The Six of Swords, Upright - A need for continuing effort and strength. Once one obstacle is surmounted another presents itself.

March 2187 - Cape Canaveral, United North American States

Wrex was late.

The krogan was supposed to be at her prefab five minutes ago. Sitting on the uncomfortable plastic chair, Shepard crossed her legs and brought up her omni-tool. She needed a distraction. They were supposed to be well on their way to a meeting with Primarch Victus, but instead she was alone in her tiny dwelling with too much damn time to think. And thinking led to only one thing.

Counting. Shepard shut her eyes, knowing that once the numbers started rolling in her head there was no stopping them.

Ninety-seven days since the Reapers had been destroyed.

Ninety-three days since she was found in the wreckage of the Citadel.

Sixty-four days since she woke from the coma and discovered the explosion caused complete hearing loss in both ears.

Twenty-nine days since she was released from the hospital.

Twelve days since the last major fight between the krogan and the rest of the damn planet.

Eight days since the Normandy should have run out of dextro rations.

Garrus…

When they had rescued the students at Grissom Academy, James Vega laughed about David Archer's counting. But Shepard was an engineer. She knew numbers. She understood them. There's a sense of peace in numbers, a reality that couldn't be denied. And as much as she would like to, there was no denying that there were only a certain number of dextro calories on board the Normandy to be consumed.

She closed her eyes tight. Why hadn't she bought more? Or pinched a couple of boxes of those high quality rations they found on Triginta Petra? Garrus had loved those, said they were so much better than the rations that were usually on the Normandy. But instead of keeping some for her own dextro crew, she delivered them all to the Citadel, pleased that she found yet another way to assist the war effort.

With a slap on her wrist, she closed her omni-tool interface. The battery was already running low, and she only had so many daily energy reserves allotted. Her hearing implants were controlled through her omni-tool; if it lost power, she lost her ability to hear. Though there were times, like now, when Shepard would turn the implants off completely and simply watch sky. It had been a long time since she lived planet side. She had forgotten how the sky was constantly changing.

She wondered where the Normandy was. Galactic comm systems had been up for a month now and there was no sign of her ship. No messages, no word from the QEC, nothing. Shepard refused to give up hope that they were alive out there, she would 'keep faith' as so many people had told her to do over the years, even if the Alliance made the decision to classify them as 'missing in action.' But even if the ship was still in one piece, nothing changed the fact that Tali and Garrus had no food to eat.

And if the Normandy wasn't found, in another month, the levo crew members would be out of food. The thought of her crew, her brave, loyal crew would live through the war only to starve to death…

No. She wouldn't go down that path. It was bad enough to keep thinking of Garrus with diminished shoulders, and an even trimmer waist, but she could not, she would not, think of the rest of the crew in those same terms. They deserved better than that. Garrus, too, deserved better.

A sudden hand on her shoulder caused Shepard to look up, unholstering her pistol as she did so. Wrex stood at her side, lips moving, but she heard no sound.

"Sorry, Wrex, implants are off," Shepard said, raising a hand in apology. She quickly brought up the app on her omni-tool interface and turned the implants back on.

"Said I was sorry for being late," Wrex said, "but I'm not going to say it again. You're damn lucky you can turn the Council off on a whim, Shepard."

"I would never, ever do that, Wrex," Shepard said, standing up, stretching her arms over her head. Wrex chuckled. "Give me a minute, I want to go to the bathroom."

"Couldn't you take a piss before I got here?" Wrex asked.

Shepard started walking towards the tiny bathroom in her prefab. She was lucky to have one. The majority of prefabs had to share a communal bathroom with nearby neighbors. "You made me wait, now I'm making you wait. Haven't you ever heard that before? It's a power play."

"Stupid political bullshit," Shepard heard Wrex mutter under his breath as she closed the bathroom door behind her.

She quickly did her business then made the mistake of glancing in the mirror. The image in the mirror didn't look all that different from the one she saw before the war, not really. The third degree burns on the left side of her face and neck had healed nicely, though the pigment of the healed skin was slightly different than the rest of her face. The result was almost comical; a straight line from her hairline to her breastbone. There'd been some nerve damage, so there was less feeling in her neck. Shepard's hair was growing out. Her Cerberus implants grew her hair faster than normal, so her hair was already slightly longer than it had been when she was in command on the SR-1.

Her hair annoyed her; the waves were coming out in force and it wasn't quite long enough to put in a pony tail. She was so used to having a shaved head. But once Garrus had come aboard the Normandy after the Reapers invaded, he considered shaving her head his job. Sitting on the floor of her cabin with Garrus behind her on the couch, slowly and methodically dragging the razor across her scalp were some of most relaxing moments she had during the war. If the worst came to pass, she simply would never shave her head again.

"About damn time," Wrex said as Shepard emerged from the bathroom.

She shrugged as she picked up a few datapads. "Cold out there?"

"For a human? No. The sooner the relays are fixed the better," Wrex said.

"Three months to go, then you'll get home to your babies," Shepard said with a grin.

Wrex held up his hands immediately. "Don't even joke about that, Shepard. We've got two months before the eggs are supposed to hatch. Gonna be the longest month of my life."

"Supposed to?" Shepard said, pulling a jacket over her BDU. "Wrex, it's going to happen."

"We're changing the subject, Shepard," he said, opening up the door to her prefab. "Let's talk about how people are actually listening to me."

Shepard walked outside and let the sunshine warm her face. Originally, the Alliance wanted to set up an operations base in Vancouver. But being the middle of winter, it made more sense to settle closer to the equator. Especially when the leaders of the rest of the races planned on staying close by.

While Cape Canaveral was warm, there was still enough of a chill from the ocean to warrant a coat. Shepard wrapped her arms around her center, trying to ignore how her frame was still too slight. Everyone was rationing, her included. Until more suitable farm land was recovered, rations and genetically modified food was the entirety of her diet. At least she had food to eat, unlike some…

Don't go down that road, Shepard, not now.

"The krogan finally getting in line?" Shepard asked as they walked towards the turian refugee camp. Around them, the city was a contradiction. On one side new prefabs were being constructed, while on the other a dead Harvester waited to be burned. The city smelled like burning bodies twenty-four hours a day. And unlike Garrus, it was a smell she could never get used to.

"Now that we're making them work for their food, yes," Wrex said gruffly. "I didn't want it to come to that, but if they have something to do, there'll be less fighting."

"Been almost two weeks since the last bout," Shepard said, putting her hands deep in her coat pockets. Up until two weeks ago, the krogan forces on Earth were restless. They wanted to fight, or better yet, mate, now that the genophage was cured and without easy access to either? They simply went out of their way looking for a fight. And with the other races just as unhappy being stuck on Earth, the krogan found some easily.

But then Wrex and Grunt came up with the idea that no krogan would be given their rations for the week unless they proved they worked. Since then, productivity soared across the planet. Krogan everywhere were helping on building sites, doing heavy construction, chopping up the empty shells of the Reapers to be put in cargo ships. Scuffles broke out now and then, but nothing like there was. Amazing how the promise of food could get people to work.

The turians guarding the refugee camp waved her and Wrex in without checking any credentials. "Should talk to the Primarch about that," Shepard muttered.

"If Victus wants to have lazy soldiers guard his camp, why should you care?" Wrex said.

Shepard looked around the camp, noting how organized it seemed compared to the human encampments. Not a single turian was laying about; each had a job, even the children, and they were doing that job proudly. Victus had told her they made a makeshift hierarchy specifically for all the turians on Earth, which numbered at more than a million, between the ones who managed to get off the Citadel and the ones stationed on ships which fought in the final battle.

The numbers started rolling in her head again. When the Reapers invaded, there had been approximately twelve billion humans on Earth. With the latest census data, there were only four billion now. Two out of three people on Earth were killed because of the Reapers. And more would die in the upcoming days. Almost every other day there were reports of suicides from those who had been unfortunate enough to be caught in the Reapers' enslavement camps. Indoctrination was common. With the Reapers gone, those indoctrinated felt they had no other choice but to die by their own hand.

Eighty-three minutes inside a dead Reaper…

Shepard told the voice in her head to shut up. She made the choice to destroy the Reapers; would that be the choice of someone indoctrinated?

"Glad you can be here for this, Shepard," Wrex rumbled.

"This might just work, Wrex. It could be the making of the krogan," Shepard said.

They entered one of the larger prefab units in the camp, the turian headquarters. One of the Primarch's aide stood up and saluted. "The Primarch's ready for you both." she said.

"Thank you," Shepard said.

They were led into a small room, with a long table and a few chairs as the only furniture. Primarch Adrien Victus stood at the end of the table, typing on his omni-tool. He closed it shut once they entered. "That'll be all, Yeoman," he told the aide.

The door closed behind them. Victus crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back. "Have you given any thought to my proposal, Wrex?"

"I've given it a lot of thought," Wrex said. "Some of it good, some of it bad."

"Wrex," Shepard said, a note of warning in her voice.

"I'm not about to let the turians try to make the krogan a client race, like the volus or the prijians," Wrex said. "I need to know exactly how the turian hierarchy will view the krogan."

Victus sighed. "I've explained it already, Wrex-"

"Explain it again."

"Wrex, you've seen the numbers," Shepard said softly.

More numbers. Sometimes she wondered if she'd ever escape them.

One of the first things the turian hierarchy did once the comms were functioning was to complete a census of its citizens. To say the numbers were disheartening was an understatement. Before the Reapers invaded, there were approximately seventeen billion turians scattered across the galaxy. Now there were only five billion. Worse was the population imbalance.

There had always been more male turians than female turians. Instead of an almost even split like humanity, there were generally fifty-eight percent male, forty-two percent female. The disparity explained why the asari were so popular among turian males. The Reapers changed those numbers. For the first time in their recorded history, there were more females than males.

"I'm supposed to care that the turians are less than half of what they were? So are the krogan. And the humans. Don't know about the asari, but they can reproduce with anyone, so who cares?" Wrex said. "The quarians are down at least one third their population and there weren't many of them to begin with."

"The galaxy needs ships," Victus said. "The turian hierarchy was fortunate in that regard. The majority of our ships are in working condition. What we need are bodies manning those ships."

"So you want my people," Wrex said, placing his hand down on the table.

"Yes," Victus said. "And we would train the krogan that serve on our ships. You're about to have a population boom, Wrex. But if all you're doing is raising your children to send them out to fight and be killed? What's the point? You need skilled workers. You need krogan with medical skills, with technical skills. And we will train them as long as you help patrol our borders."

Wrex placed a hand over his mouth and stared into the corner of room. "I'm not saying no," he said finally. "I'd like to talk this over with Bakara."

"Understood," Victus said. "Don't take too long to decide. If what I'm hearing is true, the relays should be up in a few months. I'd like to have this settled well before they go active. Maybe even start training."

"We'll talk more in a week," Wrex said, nodding his head. "Ready, Shepard?"

"Actually, I need to speak to the commander," Victus said.

Shepard tensed, wondering if Victus had heard something about the Normandy that hadn't reached her yet. "Certainly, Primarch," she said slowly.

"We'll talk later, Shepard," Wrex said, leaving the room.

Victus let out a breath and sat down in one of the plastic chairs. "That went better than expected."

"I think he'll agree," Shepard said, sitting across from Victus. "He has high hopes for his people, but you're right. The krogan need skills."

He ran his hand over his fringe. "And the turian hierarchy needs children." Victus leaned back in his chair and let out a sigh. "It's only been three months and I think I have an idea how the krogan felt for all those years. Children are going to be our most important commodities, and Spirits, that'll be nothing compared to a female in her child bearing years. Imagine it will be the same for all the races."

"But at the same time," Shepard said, "there are a lot of kids out there that need a home."

"Funny, but before that final fight on Earth? I thought things would get easier once the Reapers were gone," Victus said with a bark of a laugh.

"You and me both, sir," Shepard said. She tapped her foot nervously, a habit she picked up in the last few months. "You wanted to talk to me?"

Victus nodded. His shoulders slumped as if a heavy weight was holding him down. "Is it true the Alliance has officially declared the Normandy to be MIA?" Victus asked.

Shepard closed her eyes and thought about her meeting with Admiral Hackett yesterday. He felt no choice but to declare the ship to be missing-in-action. If no word was heard for another three months, the crew would all be declared KIA.

"Yes," Shepard said with a sharp intake of breath. "It's true."

Victus bowed his head and folded his hands before him, looking like he was in prayer. He was a man devoted to the Spirits, perhaps he was. "Then I regret to inform you that Operative Garrus Vakarian will be declared killed in service." He looked up then and right into her eyes. "I considered him a good friend, by the end. I'm very sorry for your loss."

"But the Alliance classified them as MIA, not KIA," Shepard said, feeling her mouth dry up. She placed a hand on her throat; she needed to breathe. "I don't understand-"

"The turian military has no designation for MIA soldiers. You're either alive and fighting for the hierarchy or you're not," Victus said gently. "I've put this off as long as I could, but with the Alliance making that distinction, I don't have a choice."

Shepard stood up and breathed deeply. She would not fall apart in front of the Primarch. She wouldn't. "I see," she said finally.

"I understand from our correspondence that he intended on asking you to be his wife. Once things are less chaotic and I'm back on Palaven, I'll make sure you are given all the benefits of a top tier hierarchy member's widow," Victus said.

Widow.

Shepard wished she could go back five seconds and turn off her aural implants so she didn't have to hear that word. She would have to get used to this; once the news of the Normandy's classification spread, more and more would want to send their condolences for her mate, for her crew. Her family.

"Thank you," Shepard said after a moment, turning to look at Victus, but not quite in the eye. "Has there been any word from his family yet?" If Garrus was to be lost to her, she wanted to at least help his family, but there had been no sign of them. The last time Garrus heard from them they were on the way to the Citadel. She simply had to hope they never made it there and were somewhere else.

Victus shook his head. "If that changes, I'll let you know immediately."

She nodded her thanks. With nothing more to say, Shepard left the room. Thankfully, the hallway was empty and Shepard jogged out of the compound. Once outside, she broke out into a run until she left the turian camp altogether.

Placing her hands on her knees, Shepard took gulping breaths, forcing the air into her lungs. This was a shock she had not prepared for. How could anyone be prepared for this? Anger spiked and if she was a biotic, Shepard was sure she would have caused a great deal of damage due to her surge in emotion.

When her breathing was under control again, Shepard forced herself to be calm. The turians had rules and procedures they had to follow. That was their way of coping. She didn't have to agree. The numbers weren't in their favor, but it wasn't a hopeless case. Until then…

Shepard turned off her aural implants and looked to the sky. Tomorrow she was scheduled to meet with Hackett and then the Council. If Shepard thought she worked hard during the war, it was nothing compared to her efforts since she was released from the hospital.

It would be so easy to curl up in a ball and mourn for her lost love. But she wasn't ready. Until the numbers told her there was absolutely no hope, she would keep faith. And now?

There was work to be done.

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