"I don't like to repeat myself." Aria's voice was dangerously low and barely audible above the noise of the music that echoed in the Afterlife lounge. "You want to do business here, you pay."

"What you demand is outrageous! You're taking all my profit away!" The batarian pounded the balcony rail with his armored hand. At once the bodyguards all around both the asari and her 'guest' pointed their guns at the smuggler's head.

"Another gesture like that and you're a dead man." The woman turned around elegantly to face the batarian, a gesture that somehow lent a crushing weight to her threat. Her face was expressionless, other than for a glare that her minions had learned to dread. "Consider yourself lucky that I don't change the deal. One quarter of your income, in eezo, every standard week. It's that, or we can test our orbital defenses the next time one of your freighters is around." A glance at Bray, a slight gesture of her head, and the batarian shoved the smuggler away from Aria's presence.

The asari kingpin sat slowly on her couch and looked at another of her batarian henchmen, Sanak, who brought up his tablet and read something on it. "There's a male quarian who wants to see you next."

She snorted. For centuries the spacing vagabonds had been looked down upon, the few that eventually reached Omega being forced to share the squalor of the poorest areas of the station with the vorcha, but that had changed recently. Now the wandering aliens were becoming a rare sight, and seldom seen without the escort of their erstwhile enemies, the robotic geth. "Business?"

"Not on smuggling, not on slaving. Brought a retinue of geth bodyguards with him to the station. He refused to speak to anyone but you."

Aria toyed a bit with the information but was unable to make up her mind on the issue. "Bring him in."

As always had been the case with his species, the quarian's face was obscured by the visor of his helmet, only the glowing spots of his eyes distinguishable. His armor was green in hue, a dark tint to it. The man remained impassive, gaze locked with Aria's, as Bray scanned him. "He's clean."

She bent her head sideways, glancing at the couch to her left. The quarian sat without word. "You have a name?"

The voice had an unsettling echo to it. "Val'Akar, emissary from Admiral Zorah of the Scouting Fleet."

"So, you're on official business." She crossed her legs.

"In a way. Commander Shepard spoke of you as the only authority figure on the Terminus systems who could deal with this rationally."

Aria smirked. Her voice dropped with irony: "The very Savior of the Galaxy trusts me with delicate information. I'm just thrilling with excitement."

Val'Akar's head bowed slightly. It irked the kingpin not being able to see the man's features. But her quip proved true: "A new mass relay has been discovered. You are the closest 'trustworthy' figure at hand. Shepard counseled the Admiral to bring this to you." The man had accented 'trustworthy' with disdain. Clearly he disagreed with Shepard's judgment, but he was acting on orders. He produced his own tablet computer and typed a few commands. "I'm submitting the location to you now."

Aria's mind raced. It was crystal clear that her heroic acquaintance could not bring any influences to bear without consequences; Citadel forces had no business on Terminus space, but unknown mass relays were hazardous. Activating one had unleashed the rachni on the galaxy hundreds of years ago, which had in turn caused the rise of the krogan. The Relay 314 incident had had the terrans join galactic society after a brief but grueling war with the turians. And even if it was not immediately activated, its very presence was a threat that appeared just when the dust was beginning to clear after the defeat of the Reapers.

And, of course, it had not escaped Shepard that now she owned a state-of-the-art fleet, courtesy of Cerberus' Oleg Petrovsky. "And what does your Admiral want?"

"If a Terminus agency can guarantee the relay is kept closed, she will not interfere. If that is not the case, she is bringing part of the Heavy Fleet to guard it."

She smirked. "Who would have imagined the vagrants would someday play cops?"

Val'Akar remained impassive. "You could also have the Turian armada on your doorstep, smuggler."

What remains of it. It was cause for concern, of course. The alliance Shepard had engineered had brought together many former enemies. Turians would go to war on their own outside Citadel space to enforce Council laws on dormant relays. If their strength did not suffice, they could -would, she corrected herself- call for help. And help would come. "That would be inconvenient," she conceded. "Send word to your Admiral and say that her warning is appreciated."

The quarian bowed his head again in consent, stood, and left without word. She gestured at Bray. "Keep a tight lid on this."

"You don't have to say it, boss."

"There's always a need to say it." She turned to her console. "Ahz!"

"Yes, boss?" Came the salarian's reply.

"Signal our fleet. Time to put the stuff Cerberus surrendered to good use." She watched Val'Akar walk through the gate to the outer Afterlife lounge, catching a glimpse of his massive geth bodyguards. The galaxy was still too convulsed by the aftermath of the Reaper War for her to catch a glimpse of the future balance of power, but the quarians would probably get even for the centuries they had spent on the lower tiers of the totem pole.

Half a galaxy away, one admiral Piotr Mikhailovich was dwelling on the same issue, though on a broader scope. He was pacing, alone, on the empty hall of the Council conference room. The new councillors had still to be appointed. When the Reapers had moved the Citadel to its new place above Earth, they had wiped the station clean of life. Those few who had fled to space to escape the harvest -somehow 'slaughter' was an inadequate term to describe killing in such a clinical, cold and detached scale- had been caught by the massive armada around the station. Some very lucky 23 survivors out of a total population exceeding 13 million had escaped to tell the tale.

Humans had problems of their own to solve before they could select their own councillor. The fallout of Udina's betrayal had been mercifully looked past by the rest of the Council races, in light of the brilliant and courageous leadership of Anderson, Hackett and Shepard, but even if it had become an affair to be digested privately by the Alliance government, it was a shame that weighed heavily on the minds of those involved.

He heard the hiss of a pneumatic door sliding open and the steps of boots echoing on the shadowy rotunda. Mikhailovich did not need to turn his head to know who was coming. But he did turn to greet the visitor. "Captain Shepard." He saluted first, as he would address a superior.

"Admiral." The lean N7 officer returned the salute. "You feel it too, I guess."

Mikhailovich nodded. "No amount of cleaning can remove it. I remember Udina raging over the Council ignoring your warnings, right there." He shook his head slowly. "I guess frustration got the better off him."

"I never liked Udina much, either. Reasons or no reasons..." Suddenly the specter of Saren jumped to mind, and the Illusive Man's after him, both dead by their own hands. They had both needed help to see just how thoroughly the Reapers had corrupted them. While many had admired Shepard's courage or fighting skills, fewer had recognized the... idealism, was it? Had Shepard ceased to try persuading them to change their ways on any step of the journey, things could have ended very differently. But the N7 officer had not. That much had been said to the Cerberus leader... and, against all odds, the war had been fought and won without compromising the soul of the human species. "Treason can never be condoned, but chalking it simply to evil or greed is stupid. We must learn all that we can from his fall."

"Keep talking like that and you'll get elected councillor yourself."

A snort. "The only councils I intend to preside are either on my ship or on my family quarters." Due to personal request, Shepard had been allowed to remain in command of the vessel, politely refusing every other manner of honor and reward. The Normandy SR2 had thus become a diplomatic cruiser of sorts, its commander an unofficial speaker and ambassador on behalf of humanity - and also proof to the military ingenuity of the human-turian alliance, for it was constantly updated and improved as the special operations frigate it was originally conceived as. The message was clear enough: as big as the carrots we bring may be, there's even bigger sticks in store if they're needed.

"'Family' is it now?" Mikhailovich smiled.

"Why, yes, Admiral. Alina just turned two months." It was impossible not to be flooded with joy at the thought of Shepard's and Liara T'Soni's newborn daughter. She was in every way her mother's vivid image, with big, clear, warm eyes and the most serene of tempers. "She's not one year old and already I pity her suitors."

"Pardon me if I can't conceive an asari baby being a handful. Other than what's usual on a baby, that is."

"Whoever wants to marry her will have to please a *lot* of surrogate uncles and aunts." The list was impressive. Garrus and Tali alone made for the best godparents anyone could ever want. And, considering they could not have kids on their own, they would indulge her like loving grannies. Even if they were to refuse the role -to call that unlikely would be a grotesque exercise in understatement-, there were plenty of people to fill in for them, ranging from the foul-mouthed Jack to the hypercompetent Miranda to say something.

"I heard your wife is uncannily young a mother for her age..."

"Well, yes, usually asari bear children when they are much older, but..." Liara had wanted to share the most of it with Shepard. The reasons were obvious enough, and something neither wanted to dwell on. The echoes of their voices on the grand hall filled the N7 commando's head; the specters they conjured were not as ominous as those Mikhailovich had dwelt upon. Whatever happens, she will grow in a much safer galaxy now. A shrug. "However much I like it, I don't think you wanted to talk to me about family matters."

The officer nodded. "Correct. There's talk about future councillors, as I said. The turians have narrowed their pool down to four candidates, last thing I read, so I expect them to make their decision soon. Can't say the same about their colleagues, though. The Reapers outdid themselves when laying waste to Thessia. Their ranks are all in shambles. Waiting for the remaining matriarchs to agree upon someone could take months."

"We could suggest a deputy to fill in temporarily."

"It's been considered," Mikhailovich agreed. "There's about half a dozen names on the dossier High Command requested. Someone went as far as to suggest Sha'ira..."

Of all people, Liara herself had teasingly discussed the Consort when it had been revealed that she had 'entertained' Shepard. The commando nodded both to show agreement and to hide the smirk. "I haven't met an asari who is both as sinuous and as sincere in her dealings... as a politician I think she'd be someone to fear, being as persuasive and reasonable as she is. Other candidates?"

"There's Aethyta, too, your wife's mother, but she's not as liked. I do, though. She's... practical. And blunt. She's not one to put up with nonsense."

That she had been one of the 23 survivors of the Citadel purge was only testament to just how tough the matriarch was. "That's what happens when one of your parents is a krogan." A shrug. "Wrex would love her. She'd be, as you said, practical and blunt. Someone to rely on if quick decisions were needed."

Mikhailovich smiled and shook his head. "This is a first time. Of all people you like your mother-in-law for the job."

An amused snort. "Aethyta is not to be crossed. You got her on your side, she'll be loyal to you all the way. Problem is you'd have to convince her of grabbing the job first. She's merely a bartender now, and happily enjoying it."

"Not our job, thank God for that." He moved on to the next name on his list. "And last amongst the serious prospects is one Aria T'Loak."

Shepard disagreed with an emphatic headshake. "Discard her. What lunatic came up with her name?"

He raised his eyebrows. "Getting the bulk of the mercenaries behind her and working for us was no small feat. Even taking into account the hand you had in that."

"They'd never go for it. Even if she were the best leader her race has to offer, she's got enough charges on her head to fill a small book." Not to mention the issues she'll have to deal with. That Aria had been informed of the discovery of the Delta 9 relay was something the Alliance was not yet in the know of; the Spectres had decided on that, being as there was no Council appointed yet to deal with the problem.

"That may be. But there's some serious lobbying being done in her favor, mostly merchants who are less than pure in their dealings."

"It's not because she wants the job. She would prefer to have whoever fills the slot in her pocket, as she did with the previous Councillor. Who else?"

"No big names... mostly appointees of this or that group of matriarchs. All those string pullers will have the rug swept from under their feet if they don't make up their mind soon."

Sha'ira or Aethyta... Shepard could not decide whether the Consort's otherworldly people skills would serve to bring harmony to the Council - or to manipulate it as the asari best saw fit. Liara's mother (father?) was nowhere nearly as influential, but was still well regarded by her peers -she had threatened, obliquely, to have a hit put on Liara on their behalf if she misbehaved as the Shadow Broker- and was more of an action person, which the N7 commando liked better, too. "You're correct, I'd pick my mother-in-law. She's somewhat more predictable. Making an enemy out of her would be dangerous, but that's a hazard that can be planned around. Sha'ira... she's just too good for the office. I can see her splitting the Council into sides on each issue only to herd them her way later. On the other hand, she's too smart not to see how quickly everything would sour if the asari had their way on everything."

Mikhailovich nodded. It was, if nothing else, an accurate assessment. "And then there's the salarians..."

Shepard's eyes closed. The salarians had been split on the wake of the genophage being cured, with the dalatrasses referring to the issue as nothing short of an atrocity in the making and a majority of the military and scientific communities supporting the decision. "They were right pissed off after I told them to stick their proposal elsewhere." The N7 had vaguely intuited that they would be a thorn in the side if they survived the Reaper War. The dalatrasses wielded enormous political and economical clout and could quickly become foes to beware of if they were given any further incentive.

Mikhailovich read the commando's thoughts. "Nobody would dare to second-guess you, Captain. Even your Prothean fellow agrees that what you did appeared impossible. You did what it took to get it done."

As was also impossible to dismiss the testimony of the last representative of the ancient spacefaring race that had nurtured all of the current dominant species in the galaxy. "I was about to say, 'try telling that to an ego-bruised princess,' but thank whatever gods there are for Javik."

"So, the salarians will play ball. For now. I would not gamble that they'll pick someone willing to accomodate to our interests."

"You know how they wage war, Admiral. They would have the deck stacked in their favor if only the cards would obey them."

"What do the Spectres know? That you can tell, of course," Mikhailovich quickly backed off.

"Off the record."

"Off the record."

"The brightest stars on their military and R&D are with us. I wouldn't hazard that they can counteract the dalatrasses, but that's a lot of prestige on our side. The entire STG reveres Mordin as something of a legend now. All good news," Shepard decided. "With that huge fleet they got it's a stroke of luck that they are busy doing some soul-searching."

A brief nod. "They'd better realize the rest of the galaxy is not going to take a power play on their part kindly." Then, unexpectedly, a sigh and a hesitant smirk. "'The rest of the galaxy'... And to think a few years ago I was complaining of your choice of crew for the Normandy. When did I stop thinking of mankind first?"

"You never did, Admiral. You just changed your focus. We couldn't have saved Earth without all the help we got."

"The good of all is the good of us too," the officer agreed.

"Consider for a second what would have happened if Cerberus had prevailed."

That raised a specter Mikhailovich had dwelt on time and time again, only to be thankfully proven wrong given the accounts of the final confrontation between Shepard and the Illusive Man. "Coming from someone who worked for them that means something."

"Doctor Chakwas would argue that we didn't work for them, we used them. And she's right... without Cerberus the Collectors would have won."

The admiral exhaled slowly, eyes closed. "You needed Cerberus because the Alliance was not there when it should have." This was a failure the veteran admiral saw as his own, even if he knew that, by all rights, it was not the case. How had Shepard been brought back from the dead was an enigma that remained unanswered; the Illusive Man had taken some of the secrets of the fabled Lazarus Project with him to his grave. Reaper tech? He shook his head. "This must never happen again." He straightened his back. "What about the other races?"

A shrug and a smile answered him. "What makes you think I know? I'm not in charge of anything other than my ship, remember?"

Mikhailovich echoed the smile. "Says the most legendary Spectre ever."

"Please, don't play that tune. I had to tell my colleagues that no matter how many times they brought the idea to me I would not accept being appointed as their leader. Only one agency can lead the Spectres and I'm no agency. I'm just captain of a ship, spouse and parent."

"You can tell me the opinion of your colleagues then."

Shepard considered that for a moment. "If the Spectres had the legal power to do it, they would grant the krogan colonization rights on at least one more world, invite the quarians to send an ambassador, recognize the geth as a sentient, independent species, decree an amnesty for every criminal who fought against the Reapers..." The commando caught the gleam in Mikhailovich's eyes: "What?"

"You may not be in charge but that sounds like a government plan to me."

Another shrug. "I don't know. Spectres are not meant to decide in matters of state. We execute policy, do not make it."

"You may not like it, Captain, but while proper agencies sort their messes someone has to call the shots."

A headshake. "There's Hackett to fill that role. Nobody argued while he was in charge of Sword, Shield and Hammer." But that was different, that was wartime, right? You can't expect soldiers to decide on government matters.

But I'm a soldier myself, too. Shepard exhaled strongly.

Mikhailovich recognized that for what it was but let it rest for the moment. It was only right; the N7 commando had arguably done more than anyone else already. "Almost a year and he's still acting in place of the Council. He can't wait to be allowed to retire too."

Alliance military prison ship MSV Bataan

"Next prisoner!"

A single lithe shape stepped out of the bulk of formed up inmates and stood rigidly at attention. "Prisoner 89241 responding to call, sir!"

It was unusual for deep space prisons to have all of their population form up on a single hall. It had been unusual for these prisoners to come forward and voluntarily surrender themselves to their traditional enemy. It had been unusual to decide that, as a highly trained fighting force and being the Alliance dangerously short on men under arms, they were too valuable to simply let them serve out sentences as run-of-the-mill criminals, which they were not in any case.

And it was unique for formerly Cerberus operatives to be re-inducted on a probationary basis on Alliance ranks. Compared to the grueling regimes instituted by her former agency, what she and her fellows had been put through had been tough, but not to the point of stretching her limits. As a Phantom with exceptional biotic talents those limits had been unusually high, which had caused the Alliance officers to pay special attention to her. That had included simulations of both combat and non-combat situations, direct examination of her cybernetic implants, extirpation of Reaper technology that could not be repurposed or sanitized, psychological evaluations to detect traces of indoctrination, tests of biotic endurance and skill... The Alliance was desperate for manpower, but not foolish. Not one aspect of her had been overlooked.

"Prisoner 89241," her case officer, a tough-looking black man with an artificial right eye and a cruel scar running over that eye socket, glared at her speculatively. Her petite body was one long strand of muscle and sinew with not an ounce of fat, her large slanted eyes testimony to her Japanese ancestry. Nearly all of them were as fit. If anything, the officer had grudgingly admitted, those troops Cerberus had not eviscerated into demi-husks they had trained well. "As you have successfully completed all tests, you have been approved for transfer, effective immediately. You will be returned your belongings on the processing area." A curt nod. "Congratulations, ensign Tanaka. I hope not to see you around here again."

"Yes sir, thank you sir." She returned the greeting as politely, turned right mechanically, and walked out of the hall. Not one of her erstwhile comrades looked her go and she knew it. After this day it was unlikely she would meet another of them for years, if ever. Even if their surrender had been accepted and their skills put to use against the Reapers, trust would not come easily, and she expected no less. All in all, she was satisfied with herself, sincerely grateful for the revelations of how her and her comrades had been manipulated first, indoctrinated second, and warped at last into blind weapons, and even more thankful for the chance to set herself straight. Being again Sachiko Tanaka, instead of Prisoner 89241, was the first step in that direction.

She walked into the processing area, where several other former prisoners were being handed gear and belongings. It came as a bit of surprise to see that most of their 'belongings' were their old Cerberus gear, repainted in Alliance colors, but then her mind joined the dots: Cerberus had made it a point to tailor every piece of armor to their intended users, and once they had disassembled each component down to their smallest parts they would hold no secrets for the Alliance. Putting them back together and refurbishing them for their original users to wear was only logical. She walked over to the single vacant counter out of the four, where a clerk had already prepared a couple of large bags etched with her prisoner number. She was made to sign a paper form with her own hand -an anachronism to be sure-, then to countersign it with a palm scan, and finally told to proceed to the reception hall where she would meet the officer in charge of her. All this was done within view of a score of heavily armed and armored Alliance soldiers, who watched the former inmates go with empty faces.

There were six different groups of people, each one composed by an officer in uniform and an escort of two marines. One of these officers was looking right at her; she needed no further encouragement and walked over to the woman. She was, if anything, tough-looking, and had been apparently a line soldier before being commissioned as an officer and working her way up the ranks to become a lieutenant commander. "Ensign Tanaka reporting as ordered, ma'am." She saluted without putting any of her large bags down.

She nodded approvingly. "At ease, ensign." Her name tag read VISCONTI. "I am required by regulations to restate all the terms of your probationary enrollment to you." That was the prelude for a small briefing that lasted some good four minutes. Her past as a Cerberus operative would not be brought up again; completion of the Hades program had cleared her record. She did not have to say that her custodians had a high concept of her. She did not have to say either that being officially cleared did not imply acceptance. Performance would garner her respect. She would be paid the standard salary of any other Alliance ensign. Out of respect for the proficiency she had exhibited she would be allowed to use her old gear when deploying, at least until functional Alliance replacements were made available. "Do you need any of this repeated, ensign?"

"No, ma'am."

"Any questions?"

"No, ma'am."

Visconti was reassured by the firmness of the replies. However much it grated her and her crew to bring ex Cerberus men on board, the briefings had not lied. They appeared to be excellent material. It remained to be seen if their experiences would get in the way. If anything, it would build rivalries within her crew, which would spur struggles to outdo one another. If this Tanaka girl was smart she would surround herself with people who trusted her, with whom to fight off the heat that would inevitably come her way, though given the reports she had on the former Phantom probably anyone who tried to work her to the ground would be in for a nasty surprise. Someone would try -many among her crew bore grudges against Cerberus and would seize the opportunity to settle the scores, even if with an old operative of theirs-, but they would have to work for it. "Good. Follow the marines. They'll show you to your quarters in the ship. Dismissed."

A door hissed open and Val'Akar walked into the bridge of his ship. It felt empty. There were barely five crew on duty there: the chief officers for engineering, gunnery, intelligence and navigation - and a single geth, the only one active on a walking platform on the whole cruiser.

Still, he had managed to retain a surprisingly large part of his original crew. Almost every quarian had chosen to try their luck on Rannoch, but barely half of them had managed to cope with the experience. Accustomed as they were to the cramped spaces of their starships, many could not adjust to the vastness of their homeworld, and had thus returned to the Flotilla.

The geth on the bridge was a testament to the changing times. He was not the only geth on the vessel. Almost all of them inhabited the ship's systems, the suits of its quarian crew, even their tools and handheld weapons, and could download and upload themselves to and from almost any piece of hardware with processing power enough. Hundreds of synthetic combat platforms were in cold storage, waiting to be activated if needed. Save this one, who was the face of its kind, its representative before their creators. And, in recognition to the one who had made such existence possible, it called itself 'Legion.'

He had not to ask for news. He knew there were not any. The geth had performed a flawlessly precise job when deploying their screen of fighters and escorts in a ring around the dormant relay. After the titanic clash over Earth it was not a surprise anymore that geth and quarians had made their peace and were working together, but the synthetics were still feared all over the galaxy - and their platforms were expendable.

"Akar-commander," the geth saluted.

"Legion," the quarian replied. He still had misgivings about the synthetics, but he had grudgingly admitted they could have killed them all dozens of times over since the standoff at Rannoch and they had not yet done so.

"You are troubled, Akar-commander?"

A grunt. "You know exactly what I'm thinking."

The geth bent its lantern-head sideways. It was almost comical, to watch the synthetic trying to emulate behaviors of organic races. "That assumption is inexact, Akar-commander. I can infer your prejudices still warn you not to trust me or my people, but your exact thoughts on the matter are lost to me."

As if a piece of software could be considered a person. He was wrong, of course. A piece of terran art had challenged the nature of intelligence by simply dubbing it a 'network of electrical impulses decoded and interpreted by the brain.' If them, newcomers as they are, could come up with such a conclusion... "Close enough, Legion. We have fought your kind for decades. Learning to put all that behind to work side to side with you is hard." He saw nods of approval from his chiefs. "Let us not get into another philosophical debate now and focus on the task at hand."

The task was boring. They were holding station in orbit around the mass relay. Their mission was simple: preventing anyone from getting close to the device until they were relieved by T'Loak's force. But, with almost every challenging aspect of running a starfaring vessel now handled by sentient geth software, the crews that had once put all of their energies into the task were now reduced to simply monitoring that the synthetics did their job right. Only the persisting paranoia made their work difficult: it was diabolically demanding to keep track of every single operation performed by a geth program. Their pace was simply too fast to be kept up for any reasonable amount of time by someone trying to keep an eye on them. Worse still, his engineering officer had reported that the geth were steadily decreasing their operating speed - no doubt trying to assuage the doubts of their creators. That was not good either. Having a ship running below optimal capacity because of rampant paranoia was not healthy.

For the time being, that concern was in the back burner. His mission was a first, a test to see how well creators and creations worked shoulder to shoulder. The results would be digested back on Rannoch. Right now, he had to keep his crew in shape, and so Val'Akar had to organize them into other duties. A part of them had modified the ship's sensor arrays to double as an extreme range surveyor of nearby worlds. Another group was organizing virtual wargames to keep their tactical and strategical skills honed, with some of the geth playing the role of the opposing force. A third one was refitting a few geth fighters for their own use, which was particularly challenging since these had no life support systems to speak of.

Abruptly the holographic representation of his ship on the CIC faded away. "Contact," the navigation chief automatically reported as the hologram pictured their LADAR output. "Salarian escort configuration. Range 31700, bearing 3-3-1." Another display showed a pict-capture of the incoming vessel.

"It's an Eclipse ship," the intel specialist noted. "Mercenaries."

"No other contacts in range..." The gunner's voice trailed away, as if expecting other ships to appear any time soon. "Sir, it's awfully early for Aria's forces to arrive or is it just me?"

"No, you're correct. Open a channel." This was done immediately. "Eclipse vessel, you have entered restricted space. State your intended course and destination." There was no reply. "Legion, send fighters on an intercept course. Have them fire a warning salvo if they try to leave."

"Akar-commander." The geth made no motion, but on the LADAR screen a flight of strike craft was changing course and accelerating towards the intruder.

"Contact is powering up engines, sir," the navigation officer reported.

Val'Akar's orders were to prevent tampering with the relay. He had no standing directives to prevent anyone from discovering it. But a lone mercenary ship, of an agency theoretically under T'Loak's thumb... "Power up the ECM gear. Bring the fighters within range for a hacking attack."

"Let's just hope they don't have a QEC on board..." the intel specialist commented.

"If that's the case we're blown either way."

Lights flashed on the LADAR hologram as the fighters fired their warning salvo. Then, immediately: "Sir, we're being hailed."

"I'll take it."

A nervous female voice echoed on the speakers: "Cease fire! Cease fire! This is the Eclipse scout Bayonet speaking, hold your fire!"

The quarian commander did not bother to conceal the sneer in his voice. "You could have started with that and save yourself a load of trouble. What's your business here?"

"I-Investigating," the voice stuttered. "We-we were told geth were around and our ship was dispatched to do some recon... we're not very used yet to the, uh, geth working with quarians."

Val'Akar smirked. "Your failure to inform yourself on galaxy-changing events invites pondering, Bayonet. Power down your engines and prepare to be boarded. Nice and easy and nobody will get hurt." It was pointless to threaten anything further. Another picket of strike craft was now converging on the vessel's position. "Prepare a geth platoon. I want that ship inspected through and through."

It escaped no one on that bridge that the search was probably useless, but the geth spoke nonetheless: "Akar-commander, the odds of a lone ship being here merely on rumors are despreciably low. Someone else knew of this."

"That is what we're going to find out. Who knew."