Acknowledgements / Disclaimers:

As it will become obvious almost immediately, this work is inspired by the HBO series 'Band of Brothers'; regards and gratitude to them for such an important series.

This work is intended for amusement without gain and is, therefore, fair use. Gratitude to Bioware/EA for a universe that is so fun to play around in.

Dedication:

This work is dedicated to us all, we few, we merry few; if you can hold on…

IMPORTANT NOTE:

This work takes place (chronologically) between Chapters 4 and 5 of Part 2 in my other work "Transitions". I recommend you read that story before reading this one. Enjoy!


Prologue:

Rear Admiral (Lower Half) Victoria Shepard, Alliance Navy [Retired], shook her head. What a pain, why me? At times like these, however, Victoria liked to take a breath and remind herself, everything you did during the war was so that mundane shit like this could continue. Ah well, I'm such a god damn humanitarian.

She took a deep breath and looked out onto the soccer field. It was funny, once introduced to the game, the Asari ate it up. They just couldn't get enough of it. Funnier still was that they called it soccer rather than football like most of the human race did. The members of the first human diplomatic mission to Thessia had been from North America. They had brought the game, and the name, with them.

Samara was no exception, and the 'Savior of the Citadel' had gotten roped into a position as assistant coach. I should see about getting her tickets to the next World Cup, thought Shepard. Still, it could be worse. A royal purple-skinned Matron had things well in hand, even if her daughters did get a little bit more playing time than anyone else. Shepard really only showed up for drills and to carry the first aid kit. And to cheer Sam on, she reminded herself happily.

Shepard's heart warmed watching Samara lope around the field. Asari matured at roughly the same rate as human children, and she was just growing out of the awkward stage where she seemed to be tripping over her just-slightly-too-long limbs all the time. She was rapidly becoming a beautiful young woman. Sam is going to break some hearts when she's a little bit older, Shepard thought. Then she shivered internally at the idea that Samara's 'wild youth' stage might last a couple of centuries.

She looked down at the data pad again and shook her head. She reread the message:

Shepard,

Westerlund News and the Citadel News Net are working up a number of documentary/drama series on the Reaper War with a target release date of the twentieth anniversary of VR Day. They've indicated that you'll feature prominently in one of them. We'd like you to 'consult'. Keep them honest, make sure they get their facts right, and that they don't besmirch the Navy.

Shepard shook her head again and resumed reading:

Just man-up and take one for the team, old friend. Give your family my love.

- David Anderson

She closed her eyes and chuckled to herself. In the long run, helping an actor and producer get their facts straight on a documentary series about the Reaper War was the right thing to do. Future generations needed to know what their forbearers did; and it would certainly help recruiting numbers. In the near term, however… Victoria's thought pattern trailed off when a familiar face entered her field of view.

Aww shit, she thought, no one said she was producing this thing.

None other than Khalisah Bint Sinan al-Jilani approached Shepard and sat beside her on the bleachers. Shepard regarded the reporter severely. "You're not going to break my nose again, are you?"

Victoria fixed Khalisah in her stare for a few moments longer, and then looked out onto the field. Watching Samara calmed her greatly. "I've mellowed somewhat in my old age," she said coldly.

"Victoria."

"Admiral," Shepard cut her off.

"Admiral," Khalisah said with noticeable displeasure, "I'm not here to fight with you. In fact, if you play this right, you may never have to see me again. After all, I'd like to avoid another deviated septum."

"That'd be great," Shepard said flatly.

Khalisah crossed her arms over her chest, "Admiral, I've mellowed somewhat too. I'm actually older than you, in case you care. I won't apologize for the hard time I've given you in the past; I believe I was doing the right thing at the time. However, as it turned out, you were right about everything. Your story needs to be told. The galaxy needs to remember what happened, and I'm going to make sure they do."

Victoria was somewhat taken aback by Khalisah's honestly. That actually sounded human. "I wasn't alone, and don't forget, my team and I only had a small part in the war. Devoting all your efforts to our story is selling most of the galaxy short."

"Indeed. The series on you and the crew of the Normandy is just one of a suite of projects. Realize, though, that you, more than anyone else, personify the war and our victory. Like it or not, you are a hero; the hero, actually." She stood, "With that said, I'll leave you in the hands of Cynthia Wright. She'll be playing you, and I've granted her broad authority on creative decisions. Please answer her questions, and, hopefully, you'll never have to see me again." There's always hope, Victoria thought.

Khalisah walked away without another word. That was actually fairly benign, thought Shepard. Too bad, it might have been nice to lay her out one more time for old time's sake. Shepard observed as the reporter walked up to a redheaded woman watching the soccer game from the sideline. They shared a few words and Khalisah left. The redhead turned to regard the Admiral. Holy shit, she looks just like me! Cynthia was slightly shorter than Shepard, her breasts were a little bigger, but she had the same flame red hair and penetrating green eyes. She started up the bleachers towards the Admiral.


Cynthia Wright looked up at the temporary aluminum bleachers and beheld a legend. It's her, it's actually her, Cynthia thought, it's the Shepard. I really do look like her, Khalisah wasn't kidding. The Admiral looked to be slightly taller, and harder, than the actress. Even after roughly seventeen years of retirement she had a toughened menacing look about her. She looked into Shepard's eyes. They looked back, regarding her, evaluating her. Cynthia felt a sinking feeling in her gut; she was looking into the eyes of a killer. Shepard was a legend, deadly to her enemies yet profoundly empathetic to her friends. She had literally died defending the galaxy from evil. But she was a predator, a borderline force of nature, definitely not someone to be trifled with.

Here we go, thought Cynthia. She started up the steps; the bleachers gently sagged beneath her. As she approached, Cynthia began taking in more details. Shepard's clothes were casual, but obviously meticulously maintained. She wore well-worn athletic shoes, but they must have been brushed clean on a regular basis. Her hands were rough and callused, but her finger nails were shiny and well groomed. She wears nail polish? She wore a simple iridium wedding band on her left hand, her love for the Lady Liara was almost as legendary as her war record, but otherwise had no jewelry. Her red hair, shoulder length and let down, wafted gently in the cool Thessian breeze.

Cynthia pulled even with the Admiral and locked eyes with her. Shepard nodded nearly imperceptibly. Then her eyes went back out towards the soccer game. "Admiral Shepard, Cynthia Wright, a pleasure to meet you ma'am." She didn't bother holding her hand out; somehow she knew it wouldn't be accepted. I haven't earned that yet. Shepard silently cocked her head to the left, inviting her to sit. Cynthia decided that she wasn't going to become flustered in front of the Admiral. If I'm going to portray this woman, I better learn to act like her.

The Admiral's behavior towards her was not entirely unexpected. Shepard was known as a warm and friendly person towards those she knew well or cared about, but was equally well known as reserved and somewhat cold towards strangers or those she had less than respect for. Cynthia hypothesized that this was at least partially a product of her war experiences. She would have to take care to capture it properly. Still, I'm going to have to get her to warm up to me if I want to do my job, she thought to herself.

"Thanks for agreeing to help me out," Cynthia plowed on. "Which one is yours?" she asked, motioning towards the playing field with her chin.

"The blue one," Shepard responded dryly.

"Funny," Cynthia responded despite herself. Regardless, that did actually narrow it down somewhat. Shepard's daughter's team was scrimmaging against a human team; children of the Serrice Consulate's staff. "The right-side midfielder?" Of course she knew she was right even before Shepard spoke. Samara T'soni's resemblance to the late Lady Benezia was startling.

"Yes." Shepard cringed slightly. Cynthia turned towards the field to see Samara stagger under the blow of a header. Then she took off downfield after the ball. Interesting, she does show some emotion to strangers. The sound of the impact reached them a fraction of a second later, that ball must have really been moving. Shepard's eyes shot to the actress and then back to the field. She leaned back against the next row of seats and crossed her arms across her chest, "This is where you ask me if the Asari hurt their hair horns a lot in this game."

Cynthia looked back towards the action. Samara had actually headed the ball out of bounds and the opposing team was setting up for a throw-in. "I imagine whatever disadvantage their anatomy poses they make up for in other ways." She chuckled, "The opposing goalie looks distracted. I think she might actually be drooling."

Shepard chuckled at that. Ahah! Now she's beginning to warm to me, thought Cynthia hopefully. "Very observant. It's somewhat less of a factor when they're playing other Asari. But still, girls will be girls." Shepard's face hardened again. "How do you want to play this, Miss Wright?" Down to business, she's done playing nice, thought Cynthia.

"Ma'am, I'd like to shadow you for a while. Observe your day-to-day, your interactions at work and with your family. My goal will be to get a read on your personality. It will help me play you better. I'll want to ask you questions about your experiences; some directly related to what will be in our series, others more background. I'd also like you to come observe some of the scenes we're filming, as well as a boot camp we've put together so the rest of the actors and I have the basics down."

Through this Victoria regarded the actress coolly. Cynthia had no earthly idea what she thought of it. She's so inscrutable, she thought with almost awe, this is going to be challenging to capture. Somehow, however, she knew that being straight forward was the right way to go; no cajoling, no demands, just honesty.

"It's very important to me that I don't screw this up."

Victoria seemed to soak in this last datum, shifted her weight forward, and began to speak. She was interrupted, however, by a long whistle from the field. The scrimmage was over. The teams lined up to shake hands. "Miss Wright, I agree, on two conditions."

"Yes ma'am?"

"One, I do this at my convenience, not yours. If I don't like what you're asking, or when you're asking it, I'm just going to tell you to take a hike. Two," she looked up and smiled. Samara was bounding her way towards them. She certainly seems to adore her daughter. "Two, unless you have my express permission, you are not to say a single word to my daughter." She looked at the actress. Her face was even, not even a scowl, but the eyes! There was the killer again. "I won't insult you with dramatic threats. You've obviously researched me. You know what I'm capable of. But know this. Spectres really don't technically retire. Nothing bad will ever happen to me, regardless of what might happen to you." She paused, letting that fact sink in, "I'm quite serious about that."

Cynthia gulped despite herself. She had just seen the face of death itself. "Understood Admiral," she stammered.

Shepard's demeanor changed abruptly as Samara arrived on the bleachers. She smiled, "Hi Sam! This is Miss Wright. She's going to be playing me in a documentary."

"Hi!" said the young Asari. She held out her hand. She paused, cocked her head, and said, "I've seen some of your movies!"

Cynthia was startled. The happy, high-pitched voice coming from Matriarch Benezia's face was jarring. She shook the girl's hand and noticed the same finger nail polish. Cynthia couldn't help herself, "You paint your mom's nails?"

"No," she responded cheerfully. "She paints mine."

Cynthia looked at Shepard. Shepard arched an eyebrow. No shit.