Heroes of Future Past

Author's Note:

This fanfic is something I've wanted to write for a long time now. Originally, I envisioned it as a one-shot. As I began to put my thoughts on (virtual) paper, however, I realized that the themes and subjects involved would best be served by splitting the story into two parts. I'm delighted to finally share the first of those chapters with you.

Astute readers will recognize certain characters and plot arcs from the TV show Chuck. Please consider this your 'here there be spoilers' warning, along with the disclaimer that I claim no ownership of any of the characters from Chuck or Mass Effect.

Chapter 1: Vita Brevis

Breakfast is the most important meal of the day. Or so some bigwig said at some point. There have been studies to point to the nutrients and vitamins you get, how important it is to your physical and mental growth and wellbeing, and so on and so forth. Of course, there are also studies that say its benefits may have been overstated.

All I know is breakfast is important because you never know for sure how long it'll be until your next meal and it's really hard to get the drop on someone when your stomach's trumpeting your approach like some delusional herald.

I went for a light meal today. Toast—two slices—with jam. Three slices of ham. The last of the fruit salad—note to self: gotta make a trip to the Citadel soon for resupply. Skipped the eggs since I had it four days in a row. Skipped the bacon because it looked like burnt strips of rubber swimming in fat. And I skipped the pancakes because… well… because I just couldn't eat them.

As I sat down and began eating, I mentally reviewed today's itinerary. Didn't take me long. We were still at war with the Reapers. We were still at war with Cerberus. I'd recruited most of the major races, governments, organizations and factions at this point—and any progress with the other groups was in the early stages, so my participation wouldn't really make a difference.

That left us to our own devices. We had one planet to check out today. After that, we could focus on maintenance duties. Boring stuff, I know, but we'd been putting it off for one reason or another—said reasons usually involving near-certain death. And considering how essential some of those maintenance tasks were to the safe and efficient running of the Normandy, we really should tackle them at some point.

When I was done, I returned my tray and utensils and left the mess hall. On my way out, I saw the pancakes again. Banana nut, in case you were wondering. Butter and maple syrup on the side, the latter from Kaidan's personal stash. I was really tempted, let me tell you. But in the end, I left the mess hall.

It had been twenty years and I still couldn't eat pancakes.

We'd arrived by the time I reached the CIC. Stepping up to the galaxy map, I turned it on and watched as the planet of interest loomed before me: Ilos. A quiet little world in the middle of nowhere. Uninhabited. Unassuming. And yet, for me, it held so much significance and meaning.

Ilos was where we went to after liberating the Normandy—because 'stealing' is such a harsh word—and breaking out from the Citadel. Ilos was where we tracked Saren to, having chased him from Therum to Feros to Noveria and a couple dozen worlds in between. Ilos was where we got the last piece of the puzzle about the fate of the Protheans and the intentions of the Reapers—thus hammering home just how royally screwed we were. Just in case we hadn't been paying attention up until this point, you see.

I hadn't been back to Ilos in years, not since that fateful day. Didn't have a lot of time, what with getting spaced, burning up in atmo, being resurrected as a cybernetic ninja zombie, investigating a rash of human abductions, stopping the Collectors, turning myself in after thwarting the Reapers at a horrible cost and trying to win a war against the Reapers when they finally invaded our galaxy. Not to mention falling in love—I mean, who saw that coming?

So why was I heading to Ilos? It wasn't because I was bored, I can tell you that. And I wasn't running for dear life, even if I should have been. No, I was responding to a rather cryptic e-mail:

From: ORION
Subject: None

ILOS

So we popped out of the mass relay in the Refuge system, parked ourselves in Ilos' orbit and scanned the system. Nothing. I tried again. Still nothing.

"Commander?" EDI's voice came over the comm. "Is it necessary—or wise—to scan this system again?"

She had a point. We'd learned the hard way that Reapers were attracted to sensor sweeps like sharks to blood. That's why Miranda—with some helps from Adams and the engineering crew—had upgraded the sensors such that a single pulse could pick up every item of interest within a given system.

Except this one, it seemed.

So what should I do? It's not like there was an SOP for this sort of thing. Should I scan the system a third time and risk drawing the Reapers to us? I wait around and see what happens? Or should I give up on the basis that even reliable sources like Orion could be wrong once in a while?

"Let's do one more scan," I decided.

EDI obliged. And that did the trick. A 'bing' rang through the air before she announced "We have something."

She was right. An anomalous energy spike from an area that had only been giving off background radiation emissions a few minutes ago.

Well… it seemed I had my answer.

"So… who's Orion?" James wanted to know.

The squad and I were in the shuttle, flying into the atmosphere of Ilos. It was a rather overcast day. The sun was trying valiantly to poke through, but all the sunbeams did was light up the clouds around us. Might've presented a pretty picture if I didn't have so much on my mind.

"It's a human constellation as viewed from Earth," Kaidan offered.

"No, Orion is… a man," I began. "Maybe. Could be a woman, but most of the anecdotal evidence suggests he's a man. Might be human—jury's out on that one. No one really knows. There are a lot of unknowns where Orion's concerned."

"What do we know?" Tali asked, before I really went off-track.

"I've come across Orion before," Liara said quietly while I was finding my brain-to-mouth filter. "Supposedly, he—assuming Orion's male—worked on several top-secret projects for the Alliance. At some point, they must have had a falling out, because he disappeared. Completely fell off the grid. Numerous intelligence agencies, including Alliance Intelligence have tried to find Orion ever since."

"Cerberus was very interested in Orion as well," Miranda added. "The Illusive Man sent what was, at the time, his fastest corvette and best wetwork team to extract him.

"And?" Javik prompted.

"Forensic analysis suggests a computer virus was somehow downloaded into the ship's mainframe, despite the numerous firewalls in place. It triggered an overload in the eezo core. There were no survivors. The Illusive Man was… irked."

"I've gotten one or two e-mails from Orion in the past," I admitted. "The coordinates they provided led to a lot of stuff that's been helping us out with the Crucible Project or the war in general."

"So that's why you kept telling Joker to fly all over the galaxy," James laughed.

"There was a method to my madness," I agreed lightly.

Garrus kept his mouth shut. Didn't even look at me. For which I was grateful. He was with me on Omega when we ran into a certain debonair super-spy. Turned out Orion had sent him my way to assuage Alliance Intelligence's concerns that I had gone rogue and thwart any attempts to silence me… permanently. And it seemed that Orion had also worked with Bryce Larkin to send me to Elysium, thereby raising my profile to such a public height that Alliance Intelligence couldn't recruit me for one of their dirtiest and blackest of spec-ops teams. Of course, it did mean I had to live the rest of my life knowing there was a God-awful statue looming over the denizens of Elysium, but you can't have everything.

At that point, the shuttle flew out of the clouds and we could see the land below. The rich verdant fields, blooming with life.

And the ruins.

"Wait a second," Garrus frowned.

"Is that…" Tali trailed off.

"I don't believe it," Kaidan murmured.

"Goddess," Liara whispered.

"Analysis of your facial response suggest you recognize this location," EDI observed.

"This is the site that held the hidden Prothean base," I admitted. "Everyone was already dead," I said to Javik apologetically, "but we did get to meet the VI, Vigil, while it still had power. More importantly, this was where the Conduit was located."

"The secret backdoor to the Citadel," James recalled. "The one that Saren guy was after."

"Exactly," I nodded.

"Did this Orion say what was so important?" Javik asked.

"Nope. But there's usually a reason."

"ETA: two minutes," Cortez called out from the cockpit.

That was our cue to do any last-minute checks as we began our approach to the landing zone. The last time I was here, Joker had to drop us off in the Mako, and there were only so many suitable sites to choose from. It was only Joker's piloting skill that got us as close as we did, otherwise we would've had a far greater distance to travel. On top of that, we were trying to stop Saren before he could enact the Reapers' invasion plan, so there was a bit of pressure on us.

This time, we could pick and choose where we landed and weren't in as much of a rush. So while we still took certain basic precautions in leaving the Kodiak and clearing the LZ, we could afford to take in the view. A wildfire had recently swept through here, judging by the charred and blackened flora around us. But we could still see plenty of vines criss-crossing everywhere, wrapping around the various ruins and stretching up to the rust-coloured sky.

More importantly, I could actually step back and allow myself to soak in the view. There was never that kind of luxury last time, what with chasing after Saren, being thwarted by a closing door, then frantically running here and there to set up a workaround while dealing with hostile geth. This time, I could enjoy the sights for a brief moment. It wasn't as awe-inspiring as the ziggurats on Tuchanka or the various nebulae I'd had the privilege of cruising through, but there was a certain… I dunno… a quiet beauty to the place. And we were the first ones here in years, which added an unspoiled, pristine element to it all.

"It was said that the inusannon once lived here," Javik recalled, "before my people discovered this world and established a colony for the Empire. I never thought I would step foot on this world."

Too busy fighting Reaper forces and dishing out insults, perhaps? Well, okay, seriously now. To spend all this time wondering about a place you never thought you'd see again. Ever. What would it be like, to finally see it? What would you do? I didn't know what Ilos was to Javik; whether it was something mysterious like Area 51, somewhere historical like the Pyramids of Egypt or something mystical like Shangri-La. But clearly it meant something to Javik, judging by the look on his face. I think we all saw that.

"Okay," I said at last, "we need to start a search. "Team One will head for the target coordinates. Team Two, secure the area. Team Three…" I took another look at Javik. "Team Three guards the shuttle—for now. If we get into trouble, though, come running."

"Keep your comm channel open," Garrus nodded.

"Shepard, come in," Garrus said. "What's your sitrep?"

"Still walking down the tunnel we drove through in the Mako all those years ago," I replied.

"You do realize it was just three years ago," Miranda reminded me.

"Hey, it was a lifetime for me," I retorted. "Literally."

"I don't remember it being this dark," Liara murmured.

She was right. The last time we came here, the tunnel was lit up. Not just by the Mako's headlights, but also by the lights set in the tunnel itself. Now, though, there was no power in here. At all. The only reason we weren't tripping over each other was the wan rays of light shining through the cracks in the building and the low-light enhancement function in our helmets. All that appreciation about being the first ones here was replaced by a mild sense of dread. I mean, this was where a group of Protheans died—those that didn't take the Conduit on a one-way journey to the Citadel, that is. For all its beauty, that made this place a tomb. And when you were crawling around in the dark, well…

"Can you see anything at all?" Miranda asked before I got the heebie-jeebies.

"Not much. Just bare rock and vines all around us."

"Figures."

"Meaning?"

"You take me to the nicest places."

"Oh come on," I scoffed. "Look at all the architecture of all these ancient ruins."

"Emphasis on ruins. As in falling apart."

"And nature in every direction, blooming in all its glory."

"You're underground. The only nature I see are all these ugly vines. And fresh air is overrated."

"I can't take you anywhere, can I? No matter how nice it is, you always seem to think it could be just a little bit better."

"What can I say? I'm hard to please."

"I'll say."

"Are you two done yet?" Garrus broke in.

"Yes."

"Very well."

"Thank God," James muttered.

Spoilsports.

We did continue in silence, though not to spare any squadmates from the banter. Orion had never mentioned what was down here. If it was hostile, then there was no sense alerting it to our presence by yakking away. There was no telling how far the acoustics in this tunnel could carry a conversation, after all.

Turned out it wasn't a hostile.

He was waiting around the next bend, dressed in a well-worn civvie jumpsuit. With an effort, he squared his shoulders and straightened himself from a slight hunch. His hair, mostly silver-grey with a smattering of brown peppered through, was long, brushing the top of his eyebrows and ears and stretching about halfway down his neck. Keen eyes pierced at me over a large, hawk-like nose. "Hello, Charles," he said.

I stared at him for a long time. Finally I found my voice.

"Dad?"

If you asked me what happened after that, I honestly couldn't say for certain.

I had a vague recollection of taking Dad back to the shuttle and, from there, back to the Normandy. Most of the squad followed. Hopefully I made the obligatory introductions. Liara stayed behind to finally indulge in the archaeological exploration she never got to do all those years ago. Javik also wanted to explore. Cortez probably said something about coming back to pick them up. I'm not sure.

Dad and I wound up in sickbay. Probably my idea but, again, I'm not sure. Dr. Chakwas ran some scans, drew some samples and did some medical stuff. While she did that, I just… stared at him. He looked like, well, Dad. More grey hair—way, way more grey hair. More wrinkles. But it certainly looked like him.

After an interminable period of time, Dr. Chakwas stood up. "Well, preliminary results indicate you're in good shape for a man of your age, Mr. Shepard. I think I'll step outside for a cup of tea while the remaining tests finish. Excuse me."

She stepped outside. The doors closed, leaving just the two of us. And I had no idea what to say.

Dad broke the silence first. "So… it's been a while, huh?"

That was one way of putting it.

"You're looking good, Charles."

Really? How would he know?

"You're a commander. That's… that's great."

Not really.

"I'm really proud of you."

How I'd waited for years to hear that.

"I… I know it's been a while."

He already said that.

"You probably have questions. A lot of questions."

Yeah, actually. I did.

"Charles, please. Just… say something. Anything."

"Pancakes," I said softly.

His face dropped. "Hoo boy."

Turned out I had something on my plate that was more important than any burning question. "You said you would make me pancakes. But then you left. You just… left. And I was alone. For twenty years. Twenty years of wondering if it was something I said. Twenty years of wondering what did I do? Twenty years of thinking it was all my fault."

Those last words were spoken as if they'd been torn out of my throat, raw with two decades of pain and anguish. "Did you have any idea what that would do to me?" I continued. "Did you even care? Or were you too busy going off on another job to think of that? Too busy wandering off on another grand adventure that was more important than your own son?

His eyes were starting to tear up. I think. It was hard to say, you see. Things were starting to get a little blurry for me too.

"You say I look good. That it's great I made it into the military and worked my way up to the rank of commander. But it could have been different. I could have become an alcoholic and drank life away until my liver gave out. Or an addict hooked on red sand. Or maybe just slit my wrists and bledout. It might have been the easy way out, but it would have been less painful too."

"Charles, I..." Tears were streaming down Dad's face now. "I'm…"

"You're what?" I spat. "Sorry? It's too late for that. You're about twenty years too late."

I stormed out of the sickbay, making sure to activate my cloak as I passed through the doors.

No one should see their commanding officer cry.

Miranda found me in my quarters. I'd locked the doors but, well, Miranda had her ways. No doubt one of them starting with 'E' and ending with 'I.' "How are you holding up?" she asked softly.

"Well, I finally talked to my dad after two decades," I tried. "If by 'talked,' you mean 'threw a whole bunch of unresolved issues in his face and ran out the door."

"Probably better than any reunion with my father," she offered in return. "Gunfire would likely be involved."

"You might have a point," I allowed, "but I think I did just as much damage. I don't know. I… I wanted to know where he's been. What he's been up to. But when Dr. Chakwas gave us some space and we were alone, I… I just got so angry. All this pent-up rage over the hell he's put me through."

"You have every right to be angry," Miranda said. "If nothing else, I sometimes think you should be angrier. As for his whereabouts and activities, I can't speak for him. Nor would I want to. But Dr. Chakwas did uncover some… anomalies in his test results that I thought you should be made aware of."

"Oh?"

Miranda activated her omni-tool and pulled up—"Are those Dad's medical records?" I blurted out. "Because if it is, doesn't that violate patient confidentiality or something?"

"Well…" Miranda hesitated. "Yes. Yes, I suppose it does."

If Dr. Chakwas found out, Miranda would be in a boatload of trouble. I might get some flak too, come to think of it. "This better be worth it," I sighed. "What's wrong with Dad?"

"At first glance, a lot," she began. "Visual acuity, blood pressure, bone density, triglyceride levels, renal function, liver function… they're all outside the norm for a man of his supposed age."

"'Supposed age'?" I repeated. "Is there a reason to question his age?"

"His telomeres," Miranda replied. "Telomeres are portions of repetitive nucleotide sequences found at the ends of your chromosomes. Their role is to prevent chromosome deterioration or fusion with adjacent chromosomes. However, during each chromosome replication, the enzymes responsible for DNA duplication cannot continue said duplication to completion, resulting in slightly shortened chromosome ends. Therefore, barring some mutation that bypasses the usual mechanisms and lengthens them, telomeres can, in some instances, be used as a measurement of age. Assuming certain accompanying tests and calculations are performed, of course."

Of course.

"Granted, they're hardly a standard means of measuring age. But the telomere degradation suggests he's at least eight or nine years older than he should be, at least according to his official date of birth."

"And we're sure he's my dad?"

"Other than the anomaly with his telomeres, the genetic tests confirm he's your father."

"How… how is that possible?" I managed, after staring blankly at her for far too long.

"I don't know. But I do know one way to find out."

There must have been something in my expression—or maybe she just wanted to offer some sympathy—because she reached out and held my hand. "I am aware that your father was a… a unique man. He was absent for long periods of time even before his disappearance. And, by all accounts, he was rather eccentric."

That was an understatement, if ever I heard one.

"But after all this time," she continued, "you've found him again. Maybe he'll have some explanations for where he's been. Maybe he won't have any acceptable excuses. But at least you'll be able to move on. Trust me: having unresolved issues where your father is concerned can have a deleterious effect on one's wellbeing."

She was right, of course—though only Miranda would use 'deleterious' to get her point across.

"What do you say, Shepard? Are you ready to see your father again?"

I looked at her sharply. "He's outside, isn't he?"

"Yes."

"And if I wasn't ready to talk to him?"

"Then I'd tell him to leave you alone and try again later."

"Huh."

"Well?"

"All right," I said at last. "Send him in."

Miranda got up, opened the door and stepped aside as Dad shuffled in. She gave me a reassuring nod before giving the two of us some privacy. "So…" I tried.

"So…"

…

…

Someone had to break the ice. "I… I guess I owe you… I didn't mean to snap—"

"Yes, you did," he interrupted firmly. "You meant every word you said. 'Cuz you were mad. And you had every right to be." He shook his head in self-recrimination. "I didn't make you pancakes. I wasn't there to see you graduate from high school. To see you enlist. To see you earn your first command. To be there when you needed a father. I wasn't there when I should've been, and you have every right to be angry."

I was surprised how badly I needed to hear that. It wasn't just me, throwing a temper tantrum like a child who didn't get his way. I wasn't being selfish. My grievances were warranted after all, and they had just been acknowledged.

"But I'd like to tell you why I did what I did. If you're up to it."

"Yeah," I said slowly. "Yeah, I think I am."

We went over to the sofa in my quarters and sat down. I waited while Dad gathered his thoughts.

"It's funny," he finally said. "All this time, I've been thinking about what I'd say, and now that I finally have the chance… I'm not sure where to start."

"You could start by explaining why you had to vanish instead of making pancakes," I suggested.

"Right. Right, that makes sense. Um, okay. Wait, no: is anyone listening in on us?"

Good ol' paranoid Dad. Still hadn't changed a great deal. But maybe he had a point. If nothing else, I wouldn't mind if this stayed between us. So I went back to my console and activated the cabin's SCIF mode. "Okay. No one will be able to hear anything."

"Good. Good. Now, um, what do you know about greyboxes?"

Okay… what that had to do with his disappearing act, I didn't know, but I guess I could play along for now. "Uh, neural implants that can hold memories or information. Generally restricted to researchers, spies or anyone needing eidetic memories. I actually know someone who's got one in her head."

"That's good, Charles, that's good. Well, what you didn't know is that I helped create them."

"What?"

"Yeah. Synthetic Insights launched them in 2160 to treat Alzheimer's, but they were having a lot of trouble with certain key steps. So in the last six months, I accepted a contract to help them work out the kinks."

Huh. So Keiji and Kasumi owed a pivotal moment of their lives to Dad's work. Who knew?

"It was… there were so many possibilities with that technology, Charles. I thought it could be used as a teaching device. A way to impart information and lessons. To help people learn and grow. To teach them new skills in a fraction of the time it would take to learn things traditionally. I thought the Alliance felt the same way. That's why they bought the patents and technologies for the greybox from Synthetic Insights.

"Unfortunately, I later found out they had more… 'practical' applications in mind. They wanted to use it to analyze data—from previously uploaded information or intel acquired in the field—and find patterns that VIs and analysts had missed. They wanted to use it to download knowledge and skills into their soldiers and spies to make them more powerful. Maybe even to 'customize' their operatives with skills suitable for individual missions. That… that was close to what I wanted, but not really. The Alliance—and Alliance Intelligence in particular—ruined my dream, Charles.

"But there's more. The greybox technology… had serious side effects. Dangerous ones. If the greybox had to be removed, if there was any damage to the hardware, or if there were any software problems, the subject would suffer serious brain damage. If they were lucky, they'd just lose some short-term memory. If not… they could become vegetables. Or brain-dead."

"For months, we worked to address those problems. We… we thought we'd fixed them. All the simulations panned out. We ran clinical trials, implanting them into volunteers, and had no problems whatsoever. So we moved to the next phase: a greybox pre-loaded with information and cover identities to allow an agent to go undercover."

"And?" I prompted.

"It was a disaster. One of the cover identities took over. He… the volunteer escaped, killing sixteen guards, scientists and engineers along the way. And now… he's still out there. Using the knowledge we gave him—that I gave him."

Dad rubbed his eyes, as if trying to wipe away the haunted look on his face. If so, it failed. "Alliance Intelligence wanted us to figure out what happened and to correct the error so this 'incident' wouldn't happen again with the next volunteer. Yeah, that's right: they wanted to keep going. That's when I knew I had to do something."

"And that was why you disappeared?" I realized.

"Well, yeah. The first time."

"'First time'?"

"It's… complicated. Just bear with me, Charles."

"Okay," I nodded. "So the Alliance wanted to continue making the greyboxes more practical, even after that debacle, and you decided to do something."

"Right. Between the Alliance and Synthetic Insights, I'd been working on them for the better part of a year. I knew the technology inside and out. Without me… I know this sounds egotistical of me, but without me, they wouldn't be able to continue. So I left."

"Just like that?"

"Huh? Oh, right. Well, I uploaded a virus to wipe out the entire server. And another to wipe out the backups. And another one to overload the facility's power core. Oh, and I leaked a few reports my team had written detailing all the problems with greyboxes to certain news media outlets. Then I left. Just like that." He shook his head. "I should've made those pancakes before going to the facility."

"Did Mom know about what you did?"

He shook his head. "I signed a non-disclosure agreement when I first began consulting with them. And a lot of forms regarding supranational security. At the time, I didn't mind. The work was so cutting-edge, so ground-breaking. And by the time I realized what I was really a part of… it was too late."

"You didn't have a chance to tell her before you disappeared?"

"They called me into the facility, announced their intentions to continue the project, then said they were shipping me off to a secure bunker within the hour. I didn't have time to pack or anything. Just write some code like my life depended on it, set things in motion and run like hell."

"And that's why you've been gone all this time? Because you were afraid the Alliance would try to bring you back and make you rebuild the work you destroyed."

"Not just the Alliance," Dad corrected. "The salarians, the asari, the turians. Even Cerberus was interested—I was horrified when I heard they brought you back from the dead, by the way. Well, relieved that my boy would be back, but horrified that you were in their clutches. I was sure they would try to change you or brainwash you, despite all the e-mails between the Illusive Man and his underlings suggesting otherwise. And even if they were on the up and up, I didn't see how they could possibly bring you back the way they were. I mean, you'd been dead for so long.

"But yeah, that's why I spent the next twenty years in hiding. Always on the move, never staying anywhere for long. Because I was the only one who knew how greyboxes worked and how to expand their programming to new applications. As long as there was an interest in weaponizing them, I had to stay away. If I'd stayed in contact with you or your mother, and they found out, they'd use you two to draw me out. They've done it before, rat bastards."

"Hang on," I frowned. "You knew about Cerberus bringing me back from the dead?"

He gave me a disappointed look. "Of course. I'd been keeping tabs on you and your mother. Surreptitiously, that is. Come on, Charles: if I could sabotage the greybox project in an hour, I could certainly keep up to speed on how you two were doing."

Okay. Yeah. That was pretty obvious. Chalk it up to the shock of actually seeing, sitting down and talking with my dad.

"I wasn't the only one monitoring you, as it turned out. There was someone else. And he was good: I tried to track him down, but he had no trouble covering his tracks. His countermeasures were so sophisticated, so effective. It was almost as if he knew what I was doing and how I'd go about it. It would all become clear later on, but at the time, he was just some mysterious entity that kept eluding my efforts. The closest I ever got was a username: Orion."

My eyes widened. "Orion? I know him. He's been feeding me intel throughout the war. And even before that, he's been helping me out."

"I know," Dad nodded. "If it wasn't for that, I'd have been a lot more worried."

"So why come out now?" I asked. "Why after all this time? What changed?"

"There were a couple reasons," Dad said. "Interest in greyboxes has gone down significantly over the last two decades. Partly because of a couple studies that came out shortly after I disappeared, which showed any advantages gained in information retention and memory recall were vastly outweighed by the high probability of neurological degradation and damage."

"Yeah, that'd do it," I agreed.

"Second, Admiral Graham—I believe you crossed paths once or twice."

"Sure did," I scowled. "He recalled me while I was on leave for a solo mission. Almost missed Christmas with Ellie."

"Sounds about right," he nodded grimly. "He was also the one who spearheaded the project and was its moist vocal proponent. Didn't really care about any obstacles—or people—who got in his way. Really nice guy. Well, he's dead now. Killed along with all the others on Arcturus Station when the Reapers first invaded the Sol system."

Something in my face must've changed, because he gave me a gentle nudge. "By the way, I know you've been tasked with helping retake Earth. I'm really proud of you, son."

"Thanks, Dad," I said, forcing the words past a sudden lump in my throat. "It's… it's been really rough."

He put a comforting hand on my shoulder. I almost buckled under the weight. Not that his hand was heavy or anything. I just… it's been a long time since he'd done that. Twenty years or so.

"But as for why I waited until this specific point in time to break my silence… well, like I said, it's a bit complicated."

Raising an eyebrow, I spread my hands and gestured around the room. "I'm not going anywhere."

"All right." He took a deep breath. "It was about… two years ago. I was exploring the ruins of Ilos, scouting the area, finding a place to set up my latest hiding spot. A new place to lay low. Well, as usual, I was monitoring my surroundings for comm signals, energy emissions, anything out of the ordinary.

"So imagine my surprise when, all of a sudden, my sensors went haywire. From what I could tell, there was a massive spike in energy somewhere in my immediate vicinity."

"Like something powering up?" I asked.

"No, that's the thing. It was just the opposite. The readings began subsiding almost immediately. Like something had just appeared out of nowhere and was powering down. The closest thing I could think of was the EM profile you get right after a ship exits FTL or finishes transitioning through a mass relay.

"Naturally, I was curious. What was it, I wondered, and did it mean I had to leave? Only one way to find out. I went over the sensor readouts, extrapolated a probable location, and made my way over there."

"And? Did you find it?"

"Yeah. I did. Wasn't sure what to make of it at first. It was this… it was cylindrical in shape, with an angled front and rear. Probably silver-grey at some point, but it was covered in a coppery patina of rust with iridescent oily patches. Roughly the size of a shuttle, but there were no thrusters that I could see. No sign at all of how it had appeared—and I do mean, appeared. The shuttle, though I didn't realize what it was at first, was sitting smack dab in the middle of an underground chamber. Surrounded by rock and vines on all sides. None of the passages were large enough to squeeze it through—some of them were so narrow, even I had trouble fitting in."

I leaned forward, intrigued. "So how did it get there?"

"That's what I wanted to know," Dad said excitedly. "And I saw a way to find out. You see, the rear was open."

"Open?"

"Like a hatch or ramp. It was down. Open. As if… inviting me in."

"Come right in, said the spider to the fly," I muttered.

"The thought had occurred to me," Dad admitted. "Briefly. After I'd walked—well, jogged—up the ramp and entered the shuttle."

"And?"

"The shuttle only had one route of access: the ramp I'd used to get in. The rear compartment might have been intended for supplies or personnel at some point, judging by the odd bolt-like holes and bracketing on the walls and floor. Whatever it might have held, it had been removed to make way for a large ovoid object that was hovering in mid-air. It didn't take up all the space, mind you, but I did have to squeeze past it."

"What was it?" I wanted to know.

"That's what I was wondering. Then I saw the front compartment. It looked like some kind of control centre. Or maybe a cockpit. There were two chairs and something that looked like a computer console—"

"Hang on," I interrupted. "'Some kind of?' 'Maybe a cockpit?' 'Looked like a computer?' You mean you didn't know for sure?"

"Well, no. Not for certain. I could make some assumptions, sure, but nothing concrete. You see, when I pushed a few buttons, the… images that came up weren't in any language I'd ever seen before. And the layout and configuration wasn't like anything I'd seen before."

"So what did you do next?"

Dad rubbed a hand over his eyes. "What happened was I spent the next two years camped out by the shuttle, trying to figure out how to make it work. I worked day and night, trying to figure out what made her tick. The only time I came up for air—literally—was to check in on you and your mother. That's how I knew you were alive, how you fought the Collectors—"

"How I couldn't save all those lives in the Bahak system," I interrupted. "How I couldn't stop the Reapers from invading."

"You did everything you could," Dad told me. "Everything and then some. Because of you, at least some of those batarians are still alive. Because of you, the Reapers were delayed six more months. Six more months for people to spend with their families. Six more months for people to prepare… well, for some people to try to prepare," he amended after I snorted. "That's six more months than they would've had otherwise. Trust me, I know it wasn't the best of circumstances, but at least you tried. At least you gave the galaxy something."

"I guess," I said softly. "I just wish I could've done more."

"That's your mother in you," he said fondly. "She was never satisfied to settle for seeing the galaxy the way it appeared to be. She always wanted to do more. She always tried to see the galaxy the way it could be, then did everything she could to make it happen. I always loved that about her. Now me, I was just satisfied to build things, take them apart and figure out how they worked."

"Speaking of which," I said, "did you finally figure out that shuttle?"

"I thought I did," he said. "Managed to turn the lights on and off, learned how to raise and lower the ramp, figured out how to power her up—"

"Wow," I said dryly. "Stop the presses."

"Hold your horses, I'm getting there," he smiled. "Seeing how you don't want to hear the whole list, I'll get to the point: I got her off the ground."

"She flew?" I gasped. "You got her out of the catacombs?"

"Not exactly. Oh, she got off the ground, all right. Which was miles ahead of anything I'd managed to accomplish before. So I thought I'd try a short test run. Nothing fancy. Just spin around in a circle. Maybe move forward a few metres. Simple stuff."

"And?"

"The last thing I heard was a loud humming sound behind me. Looking behind, I could see the ovoid device in the compartment behind me lighting up like a Christmas tree, building up to something. I took a look at the console to see what was happening when everything went white…"

…

"Yeah?" I prodded. "What happened?"

"Well, I must have blacked out or something. The next thing I knew, I was on a bed. Not the beat-up, worn-out sleeping bag and inflatable mattress I'd been using for the last twenty years. An actual bed with a real mattress and sheets.

"I sat up, only to be overcome by vertigo. So I only heard a door behind me open and glimpsed a figure walk in. As my vision cleared up, I looked at the… being before me.

"Bipedal with bilateral symmetry, which was fairly typical for sapient life in this galaxy. Each foot had two toes, spread wide apart, while each hand had three fingers. His head was angular, covered in a blue-grey carapace, with yellow spots like freckles over his three pairs of nostrils. He looked at me with his four eyes, each with two pupils, for a long time.

"Well met, human," he said at last.