A Blind Purpose

Summary: Commander Jules Shepard, a talented combat engineer of the Alliance Navy, decides that this time, they would fight the Reapers by their own means. Rule no. 1 of tech school is, "If you didn't build it or know how to take it apart—don't use it. Better to use your own than tech that'll bite you in the ass someday."

A "What if Shepard didn't use the Crucible?" fic.

Disclaimer: The Mass Effect universe owns my soul. I do not own it. Also, the poem, "Flying at Night" is by Ted Kooser.

Note: All future updates and extra commentary can be found in my tumblr. Check it out. The link's in my profile.


Prologue

Sweat rolled across a bare, heaving back marred with scars of long ago battles, of mistakes, of triumphs, of lessons learned, and lessons that still needed learning. Along the rippling muscle was the faded image of a griffin rearing proudly, its wings spread, and its beak open in a war-like cry. 'Fehl' was etched in bold letters underneath the stalwart beast, emphasizing a kind of ache that could never truly be forgotten.

The dusty blue mat that had endured years of beating creaked unpleasantly as the dark-skinned colossus struggled to his feet, eyeing his smaller counterpart warily. "Oy, Shepard," he hissed, feeling his body protest from the sudden movement. "That was cheating!"

The woman called 'Shepard' simply let out a soft chuckle. "Out there in the battlefield, there is no such thing as cheating. What is right and what is fair—those are your first casualties." She raised her right hand and deactivated the omni-tool with great, exaggerated care, her stance completely unguarded if James chose to launch a surprise attack against her. He chose to wait instead, taking stock of his injuries even as he continued to stare openly at the former Alliance marine.

She wasn't what he had expected—not at all. He had expected someone taller and bigger, for instance: an eighty-foot behemoth that could make a man piss his pants with a stare and utterly crush him with a swat of her hand. Instead, she was of average height with a scrawny, dancer's build and a perpetually cocky half-smile that easily got on his nerves. And to think—to think—that she could hand over his ass like that, on a silver platter no less, it made her downright irritating in his eyes!

So maybe she had earned the title of Spectre. Fine. Great. The human representative could hold her own in a fight. He could grudgingly admit that much at least. "But come on, Shepard! Hitting me with a flashbang's just, just..."

"Unfair?" Shepard asked mildly, moving into a fighting stance once more. "I know you're a good Lieutenant, Vega, and I think it would be unfair of me if I didn't treat you as an equal and held back."

James simply grunted and waved his hand. "I think I've had enough of your type of loco for the day, Shepard."

"Oh, Lieutenant," Shepard laughed and raised her hands helplessly. "Without you around, loco is all I've got."

"Good," James said, grinning despite his initial anger. "Means I won't catch it." He picked up one of the towels from a nearby bench wiped the sweat off his face.

"I mean it, Vega." Shepard added quietly. "We are at the cusp of a war. If I have to use every dirty trick in the book to prepare you, I'd do it."

James shot her a tired look. "Sorry, Shepard, but you're not my commanding officer." He grabbed his water bottle, gave her a two-fingered salute and sauntered away, leaving the woman to her thoughts. He immediately regretted his last words to her. Frankly, she was a good woman, all things told. He just wasn't used to her being so...well, so tiny for one thing. That, and she was definitely unconventional to an ordinary marine like him. A combat engineer with some infiltrator training, she had the tendency to approach a problem in different directions at the same time. The first time they met, she had eyed him like a grandmaster might eye a chess piece. Did she see him as a rook? He wondered. Or a mere pawn?

He shook his head and entered his room to pick up a fresh change of clothes. His sparring match with the human Spectre had been exhausting, more so than he would like to admit. Although, fighting against her while she wore a tight-fitting tank top and gym shorts was certainly—

He grimaced. Right. Time to shower.


"...but you're not my commanding officer."

Former Commander Julia "Jules" Shepard of the SSV Normandy smothered a sigh and grabbed her own towel and water bottle, moving towards her cot in the Cargo Holding Bay. The SSV Serenity had a Mako unit in this area of the ship, which was why Shepard had chosen to bunk here instead of the cramped cabin that had belonged to Serenity's former CO. She had to admit, the offer had mollified her a little, but the closer she was to the ship's central hub, the better she felt. That, and the Engineering area had very little 'liveable' space available, particularly for a woman of her status, though in terms of her short stature, she knew could have easily stayed there given a chance. Besides, the Mako made her feel sentimental. Away from her friends, her family, and her duty, she needed all the reminders she could get of the war and the people she had to protect.

The women's communal showers were a few floors up, located near the canteen and sleeping quarters for the rest of the crew. She ignored the bashful looks of some of the crew members on her way to the showers and was glad to find it empty of other female occupants. "Normandy's really spoiled me," she muttered under her breath, no longer used to sharing a bathroom with other people. Placing fresh clothes on a counter nearby, she stepped into the shower area and quickly stripped off her clothes, allowing a grimace to grace her features. Taking a deep breath, she spoke the voice command to turn the shower on and basked in the warm running water sliding across weary skin.

It was soothing: the sound of silence, punctuated only by the cacophony of thoughts running through her mind like check-list algorithms that considered every possibility she could come up with, and tackled every problem made noticeable by her paranoia and concern. Vega favours his left hook despite having a dominant right hand. Holding back, perhaps? Self-esteem issues; needs encouragement.

Quarian-Geth war brewing in the horizon. Need to find some way to discourage further hostilities from quarian side. Otherwise, history will repeat itself.

Portable mass relays too costly and too big. Need to find a more efficient eezo converter. Need to find an alternate source of energy that mimics eezo capabilities. Need to find way to manipulate mass effect fields spherically to accommodate more than one ship at a time. Corridors. Mirrors. Change mass relay directions. Needs further analysis. Moving on.

Reaper physiology. Purpose of tentacles? Joints: possible weaknesses? Cuttlefish-like head—antenna? Possible weapon? Possible weakness? Billions of organic minds, uploaded and conjoined within immortal machine bodies, as Legion said. Upload a virus? Need to study one up close. Find way to become immune to indoctrination. Need to contact Mordin. Need to contact Shiala. Moving on.

As her thoughts muddled along in a rate that couldn't quite compare to the salarian's breakneck analyzing capabilities, her muscles eased even as her expression grew more intense.

"You're not going to start asking this ship's mechanics questions about the shower's infrastructure, are you, Jules?"

"Only if it's relevant to defeating the Reapers, Captain Shepard," the younger woman spoke absently, continuing to gaze at the monochromatic wall before her.

"Well, maybe if you build a big enough shower head..."

"I highly doubt that we can drown them, given that they can survive in Dark Space," Jules replied bitterly, staring acidly at her mother. "Can they even breathe? Do they need oxygen like we do? I suppose trapping them in an aquarium and observing them might produce interesting results given that they look like cuttlefish."

Hannah Shepard chuckled. "Slow down, child." She leaned against the door's frame and smiled at her daughter fondly. "I'm not going anywhere any time soon."

Jules flushed and averted her eyes, whispering the voice command to stop the flow of water. As a child desperate for her mother's attention, she had made a habit of saying as much as she could to her mother in the few moments that they spent together. Afraid of having their conversations cut short by some duty or emergency that Hannah had to take care of, she insisted on talking quickly so that more ground could be covered. In retrospect, her mother probably only got a quarter of what she said. Since then, she'd taken the time to slow down and speak to people in a more normal pace. It was just with her mother—and admittedly, with Mordin—that the old habit arose.

She accepted the towel her mother offered her. "I'm surprised you're here," she said idly, focusing on drying herself.

"You're the only family I've got left," Hannah replied. "Besides, I haven't seen you since your apparent death. I thought a visit was long overdue."

Jules tensed slightly and grimaced before pulling a loose-fitting shirt over her head. "I'm sorry I didn't contact you, Captain—"

"Mom," Hannah corrected.

Jules grinned. "Right, Captain Mom."

Hannah gave a mocking salute and sighed, her hands cupping her elbows. "I've missed you."

"And I, you." Now fully clothed, Jules turned to her mother and gave her a timid hug, revelling in her mother's strong arms. She would never tell her mother this, but Jules always felt safe within her mother's embrace. Feeling her mother's chin rest atop her head, Jules stifled the urge to snort. The height difference certainly made her feel like a small child that needed protecting.

"I trust that this is only a social visit?" Jules asked as she withdrew from the embrace.

"To you it is," Hannah admitted. "The Alliance higher ups are trying to promote me again."

Thoughtful cloud-grey eyes met impassive gunmetal blue. Jules was the first to break the silence. "Accept it. They need people like you taking the lead."

Hannah gave her daughter a half-smile. "I intended to."

Jules inclined her head. "I guess mother knows best after all." They left the women's washroom together and went towards the elevator to the Cargo Holding Bay, talking quietly about their various adventures and mishaps amidst the vast array of stars. Her mother respectfully avoided her mission in the Bahak system, focusing instead on the various characters her daughter had met and befriended in the preceding months.

"My goodness," Hannah said, leaning sideways against the Mako unit. "And all of your crew survived that horrible suicide mission?"

"We pulled through," Jules replied somberly, her attention still focused on her mother, though her fingers began to dart across the omni-tool's virtual keyboard, making notes with her right hand. "It's just too bad that I couldn't be with the rest of them out there, doing something: helping, building, preparing, anything."

"Like being in the brig can stop you from doing what you really want to do."

"It's slowing me down though," Jules admitted regretfully. "Captain—Mom, can I ask you something? A personal favour?"

Hannah looked at her child, caressing Jules's steadfast expression with soft blue eyes, her scars, particularly the prominent one along her neck towards her left shoulder, her proudly erect back, her hands, now busily tinkering with a few salvaged items, her feet slightly tapping to a rhythm only she could hear... Hannah looked at her child with quiet, loving eyes, the pain of separation a heavy weight on her chest. Still, she found the will to smile. "Ask away, my love."


The hum of the ship's engine was audible amongst the metal crates in the cargo bay. Kasumi, languishing atop one of the crates, let out a wistful sigh, missing the more subtle vibrations of the SSV Normandy. Raising one arm, she turned on her omni-tool with a flex of her hand and eyed the draft of haikus sitting on the top right corner of her screen.

"Unshackled she stands,
Addresses a war-like crowd;
Pleas fall on deaf ears."

Kasumi grimaced and closed the text document, setting it aside for later. Perhaps it was time she wrote something other than haikus. A novel perhaps? She smirked at the thought. What would Shepard think if she wrote a biography about the human Spectre's life? Embarrassingly annoyed, probably. The commander was far from vain and a very private person. Kasumi could tell from the few vids available on the extranet that the commander did not like being filmed or interviewed. It was not that she showed discomfort when in front of a camera; rather, it was the number of videos available that gave her feelings about it away. Not that Kasumi could blame her; after all, she too preferred to work in the shadows rather than in the limelight. Let others take the stage. At least then, the more competent people could work quietly in peace.

She moved to a sitting position, her legs dangling from her seat above two metal crates stacked together. It was strange how her thoughts often found themselves drifting back towards the commander. Kasumi supposed that it was because the commander had quite the magnetic personality. She had a charisma about her: a genuine kindness, interest, respect, and confidence in others that made people feel that they could be worthy around her. She brought to light and intensified the most positive feelings in you, and made you want to follow her to the depths of hell and back. She took away the tiny seeds of doubt in your heart and replaced them with great oaks of faith, firmly rooted and continually growing. She was like the sun, and all those who followed her were flowers that turned their adoring gazes towards her, drinking in her warmth and compassion...

Yes, she was definitely writing that novel now.

As if some god from above was listening to her idle thoughts, she felt a slight vibration across her arm, signalling a message from Shepard. Kasumi smiled wryly and opened the private channel.

"Above us, stars. Beneath us, constellations. Five billion miles away, a galaxy dies like a snowflake falling on water."

"All night, the cities, like shimmering novas, tug with bright streets at lonely lights like his." Kasumi typed quickly, knowing the final words of the poem by heart by now. The commander had always been a cautious and paranoid person. Despite the secure channel they were on, she still insisted on other safety precautions. Kasumi didn't mind of course. If anything, her respect for the commander simply grew. In her line of work, paranoia was a useful companion that shadowed her wherever she went. It kept her alive more times than she could count, and alerted her to any possible mishaps she could then avoid. She knew that it was, like other tools of the trade, a double-edged blade that could be used against her, but she trusted the commander. Shepard had never let her down before. She doubted the woman would start now.

"Status?" The commander asked, direct as ever.

"I am en route towards the Petra Nebula to drop off the schematics for the biotic implants that you've developed, as you have requested." She wrote back.

"Thank you, Kasumi. And Samara?"

"I believe that she is in the Silean Nebula recruiting Dr. Jelize and the Serrice Guard to our cause. Your Shadow tells me that one of her agents is ready at any time for extraction to a more secure location?"

There was a pause in the correspondence, making Kasumi smirk. Initially, she had simply assumed that the commander was too busy saving the galaxy on a daily basis to have some kind of space affair with another human or alien. Heck, she just assumed that the commander was too focused on her various projects to be sweet on someone. She just always seemed to be so busy. Finding out from a drunken Tali that Commander Shepard of all people, was seeing an asari—and a sexy, rogue asari at that!—was just mind-boggling! Shepard, who didn't bat an eye at another man or woman... Shepard, who walked past asari dancers in night clubs without so much as a backward glance... Shepard, whose head can be thicker than Grunt's armour sometimes when it came to crew members crushing on her... Shepard, one of the most eligible bachelorettes in the damn galaxy, was actually seeing someone? Hilarious.

"Ah, that is fortunate. Thank you for informing me, Kasumi." Shepard finally replied, sounding extremely polite. Was she angry at the thief? Or was she simply too embarrassed to write a more informal response? Kasumi couldn't tell; she couldn't see Shepard's expression from the omni-tool. "If I might ask another favour from you? Our mutual friend will, of course, compensate for it."

"Anything for you, Commander," Kasumi promised, using Shepard's Alliance title despite the fact that she had been officially stripped of her military rank after returning to Earth. As an addendum, she wrote teasingly, "Unless your Shadow can provide it better. In which case you have no need of me."

"...If possible, I would like you to locate the asari, Shiala. I believe she is currently stationed in Feros. Once you find her, one of our mutual friend's agents will also pick her up."

"Very well, Shepard."

"And one more thing, Kasumi?"

"Yes, Shepard?"

"It's Shadow Broker," the commander quickly added. "Not 'my shadow'."

Kasumi pressed her hand against her lips, struggling not to laugh. "Is that wistfulness I detect?" She finally typed back, after struggling with the right words to say. "Did you wish she was your shadow, Commander? Your constant companion?"

The commander hastily wrote down the ending phrase to signal the end of their communication and disconnected before Kasumi could give the appropriate reply. "Oh Shepard," Kasumi said, grinning widely. "I think making you flustered is going to be my new favourite past time."


Admiral Anderson stared blearily at the datapad in front of him and leaned back against his chair, wondering for the hundredth time that day why he had turned down the offer of a more comfortable chair for his office. Oh right, it's because I have a stick so far up my ass, he thought wryly, that I've forgotten what comfort sounds like when it's being offered to me. On a silver platter no less.

The former Councillor sighed and gently placed the datapad on his desk. Standing up, he took a moment to stretch out the kinks in his back before picking up his coffee cup and taking a sip. Casually, he turned around to gaze at the scenery beyond his window—the only luxury that he had indulged in. Having lived in the Citadel for the past few years, he had gotten used to the perpetual light of an artificial sun that never dipped into the darkness. Seeing the sunset now stirred some aching sorrow inside of him. How long before such a view becomes a luxury he could no longer afford? How long before the Reapers attack?

He savoured the flare of bright orange valiantly pressing against the dark blue, and the wisps of grey clouds curling along the horizon. His eyes caressed the silhouette of buildings where men and women of like minds were hard at work, developing and modifying weapons of mass destruction, training new soldiers in the art of war, refining strategies, preparing for different scenarios, making lists of supplies that a frigate or dreadnought might need, refurbishing old ships...

He knew that plenty of them were still reluctant to mobilize more of their navy and put more expenditures into what they felt was an imagined war. He knew that plenty of them would rather focus on some internal conflict within the Sol system or some colonial venture in the Terminus systems, which seemed more profitable than a mythical enemy. He knew that plenty of them were scared, their losses against the Reaper, Sovereign, still making reverberations to this day. He knew their hearts as well as he knew his own, and wanted nothing more but to ease their fears and give them strength.

But that was not his job.

Shepard was the big damn hero of the galaxy after all.

His eyes turned reflexively towards the dog tags hanging on a hook attached to a bookshelf. It seemed wrong to imprison the woman who had done so much for the Alliance and for the rest of the galaxy. Yet, the batarians demanded justice and Shepard had complied. Granted, the Alliance refused to turn her over to what was left of the batarian military to be tried by their people, but they did keep her on Earth as a sign of their disapproval over her actions. Anderson knew that he would have done the same thing that Shepard did, given the situation, and he would have probably felt some sense of justice destroying the Alpha mass relay if he was in Shepard's shoes. The woman, after all, not only lost a good number of men during the raids that culminated in the Skyllian Blitz, but she had also lost her brother and sister-in-law when batarian slavers attacked the colony of Mindoir. Still, she did seem genuinely sorry for what she was forced to do to the Bahak system. "Bloodshed for bloodshed," he remembered her muttering. "How long before we drown from our own thirst for vengeance?" Anderson couldn't help but smile. Three years had passed, and still Shepard remained the idealistic Paragon. It seemed that death and Cerberus had not managed to besmirch her honour and ideals.

Looking at one of the omni-tools he had confiscated from her, he couldn't help but chuckle. Another thing Cerberus hadn't managed to take away from her was her ability to draw people together. He initially thought that being a part of the Cerberus organization would make it harder for her to find allies whom she could trust, but he had evidently underestimated her again. Picking up the device, he grinned as he stared at the security protocols integrated in her omni-tool's system. The omni-tool had been a gift from her friends, smuggled to her when her original one had been taken from her. Since then, he had confiscated six more before finally giving up. At least the woman had agreed to share all of incoming and outgoing messages with him, making it easier for him to 'monitor' her communications in case someone claimed that she was still in cahoots with Cerberus. From what he had seen so far, most of her communications was purely for the benefit of the war: exchanging ideas with brilliant scientists, directing her agents to far-off star systems to recruit potentials to her cause, sending caches filled with weapons and first aid to several colonies, discussing likely scenarios with veteran tacticians, and making even more friends with other species... That woman just couldn't sit on her thumbs like the obedient soldier that the rest of the Alliance higher-ups want her to be. She just liked staying busy.

Oh, and the diagrams that she was designing! He could barely understand the jargon that came with the pictures, but he could sense that there was innovation being done wherever she directed her energy towards. Want faster comm. relays? She'll stay hunched in that work table for days and come back with a solution that not only made transmissions faster, but also made them more energy efficient or something. Perhaps in a time of peace she could have been one of the best inventors the Sol system ever had. But they needed a hero more. Anderson just hoped that she didn't burn herself out trying to contribute as much as she could to the war effort.

Which was why he had personally authorized her the use of a computer terminal for a few hours once every two weeks. It wasn't much, but it did give her enough time to talk to Liara: a prothean expert who had proven herself two years prior when she had accompanied Shepard along with Garrus to fight against Saren in the Citadel. She was also the Shadow Broker now, making her a potential threat in the eyes of the Alliance military council. Fortunately, the asari had the forethought to provide the Alliance sought after information concerning potential raids on the colonies in Terminus space, making it easier for Anderson to convince the council that allowing Shepard to maintain contact with her asari would be beneficial to her mental health.

He remembered showing up to one of her sessions with Liara and finding Shepard completely enraptured as she listened to the asari talk animatedly about prothean culture. For once, the former commander was completely still, her arms around legs, her chin resting on a forearm, watching Liara with open admiration. The sight had been a pleasant welcome amidst all of the chaos of paperwork and administrative duties. It was a moment he knew he would remember once the fighting began and all eyes would be on Shepard once more—knew that he would be fighting for that memory for Shepard's sake, because while others dreamed of a future where she would stand tall and lead the entire galaxy to a new era of stronger intergalactic ties and connectedness, he would be dreaming of a future where she could be at peace and be around the people she loved.

His shoulders drooped slightly at the thought of all the burdens she would have to carry once the Reaper invasion arrived. Shaking his head at the pigheadedness of the council, he went back to his seat and settled down, picking up the datapad for a second look-through. It was a request from one of the members of the Alliance Engineering Corps to establish a base in Virmire—an odd request considering that Virmire was located in the Sentry Omega cluster in the Attican Traverse, and was an area fraught with pirates. Idly looking through the man's request, Anderson paused midway and raised an eyebrow. It seemed that not only the AEC was interested in Virmire. Third-party groups were also interested in this venture, specifically groups tied to the Shadow Broker.

...What's Shepard planning now?