Mass Effect is a video game trilogy that is owned by Bioware and EA. The universe is theirs, I just like to play with it.

This will mostly follow the events of Mass Effect 1 with a little reference here and there to different events in human and alien history.

The title picture for this story is from wanderer1812 at Deviant Art to whom I give a giant thank you. Go see her stuff on her page! It's AMAZING! You won't regret it!

Have fun. I certainly am. :D

Chapter 1: One for the Show

Jump Zero's bar was always full.

It was simply a given fact since it was the one and only bar the fairly small space station just beyond the orbit of Pluto. Gagarin Station, the station's official title, was an Alliance Systems Government research station and as such, its bar was always packed full with Alliance military personnel.

The old stories say that there are four things that make soldiers run outside a battlefield: One is food and it doesn't matter what kind if you're tired as hell and it's edible. Another is pay, since it would be ridiculous to fight for free anymore. The third is, not surprisingly, a man or woman they find attractive. The final crux is a chance to get away from it all either by yourself, with friends, or with colleagues.

Alcohol usually helps with that last one – detrimental factor or not. That was why some very wise administrator from years back made sure the bar was the biggest room on the station closest to the eating mess for access to cooks, food and drink. Of course, it had more than this single function. During work-hours, Jump Shots Bar and Grill was a large conference room complete with presentation stage, tables, chairs, computer equipment and was used to entertain visiting dignitaries, scientists or military conventions. Come the evenings, however, the more expensive or sensitive equipment, tables, and chairs were moved out and replaced with less-expensive, breakable counterparts. Come the bigger holidays, like tonight's celebration of Memorial Day, the bar seeped into other rooms close to it. Many liquor licences were authorized for other parts of the station close to Jump Shots for large events such as this one. Then, no equipment or furniture was safe unless it was made of solid metal and was bolted to the floor or if it was locked away in a secure room.

November 3rd was officially commissioned in 2158 CE by the Systems Alliance to commemorate the fallen and honour the living soldiers both in it's own ranks and in all other wars throughout human history. For Alliance personnel, Memorial Day was a morning of reverence, pride, and sadness followed by a day, evening, night and sometimes morning of varying, but mostly embarrassing, levels of debauchery. Leave requests for the 4th of November were very common in the months preceding the date and only a few were authorized to have it. Whether you were one of the 'lucky ones' to have authorization to not work the next day or not, it was hard not to get caught up in the celebrations which ensued.

Jump Shots had hired a large band this year. A real one: not some holographic recording of one. They had been playing on stage since 1400 hrs and good thing too since most of the crowd had been at the bar since the late morning after the ceremonies had ended and were starting to get rowdy. They were an eclectic collection of musicians and it became clear early that the band used a total of twelve members of varying talent on many instruments ranging from the mandolin, violin, and bagpipes, to acoustic guitar, electric guitar, synthesizers, and mixers. While some of the crowd was a little surprised to see and hear so many human instruments live and in the same place, not many complained since the music was quite good even if it was a little old fashioned at times and jumped between opposing types of music without much warning. Most were just happy to see some of their own on stage as the entire band consisted of Alliance soldiers in dress-uniform blues. In addition to singing some Regimental songs, the band also sang songs you could follow even when incredibly intoxicated, which increased the moral of the entire room. Many of the previously staged music had been recorded holograms of famous bands or some terrible live bands from the Mars colonies.

The manager, a civilian worker hired by the Alliance military to tend Jump Shots in the evenings and work a clerical job during the day, was actually delighted when he realized just how cheap it was to hire a band that consisted of military personnel and had booked them as soon as he heard their asking price. He wasn't expecting them to bring a drummer – that hadn't been part of the arrangement and he liked to meet everyone he hired. They'd told him that it was because the lieutenant had just gotten to the station the other day and said that they didn't need to renegotiate the price even with an extra band member, so the manager allowed the drummer to stay and continue setting up her instruments.

It was only when the band started playing that someone had told him half-way into the first set that the drummer looked strikingly like the Lieutenant Serrica Shepard.

He had blinked at the soldier who'd told him and had done a double take at the woman who had removed her dress-tunic to play the drum set more freely on stage.

"Holy shit," was all he could say. If it wasn't her, it could have been her sister or an illegal clone. She looked just like the newsreels had shown her at the medal ceremonies and rare interviews: short flaming red hair, freckles and all.

The manager frowned in thought. Did Lieutenant Shepard even have a sister? If she did, was she in the military? Could he be making a mistake? And if it was Shepard, what was she doing here? He activated his omni-tool, causing the few near waiting to order a drink to try signalling the waitress working the bar with him.

He quickly searched her name on the extranet and was stunned to see that the photo of her that popped up with her name, rank and recent news-feeds was an exact match to the woman grinning on stage to the old sea chantey the band was performing. He shook his head again at the sight before looking at the rest of her unclassified profile online to make sure.

Under a title called 'Current Family', the article he'd chosen read: This highly decorated Alliance Marine is one of the only surviving colonists of batarian slaver attack on Mindoir (keywords Mindoir attack 2170 for details). Her only living relative is her biological mother, Captain Hannah Shepard, who currently serves in the Alliance Navy aboard the dreadnaught SSV Kilimanjaro as a senior officer.

The manager nodded at the information – no sister! That really was Shepard up there! – and immediately went to Jump Shots' local database in the extranet. He moved his omni-tool up above the heads of the crowd by standing on his chair behind the bar as the waitress asked desperately for help with filtering the amount of orders coming through. He recorded a quick close-up video of the Lieutenant beating the hell out of the drums now to start a new more modern song and posted the vid within seconds, captioning it with: Lieutenant Shepard (N7 badass!), Hero of Elysium is playing in the band here! Is anybody else seeing this?! He posted the video and caption as an anonymous commenter on the site's community forum and grinned. Tonight was going to be profitable – Memorial Day always was – but if word got out that Lieutenant Shepard was playing in the band, who knows what kind of endorsement money he could get. The lieutenant was gold for the media right now! Even if it wasn't for what he had posted just a few moments ago.

He made a mental note to have one of his waiters sit a floating camera in the rafters lighting the stage before going to aid his employee with the orders.

More people began flocking to the bar as the hours went on and one soldier, incredibly drunk, staggered up to the bar and found a less than pleased VI tech from Alliance Research & Development carefully sipping her beer. He playfully slapped her on the shoulder in greeting. The woman was terse with him and winced whenever he tried to form his words properly, but he didn't seem to care about her recoiling reaction.

"Hey!" he said as if suddenly realizing something. "Hey!" He poked her in the shoulder and she nearly wanted to knock him out. "Did you see the drummer?" he asked raising his eyebrows up and down provocatively.

The R&D woman looked onstage and looked back at the man with a shrug. "Cute, I guess," she said, staring intently at her half-empty beer. "Not really into combat vets though and that scar from her bottom jaw down her neck gives her a roguish quality that I'm only too familiar with." When she was rudely reminded of a past relationship that had been ruined by said quality, she downed her beer suddenly and bitterly. "Besides, aren't you supposed to be trying to hook me up with that reporter chick that's been stationed here to do a documentary on the Biotic Acclimation and Temperance program that went down in flames a few years ago? What's her name? Loraina?"

The soldier looked at her in shock. "That," he began, trying to point a swaying finger and arm towards stage and nearly hitting people in the thickening crowd. "That is Lieutenant Shepard, Aamina! Come'on! You gotta at least try!"

Aamina froze. It was not a nervous freeze, nor a kind one. She was quiet for a few moments, her gaze turning hard and murderous as it focussed on the pale-skin redhead playing the drums.

"Um, Aamina?" said the man, not understanding why she wasn't speaking.

Aamina's gaze snapped back to him and her lip curled into a snarl, but instead of yelling at him she slammed her empty beer down on the bar. "Yeah, Mike," she finally replied to the soldier's challenge. "It would sure be a good idea to date the fucking Butcher of Torfan." Sarcasm bled from her words and Aamina quickly scowled, then turned away to the bar to order another drink: something a lot stronger than beer.

"The who of the what, now?" blinked Mike.

"The Butcher of Torfan," repeated a man with a deep voice sitting right beside Aamina before she could yell at Mike. His skin was pale, unlike both Aamina and Mike, but he had a strong, bearded, chiselled jaw, messy brown hair and a build like someone who could break you in half. He ignored Mike's head-jerk back as the drunken soldier tried to think of where he had heard that title. Instead, he turned to Aamina and carefully stated: "You knew someone under her command." Regret and pity lined his voice as he said it.

Aamina hesitated for a moment, unable to detect what kind of accent he had, and then nodded slightly as she finally got the attention of one the bartenders and ordered a triple scotch neat. "My brother, sir," she said after a few moments.

The officer to her left nodded. "My condolences," was all he could really say. When she indicated that she was clearly in no mood to talk about it, he went back to his drink.

"Wait, wasn't Torfan the name of the moon where Shepard kicked batarian ass again?" droned Mike, unaware of what was going in front of him. "I mean, after she gave them a preliminary ass kicking in the Skyllian Blitz," he clarified, hoping he remembered the timeline correctly. "And, I mean, isn't Torfan the reason that the batarians aren't messing with us humans in the Skyllian Verge right now?" He closed his eyes tight, trying to think of the timeline again.

Aamina's glass had arrived by the time Mike had finished his garble and she took it in an iron grip that nearly shattered it, staring angrily at the wall behind the bar. The strong-jawed officer beside her was wincing, though Mike couldn't see him, then he looked over to see what kind of damage Mike had done to the woman beside him and saw the glass strain Aamina's grip. His eyes went wide. She's probably imagining that the glass as Shepard's neck, he thought, or even this 'Mike' character's. He swung around on the bar stool and got the other man's attention with an exuberant wave.

"Could be," he said to answer Mike's question abstractly. "But the batarians won't be the problem pretty soon. There are rumours of sightings of geth ships coming out of the Perseus Veil, so –"

"Naw, naw, naw!" said Mike gesturing for the officer to stop. He opened his eyes and gave the officer bars on the man's inform, several medals on his left side and then his nametag on the right a sparing glance by squinting at them. "2nd Lieutenant, Shawcross, sir." He nodded at the man. "I want to hear Mina's take on this! She always leaves when the guys and I talk about Shepard and I want a straight answer from her!"

Shawcross openly winced at the man now, expecting the R&D to punch Mike at any moment, but when she didn't, he looked at her in surprise. She got up from her own stool at the bar and walked straight into Mike's face in a method that reminded Shawcross of a training sergeant berating a recruit. She left the man no space to move away.

"Listen, yah manyak," she seethed at him, still griping the glass in hand and pointing at his face with the other. "Shepard was the hero of Elysium – fine, I get that. My brother was there. She saved his life and a quite a few others in that battle." Before Mike could open his mouth and claim victory, she continued. "And then, fucking Torfan happens. She got most of them killed. That same brother, Fadi? He was one of them! You remember him? The one who kept sending me those vids of the shittiest training on Titan like it was the best thing that had ever happened to him?" There were tears in her eyes, but she wouldn't let them fall. "When Shepard was assigned to the 103rd Marine Division and then given his platoon to command to assault Torfan's maze of underground slaving tunnels, he was ecstatic that he got to serve with her again. He told me so the week before he died." She took a breath to steady herself. "I don't know the full story – I'm not authorized for the full story, apparently! – but I know that only five soldiers came out that platoon alive and she was one of them – she was in charge," she laughed bitterly. "I know it was a victory and it scared the shit out of the batarians, but we didn't have to kill all of them for it to have been a victory, and if Shepard had had some kind of self-control…" She said the last at almost a whisper, then took the glass of scotch and suddenly downed it.

"Jesus, Mina. Get over yourself. Shepard's fucking good at her job," said Mike. He hadn't heard even half of what she had said, but all he knew was that she was badmouthing the most badass woman in the entire galaxy. Not that he'd be brave enough to say that to Shepard's face ever, but Mina's tone sat wrong with him. "Just because she's willing to see her mission through with casualties, doesn't mean she's fucking Satan." He took a swig of his drink as if that was the end of the conversation and Aamina could say no more in her defence.

The officer still on his stool face-palmed himself at Mike's insensitive comments. The band was in the middle of a song dictating an old sailor's tale of the main trunk of ship's mast taking out both his legs in a battle long past as Aamina sneered at the soldier before her. Her dark eyes held him for a moment, letting her rage sink in, build up and sink in again to the point where she slapped Mike hard enough make him lose his already precarious balance, drop his half-finished drink, and knock him off his chair.

"Kes emak yah kalb!" She swore, centring a small crowd's attention on her and Mike for a few moments. The group of soldiers and two civilian employees about them had laughed or looked concerned as the watched Mike tumble. A few made some jeering noises as Aamina marched towards the closest door leaving the soldier she'd just hit trying to recover from what had just happened. People parted from her path like frightened fish as she let the glass she'd just emptied fall unceremoniously onto a table on her way out and stormed off into the hallway.

When Mike finally got to his feet, with the aid of the officer that had now left his stool, he frowned at the bigger man. "I was going to set her up with Shepard, man! You scared her off!" He chided dramatically, looking about for his spilt drink.

"I think you did that last all on your own," murmured the officer as the crowd lost interest. "Do you have any friends here?" he inquired, hoping not have to intervene with the soldier's behaviour – it was still far too early in the night for him to start calling the military police.

"He does," said a marine coming up to them both and pulling Mike upright. "Sorry, sir," he said, cringing at the other man. To Mike, he punched him hard in the arm.

"Ow!" complained the heavily intoxicated soldier. "Jeeze!" He cringed as he rubbed the spot. "Whats was dat fer?!" he demanded, slurring his words.

"For being a dick to Aamina. You know she's pissed when she starts swearing that badly – or did you forget to get your implants looked at when Jesse hit you in ring last week and not know that she was calling you horrible things in Lebanese?" The friend shook his head when Mike looked sheepish, then cuffed him on the side of the head lightly. "Thought so! Still, even without the translator though – why the fuck didn't you just stop talking, man? She may be a short woman, but even I'm scared of her when she's angry and I'm twice as heavy and carry three times the muscle."

Mike burped a little and shrugged. "Didn't think she was that pissed," he said simply. His gaze wandered from his friend back to the stage again. "And Shepard's a goddess – I'll defend her when she needs defending!" He put his fist in the air triumphantly, but nobody was listening.

"Yeah," sighed the officer. "Trust me on this, Serrica really doesn't need defending, especially with this. In fact, she'd probably approve of Aamina hitting you just now."

The soldier looked at the officer and swayed into a fighting stance. "Let's discuss that point!" he challenged, but his friend grabbed Mike and promptly turned him about under protest.

His friend managed to pull him away from the officer completely and sat him down at the table with the rest of his buddies.

"You know you just tried to pick a fight with 2 Lt Jordan Shawcross, right?" said the only woman at his table of friends.

Mike blinked at her. "Who?"

She rolled her eyes at him, putting her drink down and pointing on stage. "He was at Torfan with Shepard. Even though it was a victory, they both got charged and demoted for it. Don't you watch the news, man? They both used to be Lieutenant Commanders."

Mike nearly doubled over in an attempt to get up, but the soldier who had fetched him grabbed him by the collar and shoved him back down again. "I doubt it's a good idea to talk to him again," he said plainly and didn't let go of his friend's collar.

"But if he knows Shepard, maybe we could talk. I could ask her about all the training she's gotten –"

"He basically just told you that Shepard would just end up hitting you – just like every other woman eventually does." His friend gave Mike a jerk downward that forced him back into his seat. "Plus I like most of the songs they're playing, how about we don't antagonize the drummer?" He took an empty beer glass and set it down in front of Mike and pulled the newly filled pitcher towards him. "Let it be, Mike. There's more beer to drown your sorrows anyways, so make the best of it."

The fourth soldier at the table smiled at Mike as the forlorn soldier pouted muttering: "Not every woman. And besides, I wouldn't be hitting on her or anything..." He stared at Shepard in reverence and pouted. "She's beyond my reach."

Mike tried reach for a new glass dejectedly as the fourth soldier, a lanky man with a well-trimmed beard, nodded at Mike's saviour. "Well, now that that's over with and Mike hasn't gotten himself killed." He poured himself a beer after Mike was finished. "Can we keep talking about the turian in the corner that's creeping the hell out of us all?"

The female soldier sighed. "He's obviously here on official business, Merick," she said, annoyed. "Look at the guard that keeps walking around him – if that guy isn't N7..." She let her sentence trail off and jutted a thumb in the direction of the turian's bodyguard without looking.

Merick shook his head. "You would think that, wouldn't you? But he's a bodyguard hired out of a private company that deals with international delegates. Nobody I've asked knows what he's doing here to need special protection like that." He turned to Mike's saviour again, motioning towards the bigger man meaningfully. "Dan, you work with the private security personnel more than the rest of us. You heard anything?"

Daniel looked at the turian who was watching the band. The alien's eyes were such a bright green; they practically glowed with an eerie light in the bar's dim setting. He was in a turian military dress uniform that was black, but he wore no nametag, nor did he have any medals to show. He held the turian equivalent rank of commander on the cuffs of his sleeves and collar and there was a modified pistol attached to his side. His white face-paint was prominent over the dark brown, scale-like metallic carapace and avian features, but there was practically no expression on his face at the moment. Not that Daniel knew much about what an emotive turian was supposed to look like. He'd never seen much range of motion in their faces other than the mandibles twitching about and a few eyebrow scales moving to and fro. He looked more like a carving of a turian than a living one; Dan hadn't even seen him move, though he was sure the turian was blinking from time to time. His guard looked on as his charge watched the show and kept at any passer-by who was looking for trouble at bay – being the only turian on the station with a bunch of drunken Alliance soldiers was usually a bad thing. But Dan knew that the guard was there to protect the humans from themselves since anyone provoking the turian would be in for one hell of a shock and the guard's reactions to such a threat would be the least of their worries.

He turned to his friends who were waiting for him to reply to Merick's query – all save Mike, who was loudly and badly singing along to the new song the band had started playing. Daniel made his voice low and took an unsteady breath. "This doesn't leave the table," he stated clearly to the two that were listening. "If it does, I'll be transferred, maybe even court-martialled."

"We get it, already, Dan," said the woman impatiently. "We aren't going to say anything. Now, come'on! What's that turian doing here?"

Dan took another steadying breath. "That's the thing nobody knows what he's here for exactly. But I was there when he got here so I saw his ID when they scanned it. Get this: the info on him said 'Classified' everywhere and was immediately sent to the Serpent Nebula and the highest level security from the Citadel for verification. That could only mean one thing: He's a member of the council's Special Tactics and Reconnaissance branch."

Merick cringed. "Holy shit, a spectre? Now I regret even being interested."

But the woman laughed at the news. "Mare, show a little backbone, will you?" she punched him playfully in the arm. "He's not going to kill us for knowing."

Merick snorted. "I know that – spectres don't general start shooting just because you know who they are, unless you're on a cesspit like Omega or something. I'm not worried about dying from this. I'm worried about political fallout if people find out I know and I get caught in a scandal." He glared at her. "It's easy for you to ignore, Priea. You have a job to transfer to on Mars if you bail out of the Alliance."

Priea grinned. "Comes with taking the Alliance's money for university. I had my priorities straight when I signed on." She turned back to Daniel, ignoring Merick's scowl at her comments. "Any theories on why he's here?" she asked eagerly.

Dan shook his head. "Some big Alliance names are here for the celebrations that aren't usually here, but that's all I can think of."

"Big names? Like who?"

He nodded towards the stage. "Shepard for one. Captain Anderson for another. Though I think Shepard wasn't in on any plans – they've been moving her around for months to finally get her away from the media and, the way I hear it, she's been glad to avoid the psychologists lined up to evaluate her for everyone." He shook his head, thinking of the toll that kind of limelight must have had on the woman on stage. "Five years after Torfan and they're still hounding her for any scrap of information. That's why I think this is just another one of her avoidance postings – it has to be. But Anderson…" He pointed to their table and clucked once. "Anderson came here for a really big reason other than the ceremonies today. So did Admiral Hackett."

"Shit, Hackett's here too?" said Merick, unbelieving.

Priea frowned at his reaction and rolled her eyes at them both. "What's so weird about that? Last year, the commander of the Sixth Fleet showed up for the ceremonies here. Come'on guys, Hackett just drew the short straw this year."

Dan looked dubious. "Maybe, but think about it: Both Captain Anderson, who's got enough medals that if they melted them all down they could make a life-sized statue of him, and Admiral Hackett showing up at the same time as Lieutenant Shepard gets posted here? That's a lot of big names here all of sudden. And now a spectre's here too. Tell me that's not fishy in the slightest," he dared talking a large sip of beer.

Priea made a face. "I guess it's weird, but there's a lot of conjecture going on there. This could all be just coincidence." Something caught her eye behind Merick's head and she nodded towards it meaningfully. "We aren't going to find out for sure anyways. It seems our turian friend is leaving." She elbowed Merick to look where she was looking. "Want to follow him?"

Merick ducked his head, adamantly regarded his drink while nervously avoiding eye contact with anything beside the glass. Mike was almost completely passed-out in his chair, despite the fact that Shepard was beating the hell out of the drums in the rendition of some type of Death Metal song. Priea rolled her eyes and shook her head at Merick as if he were less of a man and lifted her glass to cheer Shepard on.

Daniel, however, watched the spectre leave the room without fear of reprisal. The turian's bodyguard moved a drunken man out of the way carefully as Nihlus moved towards the exit that Aamina had used and turned left out of sight.

None of them would see the spectre for the rest of the night and he would be gone by morning.

A.N.

Andraste's flaming undergarments, I'm tiered... but I must still write.

I actually wrote the first part of Jump Shot's quite a few years ago. I wasn't expecting it to be so damn long, but there it is! And it work! Sorta...

A.N.