Summary: Newly minted N7 Lieutenant Nyx Shepard is given a solo assignment that tests her personal and professional limits by placing her in a situation her training could never prepare her for. Sent to the garden world of Anhur during a civil rebellion Shepard must embrace her cover and earn the trust of those she is there to try and help. Thankfully, she's not alone, though she didn't expect to be partnered up with her childhood best friend Calev "Caz" Zingel, who becomes her anchor in what becomes a stormy situation.

This piece was part of the Mass Effect Big Bang Autumn 2013. And my artist was BioticBooty. She did an amazing job of capturing a sense of Nyx in this piece as well as her connection to Shepard. You can find the banner here: . /bioticbooty/60476172/765/765_ . And her masterpost for the caps she did is here: post/67363789484/art-masterpost-for-hunnybadgervs- story-for-the. Thank you so much. Totally SHINY! And extra special thanks to BioticBooty (aka QuantumParadigm) for also making a sweet cover image for FFNet. She's completely amazing.

A/N: This is a prologue piece to a current WIP: First Watch of the Night. It was inspired by the information in the planet codex for Anhur in Mass Effect 2. Most of the characters in this piece are original characters (except Shepard and Anderson). The situation of the story is based on the Anhur codex information.

Acknowledgements: I want to offer much love and appreciation to xforeverquotex who beta-read this piece for me on top of also beta-ing FWN. You are awesome and I thank you soooooo much for taking on this beast of a piece so quickly and thoroughly.

Disclaimer: Mass Effect belongs to Bioware, I'm only playing with their universe. I do not own the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. I do it for the love of the game, the world, and the characters; and because they stuck with me long after I turned the game off (and back on, and off, ad infinitum).

New Perspective, A Prologue of First Watch of the Night

New Perspective

Chapter 1: A Calling

i.

Lieutenant Nyx Shepard preferred it when she arrived on Arcturus Station deep in the night cycle of the human deep space outpost. She knew she'd go unnoticed for a few hours, at the least. The officer slid a hand through her hair; she'd had it trimmed up during the transport and it didn't look quite as unruly as it did when she'd left Anhur a few weeks earlier. But the short pixie style cut was still very different from the longer way she'd preferred to wear her hair most of her life.

Tentatively she accessed the panel near the door, punching in her code and pressing her left hand to the interface so that it could read both her handprint and the identification chip in her omnitool at the same time. It surprised the officer that her access to the door still worked; the satisfaction of seeing the console glow green made her feel a little lighter. She stepped into the darkened room. As the door closed behind her, a sense of relief washed over her and she felt like she was coming home, even though this wasn't the type of place most people could consider home. Her team's headquarters were located in the lower docks. It was also the place this thing had all started.

The room was quiet and dark, empty, like it had been the afternoon Captain David Anderson had come to see her nearly a year before. Shaking her head clear she dropped her gear on the conference table and crossed to a small control panel in the corner. The window was little more than a maintenance porthole but it didn't matter to her, it was a view-a view that had always fascinated and inspired Nyx.

A year ago if someone would have asked Lieutenant Shepard about the garden world of Anhur in the Amun system of the Eagle Nebula, she'd likely have shrugged and told them to watch a news vid. At that point she knew what most other humans knew. The human-batarian colony on a resource rich world was in the throes of a civil rebellion over the government's reversal of the minimum wage on the planet, which had resulted in a state that quickly boiled down to slavery. A state that suited the corporate interests and the corrupt politicians they funded just fine; the colonists had other ideas, well, some of them. What surprised most of the galaxy was that some of the populace, and not just the batarians, didn't see an issue with it, though most pundits suggested that was because the supporters were not being forced into the positions that paid next to nothing and stole the livelihood and dignity of common inhabitants.

Leaning away from the window, the officer rubbed at the back of her neck, as she stretched it from side to side. Falling asleep on transports always left her a little sore. She looked over at the desk. She'd been gone for a year and held no illusions that this was still her team, or her office. After six months of temporary duty, any officer with half a brain would have put in to have that position made permanent. Her access to the room did at least suggest she might still have a spot on the team.

Even though this didn't quite feel like her office any longer. Shepard sat back in the chair at her old desk and stared out the window. When she started to lean back the sheathe poked at her thigh and she unstrapped it, laying it on the desk as she propped her feet up on the corner of the same. Scanning the desk in the dim light, a picture frame confirmed her suspicions that this place was no longer hers to claim. The photos in the little decorative silver frame flashed by: dark haired men and women with big smiles, a silver-haired couple laughing on a bench beneath the Eiffel Tower, and an officer in his blues being saluted by a boy she presumed was his son since they had the same dark hair. The smile curving her lips was slight, but she turned from the scenes of fluffy family life to the dark openness out her little window, for her that was more comfortable, that was what she knew and understood. That inky sea was where she'd come from, where'd she'd grown up, and was the place that she lived her life.

People always joked with her that growing up in space, on ships and stations, had skewed her priorities. But she'd never really believed that. Her life and her outlook were just different, no better or worse, just hers. But there were times, events, people, and places that made her question that assumption. She had grown up in the service. Living on ships and in military family housing on stations since she was five, Shepard literally grew up in the Alliance, among officers and enlisted men. Her childhood was spent in a state precarious place, not yet Alliance and not quite a civilian.

Her childhood prepped her for the rest of her life. Prepared her for the life of service she would eventually embark on. From a young age, Nyx was a consummate operator. The mission was tantamount, even in her personal life the mission-her career-had always come first. She knew that attention to one's responsibilities was necessary for things to run smoothly. She had learned that on ships, everyone had their place, their job, their contribution. Not doing so could be dangerous, put people in danger.

There had been no family photos on the desk in the darkened room when it had belonged to her. The few family photos she had were from childhood and of her parents-Hannah and Taranis Shepard-and grandparents, a few with her childhood best friends, Lin and Caz. But those were private, she kept them to herself. She had no children of her own, she wasn't even sure if she wanted that type of life. Her last relationship had ended in the same ultimatum as the others-a man or the Alliance. And the man that asked it had known the answer before he put the question to her.

Her childhood, her family, and her life had always been in constant motion. She was born on an Alliance dreadnought, several weeks early, because her mother claimed Nyx wouldn't abide being still. She was two weeks old the first time her body had felt the effects of a mass relay jump. Her first view was of the light pierced darkness of space. Shepard didn't do still; she didn't want still. For her there was always a job to do, always something looming on the horizon-for her that was what space and life were, a never ending horizon leading to the next great adventure.

Her blue eyes moved from the view of the vast unknown beyond the window to the photo of the little boy proudly saluting an officer. A tightness seemed to creep over her shoulders as she looked at it. She wasn't sure if it was merely residual tension from an awkward shuttle nap or something else. Her gaze returned to wide open space that usually brought her solace.

The movement of her fingers was easy, smooth, and so familiar that she hadn't realized she was doing it. At some point while mentally marking the distance between stars out her window, Shepard had begun twirling the knife in her fingers. Her comfort with blades and knives of many forms disquieted some of the people she knew, and had from a tender age when her grandfather passed an heirloom down to the girl who swore she'd grow up to be a marine like him. But the one in her hands was not her grandfather's knife.

She stilled it, leaning forward and tipping the blade toward the faint light. The precise and delicate etching was barely visible in the low light, but she didn't need to see the scene on the blade to know it. It was a ritual athame, the zigzag blade held a scene from Ra'mahniit lore, the Great Father wielding a blade forged from the body and soul of his lover Akha as he put down the warlords that threatened the Anhurri ancestors and the health of the land. She knew the detail almost as well as she knew the story now. And here she sat where it all started.

ii.

The alphabet soup of numbers and letters assigned to bulkheads and portals on an Alliance ship or space station could be dizzying, thankfully Captain David Anderson didn't need to know how to read them in order to find the nondescript hatch he was looking for. Docking bay bulkhead D-23-B9-A7 was on the lower decks, it was one of the darker and dirtier arrivals that Arcturus Station had. There wasn't a lot of ship traffic coming in to this area of the docks, and even fewer people, which was one of the reasons the commanding officer of Special Operations Team, Arcturus Seven chose the location.

Arcturus Seven, known as A7, was a successful prototype. The team had been proposed by Lieutenant Shepard who had been assigned as its officer in charge. A7 was a specialized strike team of veteran operators who had the skills, experience, and knowledge to handle assignments that required a great deal of finesse. The team was one segment of the larger Arcturus Special Warfare group, but handled high priority and higher risk missions. Under Shepard's design and leadership it had proven extremely successful, but that fact hadn't surprised Anderson like it had some of the people that lobbied against the program.

Gaining admittance from the security panel, the captain stepped through the hatch into a tightly buttoned-down space. He had expected her to notice him, instead she was speaking calmly while reclined in her chair with her boots propped on the corner of her desk. The black bladed knife spun elegantly between her nimble fingers. The slightest amber shimmer beyond the perimeter of the desk explained the silence and why she hadn't noticed his presence. Her "office" was segregated by the rest of the room by a sheer electronic privacy curtain. He'd only seen them in the offices of high ranking officers and in Alliance intelligence offices.

Anderson crossed his arms and waited, leaning against the head of the conference table that lay in the middle of the room. Judging from the scuffs and stains, that table saw more than just briefings. The walls were stark, standard issue gray bulkheads, except the wall beside the door. The mural was expansive; he wondered how it had been authorized and who had done it. But the simple design suggested it might have been one of her team or Shepard herself. It was minimalist to be sure: the large block print A with a thick red 7 superimposed on it was ringed by ten blue stars. There were six pairs of dog tags attached to the wall in little gold stars of their own. Anderson didn't need to read the names to know who those tags belonged to.

Off to the side hung the photo that still made him laugh-two SpecOps units, human and turian, standing in the Citadel docks. The matting that surrounded the picture held one tag of the pair that each soldier in the photo wore. Rumor had it there was a similar token hanging in a turian team load out on Palavan's moon, Menae. There were scribbles in various human and alien languages on the walls: sayings, proverbs, comments, maybe even some names of those who'd only passed through and not stayed in the team for any length of time.

The shimmering sound called his attention from the memorial wall. "Captain Anderson," she said with no trace of the formality such a meeting would hold for most officers. "What brings you slumming?"

He laughed warmly as she crossed to him. He shook the outstretched hand and pulled the woman he'd known since she was a girl into a hug. "You look good, Lieutenant. Looks like Command's not keeping you too busy."

Shepard shrugged and led him back to the desk. "Busy enough. Gave my guys twenty-four. I am rather hoping nothing comes in between now and then."

"How long were you guys out this time?" he asked even though he knew the answer.

Her eyes went up and to the side for a moment as she tried to recall the last time she'd put boots on the station, then let out a long breath. "Maybe ten months." She winced slightly at the realization. "Didn't seem that long."

Anderson nodded. He did the math quickly. She'd been moving practically nonstop since Elysium. He knew in part that it was by her own choice as well as coming down from the top. In too many ways she was like her father, and like Anderson; she became the epitome.

"Never does when you're on everyone's speed dial. Sometimes you only realize how long it's been when your wife's lawyer calls."

She chuckled, it was a sound that made him happy; she seemed at ease and was taking everything around her in stride. His eyes met hers and he turned to look behind him and pointed to the ceiling, which prompted her to tap away at her omnitool. The shimmer and a slight hum told him the curtain was active.

"No rest for the wicked, huh?" she asked. "When do we put out?"

Anderson grabbed her hand before her fingers touched the 'tool interface to send out a recall message to her team. "It's not a call out. At least not for the whole team." Her blue eyes narrowed on him, such a tranquil color to be so keen. "This came in from the top. Intelligence needs an operator with… special skills. And you're it."

She took a long moment, her breathing slowed and her eyes moved over his face. "So what am I looking at?"

"You and one man. He's already undercover there, has been for more than a year. We have operatives in place, but you will not be in direct contact with them, though they can provide intel if need be. But they are not resources."

Her brow furrowed. "What the hell is that you want me to do then?"

"Infiltrate. Maintain cover. Earn their trust, then do what you can."

"Anderson?"

He leaned forward and looked at her. "This isn't an optional assignment, Lieutenant. And the specifics of the mission will change as the situation changes. They need a female, who doesn't look like a threat. Someone who can maintain cover and work alone if need be. You have extensive and varied combat skills. You are the ideal candidate for this mission, Shepard. It's a career maker." He watched her as she closed her eyes and shook her head. She was petite, blonde, and attractive, which meant too many people easily underestimated her. And as much as it irritated the capable operator, it was precisely what the Alliance needed in this assignment.

"Yeah, so was the Blitz," she replied with clear exasperation.

"Nyx," he said quietly and her eyes met his. She knew this was coming from a friend not a superior. "I've read the files. You know I wouldn't be the one here asking if it weren't squared away. There aren't a lot of people running around with your level of expertise. Your name was at the top of the list." She leaned forward and rested her forearms on the desk, giving him a look that told him what he already knew-Shepard was on board. "It's a bad spot," Anderson commented.

"It's always a bad spot if they are dialing me in," she said with a confident grin.

Anderson laughed. She wouldn't have said it to anyone else, but they had a history that made these types of conversations common place. They knew each other too well to stand on the formality of rank, except when the situation demanded it. "This opportunity fell unexpectedly into our laps and Intelligence wants it to happen now. It's a chance too good to pass up. I'll meet you at shuttle bay B-10, Level 5 in 2 hours. We're meeting a contact."

"Wow. Nothing like a little notice," she replied, standing as her omnitool lit to life. "What about my guys?"

"I called in a few favors. He's not you. But the Lieutenant's a powerful biotic, pistol scores through the roof. And he's seen some action. He'll keep your guys in shape until you get back."

"Anyone I know?" she asked, dropping the security field.

Anderson shook his head. "No. Not yet at least." With that Shepard crossed to her locker, but the captain shook his head. "No dice. Your load out has already been pulled. Special circumstances."

"Tell me I'm not going in raw?" Leaning on the locker, her blue eyes peeked at him over her arm.

"Completely."

"This just keeps getting better and better." She propped her boot up on the table and pulled out the knife she always carried there, her grandfather's, placing it and the sheath back in the locker before she sealed it. "Do I have to travel in civvies?" Anderson nodded. "Well, I'll meet you at the shuttle in eighty."

When they exited the A7's facility, she sprinted off toward the station proper, while Anderson took his time. He couldn't help but smile as he watched her, it reminded him of when she was younger. Her father, Taranis Shepard, began his career as a combat medic-deadly shot and a combat Florence Nightingale. He'd stitched Anderson up more times than David could remember, and saved the captain's life more than once.

Then Taranis Shepard's priorities shifted when Nyx turned five. He took non-combat ship postings so his daughter could have at least one parent around as much as possible. A few times, David's and Taranis' paths crossed again and even from an early age David was impressed and in awe of the younger Shepard. She was deliberate and driven even as child. As she ducked out of the bay his chest tightened. This wasn't a mission he wanted to send any soldier on, least of all his friend and the daughter of a man who'd saved his life a handful of times. He hated that it had to be her.

iii.

The dust in the sky diffused the sunlight, producing a reddish haze that did little more than make the planet feel hotter than it really was. Captain David Anderson stood in the wide window and looked at the swirling little dust storms that stirred up in the constant winds that buffered the planet's surface. One saving grace of Intai'sei was that there weren't a lot of prying eyes. The small prefab was the only structure for miles in any direction.

Sipping his coffee he leaned on the glass observing, there was very little difference in their appearances, in fact he'd be hard pressed to pick out the woman he'd known most of her life from that distance. They wore the same clothing; the garb of an Anhurri priestess. The Lieutenant's clean shaven head no longer gleamed, due in equal parts to the sun and the dust, he knew. As their bodies moved in identical flowing movements, the natural fabrics flowed around them occasionally whipped and billowed by the erratic breezes. It was an entrancing and relaxing sight mainly because of the fluid movements that glided smoothly from one to the next.

Shepard didn't stand in contrast to the holy woman now, they looked alike, dressed alike, moved alike. The lieutenant had fully embraced the mold she was being squeezed into for this assignment. This was not the role the Alliance had hoped to place one of its officer's in, but he knew that they had to get someone else situated in a position of influence in an Anhurri temple.

The temple chosen was located in the center of a large metropolitan area where the mercenary force of the Na'Hesit were headquartered. The Ra'mahniit were a surprisingly neutral force, the religious faction had access to both sides, while tending to the spiritual needs of the faithful and physical woes of the wounded. The Sisters of Nebu Xa'Afeef were in a unique position to gather and disseminate information. Shepard's mirror was a holy novice of the Anhurri faith and the child of an enlisted man who'd retired on Anhur; she was also an asset. She'd fed the rebels and the Alliance intelligence on the situation on the ground and now her pilgrimage, which should have been spent in temples throughout the Amun System communing with her gods, was repurposed to turn an Alliance operative into a Sister of the Ra'mahniit, a speaker and hand of the Great Father of Anhur.

Their laughter was melodic and carried on the wind as they stopped for the afternoon. "You are doing quite well, Dovekie. I think you will seem a truer sister than even I," the young woman who had taken the name Meadowlark offered, nudging the other woman's shoulder.

"I don't know," the lieutenant stopped and looked toward the darkening sky.

"You still doubt yourself."

Lieutenant Nyx Shepard was not a creature of doubt, though she might not always know the right course of action she could usually find it. But something about this felt off. She had never been religious and now she was being asked to infiltrate a religious order and convincingly portray a spiritual guide. She shook her head, staring at the first few twinkling stars to come into view as the night chased the sun toward the other horizon.

"I know you may not cling to my beliefs," Meadowlark said. "But you believe in doing the best you can. That is enough. That is something my people need as much as they need me to remember the prayers."

The officer shrugged. The priestess had been teaching her, guiding her, and making her the outward personification of a sister, but Shepard wasn't sure this was an assignment she could or wanted to complete. Pretending to be a mercenary with a psychotic streak or a twitchy red sand addict on Illium was one thing, but this was on a whole other scale. She didn't necessarily believe in a hell beyond the heat of combat, but if there was one she figured this mission would secure her reservations for a table with a view.

"Sister," Anderson said solemnly as they entered. The novice bowed at him, never meeting his gaze, another thing Shepard was still working on. The operative preferred looking people in the eyes when she spoke with them. "Shepard," he said as they both watched the other woman enter a back room. "We got word. Your pilgrimage is about to be cut short."

"And the sister?"

"She's going with you."

Shepard looked at him sharply. "Meadowlark is not an operator."

The idea of placing the other woman in a spot to lose more than her life tried Nyx's sense of morality. She wasn't naïve enough to think that she wouldn't end up putting civilians at risk at some point, but to risk this woman's calling was something that chipped away at the officer's very core.

"No, but she has the connections. She can back you up, and I don't mean in the field," he added holding up his hand when he saw her about to object. "Without her you're just an outsider. We need her to ingratiate you."

Shepard set her hands on her hips and looked past him out the window.

"Don't worry, we have a man in place. He's been there since the start and has the clout to make you look more bonafide. And he'll make sure we don't have to place any other members of the Ra'mahniit order at risk," Anderson added.

"This is going to end badly," she hissed.

"It's already going badly. Our people are just hoping you can stem off some of the loss," he replied sharply in whispered tones. Her eyes shot to his and the two reached a silent understanding. He implored her as she resisted initially. But he knew she'd relent. She was a soldier through and through. Shepard would follow orders, and she would get the job done. They both knew it, even if she let her displeasure about the situation be known.