Jeff Moreau
Last Laughs

Bad guys were shot, innocent people were saved, and grandiose speeches were given. Thus the first human Spectre flew off to chase the rogue he replaced, not to mention those ancient evil god-machines a Prothean vision burned into his brain. Well, Joker supposed, better fantasy action/adventure than inspiring crippled kid award-bait.

"Joker."

He blinked and glanced over his shoulder. You say you aren't a spy, but if you wanted to you could sneak up and snap my neck. Not that he wanted that. "Hey Commander. Send in the recommendations for that medal yet?"

"Do you have a razor?"

"All right, all right." Joker glanced at his instruments. "We're still on course for the Citadel, if that's what you're here for. Fuel levels are fine, but a resupply will leave us in a good spot for the Attican Beta cluster and any stray kittens we find along the way. And after that dip into Sharjilla's atmosphere, a little maintenance wouldn't hurt."

"Noted, but I'm not here for a status report."

"What, more icebreakers? Thought my whole 'you want me on your ship' speech was enough background for you." "I am the best damn helmsman in the Alliance fleet," he said, and to his relief Shepard had no objections.

"Call it extra curiosity. I can't imagine it was easy going from flight school to the Normandy's helm."

Because of my condition, he first thought. "You're a great pilot despite your brittle bones," they'd say, never just "You're a great pilot." He looked at the forward viewport, then at Shepard. "Well, it shouldn't be easy period to get here, right? Captain Anderson didn't just eeny-meeny-miny-mo down a list of names."

"True enough."

Shepard pulled off the not-patronizing voice well enough, and the new CO's good graces were a nice goal. Joker sat back. "All right, then, story time. Even though I was at the top of my class, beat all the instructors, they still wouldn't let me fly after graduation. Hearing that you probably think I had to prove myself with some heroic emergency flying."

"Commander, Flight Lieutenant." Junior Helmsman Pakti stood at attention by the helm's entrance. "Here to relieve you, sir."

"Dinner time." Joker lifted himself out of his hair, collected his crutches, and started down the bridge. "Wanna join me, Commander?"

"Sure."

Pressly gave them a curt nod as they passed by. The contrast must've looked hilarious, with Joker hobbling along while Shepard, standing straight and tall, matched his pace.

"All right," Joker said, working his imagination…

It was the usual story, of course. The ignorance of the Alliance brass reared its ugly head when they saw the Normandy hijacked, but to their amazement, the ship made a flawless run through the Arcturus asteroid field. Captain Anderson still didn't believe his eyes. The arrest order was on the tip of his tongue when his turian diplomat guest threatened Alliance-Hierarchy relations.

So what came out of Anderson's mouth instead?"Oh we were fools to ignore your virtuoso piloting and drive you to Grand Theft Spaceship to prove your skills, please pilot the Normandy for me." Only a legendary officer's dignity kept him from falling to his knees. "Nobody else is better qualified."

Joker added a few details here and there, an embellishment or so to make it last the walk to the crew deck. In the end it had the effect he wanted. Others had gathered around the mess hall table, some of them watching Joker with expressions ranging from amused to not so much.

"Really," Garrus said, dextro ration bar in hand, "a turian? The Hierarchy wouldn't send someone like that to the Alliance. Their diplomat would be screaming for your court martial the loudest."

"Were you saving that story, or did you come up with it on the spot?" Shepard asked.

Joker took a sip of water. "Bit of both." He used some variation whenever someone asked him how he landed in a pilot's seat. If they believed he needed to do something so stupid to prove himself, then they were someone to avoid.

"So what actually happened?" Tali, one of the new additions to the crew, seemed to be scrutinizing her dextro bar.

"It's not as exciting as Grand Theft Spaceship…"


The Normandy made the SSV Austerlitz look like a museum antique, but a Joker fresh out of flight school thought the frigate the first highlight of his career. At least, it would've been if he wasn't just its shuttle pilot. And on a ship assigned to mere escort duty, he didn't even get to fly that a lot.

So he bid his time, relying on the strength of four facts. One, Captain Devya Sandhu hated lateness. Two, Flight Lieutenant Shane Regalia loved biotiball holo-cards. Three, Regalia was a lightweight, and four (a detail not shared), his personal passwords sucked.

A bit of research and a few trades later, Joker took a seat next to Regalia at a Citadel bar.

"You have the card?" the taller man asked.

Joker held it up, a small, thin datapad with some asari on it. "Right here. The last one you need to finish that collection?"

"Yeah. The only reason I agreed to this on the last day of shore leave. I've been working on that folder for years."

The outright greed in Regalia's eyes made Joker grin. "All right." He called over the bartender. "Shot of your cheapest vodka."

The next day, Sandhu's bestial roars could be heard throughout the Austerlitz's entire crew deck. In between bursts of "how dare you miss this meeting" and other classic lines came softer "I didn't get any messages" from Regalia. While other crewmen stared bewildered in the direction of the captain's office, Joker wolfed down his breakfast with a smile.

Soon enough the good captain stomped into the mess hall, swung her gaze back and forth, then approached him. "Congratulations, Moreau. Regalia graciously volunteered to take your place as shuttle pilot. I've already promoted Flight Lieutenant Park. That makes you the new junior helmsman."


"And there you have it." Joker gave Shepard a nostalgic grin. "My not-inspirational story, the real one."

The gathered crew members made comments here and there, mostly along the lines of "remind me to never go drinking with you," but Joker was more interested in getting something out of this.

"Now it's your turn, sir. One uninspiring story."

"All right." Shepard looked forward, thoughtful. You have more than one? Joker thought.

After a moment the Commander put his hands on the table and leaned forward.


It was hard to imagine the Hero of Elysium as a kid, but he was one once, a shorter and skinnier Shepard with less wrinkles and more hair. In Shepard's words, civil war hit New York City hard, but while Manhattan recovered and became more spectacular than ever, Brooklyn didn't. The whole borough was a maze of run-down buildings, a refuge for gangs like the Reds.

Like any large gang, the Reds were split up into sets. That shorter and skinnier Shepard belonged to the Tenth Street Reds, led by a guy called the Old Man. He wasn't old, but he had enough years on the rest that it stuck. When the Old Man got arrested, a Nick Ortiz took over. Rivalries within the Reds rose and fell, and the entire gang both fractured and reunited. And when the dust settled, Ortiz and his own stood atop the debris. And that was just the beginning.

Manhattan's glimmering skyscrapers threw an endless array of colors into the night sky. There must've been celebrities and businessmen mingling in every penthouse apartment, just like in the books.

"Vic."

Victor—"Shepard" wasn't a thing in those days—peeled his gaze away. Back in Brooklyn, he could only see the skyline from across the water. Now it towered over him, over the stacks of shipping containers and the shadows they cast in between. "You done playing tourist?" Cole asked. "We got a job."

"Meet the guy, take the weapons, take him out," Ortiz had told them. While the rich and famous partied up above, the Reds were grabbing weapons down below. Just the beginning. Victor tapped the pistol in his pocket, then nodded.

Cole and Meira scampered off towards the water. Victor stepped into the shadows between the stacks. When he reached his assigned position, he peeked around a corner to find a hooded man standing by several small containers, his back to him. The other two approached the man from the front.

"Didn't realize I'd be dealing with a few kids."

Meira held her hand out. "Give 'em here."

The man scooped up the first container. "Do your parents know you're up this late?"

"Does your mouth like having all your teeth?" Cole asked.

"Huh. Orphans, then." The man took a step towards them. "I'll ask something else. How would they feel if they knew you were playing gang at midnight?"

"Doesn't matter if they're dead," Cole said.

"Fine." The dealer undid the latches on the case. "Check them out. They're the real deal."

Cole nodded at Meira, who reached into the case and pulled out a large rifle. She grinned, holding it like they did in the old vids, before giving it an actual inspection. "Looks good." With that she started taking a step backwards—

Before her back foot touched the ground the man threw the case at her. She yelped, tumbling onto her back. The rifle flew out of her hands. Cole whipped out his pistol and fired. "Vic!" Blue flared between him and the man. Victor held still.

As if routine, the man landed a blow to Cole's head. He crumpled against a crate. Meira began to stir only to be kicked onto her belly. The man jerked her wrists behind her back and slapped orange glowing handcuffs on them.

"Don't even try," he said. "NYPD. You two are under arrest."

Victor crept in the opposite direction from the police officer and his two new captives. When the last crate was behind him he broke into a sprint towards those skyscrapers.

Only Ortiz and his gun awaited him in Brooklyn, but April 11 came a week after the failed deal. A shorter and skinnier version of Commander Shepard who had passed by one too many posters stepped into the recruiter's office.


Shepard took a sip of water. "Now here I am, soldier and Spectre."

"Wow," Private Fredericks said from across the table. Even more crew members had gathered around to hear the story of how Commander Shepard joined the Alliance military, and at the end they all looked enraptured with the telling.

Joker chuckled. "I hear awe in that 'wow.' Thought we were telling uninspiring stories."

"I didn't think fleeing into the arms of the Alliance was so amazing." Shepard took a look around the table, finished his drink, and stood. "As you were."

The small crowd split up as he passed with his empty tray and cup, then apart when he stepped into his cabin. Joker's ears picked up various bits of chatter, some about the stories shared, others on irrelevant topics. He glanced at the captain's door, then picked up his fork and poked at his half-finished dinner, both satisfied and unsatisfied.

But when he thought how Shepard described the Manhattan skyline, then how he just fell into the Alliance military, Joker found himself more the former than the latter.