lethal force is authorized. Anything that does not immediately stand down, put a slug in it." Alenko nodded, but frowned. "Ma'am, what about the researcher?" Shepard's eyes were like ice as she slammed down the mirrored visor of her helmet. "Anything, Lieutenant." She turned away, clambering up into the back of the Mako, and the triangular hatch sealed shut behind her. Joker's voice range out over the intercom. "Incoming ground fire. I show one-five geth firing platforms, approximately three-zero infantry units. Evasive maneuvers." Alenko grabbed the ripline running down one side of the hangar bay a moment before the ship slid to one side under shuddering impacts. "Minimal effect. First drop zone in ten seconds." Cole shouted, his voice booming in the narrow confines of the bay. "Get ready to ride 'em, boys and girls." The Master Chief tapped a control on his omni-tool and music began blaring, the high jazz sounds of Little Richard's 'Long Tall Sally' filling the air. "Cocked, locked, and ready to rock, Marines!" The hangar bay door slid down with a sudden whoosh of displaced air, and the ripline the Marines were tied to launched out and down, a heavy harpoon at the end slamming into the dirt below as the Marines slid down one after another. Geth plasma fire sizzled around them, and even as the Marines slid down the line, they opened fire, the booms of Mattocks and the snarling of Avengers nearly drowned out by the high-pitched scream of the Master Chief's Revenant. Alenko slapped his comm unit. "1st Squad away!" The Normandy lurched, missiles flaring as it laid down a line of suppressive fire so that the squad could dig in, and the view from the open hangar bay swayed sickeningly. Joker's voice was tense, the sound of alarms in the background undercutting his voice. "Shit, the fucking geth have surface-to-space missiles!" A moment later the ship rocked, sending Alenko nearly tumbling to his knees, only the ripline keeping him aloft. Williams shot him a concerned look, pulling him back up, her eyes wide. "Is it always this crazy?" Alenko shouted over the wind roaring through the hangar bay. "No! Joker's a goddamned lunatic!" The ship settled a bit, and with a series of heavy thuds, the Mako roared out, mass effect flares firing to stabilize it as it soared down through the air. Alenko grimaced as a headache started, and hoped Joker could at least drop 2nd Squad off somewhere quieter. O-OSaBC-O "SHEPARD! SPIRITS OF FIRE, HELP ME!" The turian looked as if he was about to panic, eyes nearly popping out of his plated head as the Mako fell ninety meters straight down, the ground rushing toward them at terrifying speed and growing closer every second. Wrex, on the other hand, was already manning the guns, his head through the turret hatch due to his bulk, firing and cheering. With a final heavy blast of mass effect fields to slow its fall, the Mako slammed heavily into the ground, landing almost perpendicular to some light barriers the geth had thrown up as cover. These splintered and flew back under the impact of the huge battle tank, crashing into the geth ranks with titanic force. One was bisected by a flying piece of metal, sheared in half to splatter white coolant on the ground. Two more were hit by large spars of metal and driven to the ground, the light in their eyes fading in a chatter of desperate communications attempts. The other five were stunned and knocked on their backs. Wrex meant to fire the twin coaxial machine guns, but instead triggered the main gun, not quite used to the human tank controls. There was a heavy blast of heat and force, and a patter of burning, shattered geth parts began to rain down, bouncing off the tank in a collection of thuds and thunks. Shepard glared over her shoulder at the torso of the krogan. "Overkill much, Wrex?" The krogan's voice came through the internal comm-link of the Mako. "Sorry, but that term doesn't seem to translate into Korogish. Heh, heh, heh." Garrus groaned. "Figures. I thought you were completely mad, Shepard, driving this tank out of the bay like that. Didn't you primitives ever develop ramps?" Shepard gunned the engine. "Less fun, too slow, and doesn't let you do tricks." Garrus frowned, mandibles quivering. "Tricks?" Shepard grinned. "Like this." The Mako lurched ahead, careening carelessly off the rock wall to the right and launching its bulk down the sharply angled walls of the dig site, almost flipping over as it did so. The ground was rough with a baked red appearance, mixed here and there with black flows of obsidian or discolored shelves of shale. The dig site was dug into the side of the mountain, the slopes lousy with digging machines, cranes, platforms, and dozens of crates. A few heavy warehouse-looking buildings completed the picture, along with the tunnel-like access point to the dig site itself, accessible via a spindly looking stairway. Garrus was not amused with their rapid descent, being tumbled around in the back. "You spirits-damned lunatic! Who taught you to drive, a blind vorcha?!" Shepard laughed. "Armored units have a saying about nimble armor platforms. Drive it like you stole it!" Garrus's voice was unmeshed, harmonics lapping together in a mumble. "I've seen stolen aircars on fire better handled than this!" 1st Squad was upon the ridge overlooking the site, a steady stream of fire pouring down into the little bowl-like depression the mountain sat in. Already, several geth units lay still and broken, like bizarre modern art works in pools of milky gunk. The geth huddled behind crates and were clearly waiting for something, just pinning the 1st Squad in place with their own return fire. In the distance, another missile erupted from the ground beyond the ridge to slam into the Normandy's kinetic barriers, only to be answered by angry streams of GARDIAN laser fire. "Shepard! Contact!" Wrex's voice seemed alarmed. Shepard threw the Mako into a tight spin, letting the machine come to a hull-down stop in the lee of a large boulder that was marked by some kind of spray-painted scrawl about coordinates. "Colossus!" Shepard looked out the convex, heavy armaglass windows, as a silvery spider with a curved spire topped with blue fire hove into view, its bulk vast and ponderous as it rounded the corner of one of the peripheral buildings. The geth pinning the 1st Squad in place increased their rate of fire, as the Colossus turned to aim at the ridge. "Shit! It's going to fire on my men! Take it out, Wrex!" The M35's gun boomed, and the Colossus staggered, its heavy legs crashing into a crate and reducing it to kindling, its single, massive eye glowed blue-white as it turned to face its attacker. The eye pulsed, plasma waves coruscating out to wash over the Mako, sending the entire tank sliding back a meter, white fire erupting over its surface as the shields struggled to absorb the blast. Wrex snarled as his own barrier flared out under the impact. "Dammit, Shepard! Get us into better cover!" Shepard threw the machine into reverse, the heavy wheels locking down on the terrain beneath it, throwing the tank backwards and out of the way of the next blast, which reduced the rock wall to a bubbling expanse of glowing red-hot stone. Wrex fired again, combining the main gun with streams of fire from the machine guns as well. Tiny little pinpricks of light danced across the Colossus, a moment before Wrex's shot sent the thing stumbling again. This time, however, its legs and head collided with the scaffolding supporting one of the cranes. With a groan of tortured, bent metal and the rumble of failed struts snapping like twigs, the entire assembly came down. The Colossus's massive curved head tilted up for a second before an eleven-tonne crane arm smashed into it, crumpling the machine in a single blow. Dust and fire licked up around it in a billowing cloud that obscured everything except the low blast of several minor explosions. Joker's voice sounded. "Commander, I've downed some of the armatures, but the rest have 2nd Squad pinned down. Orders?" Shepard thought furiously. The geth fighting 1st Squad were already wounded, and much less of a threat without the Colossus. She was in a tank. Chances were good that she could take them out and get to the entry to the dig site, but if they were outnumbered once inside… it would be messy without 1st Squad to back her up. Still, if she didn't… 2nd Squad will be paste, and 1st Squad will follow soon thereafter. She tapped her comm-link, voice urgent and hard. "Joker, task 1st Squad with supporting 2nd, and keep those damned armatures down. I'll handle cleanup here." She saw the Normandy's silver talon shape angle high and into the sky, GARDIAN lasers lancing down in clean streaks of white light. "Wrex, target those geth near the ridge." "On it." The Mako's main gun barked and geth went flying in all directions from the blast, accompanied by bits of cover and the occasional severed mechanical arm or leg. Shepard floored the gas pedal, the heavy tank rushing forward to overrun the geth position. There was a thudding crack as she blasted through the low concrete wall they had been cowering behind, and then high-pitched digital screams as geth were shorn in half by the sharp nose of the Mako, or crushed under heavy wheels. One geth managed to snag its hand and foot along the stowage rails that ran down the left side of the tank, angling itself up, its other hand still holding a plasma shotgun. Wrex tried to get the turret in line with the thing, but the coax guns weren't built to move at that angle, and he was wedged too tightly in the turret to draw his weapons. "Shit!" Garrus moved, unbuckling his belt with a single move even as his other hand pulled out his pistol. A booted foot kicked open the back hatch, and with one hand, Garrus locked his talons around the seal and threw himself out, pulling up as he did so, managing to flip himself over and onto the top of the tank. He landed with a thud on one armored knee, nearly wrenching his shoulder out of the socket, thrusting the Talon pistol into the geth's glowing eye before firing. The blast, at a range of all of ten centimeters, was as if the geth had been hit in the head with a slug of burning steel, the fragmenting splinters that formed the mass accelerated pellet tearing off into crazy fractal patterns as they bounced around inside the armor plating that formed the geth's body, before bursting free in a dozen gory blossoms of ivory fluid. The shattered machine gave a stricken, abbreviated cry before falling free, and Garrus sneered. "No ticket, no ride." Shepard brought the Mako to a rolling halt, and Garrus let go of the hatchway, wincing at the pain in his shoulder. Wrex slid down and out of the turret platform, having to wriggle a bit to fit his bulky form through the hatch and out onto the rocky ground. "Pretty brave, for a turian. You could have just let him shoot me." Garrus shrugged. "And have to pick your heavy carcass up to get you out of the Mako? No thanks." Shepard exited as well, pulling free the Revenant she had picked up from the Spectre offices on the Citadel. Scattered in a line along the tracks of the Mako were quite a few dead or shattered geth. A few still twitched feebly, and Garrus put his pistol away and extended the blocky form of his anti-materiel rifle. A moment later, and with two sharp booms, the battlefield was still except for the wind-blown dust and the distant sound of a firefight over the ridge. Shepard grimaced. "Hopefully, the majority of the geth are still over there, tied up with 1st and 2nd Squad. If we're lucky, we can get in and find the scientist without facing superior numbers." Garrus nodded. "Well, I'm already one up on you on the kill counts, so the fewer geth we face the more likely my victory." Shepard snorted, heading for the staircase leading inside the dig. "Hardly, battle chicken, the ones I killed in the Mako count." Garrus muttered. "Driving like that, I'm amazed the casualties didn't include us." O-OSaBC-O Below the earth, Liara heard the blasts, the shaking of the ground, runnels and trickles of dust cascading down from the ceiling as a battle raged above. She closed her eyes, biting her lip in hope. Someone is coming. Goddess, thank you. Chapter 35: Chapter 29 : Therum, Rage A/N: I am not a fan of traditional rescue scenes. There's something to be said for damsels in distress, I suppose, as tired as that trope is. But I wanted to showcase that Liara was not weak early on. Updated 9-7-2017. The entry to the dig site was a cylindrical hole in the side of the mountain, a common enough set-up for miners who dug core shafts to test for mineral densities. The door was a heavy, hydraulic powered slab of metal that opened fitfully when the controls were activated, leading down into a sharply sloped tunnel lined with wires and overhead lights. As a rule, Shepard never liked going into dark holes sealed with heavy doors, as they all reminded her of Torfan, and the final assault. Then again, nothing else can be that bad. For one, no batarians… Shepard took point, swapping her LMG for the blunt, vicious ODIN shotgun, its under-barrel light flicking on automatically in the dim interior of the tunnel. The Spectre armor she wore circulated cool, clean air around her, the mirrored faceplate lit up on the inside with video links in the corners of her view and an integrated targeting system tied to sensors in her hand, wrist, and arm. Her steps were quiet; the heavy boots of the armor rubberized and built with tiny mass effect shock absorbers to silence her steps. Garrus followed, hunched over slightly, eyes tracking every moment as he held his heavy sniper at a ready position. He'd augmented his usual loadout with a bandoleer of heavy splinter shells – individual mini-block munitions that fragmented on impact – for the assault rifle he had checked out of the Normandy's armory, and Forlan's pistol was holstered on his hip. Heat wafted up from the end of the tunnel, washing over his angular features, making him blink a bit. "It's… hot. Why is that?" Wrex brought up the rear, gigantic shotgun making careful sweeps as he towered over the other two, the door falling shut behind him as they moved along the tunnel. "The air is moving, but it's… dead." The krogan's grip on his own weapon was tight, as he sniffed the air almost suspiciously. "If someone is here, they've been gone at least a day or so." Shepard triggered the door at the far end of the tunnel and rolled out, shotgun making an arc, covering her back. "Clear." Garrus stepped through, his legs making a wide spread as he stabilized himself, Wrex squeezing past him to straighten to his full height. The three stood on a narrow, corroded metal platform, high above a pit that must have descended over a hundred meters. The chewed gashes in the walls and heavy iron girders around the edge of the pit spoke of rapid digging, but empty soda cans, bits of food wrappers, and a pile of boxes with salarian markings indicated it had been lived in for some time. Wires trailed down the pit in a messy string sloppily tied together with plastic strips and nailed into the rock with heavy spikes. A single staircase circled the edges of the pit, spiraling down into darkness, the occasional field light clamped to the thin metal railings. "So, descend the creepy rickety metal staircase into the dark, bottomless pit most likely filled with geth? You bring us to such nice places, Commander." Garrus's voice was wry, as he put away his sniper rifle and pulled out his pistol. "Let's get moving. We don't have time to waste." Shepard's voice was curt and cool as she moved ahead. Silently they moved along the stairs, hearing nothing and seeing no movement. Occasionally they passed by openings in the rock – squarish tunnels slashed into the walls, ending about ten meters in. Crates marked 'Univ. Thess' or 'Univ. Althara' filled these, along with chunks of white, glossy material and bits of trash. After almost five minutes of descent, they reached a broad, open metal platform, crossing the pit and opening into a cave gallery. An elevator was set along the far wall, pulleys and support systems sunk into the rock with heavy beams, a rather worn-out looking generator next to it sputtering along with assorted rattling noises. The rest of the space was given over to an expanse of bone-white wall, covered in thin, almost elegant inscriptions that were in no language Shepard had seen but looked vaguely familiar somehow. She stepped closer, frowning. "This must be part of the dig site, but where are the researchers? Did the geth kill them?" Garrus glanced around. "No sign of a firefight. No geth heatsinks, no empty ammo blocks." He pointed to where computers had been neatly stacked, along with crates covered in shipping labels and warning signs. "No blood spatters, and everything is neatly stacked. Looks like whoever was here was pulling out, or about to." Wrex sniffed the air, warily. "I don't smell any blood. Just dust, and…" He frowned. "Burning rock. Lava. Brimstone. Shepard, that's where the heat is coming from. This isn't a mountain. It's an old inactive volcano." Garrus nodded thoughtfully. "Never been around lava, I wondered what that was. I thought something below had caught fire." Shepard shrugged, tearing her gaze from the inscriptions, ignoring the shiver that suddenly shot down her spine. "Let's take the elevator. Maybe there are answers, or this T'Soni person, down below." They entered the elevator carefully, and Wrex threw a lever, sending it slowly into a descent. Shepard's comms system flashed and she tapped her link. "What's the status topside, Joker?" The Flight Lieutenant's voice was a bit static-blurred, but clear enough to make out. "1st and 2nd Squads report all hostiles terminated. They took a lot of fire. Rodriguez, Smith, and Patterson are down with heavy bleeding, and Jackson took a slug in the knee and can't walk." Shepard sighed. "Understood. How many effectives left?" Cole's rough voice cut in. "Four. Williams, myself, Lelong, and Anders. The LT is alright, but he took a shot in the thigh, and he has a bad migraine. Says his biotics are… erratic. We're down by some kind of landing pad up on the ridge, there's some medical supplies here and luggage. Labels say it's T'Soni's. We don't see any bodies… but…" Shepard grimaced. "Take it with you and fall back to the Normandy. I think we're okay, the geth seem to have focused their efforts topside. As long as no one died, there's no point risking their lives just to cover my six. Joker, notify Chakwas." "Aye, ma'am. I'll bring her in close after I do one more sweep of the area. I keep getting some kind of light LADAR ping I can't pin down." Shepard nodded. "Cole, send someone to grab the Mako, you can start first aid on your casualties with the supplies in it, and it's going to be a lot easier to get everyone back on the Normandy that way. When we're done here, you can bring the ship close into the dig site itself, it's secure now." Shepard cut off the comm, and glanced around. They had descended quite a ways now, and the rock was an endless sheet of hard granite on the left. To the right, the entire pit was now white, glossy, and hard, apparently the surface of the Prothean ruin. Occasionally wide, oval corridors stretched off into the darkness, or ended in flat white walls covered in strange symbols. "Pretty big dig. Must have been some kind of tower, I guess." Garrus nodded, while Wrex looked bored, flipping his shotgun's safety off and on. With a shriek of metal, the elevator slowed. "Looks like we're coming to a stop." The cage of the elevator bottomed out with a thud. A second later, there was an electronic chittering noise, and geth plasma darts flooded the cab. Shepard threw herself down, ducking under the fusillade, as did Garrus. Wrex, on the other hand, simply roared as he was hit several times, and put his head down as he charged the elevator gate, which parted like rotten wood before his bulk. Barreling out of the elevator, he skidded on the metal walkway beyond it, lifting his shotgun to fire several blasts. An electronic sound of pain rang out, as something white was flung down, burning from the inferno rounds it had been impaled with. Shepard cursed, and ran for it, throwing herself into a ball and rolling behind the bulk of the krogan. She came up even as Garrus slammed himself to one side of the elevator, using the edges of the frame as light cover. The cavern beyond was large, probably thirty meters deep and very high. Broad shelves of rock connected to the cavern floor with rough ramps, while standing spot lights and the occasional hung field lamp cast a sterile white illumination over everything, sharp black shadows pooling around the tents, equipment, and crates that bulked along one side of the cavern. In the middle of the cavern a massive mining laser sat, its red-tinted focusing tip disconnected and set on a table next to it. She didn't see a single geth. She swept her weapon across her field of vision, eying the dark spots between two tents. Nothing met her gaze but all-concealing shadows and blazing bright searchlights, the combination ruining her ability to pick out movement. There was a scrabble of rock above her, and she rolled onto her back, firing instinctively. Wrex spun on his heel as something white and fast slammed into Shepard, the cheap metal walkway splintering as it crashed into her and both fell four meters to the cavern floor below. She struggled with the thing in the dim light, as it squirmed and bucked in her grasp, greasy white synthetic flesh making bizarre hissing sounds. With a grunt of effort she threw it off of her, but one of its long feet tangled in the unbroken section of walkway above as it leapt up. With a spin and a flash of red from its single eye, the geth monstrosity launched itself at her again, this time slamming a metal studded knee into her stomach. She felt the armor plating across her torso snap, but she wrenched her arm around the thing's elbow and pulled, arching back to force it to pull away from her. Wrex was shouting, blasts of shotgun fire peppered with high-pitched digital squealing echoing through the cavern. The disgusting thing on top of her smelled like wet and rotting cheese, mixed with old rust and grease. She kicked it away, rolling out from under the walkway and into the light, and brought up her shotgun, blasting it. It collapsed bonelessly, sprays of white fluid spattering over her armor, and she turned to face the cavern once more. The things were everywhere, leaping like frenzied locusts, spraying plasma darts from slender, ugly curved shapes in misshapen hands. Garrus loaded a high-explosive override shell into his Model 19 rifle and fired, the round lashing out to lance into one of the geth's sides, detonating a moment later in a flash of blue-white energy and a jumble of smoking, burning geth body parts. But even as he did so, two more ran along the ground, then along the wall, loping like deranged bloodhounds, glowing eye-lights leaving a trail of illumination as they pounced on him. Shepard grimaced, taking aim with her shotgun and firing. A geth thing folded in half at the waist from the force of the shot, and she fired again, gritting her teeth. The disturbingly fluid motion it made as it slumped to its knees, holding its shattered torso, looked far too much like a living creature for her comfort. Wrex grabbed one that was wrapped around his back with a meaty fist and hurled it with a roar, the thing flying in a tumbling arc to land heavily atop a crate. A series of snaps and the sound of something sizzling let Shepard know that one was dead, but Wrex was surrounded by three more. Shepard leapt up, calling upon her biotics, and lashed out with a pulse of negative gravity, sending the geth near Wrex sliding from their feet to float helplessly in the air. Rather than fire his gun, Wrex grunted, fist clenching as he pushed out his own biotic power, the two fields overlapping violently and shearing each other apart in a bubble of titanic force. The three geth were wrenched apart, one stretching to almost double its length for a brief moment before snapping like a worn rubber band, one half slamming into the rock wall and splattering, the other careening off into the darkness at the end of the cavern, landing in a pile of crates that it crushed. The other two geth, either less sturdy or more lucky, were just torn in half cleanly, bonelessly flopping to the walkway a moment later in a rain of white fluids. Wrex kicked a clammy geth hand off of his foot and crashed his heel into its head, sending the eye-light into darkness. Garrus had dropped his rifle to pull out his pistol, shooting one of the foul, rubbery things at point-blank range as it rounded the corner into the elevator car. It stumbled back, colliding with its partner, and Garrus fired three more times, his hand hammering down on the ammo release to cycle its chamber, the heavy shotgun-like blasts tearing dozens of pale white furrows in the sickly false flesh. The first one collapsed, the second twitched as it staggered back into Wrex's shotgun barrel. The flash of light a moment later sent the now burning geth flying across the railing to flip over it, and crash down onto the rock floor. Wrex wiped white fluid off his gun and face with a disgusted look, while Garrus fell back onto his haunches, scuttling away from the twitching, all too lifelike pile of synthetic flesh in front of him. "What the fuck was THAT?!" Garrus's voice was trembling with multiple tones, his eyes wide. Shepard crouched down in front of one of the bodies, poking it with her shotgun. The geth was roughly shaped like its more metallic counterparts, but only a few narrow metal rods at its joints and hips, and the plating behind its head and surrounding its eye, betrayed its synthetic origin. The arms, torso, and legs were all built of the same dark white muscle-like material, which, when she touched it, molded sluggishly around her finger with a juicy, sickening squelch before reforming back to its previous shape. "I have no idea, Garrus." Wrex spat. "Goddamned disgusting is what they are. They smell horrible. Geth were bad enough when they were just machines, this is… vile." Garrus slowly got to his feet. "Are these living beings they've ruined, or did they grow this stuff onto some kind of framework? What in the spirits is going on here?" Shepard stood as well, and shook her head. She shut off the flashlight to her shotgun – all it had done in the dim lighting of the cavern was highlight her position. She was about to reply when she heard a faint, almost exhausted voice, barely above a pained whisper. "Goddess… please… is… anyone there…?" Shepard caught the edge of the walkway and clambered up. Following the faint sound, she moved around the edge of the elevator to a narrow ramp leading down. She stopped, surprised by the vista in front of her. An asari was suspended and spread-eagled in a rippling field of azure, her once white uniform stuck to her slender form with sweat, long black pants clinging to her legs. A drawn face looked down at the Commander with such broken desperation that even Shepard was taken aback. Shepard took her helmet off, shaking her hair free, and arched an eyebrow at the sight of her floating in midair. While certainly beautiful to Shepard's eyes – she'd always been partial to asari, ever since her days training with asari commandos – any allure was somewhat dampened by the fact that she was clearly in distress. The woman's lips were parted as she panted, her eyes dull, her skin bright blue and somehow parched looking. Shepard could not help but notice her smell, like old bathwater and whiskey and something less pleasant. She cleared her wandering thoughts, speaking quietly. "Doctor T'Soni, I presume?" The asari swallowed painfully, and her eyes met Shepard's. For a long moment, neither looked away. For a moment, all that existed was two shattered people, unable to fit, never knowing how to react, unable to grasp the pain they kept being put through and into. For a moment Shepard saw something in Liara's eyes she could understand, something broken and raw and vital. For a moment Liara saw something in the human woman's eyes, pain never allowed to heal, wounds infected with agony and loss, a hand reaching out from filth and darkness for a touch of light… "Uh, Commander?" Garrus's voice was even, but with a slight edge. "You okay?" Shepard shook herself, frowning. "Yeah. Just… still shaken up by the geth." She cleared her throat. "You are Liara T'Soni, yes? Doctor from the University of Serrice, here on some kind of … archeological dig?" Liara nodded, her voice thin but somehow… sweet. "Yes… you… are real? You are real, yes? I have… been seeing things, I think. Hearing things. I've lost track of time…" Shepard nodded. "I… yes, I'm real. My name is Commander Shepard. I'm a Spectre. This is Garrus Vakarian, C-Sec, and Wrex. The Council sent us here. We're here to… get you out, I guess." Liara closed her eyes, shuddering. "Thank the Goddess… I did not think anyone would ever come looking for me." Her voice sped up, wavering, as she opened her eyes again, a trace of panic coming over her features. "Listen… this… field, I am trapped in, is a Prothean stasis defense field of some kind. I cannot move while within its confines, so I need you to find some way to get me out, alright? Please?" Shepard nodded, but firmed her jaw. "And how did you end up in there?" Liara swallowed, wincing, her wide blue eyes guileless and desperate. "I… I was packing my belongings to leave, the University… fired me, and I was told to meet one of my mother's followers to take me back home. I was… lost in thought, examining this ruin one last time when a krogan appeared with a bunch of geth. Geth! I saw the footage of Eden Prime, but…" She shivered, despite, the heat, and continued, her voice almost cracking. "I… I panicked. I knew this passageway acted as a barrier, and I thought I could protect myself by activating it. But something went… wrong, and it trapped me instead." She bit her lip. "And now I'm trapped in here. You must get me out!" Garrus flicked a mandible. "Your mother is working with Saren, doctor. She's responsible for the atrocities on Eden Prime. Whose side are you on?" The turian's voice was hard, suspicious. Liara looked shocked, lips trembling. She stammered. "I-I am not on anyone's side! I may be Benezia's daughter, but I am nothing like her! She hates everything I am. I have not even spoken to her in-person in years! I—" Shepard held up a hand. "Calm down, doctor. We'll get this all sorted out." She was surprised to hear herself speaking in a soothing voice, and cleared her throat. "We just need to figure out a way past this energy field." Liara minimally shook her head. "The thug that claimed they worked for my mother was trying to bring it down, but he and the geth had no luck. They planned to use something from what they called a… Colossus? To shatter the field… but I have my doubts. Prothean energy fields tend to implode when collapsed forcefully." She paused, then continued. "The controls are behind me, if you can find a way past the barrier field, you can shut it off safely. Please help me." Wrex grunted. "Well, we can't use their idea anyway; the stupid geth machine is a pancake now. It's too bad we can't just blast our way through." Shepard thought for a moment, then smiled. "I may have an idea. Just be calm, doctor. We'll get you out of there before you know it. " "S-Shepard. Be… careful. That krogan is still here, with the geth. They have been trying to find ways past the barrier, and I think he is a biotic." Wrex stiffened. "Another krogan with the soulgrip? I'm starting to get tired of krogan stupid enough to work for Saren. For a battlemaster to do so is troubling. And infuriating." The krogan's voice was dark and thick with anger. Shepard exhaled. "Garrus, cover the elevator. Wrex, come with me." Shepard walked around the broken walkway to the cavern floor proper, stepping over the shattered bodies of the geth hopping things that still littered the floor. She glanced around the campsite that had been set up beyond it, then turned her attention to the mining laser. Wrex grunted. "I like how you think, human, but I doubt blasting the field would work. Or the wall." Shepard grinned. "No doubt. Help me get this focuser back on the breech." Wrex grunted as he lifted the heavy crystal, the two of them carefully sliding it back onto the business end of the laser. "I noticed as we came down that there were lots of other oval tunnels like the one Doctor T'Soni is in. None of them have this field. All we have to do is blast through the rock below it. There's some kind of shaft beyond that, I could see it behind her – maybe we can rappel up or it might even be an elevator." She pulled up the laser's menu, grinning more widely as the system booted up. "Still got power. Now…" Using the cross-shaped targeting pad, she carefully aligned the laser's grid to the heavy jumble of rocks below, and dialed in the power to cut through three meters of rock. With a touch of the firing stud, the laser sent out a blinding purple-blue beam of energy, melting through the granite stones like butter. A moment later the laser cut out, leaving a wide smoking trench in the ground, leading to an irregularly melted hole in the wall that gave way to smooth, white floor. "Ta-da. Better living through firepower. Let's move." Shepard and Wrex walked over to the still cooling hole in the floor, and Shepard called up to Garrus. "Down here. We have a way in." A moment later, Garrus came scrabbling down the rocks, hissing in alarm as he jerked away from the still glowing hot rock near the edge of the hole. "Well, that works, if a bit sloppy." Shepard manually turned on her shotgun's light again and entered first, ducking her head under the still warm rock, then straightening as she entered the tunnel. This one was coated in dust, a console like the one next to T'Soni above dark and still. The corridor went on for about nine meters, before ending in a circular landing with a hole in the middle. A slender podium was at the edge of the hole, faintly glowing green images above it. Garrus gave a sort of whistling noise. "Fifty thousand years and the power is still on. Talk about over-engineering." Shepard walked up to the device, and Wrex frowned. "Buncha squiggling gibberish. How do you plan to work this?" Shepard frowned at Wrex. "I…" Without knowing why, her fingers tapped two of the holographic buttons, and there was a hard, grinding sound. A moment later, a circular platform descended from above, coming to a smooth stop, even with the floor they were on, and the panel chimed. "How did I know to do that?" Garrus gave her a worried look as they moved to the elevator. "Maybe the Beacon did more than give you bad dreams, Sheep-master." Shepard rolled her eyes. "Let's go. If I'm crazy, at least it's useful crazy. I hope." She touched another control, and the elevator smoothly lifted. It ascended slowly but evenly, a few seconds later stopping on the floor with the asari. Blue radiance filled the corridor ahead, but the control panel was about a meter outside of the effect. Liara's form was facing away from them, and Shepard shook her head as she caught herself eying the asari's behind. Jesus, I'm as bad as Dunn. What the hell is wrong with me? Shepard stepped forward, and Liara gave a little movement with her head. "H-Hello?" Shepard spoke, making sure her voice was calm. "It's just us, doctor. We'll get you down from that… thing." Shepard walked over to the control panel, examining it minutely. Liara tried to turn her head, but couldn't. "How… did you get past the field?" Shepard was still absorbed in the green-glowing display in front of her. "Mining laser. Cut a hole in the floor to the next level down where the field wasn't turned on." Shepard bit her lip. Garrus stepped up. "How do we cut this off, doctor?" Liara sagged, her voice dropping in defeat. "I… don't know. There must be some way to do so, but the machine was… malfunctioning. After all, I only wanted a protective barrier, instead it became a prison. Any advice I could give you might be wrong." Shepard hesitantly tapped a control in the right hand corner, and there was a heavy rumble from somewhere below. A moment later, Liara collapsed to the deck, her head hitting her knapsack on the floor. "Oh… you… you did it. How did you know which controls to activate?" Shepard helped her up, as gentle as possible, pulling her to her feet, leaving them face to face, barely centimeters apart. A long moment paused, and Shepard stepped back, exhaling, and pulled a bottle of water from the emergency supply pack on her thigh. "Long story. Here, doctor. You must be dying of thirst." Liara's eyes lit up as she took the bottle with trembling hands, shaking like a leaf as she slowly and carefully drained it, tipping her head back. Shepard found herself watching the movement of her slender throat as she swallowed, and turned to Garrus to break the image. "We clear?" Garrus shrugged. "So far. I can't hear anything. If there's any more of those geth… hoppers… around, they're being sneaky. Gah." The turian gave a twist of his head and rolled his shoulders as if shaking off a bad memory. Shepard turned back to Liara. "Alright, doctor. You a little better now? Can you walk, at least? How long have you been trapped in that thing, anyway?" Liara shook her head wearily, eyes focused solely on Shepard. "I… two days? I think? Things began to blur towards the last few hours. I… I think I can make it out of here, the water… helped." She exhaled shakily. "I… I owe you my life, Commander. Whatever I can do to repay you, it is not enough. What would you have me do?" Shepard looked at her feet, shifting under the intense gaze. "That depends on you, doctor. Your mother is definitely tied up in horrible activities. The Citadel Council has a lot of questions it needs answered, both about what she's up to and the geth, and right now, you are our only lead." Liara frowned. Shepard noticed she had eyebrow-like markings above each eye, and freckles dusting across her cheeks. Just like a human. Except she's blue. And beautiful. And I am staring again. A moment later, Liara looked away, her voice tentative. "Lead? I do not know what my mother is planning, or what she would have to do with geth. I am just a researcher of the Prothean extinction; I am not even well-versed in the more technical aspects of their culture!" Shepard held up a hand, and forced a smile. "Calm down. No one is going to arrest you or anything silly like that. We'll… figure out what's going on later. Frankly, if your mother's idea of a welcome home party is to send geth after you, you're better off with us. Let's get out of here." Liara pointed to the elevator. "We – that is, the research team that was once here – figured out how to use the Prothean elevator long ago, Commander. It is much faster and safer than the mining elevator, and it leads to the top of the volcano, which is fairly broad and flat. We stopped using the mining elevator months ago; I am astonished it still functions at all." Wrex shrugged. "The quicker we are out of here, the less likely more geth are to show up. And that damned elevator was on its last legs, anyway." Shepard nodded, and put her mirror-faced helmet back on. "Get us to the top, then, doctor." Liara gave a weak smile, and picked up her knapsack, walking toward the controls. "Please, call me Liara, Commander. I… I fear my doctorate is of little use to me except in isolating me in out-of-the-way digs." Wrex and Garrus stood stock still as Liara worked the controls. With a smooth lurch, the elevator began to rise, at a very rapid clip. More corridors radiated off the central hub in all directions, most blocked by debris, crates, or darkness. Shepard looked up, as a broad ring of metal scythed open to reveal sunlight and the harsh pale red sky outside. "Yeah, this is a hell of a lot faster than that rickety piece of crap we rode down on." The elevator came to a halt, the top of the mountain inset with a smooth white square of stone surrounding the opening that allowed the elevator through. The four stepped off of the elevator, which immediately sank back below the hatch cover, sliding out of sight a few seconds later. They were about two hundred and forty meters above the dig site now, the wreckage of the Colossus a tiny asterisk of twisted metal and smoke, the buildings spread out around the distant tunnel mouth. Shepard was so relieved to be out of the cramped, hot Prothean ruin that the voice from behind her took her completely by surprise. "Ha! Well, geth, you were right, this is an elevator shaft." Shepard whipped around, shotgun leveled, only to face the blazing blue orb of some kind of huge geth walker-machine, towering just over three and a half meters above them, wide-set legs gripping the rock of the mountain face beneath it securely. Leaned cockily against the foremost leg, one hand gripping a vicious looking shotgun, was a yellow-skinned krogan in bulky black armor. Red glowing tubing trimmed the armor, while his head plate was smooth and unscarred. The krogan jutted his chin out, displaying his teeth in a challenge. "Some old doddering wreck you dug up and a mincing little turian won't stop a big walking geth cannon, human. Give up the doctor and I'll make this quick and painless." Shepard snorted. "Fuck. You." She moved, pushing Liara out of the line of fire and immediately calling upon her biotics. She heard Garrus yell as he rolled backwards, the hiss-clank of his sniper rifle as he unfolded it echoing across the mountain top. With a yell she hurled a shockwave at the krogan thug— Who, with an almost negligent backhand motion, stopped it cold, biotic forces tearing at each other fruitlessly before wavering away. "Pathetic. I thought you were supposed to be some kinda monkey badass. Geth, kill these pyjaks." Both Wrex and Garrus fired at the same moment, shotgun and anti-materiel rifle blazing in a unified boom, one punching a wide hole in the geth machine's chest, the other digging a long gouge across the transparent surface of the geth's eye. But the Armature was far too large to be disabled, and the pulse that radiated out lashed across the three of them with a snapping boom. Shepard felt herself land heavily, paint sizzling, shields totally fried. Her armor trilled alarms as she tried to move, feeling something broken shift in the leg she had hurt on Eden Prime. Her eyes took in the sight of Wrex, laying on the cold white stone at the edge of the elevator shaft, unmoving, cold blue plasma fires dotting his armor and smoke rising from his form. Get… up… Shepard spat blood inside her helmet and staggered to her feet, calling upon her biotics. A second flare of light slammed into her just as she got a barrier up, snapping it and sending her skidding backwards again, this time landing on her stomach, her shotgun skidding out of her weakened grasp. She felt blood running from a cut on her collarbone, trickling down her neck. The Armature stomped forward, spike-tipped legs digging into the rock as it approached, casting faint shadows even in the noonday sun from the blazing death its eye promised. "Get away from her, you THING!" Shepard felt, rather than saw, something like a giant tidal wave wash over her, strong enough to send wind gusting past. A literal biotic meteor slammed into the geth with enough force that three of its legs snapped instantly, shards of metal and armor plating flying off with popping, crumpling noises. The Armature crashed to the ground, its head slamming into the astonished krogan with enough force to pulp his body, reducing it to gory red-orange paste that vented in a cone shape across the mountain top and far out into the air. As Shepard watched, the geth machine trembled and tried to rise, only for a blue radiance to enfold it. "You will not hurt her, or anything else, ever again!" The Armature lifted, jerked aloft as if by the hand of an angry god, legs jerking helplessly, then was slammed into the hatch covering the elevator. The head snapped off like a child's toy, skittering across the ground to come to a stop a meter away, the light fading from its orb slowly. A sob, and then blue light exploded outwards again. The machine was hurled down the mountainside, legs and bits of its body being shorn away as it rolled irregularly to crash to a sudden halt against a massive boulder some fifteen meters down. With a groan, Shepard managed to sit up. Liara T'Soni was on one knee, her lips drawn back in a grimace of hate, blue fires still illuminating her form, heaving with exertion. Her eyes were blazing pools of blue, full of frustration, fear, and savage emotion. Her shoulders moved up and down, her breathing erratic, and she glanced over at Shepard a long moment. "I… am… not… feeling so… good." With a flutter of eyelids, the obviously exhausted asari collapsed to the ground. Shepard merely watched her, feeling so tired. "J… Joker. Come in… We… could… use a pick-up…" Chapter 36: Chapter 30 : Pressly A/N: There are a couple of fluffy chapters ahead, and I know some people only read for the mission chapters, and the fight scenes. But there was such a paucity of depth to the way Shepard was characterized, that I need to explore it. The story makes us feel as if all of these people have these deep, binding connections – but we so rarely get to see it. I'm sure that's why fan fiction is so satisfying, because it lets us all fill in the holes. But I'm not good with drabbles and one-shots, there's so many pieces that fall outside the scope that I feel as if mine are just chapters torn from the story they belong in. The relationship between the Normandy Six and Shepard is a vital part of what moved her to become more human, rather than a bloodthirsty she-wolf that giggled at pulling some poor bastard's heart out from behind. Tali ends up like a little sister, Garrus a brother. Wrex is more complex, as he's part and parcel of her guilt in Torfan, but ends up almost absolving her. Alenko acts as a sounding board, a way to explore expectation. Liara becomes her soul, almost in the way Benezia is Saren's. Williams, though, is someone Shepard sees as having great potential blunted by her own self-image. Williams instinctively gets Shepard to respond emotionally, even when she doesn't know what or how to do so. I wanted to illustrate a bit of that, and give a hint of just how bad my version of Torfan is. I've debated writing up the full thing about Torfan, but I tried and it actually made me sick, so I may hold off on that. Updated 9-7-2017. Shepard awoke slowly, feeling very tired, but also very secure, as if someone held her carefully. She blinked away the blurry lights in the overhead and tried to sit up, only to discover her arms and legs wouldn't respond. She glanced blearly around, seeing the familiar confines of the medical bay, and sighed softly. An acceleration of small beeping noises from the foot of her bed rang out, and a moment later the elegant form of Dr. Chakwas stood next to her, a smile on her face. "Good to see you back among the awake, Commander." Shepard groaned, leaning her head back. "How long have I been out, and why I can't I seem to move? What happened?" Chakwas gave a slight, amused chuckle. Her lab coat was wrinkled, and her hair looked somewhat limp and frazzled. There were a few blood spots on the hem of her coat, some red, others blue. "Over seven hours. You can't move because there's a medical mass effect field holding you in place. We've had both the nerve and bone regenerators working on you since they hauled you back in. That blast you took from the geth war machine very nearly killed you, Commander." Chakwas picked up a datapad and began scrolling through it. "You broke your left collarbone, your right leg – two breaks, both internal – six ribs, and you had stress fractures in your left tibia. You also had several slugs penetrate your armor at some point, not to mention a heavy concussion from being slammed around, and some light first-degree burns from where your armor failed." Chakwas coughed. "Wrex was very severely hurt, but with an hour of rest and eating a truly amazing heap of chicken and something meaty, his regeneration has taken care of most of it. Detective Vakarian got launched completely off the platform and landed badly on his right arm, splintering some plates that had to be rebound. He also had some subdermal burning from heat-transfer from that hit, and one of the tips of his fringe shattered, which I was able to repair. He's resting in the hangar bay." Shepard nodded. "And… the doctor? Liara T'Soni?" Chakwas nodded. "Aside from being extremely dehydrated and malnourished, there wasn't that much wrong with her. Except, that last stunt of hers that saved your life nearly gave her an embolism. Asari are natural biotics, but most of them use a neural signal amplifier. It's not like a human or krogan amp, it isn't a surgical implant, but it's very useful. She didn't have hers, but she hurled enough biotic energy to almost cook herself alive, the poor thing." Shepard frowned. "She going to be okay?" Chakwas shrugged, glancing at her datapad. "In the short-term, she's fine. But from what I've been studying, overdoing it with biotics is dangerous for asari physiology. I see no evidence of anything yet, but even a single incident like this one could lead to any number of issues, brain damage, nerve problems, even sterility." Shepard paled, but Chakwas was still looking at the datapad. "In any event, she does not seem to be in any immediate medical danger. I'm concerned about her mental health, however." Fuck! Sterility? To save my worthless ass? And now I have to talk to her? Shepard sighed. "Doc… you are aware that I'm not the most… capable, when it comes to things of that nature, right? I understand she's not doing well, but, fuck, anyone would be better at talking to her about it than me." Chakwas gave the Commander a long, almost weary look. "Commander, I know you feel awkward around other people. It's clear that you sometimes miss the cues that other people pick up on instinctively. I know there's good reason for that, but not dealing with people won't make it better. You are now the CO. Like it or not, you have to be capable and willing to engage people in the space service. We don't have the luxury of a psychologist here, and we can't just put people on ninety-six hours leave to sort out their issues." She frowned, and continued. "And in this case, I think Doctor T'Soni will continue to evade talking about how she feels, or what this has done to her, unless she's forced to. You're the only person who can make that happen. She can protest she's fine, but you are going to have to decide how this plays out once she's fully recovered." Shepard arches an eyebrow. "How so?" Chakwas gave a wave of her hand, as if gesturing to the entire med-bay. "I have to make assessments of mental health, even that of aliens. Doctor T'Soni has demonstrated a mix of nervousness, depression, and despair since she awoke. Right now, she's in the research lab." Chakwas indicated the door in the forward part of the medical bay. "It's quiet, and if she has lingering medical issues, it's close by. Yet at some point you're going to have to haul the poor girl in front of the Council and have them interrogate her, and right now, I don't think she's up to that. You will have to decide when that happens, and how. And you can't do that if you don't talk to her." Shepard shrugged. "Deciding if she needs to talk to the Council is not my call. But, seeing as how she saved my life, I'm more inclined to cut her some slack. If she needs time to recover, she can do so here, and the Council can interrogate her just as well via tight-beam hologram as they can having her stand on that godawful fucking pier while they gloat." The doctor nodded. "For someone who is supposed to be cold, Commander, there are times you seem quite lenient." Shepard closed her eyes. "I don't do what I do for the sake of being some kind of… renegade badass. I don't like making hard calls, but when it happens, there's no point crying over it. Hesitating or showing emotion won't make it any better. That being said, doctor? When someone is telling me something, and they know more about it than I do, I at least try to listen. And there's no point making a young woman who just lost her mother get into a confrontation with that Sparatus jackass if I don't have to. I never got why Udina didn't like the bastard until I met him." Chakwas put down the padd, and walked to the end of Shepard's bed. "Well, your own injuries aren't exactly healed up the way I'd like yet, but I can at least have you sit up and able to talk. Both Pressly and Kaidan have been checking in on you every hour, I gather they have some kind of reports or decisions to make." Shepard's bed slowly elevated her to a reclined sitting position, and she could move her right arm. "How much longer am I going to be in this contraption, doctor?" Chakwas smiled. "At least another six hours. That's if you don't move too much. I'll send in Pressly." A few minutes later, the door to the dimmed medical bay opened, and Pressly walked through. He saluted, sharply. "Ma'am? How's the leg? Doctor Chakwas indicated you were mostly healed, but…" The big man stood at attention, his uniform perfect as always, his left hand holding a datapad. Shepard nodded coolly. "I'll need you to keep things going for a while longer, XO. Status report." Pressly nodded, and started going over his datapad, which she could see was full of notes. Efficient, and doesn't demand touchy-feely speeches or all that crap. Good XO for someone like me. "Ma'am, we took some minor damage on the lower armor banks from geth ground-to-space missiles. Nothing serious, but we do need to get armor plates 440 and 441 replaced, and segments 439 and 442 repaired. All members of the Marine ground unit are on board. No casualties, ma'am." Pressly gestured to the far end of the med-bay, where two soldiers slept in medical sedation. "Corporal Smith and Sergeant Patterson have fairly severe wounds and will be on LALD for several days while they recover. Lieutenant Alenko was released about an hour ago; his leg wound is not too bad. All other Marine force members have a full recovery." She nodded, and Pressly continued. "Per standing regs, I did a complete scan sweep of the surrounding area after your recovery. We flagged geth wreckage, at least as much as we could, for recovery teams. We got a comms request from Alliance Command about two hours ago, but it wasn't flagged as urgent. We are currently on course for Trintara, the location of the volus distress call. It's going to be a long flight, six mainline jumps and then a lengthy FTL burn." Pressly turned the datapad so she could see his proposed course, and after doing a bit of math in her head, she nodded. "Very good, Pressly. Commendable work, and I appreciate you stepping in for me." The balding Lieutenant Commander glanced down for a moment, shrugging his broad shoulders. "I… I do have a few concerns, ma'am. I don't have to discuss them right now – I know you are recovering from groundside injuries…" Shepard looked at him with narrowed eyes. "You're as professional and to the point as I am. If you're raising concerns, then they're important to me, and as it looks like I'm going to be busted up a lot, no time like the present. Let's hear it." Inhaling, Pressly nodded. "First, the very outline of the mission, ma'am. I know the Normandy is cutting-edge tech, but I'd feel a lot better if we had any kind of actual backup. This time we got somewhat lucky – that turian light-frigate we took out would have been a nasty customer if we were facing more than one of them." He folded his arms. "I'm also somewhat concerned about our ability to handle casualties – this medical bay is not really set up for handling severe injuries for more than a few of the crew." Shepard winced. "You won't get an argument out of me. Problem is, I don't think we have any backup. It was made pretty clear to me that the fucking Council didn't really want to get involved with this as it was, but they didn't have a choice. And the Alliance isn't going to do anything more than they already have." She leaned back against the pillow. "I'm already aware of how tight to the edge we're running this operation. Things could have gone… a lot worse down there, with that heavy geth war machine, and as Chakwas pointed out we almost got killed at the end because I got sloppy. I don't have any good answers for you, but hopefully if we get good leads on that pointy-faced fuck and whatever he's up to the Council will cut me some slack and give me more backup." He nodded. "Yes ma'am. I have to say, the Normandy's performed well to this point – I just wanted to make sure to make sure you had the longer term ramifications in mind." He exhaled and squared his shoulders. "Second, I have concerns about the aliens on board the ship, Commander. I wouldn't like to think of myself as… racist… and I understand the Normandy was built with turian assistance and that the aliens helped us out. But that doesn't change the fact that we don't really know very much about them, ma'am. They may not be with Saren, but that doesn't mean they don't have their own agenda, especially the krogan and the turian." Shepard arched an eyebrow. "Not worried about the quarian?" Pressly shrugged. "Tali? She's a kid, and a smart one. Adams is singing her praises, and she helped figure out a way to flash-dump almost another two hundred degrees of heat from the forward baffles. No, I'm not worried about her. It's pretty obvious she wants to be here and is helpful, and has a clear reason to do so." He frowned. "The krogan, on the other hand – why is heve even coming along? He's openly an agent and assassin for the Shadow Broker, an intergalactic criminal! He's a mercenary, and we don't know what the Broker's real interest in this mission is." Shepard shrugged. "I'll admit I don't know much about the Broker. But as for Wrex, I know I'm . I've met him in battle before, Pressly. I know they don't have a good reputation, but they aren't really good at being spies. Krogan are very straightforward and tend to be rather… direct in what they want and how they go about it." Pressly raised a hand. "I'm not trying to doubt your personal experience, ma'am, but that is exactly my concern. If the Broker changes his mind, or gets it in his head to pull anything on us, the krogan will just follow orders. I know he spends most of his time in the cargo hold and on the mess deck, but I would frankly feel a little better if we kept all the aliens off the CIC – not much reason for them to be near the critical systems. Or the stealth systems. That kind of tech might be just the thing the Broker would want to sell to someone else." Shepard tilted her head. "I doubt Wrex would care one way or the other, but keeping them out of the CIC isn't a terrible idea." She paused, thinking. "And Garrus? What's the concern there?" Pressly shrugged. "He's a turian, ma'am, and I am probably biased there. I just don't have a lot of trust for the situation. It was bizarre enough when we had a turian Spectre on board for what was supposed to be a simple shakedown run. But Special Ops C-Sec Detectives are almost as dangerous. I have an old… associate of mine. Name's Harkin. He used to be pretty sharp, but as age caught up with him he started drinking, and that led him to bad places. Harkin says Garrus is a very loose cannon who's risked the lives of innocent civilians just to down a criminal, and he almost blew up a transport to try to stop one criminal." Shepard used her right hand to pinch the bridge of her nose. "Alright, that sounds a bit extreme. And you think, what?" Pressly shrugged again, his face troubled. "I'm not sure, Commander. I'm no alien psychologist. But the last thing we need on this mission is a hothead. I'm not saying he's here to cause problems, but I worry that he's in charge of two very critical components of our mission, the forward battery and the M35 Mako. It's probably unfounded suspicion. But he sounds like a risk-taker." Shepard thought about how to react to Pressly's concerns, then decided to just be herself. "Fuck, Pressly, I have no clue what to think. I'm a risk-taker, when you get right down to it. Wrex and Garrus did a better job on that little jaunt we just had in the tunnels than many Marines I've worked with, and they nearly got killed doing so. That warrants some slack. On the other hand… keep an eye on them. And I want to know if either of them wander up on the CIC… just to see why they would do so." Pressly nodded. "Thank you, Commander. I… I know I'm not the most flexible of people." Shepard gave him a look. "And I'm the paragon of levelheaded calm?" Pressly gave a smile at that, then his smile turned into a softer, more open expression. "Ma'am, I can only say what I've seen, since you've been on board, is a good XO and a good CO. And I think you've managed to work with our alien guests better than I would. Then again, anyone trained by Captain Anderson has to be the best of the best." Shepard's face lost its amusement at the Captain's name. "Yeah. I just wish he were here." She paused, and glanced back at Pressly. "No concerns about the asari? She is alien, too, and the daughter of someone we're tracking down." Pressly shook his head. "Maybe so, but we all know she damn near killed herself to save your life. She was bleeding from the nose and mouth when we got her on board, and from what I gather it was somewhat touch and go for a while. I don't know very much about biotics, but Lieutenant Alenko said that was a very powerful display of strength, especially from someone who was without food or water or rest for a couple of days." Shepard snorted. "Powerful, hell. Taking out a geth prime almost blew me up; I can't even imagine how much one of those walker-things must weigh. She's going to be useful, if she can use biotics on that level." And let's admit it… I wish I could suplex a fucking geth… walker… thing. "Anything else?" Pressly nodded. "My only other concern, really, is the damage we took to the under armor. Like I said, it's mostly superficial, but those were just ground units with shoulder mounted missiles. The ship is fast, it's nimble, it's very heavily armed, and has strong barriers, but if we get in a serious scrap, I'm afraid the tradeoff is she has very little endurance. Damage control is almost nonexistent, and we don't have a lot of redundant systems. Kind of ties in to my concerns about no backup, but having our level of ability to mitigate damage being so small makes me nervous after years spent on heavily armored cruisers." Shepard winced. "Unfortunately, the Normandy is a prototype, and I suspect they had to gut the armor to fit the stealth system in. That's a real problem going into the situations we are facing. Any real options to fix that?" Pressly shrugged. "Adams wants to boost the barrier strength by rerouting power from the secondary drive power network, and Joker feels we should install additional mass reaction jets to improve handling. Either options works, but has its own drawbacks. Rerouting power from the drives might let us soak a few hits but also lowers our speed, which could be just as bad if we have to deal with incoming torpedoes. And having more MRJs to evade with and improve low atmo handling might be a good idea but will stress the airframe – and I have no data on how that will play with everything else on board." Shepard coughed. "I presume BuShips isn't offering up helpful hints or schematics?" Pressly laughed at that. "No, they haven't bothered to respond to our inquiries. Bottom line, though, they both agree a couple of good direct hits – or just about anything from that black monster ship we saw on Eden Prime – would tear us in half. And we are going to be going into harm's way eventually." Shepard considered this for a long moment. "Noted, but there's nothing to be done about it right now. Write it up, we'll send it back to Alliance brass and see if the eggheads at Engineering Command have any useful ideas. And I'll message BuShips to have them at least give us an idea if adding reaction jets would throw off handling. Anything else?" Pressly shook his head. "Not at this time, ma'am. I'll go ahead and get the noon watch change started." He checked the padd in his hands, and tapped something on it, bringing up notes. "Our current ETA to Trintara is about two days, Commander." Shepard nodded. "Very well, XO. Dismissed." Shepard watched him leave the med-bay, her thoughts swirling around what to do next. The silence of the medical bay was comforting, reminding her of other times she had nearly died achieving some goal. Dirth, shot through the lung. Vansha, hit in the arm, right knee, two in the gut. Terra Nova, damn near burned to death. With her working hand, she rubbed at her eyes, feeling grit and bone-deep tiredness in them. The door opened with its usual noises. Shepard glanced up, expecting Alenko with a report on the ground force, but arched an eyebrow as Williams walked through it, her dark hair tied back in a ponytail instead of a combat-ready bun for once. "You're awake, Skipper? The doc said you'd make it through okay, but we were pretty worried…" Shepard grunted. "For certain values of 'okay,' Williams. You have something to report?" Williams hesitated, then abruptly sat down in Chakwas's chair in front of her desk, facing Shepard, hands folded together. "Not really, ma'am. Kaidan is asleep, he was going to give you the rundown on what we found after we picked you up, but it really isn't that important. I just… I mean, I figured you could use the company, being stuck in traction and all." Shepard gave the younger woman a cool glance, face expressionless. "I'm not sure that I make good… company, Chief. I tend to focus on getting things done, not reflecting on them." Williams shrugged. "Maybe, but… I mean, I know you heard us talking in the mess a couple of days ago… and I just wanted to say that we just were talking about Torfan—" Shepard held up her hand. "Chief, I have a rule. It's a pretty simple rule, really. It's about the only one I have. Don't talk. About. Torfan." Shepard paused, closing her eyes as is if in pain. "Please." Williams was quiet for several seconds, the only sounds the faint beeps of bio-monitors and air cycling through vents. "I… I've never had a commander who gave two shits about me. I'm a Williams. I'm sure you… have read my record. Know who my grandfather was. General Williams, the Traitor of Shanxi. It's been something I have to carry 'round all the time. Pushing myself to excel." Williams voice dropped, almost to a whisper. "Knowing deep down inside things will not improve." Shepard tilted her head, looking at the soldier, and Williams gave a tiny smile. "Ask me no more: thy fate and mine are seal'd. I strove against the stream and all in vain." Williams exhaled sharply after reciting, placing her palms on her knees and leaning forward. "Anyway, Skipper, I'm… not good at knowing what to do with myself when someone isn't holding something like my family history over my head. I… I just wanted to say that I understand what it's like to be judged by something you regret." Shepard's expression was still blank, the dark eyes cool. "Chief… I judge soldiers by how they fight, by how much fire they bring to the battlefield, by how far I can trust them to go. I don't have the time or concern to give a shit about political crap or military dick-waving contests by men who need to convince themselves they're some kind of ultimate badass." Shepard paused, then continued. "Most people go through life lying to themselves, trying to convince themselves they are a certain kind of person. I don't care, and it's not something I get." Shepard scratched her head. "That being said, Chief… there's a big difference between being ostracized over Torfan and being illogically cashiered because your grandfather was brave enough to make the hard call. Trust me, I have had to make the call between victory at any cost and saving the lives of my men many, many times." Williams gave Shepard a hard, almost angry look. "And you didn't mess it up, you didn't back down when you could have fought—" Shepard shook her head, interrupting by raising her hand. "Williams, I never had civilian casualties on that kind of scale to think about. All there was to consider was the objective, and I had to get to it, and if the only way I could do that was to sacrifice a platoon, or lose three platoons trying to do it a different way, I'd sacrifice the platoon. Somehow, I'm considered… bad… for being honest with myself, for dealing with the issues the best I can, for not pretending to regret having to make the hard call. I refuse not to take responsibility for my actions, but that doesn't help." Shepard looked away, at the metal wall, taking in the little cabinets Chakwas sorted various medical gear in. "It's easy for some spaceside clown, who has never had to lead men, or face their goddamned families when they die for you, to say that I go too far. It's easy for some order-spewing, decorated old fuck to imply that it could have been 'done another way' when they don't want to get you the equipment you need to actually get it done at all. But sometimes, when you are facing a superior force, and they're going to kill everyone in your unit unless you figure out how to get the jump on them? You do what you have to. If soldiers die because of that, well… that's what Marines do. We die hard, fighting, and as Marines." Shepard turned her gaze back to Williams, dark eyes narrowed. "But at the end of the fucking day, I put on this uniform to protect those who were too weak to protect themselves. And so did your grandfather. I put it on to kill people who like I used to be, to make up for what I did. I put it on to protect people who were normal, who deserved better than me, who weren't a net fucking loss to humanity. And when your grandfather chose to surrender, rather than watch the fucking turians kill tens of thousands of innocent people just to get at his force… he did the only thing he could. He knew what it would cost him, just like I knew what it would cost me." Williams gaze was listless, fixed on the floor. "They said… the surrender… was dishonorable. What he did. I have to… redeem our name—" Shepard felt her blood boil, the old familiar anger rushing into her veins, but her voice was icy. Her whole body started to tremble, her face twisted into a snarl. "Honor? Fuck honor. What is honor? Was it honor that got the 2nd RRU blown to hell on fucking Torfan? I had to shoot unarmed batarians on Torfan. There were non-combatants there. Women." Shepard closed her eyes. "Children. The motherfucking four-eyed bastards used them as bait, knowing Alliance forces would try to avoid firing on them. They had them strapped with bombs. Babies. They prodded them forward at gunpoint, to charge us. Beeping. Crying." Williams' eyes were pools of horror, but Shepard continued, in that same cold voice. "We had to shoot our way through crying mothers, while the slavers shot my men to death. We had to shoot children in the head, so they didn't blow our goddamned unit up entirely. I had to sacrifice half the unit to draw off the main force, so I could get to the leaders so they wouldn't be able to remotely detonate any more fucking bombs. And we died, like goddamned rain falling out of the sky. And then the batarian pirate fucks wanted to surrender, to be let go. At the end of that fucking mess, the men wanted to roast the batarians alive, Williams." Her voice had become pained, close to wavering. Shepard gave a shuddering inhalation. "But the Alliance never mentions, that, do they? Course not. That might lead to questions. The Alliance sold us out. They let the fuckers know we were coming, so they'd all be in one place. Wanted my unit to get chewed to pieces and killed, to convince the Senate to authorize a bigger fleet. To convince the ever-fucking Council to let us take the fight to the batarians. So they gave us nothing. No goddamned air support. No reinforcements. Nothing. Just a few dozen N7s and a bunch of stupid line animals sent out to die." Shepard exhaled. "And when, despite everything, we won? When I did what I had to? They draped the fucking Star of Terra around my criminal, child murdering neck and talked about honor, and sacrifice, and heroism. But it's all bullshit. Honor is a word people who never have to pull the trigger use to justify getting someone else's children killed, for reasons that are never worth that. But do you think I regret it? Fuck no. I shot those evil fucking pirates dead because they were evil. I'd kill them a thousand times and it wouldn't be enough. I shot women and children because if I didn't then there'd be two dead people rather than one. The pirates pulled that fucking trigger, not me. And Torfan was the day the last of my faith in my own people died. When I realized some of them weren't actually any better than me. That we're all fucking monsters." Williams opened her mouth, but no words came out. Shepard glared at her for a long, angry moment. "I don't have time, or the inclination, to feel sorry for you or anyone else. I can't even feel sorry for myself. And I certainly don't want anyone feeling fucking sorry for me. Your grandfather wasn't the fuckup. The people who sidelined a good soldier because of what her grandfather did were. If you want to feel like he did the wrong thing, like you have to 'make up for something' or goddamned redeem yourself, you're a fool. Redemption is for when you've done something wrong, Williams. Like selling red sand to kids, murdering gangbangers just for being on your turf, stealing medical supplies from the poor to sell for heroin, killing people for fifty credits or to prove you're hard." Shepard exhaled, and closed her eyes. "But I was a monster before I wore this uniform. I tried to change what I am. Humans may well be monsters, but at least your goddamned grandfather had the guts to make wearing that uniform mean something, unlike the fucks who are responsible for Torfan. And if you're wearing it, that's why you should be doing it too. To make it mean something. That's what I fight for. To make sure no other little girls end up like me." The medical bay was quiet again, for long, tense seconds. Finally Williams spoke, hands curling into fists. "All I know is that I… I've been a soldier all my life. That's all I wanted. To wear the Alliance blue. To be able to say 'these colors don't run.' To know I was defending the people that mattered. I never got a chance to, always shuffled off to the end-zones, out of the way colonies, garrison duty. And when it finally happens, when I'm on Eden Prime and it's time to die defending innocent colonists, I'm… powerless. Terrified. Running for my life. Whimpering in fear." Shepard's voice was flat, cold. "As opposed to what, exactly, Chief? You think you failed or something? You think you should have died? That you should have stood tall, like that idiot Jenkins, and got your head ventilated?" Shepard shook her head, sneering. "You were outnumbered four-to-one, facing down an enemy that was faster, stronger, and had the drop on you. Your CO was a criminally incompetent fuck who set a defensive position in the middle of a fire-lane with no cover, and he died like the stupid fool he was. Your Battalion Commander was farting around eight hundred kilometers away while your units came apart under fire, but you survived that, you even got back into the fight. I already told you: you're one of the best soldiers I've seen, and I don't have the time or inclination to patronize or bullshit people." Shepard jerked her thumb backwards, toward the research lab. "There's a girl back there who just found out her mother tried to have her killed, after learning that same mother has joined up with a mass-murdering lunatic. There's a turian who just threw away his entire career for a chance at stopping Saren, because he's so pissed at the betrayal he can't think to do anything else. There's a fucking quarian kid who watched a friend get his head blown off just to get the data we needed here, and who's coming along out of some kind of fucked up species guilt. I don't care about anything in your past, or who your family was, or anything, Williams, except your ability to shoot that fucking gun like you stole it. You say you wear those blues to defend innocent people? Goddammit, what the fuck else are we doing if not that? That stupid pointy-faced fuck is going to kill the galaxy, Chief. Next to that, what some fuck with four stripes and as much ground combat time as a volus thinks of you or your family history should be a goddamned non-issue." Williams stood, saluting. "Yes, ma'am. Permission to depart, ma'am." Shepard glanced away. "Denied. Sit your ass back in that chair." Williams looked angry, hurt, confused, defiant… and sat. Shepard actually gave a small smile. "I think… I know what you meant to say, Chief. You've been treated like crap through your career, and you think I feel the same for being the Butcher, that I don't talk much because I am," Shepard gave a little huff of air, "vilified." Williams frowned "And you don't feel that way? I… look. Nobody gets you. Nobody understands… why you do this. It's hard for us to know what's going to happen on this… quest… we're on when we don't know… what to expect." Shepard's smile edged into bitterness. "Translation: nobody knows if I'll sacrifice them to get the mission completed? Fuck yes, I would. You, Alenko, Joker, the aliens, the whole goddamned ship. But I wouldn't expect to survive it. I'd be right there in the middle of it, dying, if I did that." Shepard fixed her gaze on Williams, hard gray-blue meeting soft and wary brown. "There are too many soldiers out there with… damage to the soul. They only see numbers and success or failure, the losses in soldiers no more important than numbers on a datapad. Human robots, emotionally crippled. But they sacrifice their men without leading them. I've never, ever done that. And I never will." Williams nodded, and Shepard gave a small, twisted smile. "I do this because I'm the best, Chief. At killing. At doing the impossible. At tasks that would reduce most people to a small puddle on the ground. I have survived shit that would turn you green." Shepard's expression twisted, the smile becoming something like a grimace. "But I grew up with drug-addled parents who sold me off as a kid to a sex slavery ring. I got free of that by turning into a vicious killer. The gangs kept me hopped up on so much coke, red sand, and heroin that there's whole months I can't even recall. I never, ever had a normal life. I don't know how to 'relate.' I don't know how to make what I feel into something that makes sense. I react. I've never had a date, Williams. I never got to go to school, after I was seven. I had to teach myself to fucking read." The older woman finally looked away. "I've never been to a wedding, or seen a play. I've never been able to reach out. In all the years of my life, the only friends I've had are my old team and Captain Anderson, and I don't even know why." She paused. "I'm not an emotional blank. I hate, I rage. I… hurt. But what I've gone through isn't anything people can find… a frame of reference with. I'm a pistol with an interesting history. Me trying to fill Anderson's shoes, to deal with things on that level… never works." Williams said nothing for a moment, then shook her head. "I can't buy that, Skipper. You reached out to me when I was going to pieces. And what you told me… was right. Maybe you're not perfect, but you're not a monster just because of your past any more than I should be defined by what my ancestors did. I want to atone, to make the Williams name bright again, and you say I shouldn't have to. If that's true, what the hell are you trying to atone for yourself, ma'am? Surviving when they send you off to die? " Shepard was quiet. Long, silent seconds trickled by. The med-bay smelled of cleansing agent, medi-gel, and the faint hint of Chakwas's perfume. The air vents rattled a little as cool, dry air blew down against Shepard's face, as she stared at something Williams couldn't see for a long, long time. Finally, Shepard just let her head fall back to the pillow. "I don't know, Williams. Being born? I never felt like I had choices. I… just had to succeed, no matter what, or it was like I would be… back where I started." Shepard raised her hand to stare at it, noting the long scar on the back of her hand, tracing its way along her wrist. "I don't know what to… feel." Williams slowly nodded. "Well, when you don't know, sometimes you just need someone there to talk about it with. That's what friends are for. So you don't have to be alone with the dark." Shepard closed her eyes. "Yeah, well. I've never known how to make friends. Like I said, Anderson's the only one." Williams frowned. "Comman— Shepard, you just sat here and… listened to me whine, shared something with me that clearly hurts you just to think about, much less talk about, and beat a conversation into my head that my father never had with me, or my mom, or any of my friends or COs. You threw yourself into a pack of geth to save me when you barely knew me from some hothead looking for vengeance, and then you got my chin up when I went all weepy on you. I… that's more than most friends have done for me." Williams exhaled. "I know I can't get where you've been. But that doesn't mean you have to stand in a puddle of your own pain alone. Williams girls are tough. And we don't let our friends suffer alone." Shepard looked at Williams, watching as the younger woman gave an almost nervous smile, self-consciously brushing back a strand of hair and straightening in her seat. There's that goddamned word again. That fucking empty hole. Anderson's voice in her head, his rough voice so… gentle. "You can do this… You have to learn to live, now, child. You've punished yourself enough. It was never you who was at fault. It's been the people pushing you. Using you… Now you have to take one more step, Sara… Trust that you can be more." That… fucking… word. "I… don't know how to… be… friends, Chief." Her voice, for once, was not cold… it sounded almost small, in the echoing space of the med-bay. Williams reached out and took Shepard's hand, squeezing it. "First, you call people by their names. Mine is Ash. Second, it's not something you can research or study or master. It just is. Maybe I'm too stupid to take the hint, or maybe I just don't really care about the whole 'oh Butcher is scary' horsecrap. But like I said… if you act like a friend, then you are. It's not about small talk, or buying gifts, or even girls' night out. It's… caring, when you don't have to." Shepard was silent again, before biting her lip. "I am… the most boring person to talk to… Ash. But if you have a fixation on stories about guns and shooting pirates, I can do that." Williams grinned. "See? You just named two of the three bestest things in the universe. Those never get old." Shepard leaned back. "…What's the third thing?" Williams smiled, gently. "Friends." Chapter 37: Chapter 31 : Normandy, Moments I A/N: Tali never really demonstrated that she did much of anything in ME1, so I try and address that. Some of these convos are in the canon game - the dialogue was good and fit. Edited 10-5-2017. It took some time for Chakwas to release Shepard from medical, and then another hour to report to Alliance Command and the Citadel. The response from both was terse. Alliance Command was tracking geth movement on the fringes of the Perseus Veil, and wanted to be able to move the Normandy in to investigate once they pinned down a region. The Council's response instructed Shepard to move to real-time comms distance after dealing with the volus distress signal. Shepard had returned to her quarters, after a fruitless half hour checking the status of the ship, and began reviewing her messages and reports. Her leg still ached interminably from the damage on Therum, but she ignored it, focusing on making sure she completed every task as commanding officer correctly. She rubbed her eyes after finishing reviewing the reports on the geth wreckage, after using her omni-tool to translate some quarian terminology. Tali had done a very good job with it, and the analysis was both tactically useful and an interesting read. Shepard glanced through it again, just to make sure she understood it. Commander, we've pulled back all the geth platforms that your Marines found above the tunnels and within them. The most basic design is that of the geth trooper and heavy trooper. These have not varied much beyond the original servant design my people originally came up with. All known geth platforms are built around a hydraulic frame, which anchors to the torso unit. The torso contains power generation, backup memory storage, and hydraulic fluidic storage. The interior is a simplified skeletal structure that mirrors that of my people. Anchored to this framework are bundles of artificial muscle, myomer strands bundled together. The myomer reacts to electrical charges, amplifying the strength and smoothing out the motion of the hydraulic under-structure. The head is a multifunction sensor pod, the CPU taking up the head and continuing down the armored spine. The antenna pack on the back is the interface matrix, which allows any geth to communicate to the greater geth network. All geth units grow in intellectual ability and processing speed, as well as complexity, when networked with more geth. In theory, enough geth networked together would produce something along the lines of a super AI. In reality, coding obfuscation and simple laws of diminishing returns prevent this. The geth trooper is a basic infantry unit with a pulse rifle, firing plasma darts. The heavy trooper fires either anti-materiel missiles of shaped plasma flares or infantry suppression rockets. Some of these units also carry compact but very powerful missiles that are for light spacecraft interdiction. Garrus inspected one and said it was similar to the human Spearfish missiles the Normandy uses, only much smaller and with a VI providing guidance. Both basic troop types are dispatched most quickly by a headshot or a direct hit to the upper-middle back in the interface array. Torso and limb shots can incapacitate, but not always kill. Any severe damage will cause rupture of the hydraulic and cooling system, lowering combat speed, increasing heat load and crippling aim and response time. There was a geth prime unit in the geth that attacked the 2nd Squad. I know you have killed two already, but you did it in a very non-optimal manner. The geth prime is built exactly like the geth troopers, just much, much bigger, with heavier armor, better myomer, thicker internal armoring, multiple backup systems, more intricate comm arrays, and more complex sensors. While we estimate a standard geth platform only holds a few dozen to perhaps a hundred separate geth programs, working together to provide the unit guidance, the geth prime coordinates other groups of geth when away from the hubs. Geth primes house thousands of runtimes and should be treated like hostile AI. They can plan, adapt, improvise, and worst of all, they make all other geth around them smarter and quicker to react. The geth prime has no real weakness. It is built with a multifunction plasma weapon, or a heavy plasma cannon. My advice is to weaken it with land mines or remote drones, or a spray of rockets, before engaging it with sniper fire. Close up, the plasma blast is (as you probably already know) devastating. The other two platforms were new. This troubles me greatly – my people haven't seen new geth hardware since the deployment of geth primes two hundred years ago. That was clearly a response to early efforts at retaking Rannoch, using communications jammers and other primitive methods to ruin the geth's connectivity. These new units have clearly been created by geth, but I cannot fathom why. The geth war machine I have decided to dub 'Armature.' It is basically a scaled-down Colossus. The Colossus and, to a degree, the Armature share all the same features. They aren't much different from geth troopers, except the larger torso contains powerful ME generators, and the legs are lined with batteries and backup shielding. And of course, the pulse cannon. The pulse cannon is terrifying, and I sincerely hope the geth can't miniaturize it further. It is basically a focused pulse of plasma energy in a shaped mass effect delivery envelope. The envelope degrades at a rate depending on the speed, keeping the plasma hot and effective. This gives it a range of over six and a half thoustride [Automatic Xeno Translation: 6.28 kilometers] in optimal conditions. The Colossus is clearly the geth armor unit. The Armature, given its smaller bulk, could be deployed in urban zones. Either way, given their very thick armor, powerful weapons, and all-terrain flexibility, they could overrun us at any time. I'm concerned about the development of the Armature, as its design has a number of anti-infantry influences (small armor shields over the joints, and armored reinforcement of the visual sensors) that make me wonder why the geth feel a need for a ground invasion platform. All the answers I come up with scare me. The worst inventions are the white geth things you fought in the caverns. I have borrowed Detective Vakarian's designation for them, 'Hoppers,' and they are like nothing I've ever seen. The support, data storage, and cooling systems are internal to a pipe skeletal framework that uses small mass effect fields instead of hydraulics, and the artificial muscles are some kind of biosynthetic matrix of myomer and proteins. These things are grown, Commander. They are lightweight, but just as strong as a larger geth. If externally armored, they could bear armor almost three times the thickness of standard units. As close-quarters assault troops, they are terrifyingly fast and hard to kill. Only heavy shotguns and biotics have much chance of stopping them, most other weapons would just tear up the muscle without taking out the support systems… O-OSaBC-O Tali had gone into great tactical and technological detail about other geth functions, but the gist of it was that the technological sophistication of the geth had been increased a hundredfold in a small amount of time, and it was all focused on heavy infantry. Doesn't make a lot of sense… if they wanted boarding troops, they would be optimized for armor and zero-g, not ground battle. And the geth tore up Eden Prime only because the heavy armor didn't respond. Those Armatures are nasty, but any tank could take them out. Shepard left her quarters, thinking. She had often noticed that Anderson did what he called 'pep talk walk arounds.' He would talk to people, see how they were doing, ask about their kids, their friends, chit-chat, and make sure they all felt comfortable with him. Shepard had no intention of doing that. Her conversation with Williams still weighed heavily on her mind, not just because the young woman had made her angry enough to talk about Torfan, but because Williams had a point. I have to move beyond what I am or I have failed. Rather than mimic Anderson, she decided all she could do is be herself, but the idea of talking to people and being visible was a good one. She started in the CIC, her leg a bit sore but otherwise healthy. She talked to the Ops Alley techs, Jackson and Friggs, asking about display times and reaction mass indicators, showing them that she could read a five-point ECM display. One of them timidly asked about her previous space service and she told them, like she had Joker, that she had memorized the material and tested out. When they expressed amazement she folded her arms. "Captain Anderson was one of the most highly decorated command officers of the entire SA military. What I did isn't really amazing with him as my teacher." Friggs, a fussy looking woman with very short, very straight white-blond hair and a perpetually sad expression, had shrugged. "It's just… like getting your aircar license by reading books and watching vids of how to drive, then participating in the GASCAR 5000 and winning. I'm sure it can be done… but… wow. Hey, if you have all the books memorized…" Shepard spent almost fifteen minutes walking them through backscatter radar operations, something that only the more obscure tech manuals she had read had talked about. By the time she was done, half of Ops Alley was watching and the other half of the techs in the CIC were listening. She looked around a bit self-conscious, and gave a smirk. "Alright, back to work. I'll be back later to… uh, cover something else." O-OSaBC-O Joker, at least, was more relaxed in his reaction to her. "Commander. That was pretty intense down there on Therum. I'd like my medal to be gold, I think." Shepard blinked. "What?" Joker tapped controls while craning his head to look at her, an almost arrogant display of skill. "You know, turning the Normandy into an atmospheric gunship and running ground support with GTS missiles everywhere? She's not really meant to do much more in atmo than drop things off, much less maneuver against ground tanks on legs and twenty or so geth with launchers that punch holes in our armor plate with a single hit. Just for future reference." With a small, wry grin, she folded her arms. "Oh, this should be good. Leaving aside the fact that going above and beyond your job is why you are on the most advanced ship in the fleet; you want a medal, huh? I don't know, Mr. Moreau. Having sat through some truly excruciating award ceremonies, the two things that stand out in them is full dress uniform and standing a lot." "Aw, geez, then I'd have to shave. And standing is… not a specialty of mine. Unlike awesome airborne assault and battle coordination." He smirked and turned back to his tasks, leaving Shepard to roll her eyes and glance around the cockpit. Joker's voice sobered a moment later. "Seriously though, Pressly was up here buggin' me about the hits we took. My baby is nimble and hot off the mark, but flaffling around in air creates drag, and that turns my maneuverability into shit. We're not designed to go in slugging it out with ground forces that have missiles flecked with AM." Joker's reference to the shockingly advanced geth missiles made Shepard frown, but she nodded a moment later, her mouth in a grim line. "I got that much, Joker. I guess we'll have to deploy further out. Still, for what it's worth?" Shepard waggled her hand. "Four out of five. Not the best air support I've seen. Once had a guy on Dirth take a UT-44 and take out two Mjolnir-A gunships, with nothing but the flares of his exhausts." Joker's eyebrows drew toward each other under his SR1 hat, and he rubbed a finger between them roughly. "I could do that." Shepard shrugged. Joker smirked. "I could do that with the Normandy, even. Ma'am." She burst out laughing. "Do they teach you how to BS like that in flight school, or is it something you're born with? O-OSaBC-O An hour later, and she had toured almost every space. Tali was exuberant to be put in charge of researching geth wreckage and to work in the engine room, almost bubbling over with enthusiasm and wide-eyed awe of the Tantalus Drive Core. The rest of the engineers smiled a lot when she would go into long explanations of how great certain things were, or make understated worries about too many automated systems. Conversing with her was almost difficult. Some of it, Shepard suspected, was cultural. Raised by the most powerful man in the quarian fleet, in a society that valued hard choices and communal sacrifice for the greater good, Tali didn't, perhaps couldn't, see even the worst of Shepard's military actions as horrific. And Tali's brush with death had shaken her to her core. To her, Shepard was some kind of heroic figure of dark and mysterious properties. Shepard shook her head at the conversation and how it had gone. "The quarian fleet has nothing like this, Shepard. It's amazing! Clean. Quiet. The lines are so refined and businesslike. The whole ship is… wow." Her voice was a mix of awe, happiness and contented disbelief. "Thank you so much for letting me work here and take part in what you're doing." Shepard tilted her head to one side, as she usually did when considering something. It was one of the first things she had learned from Anderson as he tried to remake her from a bloody thing into a human being. Tali gave her an uncertain look. "Um, Commander… you look. Well, uncomfortable." Shepard frowned, folded her arms, and raised an eyebrow. "Why do you say that, Tali?" The little quarian finished typing some sort of equation into the system and then looked up at Shepard for a moment before her silver gaze faltered and fled to the deck. "I… that is, quarians. My people. We don't… get out of our suits much. I told you about our immune systems already, how it compromises us. That means we spend most of our lives sealed away from one another in featureless suits. We are good at figuring out body language, emotion from stance… it's sometimes all we have to go on." Shepard smiled. "And that doesn't vary from culture to culture?" Tali shrugged, the gesture oddly… human looking. "Not as much as you would think. Asari and quarians both shrug like humans. Asari smile. Turians nod. Krogan fold their arms. No one leans forward in a friendly manner." She spread her hands, and walked a bit to stare at the drive core before glancing back at Shepard. "I can't read you very well. It's like… a pile of preprogrammed stances that you rotate through. Fold arms, look stern, soften at end. Hands on hips, glare, waggle finger. Lift chin, smirk, walk off." Tali twisted her hands together and looked up again. "And around me, well… it's usually tilting your head, as if thinking, then telling me you're impressed." Shepard didn't move for several seconds, before making a curiously flat gesture with a hand and giving an empty smile. "Anderson… my Captain, my… mentor, if you will… made me go to a class once on human relations. He thought it might help. It was like sending a person who barely understands addition and subtraction to a class on post-relativistic calculus. I… I don't get people, a lot of times." Tali's head moved back, her stance becoming more narrow. The blue light of the Tantalus Core dappled strange patterns against the black smoothness of her suit. "But you are a successful commander, how can that be?" Shepard gave a rueful smile. "Human military forces work on a… mm. A sense of personal respect and… I guess, power of a leader, and then interlocking personal relationships. The best leaders are not merely tactical geniuses or strategic masters, but those who can inspire and… develop others. Anderson has that knack. I don't." Tali's hands unclenched, only to drop to her sides. "Quarian admirals can't manage that way. They have to be undivided, focused almost totally on the wellbeing of the fleet. The captain of a ship has to be the same way. Each one, especially the Liveships where we grow our food, and the nursery and medical ships, are so important, that a quarian who died defending one is considered a hero. Admirals…" Tali paused, her voice bruised with old pain. "…some of them can't even connect to family anymore. They are just… duty… made flesh." Shepard gave a sad smile. "I'm very familiar with that sort of… burden. If I seem stiff, it's because I don't feel comfortable pretending to be something I'm not. I'll figure it out, if that is what is needed. But… when I reacted to what you said, earlier, I was just thinking about what it must be like to be in an alien starship. I wasn't trying to… feign interest." Tali's voice was somehow small, quiet, hesitant. "It's too quiet sometimes. Our ships are loud, with ventilation fans and filters making things noisy, jury-rigged repairs rattling along, even the subtle slow failure of sound isolation joints now juddering with the rhythm of the drive core. Silence on a ship usually means power failure or environmental failure. It gets to me when I least expect it." Shepard nodded. "Sounds like you wish you were back home." Tali shook her head. "No. I mean… home… I do miss it. There are times I wish my Pilgrimage was done so I could go back to my people. But first, we have to stop Saren. Whatever he is doing with the geth is dangerous. My own silly wishes are not important. If we don't stop him, I may not have a home to return to." Tali's hesitant, almost meek manner grated on something in Shepard's mindset. It made her feel vaguely protective, yet also as if she should be doing more to comfort the girl. Her voice was just so… broken… sometimes. Still, Shepard had to admit, the young quarian woman was definitely no slouch when it came to doing work. In just a few days, her aid had increased power yield by eight percent, shield stability by five percent, and allowed the Engineering crew to move to a real three-section watch rotation. Tali demanded she go through the qualifications tests to stand watch and 'contribute to the mission instead of standing around.' Shepard could not really complain about such focus. It reminded her of herself. O-OSaBC-O Garrus was also being busy and helpful, even more so than Tali in some ways. He seemed to have a need to be productive, to be part of the team. He had tuned the Mako, improving shields and tweaking the shocks, as well as patching battle damage. And the Normandy's twin forty millimeter cannons were calibrated down to just under half a degree of accuracy at the range of five light-seconds, which was very impressive. He seemed to be busy burying himself in fiddling with the Mako's engine, tools strewn about as he tinkered, but they had a chat about the nature of his work with C-Sec. "It's hard to explain, now. And it seems almost silly. But most of what I did with C-Sec was go after cases that pissed me off." Shepard laughed at that. "Well, criminals in general piss me off, but I don't think that's what you mean." Garrus flicked a mandible. "It isn't. I mean, some crime on the Citadel is inevitable. Two hundred thousand policing fifteen million would be less than one cop per seventy people, but at least a quarter of C-Sec is support services or customs, and another fifth is off-station. The caseloads are enormous, and the dockets are overloaded as well. Special Ops clears out the worst of the worst – the slavers, body snatchers, organ and clone bootleggers, and Terminus gangs trying to get a foothold. But we can never stop it all." Shepard tilted her head. "And how do you see your job? Is it just shooting down bad guys?" Garrus frowned, mandibles flicking out then in. "I… that's a good question. I mean, in terms of why I joined… no different than anyone else. I wanted to fight injustice, wanted to help people. I… guess my father had something to do with it. He was C-Sec, one of the best. I grew up hearing about his accomplishments… seeing his picture on the vids after a big arrest." Garrus looked down. "He's… taking my suspension and resignation pretty hard." The blue eyes glanced up, searching for… something. "I… he and I don't see eye to eye on a lot of things, Commander. My father's a C-Sec man to the bone. He believes things should be done properly. More than most turians, I suppose. 'Do things right, or don't do them at all,' he always said." The big turian sighed, setting his mechanic's tools aside on the little bench next to the Mako, and he sat down on the metal sub-wall next to the tank. "He thinks I'm being too rash. Too impatient. He's worried I'll become just like Saren. He actually talked me out of becoming a Spectre when I was younger. For the same reason." Shepard frowned. "They wanted you as a Spectre? When was this?" "Well, I was targeted as a possible Spectre candidate when I was in, what do you humans call it… boot camp?" Garrus's expression turned wry, mandibles low and tight. "Me and about a thousand other turian military recruits. I could have received special training, but my father didn't like it. He despises the Spectres. He hates the idea of someone having unlimited power with no accountability. He wouldn't like you, Commander. No offense." Shepard had shrugged. "None taken. He's right on a lot of that. Humanity has a very apt saying: 'absolute power corrupts absolutely.' I've seen criminals who forgot they weren't actual gods. I've seen good men do horrible things because no one stops them. I have very little doubt that Saren has some reason for going… bad, but the truth remains that without unlimited power, there are other things to keep normal people in line. But the more power you have, the easier it is to fall." Garrus frowned and suddenly clamped his jaw shut, turning away to tinker with the engine again, saying nothing. Shepard tilted her head. "Vakarian, I'm not a turian. You can say what you feel." Garrus shrugged, his broad back hunching slightly. "Whatever you say, Commander. I was… just… I don't know. Saren's not going to play by our rules. He's not going to play by C-Sec's rules, or the Alliance's rules. If you want to nail Saren, you need to send someone who isn't restricted by policies and procedures." Shepard shook her head. "That doesn't change the fact that in the end, without someone to rein people in, they lose control." Shepard paused. "I'm definitely not a by the book person. Usually with me it ends up on fire in a corner. But we all have to ask ourselves how to do something the right way, not just the quick or easy way." Garrus turned and stared at her, his alien features harsh and angular in the dim light, the lambent glow of his visor illuminating his jaw. "And what happens when caution and restraint end up with innocents dead? What happens when in the name of following regs and red tape, the criminal escapes?" Shepard smiled. "You can get things done that way, by ignoring the red tape. But the costs come back to haunt you just as much. I've run into that more than once. I don't break the law, or bend it. I do what I have to within it, or I'm as bad as the criminal I'm trying to take out." Garrus had laughed, but it was a brittle sound, almost bitter. "Annnd now you sound like Pallin." The turian adjusted the bolt on a piece of armor plating almost angrily. "There's crimes that are so horrible, they must be paid for." Shepard exhaled a long, tired breath. "There's no criminal worth becoming a criminal to bring down. I have to believe that. It's too easy to lose track of right and wrong without knowing where to stop before you even get moving. I plan to bring Saren in, or kill him. If that means I have to sacrifice people to do it, I will. If it means I die, so be it." Shepard turned to look the turian right in the eyes. "But I won't let him compromise who I am, what I believe in. Killing to stop a great evil is only the right choice when nothing else works." Garrus's harmonics seemed sullen. "That doesn't sound like what I've heard of your career." Shepard shook her head. "The people who write that stuff don't understand soldiers, or what pain you feel when you have to send off good men and women to die. All the killing I've done is a reaction, and… mostly, it's the only reaction that I know. But I'm not stupid enough to think that killing the pirates stops the piracy." She paused and gave Garrus a firm look. "I'm not a cop. There's a difference in what I did and what you did, Police Chicken." Garrus made an arch movement with his face, looking down at her. "Detective Police Chicken to you." He smiled, tension easing a bit, and turned back to working on the Mako. "I understand where my father is coming from. Where Pallin is coming from. What you are saying. But I've had my own experiences with red tape and rules resulting in an evil man getting away to do more evil. No matter how you end up spelling it out, it's better to end evil now, even if it costs ten lives, or twenty, rather than let it continue and watch as the body count goes into the low hundreds." Shepard scratched the back of her neck, and sighed. "I can't really argue with that, as long as you own up to being responsible for the lives you end up taking to do so. And most people won't. They'll say it was the only way, they'll talk about duty or whatever, but they won't take ownership for the people that get hurt or killed in the course of what they do. And you eventually start losing the connection to the cost of actions like that." Garrus flung a taloned hand in the air, suddenly angry. "Who cares about that? Owning up to it? Who owns up to the people who suffer when you don't stop them? Who takes responsibility when you let the druggie go because of evidence rules and he sells some little girl enough hallex to fry her brains? Who is taking responsibility for when the slavers don't get taken out because they have hostages, and they go right on slaving?" He made a flicking motion with a single talon, as if discarding something. "Pallin is outraged at people going too far. My spirits-damned father thinks it's more important to be obedient than to fight for the people that get hurt. You talk about ownership? Who owns what happens to the victims? Who owns what happens to the people hurt by the criminals?" Harmonic ranges in his voice came unbound as he stalked back and forth, almost growling. "The only thing that matters is stopping the criminal." Shepard stood, and planted herself in his way, jaw set. "And when you start thinking like that, your father is right. You end up fucked. Goddammit, I'm not talking from some bullshit philosophy course here! I've had to do that. I've had to sacrifice people to get the bad guy. It never, ever ends the way you want it to. I hate criminals. God, if you ever saw my own criminal record, you'd want to put a bullet in my head." Garrus gave a frown. "What do you mean?" Shepard's eyes were still hard, as she folded her arms. "Before I was in the military, I got mixed up with gangs. I had biotic power, and very few humans did. Most of the ones who had it were in the military, so I was like a goddamned nuke. They dragged me to a black market doctor and cut an L2 into me. I was a biotic assassin, the Tenth Street's secret weapon. They kept me high and fucked up most of the time, encouraging me to kill and terrify." She looked away, closing her eyes. "I killed… hundreds. Stole. Vandalized. Slung drugs. Arson, grand theft… all of it." Garrus had a strange, pained expression on his face. "But… how did you get into the military? If you were a criminal…" Shepard's smile was wry, bitter, twisted. "I found a conscience. I got saved from being jumped by over a dozen rival gangbangers by Anderson when he was on leave, and in turn I stopped him from getting his head blown off. And then the gang had the bright idea to try to ransom him. And wanted me to do it." Shepard's gaze was fixed on some distant, invisible point. "And for the first time in my life something in me just said… no. So, instead of getting him killed, I went on a red sand induced rampage through the gangs that ended only when SWAT teams in heavy armor took everything I could throw at them and cornered me, and Anderson got me to surrender. The human military takes violent, crazy people like me and puts them in what we call a Penal Legion. You fight until you die, or until the military feels you've proven you can work in the real military. You quit, they kill you. You fail too much, they kill you. You go crazy, or lose it, they kill you." Shepard sighed. "I managed to… make myself better. I turned every bit of skill at killing innocents into killing enemies of my race. Slavers. Druggies. Marauders. I studied everything, mastered every weapon, pushed myself far beyond what anyone else had been driven to… because I was disgusted by what I had let myself be turned into by wicked, evil men." Garrus was still silent, talons crosshatched over one leg, the plates over his eyes drawn down. She made a dismissive gesture with her hands. "And with all of that, you know what I took away from it all? Vengeance is satisfying. Doing things the quick way is satisfying. Blowing the no-good fucks away is satisfying. But it never stops them. You kill this one guy, and this one guy, and this one guy, and sooner or later someone innocent gets caught up in the fallout." She sighed. "You have to make your own decisions on how to approach it. It probably sounds… hypocritical for someone like me to even talk that way. But emulating me is not… ever… a good thing, Detective. You go after the bad guys to defend people and do things the right way, not to be some kind of goddamned turian version of Judge Dredd." The turian had tilted his head, which sent them into another long discussion about human comic novels and their applicability to alien culture. She realized that the only place left in the ship she hadn't gone was to see the asari. Oh, this ought to go well. Chapter 38: Chapter 32 : Normandy, Liara and Shepard A/N: In regards to when the relay was iced… Inusannon Trolling! When you absolutely, positively have to confuse every motherfucker in the room? Accept no substitutes. This will make more sense later, I'm doing foreshadowing. Edited 10-5-2017. Shepard checked on the two soldiers in the med-bay – both healed enough to be sleeping, but no longer under sedation – and then exhaled and entered the research lab, where the asari was. Shepard had never had a reason to enter the lab before, not being much for research, and having little to research in any case. It was a smallish room, square and with a rather low ceiling. Along the right side were several heavy crates, carefully strapped to the wall's railing to prevent movement. Behind them, at the back of the room, was a single frame cot, with a foam pillow and a single blanket. The left side of the room was the lab counter. There were spectrometers and mass analyzers and other things hooked to a sliding railing that ran along the ceiling, and two micro-frame computers humming quietly below the counter. The counter itself was flanked at either end by cabinets of trace elements, racks of micro-effect repair tools, and in the middle of the counter were two research terminals. Liara T'Soni was slumped in a chair in front of one, asleep. Her uniform was rumpled but clean, and her breathing seemed calm and even. The terminal was active, half-done notes about something to do with crystal-lattice formations on the screen. A chunk of white material Shepard immediately realized was the stuff the Prothean ruin was made of had been carefully clamped next to the machine, a datapad lying next to that still turned on. Shepard was about to simply turn and leave when the asari shook her head in her sleep, whimpering. Her eyes were still closed, but she suddenly looked as if she was cringing. Frowning, Shepard reached out and touched the young woman's shoulder. Liara shot awake, her already wide eyes widening further at the sight of Shepard. "C-Commander… I… Goddess, I must have fallen asleep. I… I am sorry." Her voice was lilting, hesitant and sad, but somehow, also worried. Shepard tried out a gentle smile on her face, and stepped back a bit. "I just was coming around to see if you were settling in alright. And it is very late. I just… you should sleep on the cot, it's much more comfy. Sounded like you were having a nightmare. Didn't want to leave you like that." Liara, with an obvious effort, calmed herself, and her face took on a still, almost immobile look. Shepard felt a shiver creep up her spine as she witnessed it. She's blanking herself… just like I do. I never realized I looked that… mechanical doing it though. A moment later, Liara nodded her head calmly. "I am fine, Commander. I am gratified to see that you are… unhurt. I never got to thank you properly for rescuing me from starvation and death, or worse, on Therum. A hot shower and some food and water have done much more in bringing me back to life, but it is due to you." Shepard walked over to the other chair at the counter and sat down, wincing as something in her leg pulled briefly. "The doctor says the ground team – and myself – will be fine. But… that you kind of overdid it." Liara glanced away, the guileless blue eyes looking almost lost for a moment. "I… I panicked. I should have… distracted it, or… something. If I had failed to disable it, it would have k-killed you." The lost look hardened into anger. "And I wasn't going to let that… thing… do anything else." Another pause. "I… I am sorry I lost control, it will not happen again, I assure you, while I am on your ship." Shepard gave her an almost incredulous look. "Doctor, you hardly have to apologize for saving my life. It is something that doesn't happen to me very often, especially when you could have been killed or… worse." Shepard remembered Chakwas' words and winced. "I just wanted… to say I do appreciate it a great deal." Liara met Shepard's gaze, searching, and again they both merely stared at each other for a moment before Shepard faltered, turning aside to scratch her jawline and look at the Prothean chunk of wall. She saw Liara primly fold her hands in her lap. In the dim light of the lab, she almost looked as if she was embarrassed. "I… also came to talk about… why we came to pick you up. If you feel you are up to it." Liara swallowed, but gave a small, jerky nod. "I am… as I said, fine, Commander. I merely needed to eat and rehydrate myself. I… I know you took a chance bringing me on board this ship. I have seen the way your crew looks at me. They do not trust me. But I am not like Benezia." Shepard frowned. "It's not that they don't trust you. But… the situation does look… very bad. My pilot and XO, and the ground crew – Wrex and Garrus – were the only ones who saw you damn near kill yourself saving our asses down there. But… the doc – Chakwas – was very clear on what a risk you took." Liara shrugged. "It was not so great a thing. You… you are a hero. You are doing something to protect many innocents. I'm just…" She looked away, her voice wavered for a moment. "…a naïve fool, I suppose, studying the unimportant history of a dead race that is gone and forgotten except in how they can provide better ways to kill." She sounded both bitter and broken, and Shepard found herself reacting without thinking. "That isn't true. You could have… died. Or have nerve damage or… worse things." Shepard exhaled. "And trust me, doctor, compared to someone like me, you're a lot better person. I'm no hero; at best, I'm a soldier and at worst, a weapon in my government's hand. And most of all, I think your knowledge of Prothean history will be very valuable." The asari placed a slender hand to her neck, rubbing away some tension. "You are very kind to say such a thing, Commander. But I do not understand how anything I could know would be of any use in a hunt for a… rogue Spectre. As I said, I have not spoken directly to my mother in… years. I have had messages from her – increasingly cold ones. We are not close, and all I know of Saren is that my mother took him as a lover some time ago." Shepard blinked, surprised, then nodded. "Huh. Kinda… er, kinky." Liara raised her eyebrows, which Shepard realized a moment later were actually tattoos shaped like eyebrows. What the shit is that? She barely registered the asari's next words for a moment. "Asari are open with relationships, and many turians seek out asari companionship when isolated from their own kind. We regenerate from most wounds, very slowly but fully, so issues such as minor cuts and abrasion are mostly non-issues." Shepard leaned back, a somewhat confused expression on her face. "Oookay. This conversation is going places I never, ever expected." She coughed, and shook her head. "Um. Anyway. We have to discuss a few things. The Council ordered me to come here, to find you. They feel you're the only person who might have any insight into why Benezia is taking this action." Liara's delicate blue coloration deepened slightly, elegant hands closing to tiny fists as she looked imploringly at Shepard. "I know nothing. I don't understand why she would do something like this. She was… always outspoken about the need for asari to become more involved in shaping galactic events. She felt that we needed to guide other species, help them." Liara's slender shoulders rose and fell, similar to a human shrug, but the motion looked subtly wrong. "Maybe she thought allying herself with Saren would somehow be for the greater good in the long run. At least, I hope so." Shepard frowned. "That should make the Council happy. After Eden Prime we don't know where he or she went, or what they're doing. The only activity we have is them coming after you. There must be some reason why they would do that, something that makes… sense." "None of this makes any sense to me!" Liara's voice burst out, a trill of despair and anger and sorrow all in a few heartbroken words. "I have not even spoken to her in many years, but I knew her. And this was not like her. Something changed." Liara looked at her hands. "I have… lost my position at the University, I have no… resources left. I don't know what to do." Shepard felt as if her face was going to crack, her frown had now become an almost angry scowl. She forced herself back to a more neutral expression. "Hey. Look at me." Large, delicate blue eyes like a windblown spring day met hers. Trustingly. Brokenly. Shepard blinked and exhaled. "I know this is hard on you. It's… your mother. No one is going to make you do anything, okay? But I could… really use your help. You know about the Protheans, and this whole mess might involve them. You know Benezia, which can only help us. You are very strong biotically… stronger than me, or Wrex, or my Marine commander, Lieutenant Alenko. Most of all, unlike anyone else I could go and find, I know I can trust you." Liara blinked. "I… I do not know how to respond. Why do you need to know about the Protheans? How can you trust me when you do not even know me?" Shepard leaned back. "I'll explain as we go along. First… indulge me. Tell me about yourself." Liara looked surprised, then a bit sad. "I… am afraid I am not very interesting, Commander." Her voice had an almost shy, worried tone. "I spend most of my time on Prothean digs, unearthing mundane items buried in long-forgotten Prothean ruins. I wor— used to work as a data assistant and field researcher for the University of Serrice, and on Therum I was overseeing a cooperative effort with a salarian university. But most times, I worked alone, on small remote digs. Most of my work was focused on the Prothean extinction. That is my real area of expertise. I have spent the past fifty years trying to figure out what happened to them." Shepard nodded. "Fifty years? That sounds… dangerous. And a very long time to be alone." Liara gave a small, self-deprecating smile. "I am not… helpless. Sometimes I would run afoul of indigenous lifeforms, or stumble across a small band of mercenaries or pirates." She lifted her chin a little. "But I was always careful. Until I found myself facing a krogan and its geth in the tunnels below Therum, I never found myself in any situation my biotics could not handle." Liara looked away, a sad, empty expression filling her face. "As for the solitude, well, that is one aspect that most appealed to me. Sometimes, I just need to get away from other people." "You don't like other people?" Shepard's voice was surprised sounding. Liara gave a mocking laugh. "I am not very good at talking to people, and to be honest, I tend to not understand most people. Even my own race. Especially my own race." Her eyes closed, and her lips twisted into a small expression of dark amusement. "It is almost worthy of laughter, I suppose. A Matriarch's daughter, expected to follow and become a leader for my people. Matriarchs guide their followers into the future; they seek the truth of what is yet to come." Liara opened her eyes. "But I fear I am unable to see any future, for myself. And truth is a taste of disappointment and futility. Perhaps that is why I became so interested in the secrets of the past. It sounds so… foolish when I say it out loud. It sounds like I became an archaeologist simply to not have to deal with the fact I am… awkward." Shepard exhaled. "Trust me, you are not the only one who is awkward. I… never got how humans worked. Emotions were always a cipher to me. Where you threw yourself into ignoring people, I just killed them out of frustration, fear, hate… jealousy." Liara's voice, rather than being horrified, was thick with some… deep, twisted amusement. "The feeling that nothing quite fit. Everyone else, moving along in harmony, able to fit, to be a part of things. I fear I am… far too familiar with that feeling." Shepard nodded. "Yeah. Never quite making that… connection. It pissed me off. Drove me crazy. Never… got it." She exhaled. "Hell. I don't get it now, really. Just flying on bravado." "And stumbling through the pain that results?" Shepard gave Liara a long, penetrating look. "For a fucked up human and a delicate asari scientist lady, we're not that different." Liara's eyes were sad. "I wish it were otherwise. To know others feel as disconnected as I is no comfort." She exhaled. "And that is why I cling to the past, I think. I felt drawn to the past. The Protheans were these wondrous, mysterious figures. I wanted to know everything about them. I still do. Everyone is only concerned with using their technology to make money, or build better weapons. Why did they vanish? Was it a civil war, or external? What was their art or music like?" Liara's eyes seemed to come alive as she spoke, and Shepard found herself smiling almost instinctively. I could stare into those all day… fuck. What are you doing, girl? Pull your shit together. She's not even human. "Shepard?" She started, coughing as she realized she had been staring and actually flushed. "S-Sorry, doc. Just… I… I have Protheans on the mind, you might say, and what you said got me… reflecting on that." Liara's own expression was confused, and… something else Shepard couldn't read. "Protheans on the mind? I am afraid I do not understand." Shepard nodded. "Let's… back up. Earlier you said that you had studied the Prothean extinctions for more than fifty years. Um, forgive me for asking, but that's… most of a human's lifespan. How old are you, exactly?" Liara's eyes flickered to the ground again. "I am only one hundred and six. I am sure that sounds aged to a human… but in asari terms, I am… barely more than a child. Perhaps, what is the term? A teenager. It is one reason why my research has not received the attention it deserves. Because of my youth, other asari scholars tend to dismiss my theories on what happened to the Protheans. And, well…" She trailed off, a hurt expression in her eyes. "I fear that I am… not good at presenting my case. Like I said, I prefer to be alone many times. It is easier to… focus." Shepard shrugged. "But your expertise is exactly what we need. I think this entire mess might be related to the extinction you study. I have… a theory of sorts, of my own." Liara actually smiled. "With all due respect, Commander, I have heard every theory out there. The problem is finding evidence to support them. The Protheans left remarkably little behind. It is almost as if someone did not want the mystery solved. As if someone… came along after the Protheans were gone and cleansed the galaxy of clues. But the incredible part is that I have found… fragmentary evidence that the Protheans were not the first galactic civilization to mysteriously vanish. This cycle began long before them." Shepard felt a spike of fear shiver through her body. The nightmarish vision in her head flashed across her eyes, the endless dark rain of black leaves bringing death. With a sharp exhalation, she shook her head. "If someone picked up all the clues, what have you found supporting this idea of yours?" Liara's eyes flashed, almost… aggressive instead of sadly passive. "I have tracked down every scrap and shred of evidence over the past fifty years. Eventually, subtle patterns started to emerge. Patterns that hint at the truth. It is… difficult to explain to someone else. I cannot point to one specific thing to prove my case. It is more… a feeling derived from a half-century of dedicated research. But I know I am right." Her voice softened, a painful note coming into it. "And eventually I will be able to prove it. There were other civilizations before the Protheans. This cycle has repeated itself many times over. The Protheans rose up from a single world until their empire spanned the entire galaxy. Yet even they climbed to the top on the remains of those who came before. Their greatest achievements – the mass relays and the Citadel – are based on the technology of those who came before them." She paused, her voice urgent and intent. "We know the mass relays have to be older than the Prothean culture. Their oldest ruins are no more than sixty-eight thousand years old, but the Milankovitch cycle core sample dating of your own Charon Relay showed the ice was more than two hundred thousand years old. They did not create the mass relays. Some other, older, forgotten civilization did that. And then, like all the others throughout galactic history, the Protheans disappeared. I have dedicated my life to figuring out why." Shepard nodded. "Well, doctor… I didn't know all of that, but I think I know the answer. A race of killing machines the Protheans called the Reapers." Liara frowned, looking bewildered. "T-The Reapers? But I have never heard of…" Shepard watched confusion turn to thought, to curiosity. "How do you know this? What evidence do you have?" Shepard folded her hands together, eyes narrowed. "You said you heard about the geth attack on Eden Prime? We believe the geth were there with Saren to grab a recently discovered Prothean beacon. We defeated the geth, but when I got too close to the Beacon, it… burned a vision into my brain. I'm still trying to sort out what it all means." "Visions?" Liara's voice was distant, her eyes alive with possibility. "Yes… that makes sense. The beacons were designed to transmit information directly into the mind of the user. Finding one that still works is extremely rare. No wonder the geth attacked your colony. The chance to acquire a working beacon – even a badly damaged one – is worth almost any risk." Her expression shifted from contemplation to something like awe. "But… the beacons were only programmed to interact with Prothean physiology. Whatever information you received would have been confused, unclear." Shepard threw back her head and laughed. "Oh, doctor, you have no idea. Tevos said the same thing, and said these beacons usually drive people completely batshit insane at best, or just kill them. But that's usually scientists, who… aren't used to what I've seen. Machines coming down from the sky… people being… slaughtered. Dissolved. Cities of gleaming light being destroyed, blood…" Shepard shivered and placed her face into her hands. "I've seen… and done some horrifying shit. But… goddammit, that was the scariest, most disgusting thing I've seen. And it's in pieces, sloshing around in my head like… fuck. I don't even know. I have nightmares about it every time I sleep." Liara's voice was barely above a whisper. "I… I am amazed you were able to make sense of it at all. A lesser mind would have been all but destroyed by the process. You must be remarkably strong-willed, Commander." She sighed, then went very still. Shepard tilted her head. "What is it, doctor?" She felt a curious dread suddenly curlin