~o~O~o~

Shepard counted down the seconds, Rate of descent … eh … higher than 1 G standard rate. Let's say an acceleration of 9.6 meters … from a height of about four hundred feet … is it a bad time to ask for an appeal for common sense?

A little known fact is that all Alliance soldiers are able to make short jumps from air to ground. The shield systems built into their hardsuits were designed to decrease their rate-of-descent, in the event of a sudden loss of altitude. In a pinch, it could turn a Kodiak crash into a potentially survivable event, instead of a flat pile of highly trained protein.

However, Alliance command had wanted more than basic survivability. Each category had been given their own unique style, and their armor was tailored to that uniqueness. Front-line soldiers were given upgrades that boosted their strength on impact, allowing for hard-and-fast. Engineer's possessed a high degree of electronic interference gear, using their airspeed and altitude to interfere with enemy positions.

Biotics were given less of an advantage because they already had one, being able to alter their effective mass. This allowed them to do almost anything the other branches could do, and allowed the space normally dedicated to hardware carry a high-energy liquid. Few complained, calories were hard to come by in a firefight.

Shepard, as a trained Infiltrator, had been given upgrades enhancing stability. A sniper was able to "hang" in midair, observing the terrain with minimal turbulence. That particular upgrade was lacking in the armor he'd grabbed from Salems' Alliance base … jumping from a gunship hadn't exactly been on the itinerary. When he'd actually gotten into the gunship, he had immediately added the necessary hardware from the shot locker Alliance craft were required to have. If … they were working. Gott im Himmel … what have I done?

To his intense relief, the stabilizers activated. There was an instant of rushing wind, constant noise blasting past his ears. It felt … natural. The falling lent a calm feeling, even for new people; the difficult part was actually taking that first step into nothing.

The world stopped spinning, and Shepard unshipped his rifle. Far below he could see the armored vehicles churning their way towards the residential sector. He could also see the snipers he'd organized high on the towers, taking out slavers one at a time. The asari volunteer spotted him, and waved in his general direction. Her abrupt spin almost convinced Shepard that she'd been shot … until he saw her lowering the rifle from her shoulder, already searching for another target.

From his temporary vantage point, Shepard could observe a few slavers counter-sniping the nests. He adjusted his fall rate to as slow as possible and memorized the location of several targets.

Adjusting for the rate of descent and distance was not difficult, since he had to aim almost straight down. The first shot blew him off course, however Stupid Newton. Stupid physics. With nothing to brace against, Shepard drifted sharply to the left. He adjusted, of course, and fired again, blasting his course askew again. He had time for one more shot, hitting the engine block of the lead tank before his gun overheated. His new course led to a rather harsh landing against the side of a building.

The world went gray around Shepard as his armor countered the impact. When he could see, the center of his vision focused on a blue hand held out to him. He grasped it, hauling himself to a standing position.

Shayna grasped his hand firmly. "'Tis good to see you again, and on such a timely basis."

Around them, a mixture of humans, asari and salarians clambered along the heights, taking occasional shots at the slavers below. On their part, the slavers were taking cover to shoot back, or hiding beside the nearly invulnerable tanks.

Shepard took it in at a glance. "You've done well," he noted, "but we need a ground presence to drive them back for good."

Shayna grimaced. "Indeed you speak true. But the bulk of our forces are tied up at the wall, preventing more hostiles from entering. None of us can challenge these slavers on the ground, they have far too much firepower."

Shepard checked his shields status, they'd just finished recharging. "Don't you know," he stated casually, "that it's considered poor sportsmanship, telling a human something is impossible?" and for the second time in ten minutes, he jumped.

This time Shepard posed his fall for boosting morale, not only strategic effect. His shield managed to pull double duty, deflecting several potshots as well as getting him lower. The boot guides worked overtime to keep him stable, since Shepard was firing more constantly. The thunder of his rifle served as both a warning and a signal of doom; what Shepard shot at, he hit.

His vantage point allowed him to see slavers turning to face the new challenge. What they saw was a dark shape falling from the sky, bursts of flame surrounding him. When several batarians in their midst dropped, the rest scattered, running, crawling, anything to get away from the avenging angel.

Shepard flared his stabilizers, landing on both feet, one fist planted for balance. He ignored the return shots, choosing to glare as they pinged through what was left of his shields, digging furrows in his armor.

Above, Shayna directed the snipers to cover him as best as they could. A casual glance showed a dozen mercenaries flushed by his stunt, nearly all of which were now one with the universe.

Shepard stood tall against the slavers, letting them get a good look at him. Then he turned and ran like the wind.


~o~O~o~

The bunker in the Residential section well built. It had gunports, bay doors, a few turret emplacements and blast doors designed to keep out artillery shells.

However, it was not often used, only maintained by a dedicated crew that lost funding as peaceful years piled up. To wit, only two turrets actually worked, mostly facing the wrong direction, and the doors were stuck. Shepard could see scared men and women behind the jammed doors, listening to the approaching gunfire.

They saw him coming, running as only an N7 operative at the height of conditioning could run. He ducked an assault rifle burst, leaping over parked skycars and dodging obstacles as if he'd been doing it all his life. He actually had, if you thought of the obstacles as dense bushes and trees.

Behind him the raiders were rapidly losing their fear of the human. A few had charged after him, only to be cut down by the rooftop guardians. Rifle shots spanged off debris next to Shepard, the occasional pellet sparking blue off his shields.

The woman in charge of the holdout watched in a daze, then realized what she was doing.

"Cover 'im!" she screeched. Her voice wouldn't have shattered glass, but it just might have caused it to find a corner and reevaluate its purpose in life.

Gunports slid open and deadly metal gleamed through the shadows. A fusillade mostly inaccurate, but terrifying in volume, poured out of the apertures. Shepard slid to his knees between two skycars and huddled under the twin defenders of bad aim and limited fire angles.

The mercenaries behind him were not as lucky. They had been attacking a silent bunker filled with ready-to-sell merchandise, not people with guns. The response caught them completely off guard, several fell screaming while one actually lost his throat to a lucky shotgun blast. The rest scrambled for cover.

Shepard crawled out on his knees, hands raised. "Alliance Marine, coming over!" he called.

A voice shouted back. "More coming, stay down!"

Shepard instantly ducked flat. More fire came by his head, farther this time as the panicked volunteers got their nerves under control.

The more practiced mercenaries finally began returning fire, finding targets in the bunker. However, the prospect of being eaten, or more realistically becoming slaves was not helping the mercenary cause greatly. Humanity as a whole still held an incredible amount of respect for freedom, and held such a deep set cultural loathing for slavers that it was nearly a genetic trait.

Shepard lay on his back, watching the contrails of hyper-accelerated rounds pass over his face. On the one hand the civilians are putting up a good fight. They have enough covering fire to keep me safe for a good long while … until some wise guy thinks to blow up the cars …. On the other hand, these slavers aren't new at this. Pacifying resistance without damaging the merchandise is their specialty, after all.

The slavers must have started feeling more confident. Shepard could hear them yelling insults at the civilians, promising retribution for making so much trouble.

"You keep shooting, y'hear? The fewer mates I have, the better my pay!"

"Whatsamatta in there? Thought you were tryin' to shoot me!"

One insult in particular caught Shepards ear. It was a male voice, rough and spoken with the familiarity of a non-native speaker.

"When I get my hands on you, I'll do to you just like I did those b**** on Mindoir!"

Time stopped. The last two words echoed around Shepards' mind like a bad dream. On … Mindoir …. On. Mindoir. On Mindoir. OnMindoirOnMindoirOnMindoirOnMindoirOnMindoir … … …. The shock stunned him in place. Memories flowed through his minds' eye, nightmares from countless nights, images of … of … demons dragging away Jimmy … neighbor girl too young to know better saying "Mommy don't leave us" … on his knees, their blood staining his hands. The images changed to more recent times … Hours on the firing range … visualizing the faces of their murderers … the love and farewell of his parents ... Son, you'll do us proud ….

The rage he'd controlled, not controlled, buried for the past eight years … the rage he'd felt on the plains just before … the primal energy returned with a roar, redoubled in fury. Normally, Shepard controlled his anger, used it to go just a little farther, hold out just a bit longer. Now, he discovered anger was good for more than just a skill boost.

In an eyeblink, Shepard swung around the skycar, targeted a four-eyed monster and sent a bullet straight through the shields and into the skull. Before his corpse hit the ground, the next batarian received the same fate.

Shepard moved smoothly, no clumsiness evident. His rifle boomed out like the gavel of justice, mangling another slaver so badly his own kin wouldn't recognize him.

The rifle beeped an overload; without pausing Shepard dropped the rifle and drew his pistol. He triggered shots almost as fast as an assault rifle, continuously driving back mercenaries under its battering, draining shields, ending lives. By the time the pistol overloaded, the rifle had cooled down. He picked it up without looking, firing from the hip through another slavers lower left eye.

Faces and voices from another era went through Shepards mind.

Jims' dark blue eyes looked seriously into his son's. "I'm taking point because I have the most experience. Deal with it."

Shepard rounded a corner, meeting a pair of batarians with shotguns. He dropped to one knee, scything the other leg into ankles. His knife came out from nowhere, slashing through femoral arteries.

"They're after slaves, not just stuff." Nadia looked scared.

The next corner held a turian slaver. Shepard charged him, red tinged vision focused on nothing but the mismatched armor and a slowly rising gun. Before the turian could finish moving, Shepard was on him, grasping the head-fringe and lower mandible, twisting.

The neighbors' daughter Talitha was pressed against the window, an expression of pure terror on her face. Her daddy was out there … she could see him ….

Shepard had no idea where the roaring sound was coming from, but it seemed to terrify the small men before him. He redoubled his pace, trying to outpace whatever was frightening his prey. Three had scattered for cover to one side, the rest had bunched together running for cover.

Instincts were in the fore, actions taken by muscle memory. A grenade flipped from Shepards hand soaring across the street. Even as it flew, his pistol cleared leather, slamming itself into his palm barking an angry vengeance on the three cowards just as the grenade detonated. Body parts flew past, ignored.

Jim cursed under his breath. "Damn it, they got the Larsons."

A full squad showed up ahead of the Marine. His long-distance pistol shots flashed around their feet. The squad leader stood forced them to stand ground, however. Their target was just a madman … granted, a madman that was chewing up soldiers. Still, organized counter-fire would kill anything.

"John … my son … Mother … wanted me … to tell you … we … love you." Jims' eyes closed, a small contented smile on his face.

Shepard rolled across the ground behind a concrete berm, howling from deep inside his chest. He threw another grenade in a high arc over the top, following it with a pair of glistening tech based mines. He popped up behind cover and triggered a burst, ducking back to re-equip his rifle. An explosion rocked the earth, followed by electronic whines. Coming out rifle first, he saw what was left of the squad scattering again, shields down, some falling. He made sure the rest of them fell, spacing out his shots with an almost animal instinct.


~o~O~o~

Shayna

Shayna directed her daughters fire on the street behind them, just as a squad of slavers bulled their way through the resistance. She didn't bother warning the other snipers; she could easily stop their advance herself. A few of them noticed the squad however and fired, missing in their haste.

Just as Shayna drew a bead, an explosion blocked her sight. Confused, she lowered her rifle, casting her eyes wider. A lone human knelt behind a barrier of some kind calmly taking down the slavers with lethal efficiency. Even as she watched, he put away his rifle, drawing a pistol and a knife to deal with a pain-addled batarian at close range. They sparred for only a few seconds before the batarian was down clutching its shoulder.

Shayna paused for a moment, watching the human. He was running as if possessed, yet fully capable of deadly precision. From her vantage point she could see another pair of slavers, human this time, coming at an angle around the next street.

The lone fighter stopped just prior to their rounding the corner, firing even before the slavers had turned. They couldn't help their momentum and ran straight into the storm, dying within moments.

That is not a common ability, Shayne knew. That is the result of decades of training, or maybe years for a highly gifted salarian … she hadn't seen anything like that outside of the Commandos though. Maybe the STG, when they'd condescend to train with the Commandoes.

More gunfire jarred her back to the situation. What looked like a small platoon had entrenched itself in a small building, but had left themselves vulnerable to a rear assault. Shayna saw a flicker of movement, then recognized one of the Marine detachments that had recently made planet-fall. They were sneaking behind the shed. A few seconds later, blasts of fire punched through the roof, collapsing the entire building.

Satisfied that the human had found reinforcements, Shayna flared her biotics to float over another rooftop. Her daughters circled, moving on other buildings, maintaining a distance that maximized overlapping fields while minimizing their exposure. She smiled proudly. She was certain that someday her daughters would eclipse her own formidable prowess.

Noticing a few targets, she redirected the two salarians under her command. Like all of their kind the salarians had been quick on the uptake, mastering the more difficult aspects of tactical positioning in a matter of hours.

Her attention was drawn back to the scene below. The single male Marine had outrun the marines behind the felled hut, scattering shots at a fleeing slaver. She shrugged and went back to her duty.


~o~O~o~

Dim shouting finally reached Shepards' consciousness. He could tell it was past midnight, the lack of a moon allowed a full view of the brilliant stars very possible. The Big Dipper was in a completely different configuration, but its component stars were still visible. More visible were the ethereal rings that glinted against the velvet black sky, hints of dawn barely detectable to the east. For the first time in a long while … it felt … peaceful ….

A marine in full combat gear pounded to a halt just ahead. Shepard could see his mouth opening and closing … the little wet tongue touching teeth for consonants …

"… Lieutenant-Commander … ?"

The marine had scuffed armor. Used recently, then. Shepard lazily twisted sideways, taking in the sight of a full marine squad running … where? Something behind me, apparently …

Something pulled at his shoulder, it was that first man again. "Commander … you with …?"

I know this one, don't tell me … "I'm fit to fight," he finally answered. It must have been the right response, the shaking stopped. But the marine was still talking.

"… Red Cross tent …" Something clicked, and Shepard could see normally again. His thoughts were still a little fuzzy. It took a moment for him to focus on what the marine was saying, "Over in the commercial district, do you need medical support Commander?

Shepard had to think about the question for a minute. All the rage he'd felt, the anger so deeply buried, was no longer so strong. Not gone, it would never be gone, but it was … lighter.

"Yeah …" he muttered. Then stronger, "Yes … thanks soldier. I'm doing fine."

The squad slowed a few rubbernecking as they passed. Arvid stopped, waving them onwards while he checked Shepard over carefully, "I thought you vere going to chase 'em all the way to the retaining wall, boss." he joked. His eyes, however, were concerned.

Shepard tried to reassure him. "Don't worry about me, Arvid. You know I'm far too stubborn to get downed by one of these squints."

Arvid made a show of looking around Shepard. "So it vould seem."

With a start, Shepard realized where he was. For the sake of the soldiers grinning at him and resetting their pieces, he didn't allow a visible reaction, but when he looked at himself … he was … blood stained … all along his left side. The knife he always carried was still strapped to his leg, but the grenade he always taped to it was gone … and the handle looked heavily scraped. More dents and pockmarks were evident on his armor … and yet he had only a vague memory of what had happened.

Reality kicked in.

"We have a lot to do to do before the night's done." Shepard barked. The marines responded to the tone, assuming ready positions with professional speed. "Lock and load boys, move 'em out."

Arvid leaned over as the men and women shouted agreement, flooding towards the retaining wall. "You always vanted to say that, didn't you." He said, eyes twinkling. It wasn't a question, just a statement.

Shepard shrugged. "The world may never know."


~o~O~o~

If Shepard was any judge, this latest failed attack was the last straw for the invaders. They'd been promised easy slaves, enough to cover the costs of an expensive assault. But now … their ships were being systematically destroyed from orbit and their best effort in taking the city had failed miserably. If that farmer spoke truly though … the slavers had a backup plan.

"Commander." Captain Feyn Meyca seemed glad to see the superior officer. "They're setting up something.

"Let 'em." Shepard strolled along the wall, enjoying the music throbbing above. It was a ploy, letting the enemy see him, but more importantly letting the civilians see him. Too late he noticed some of the noncoms using their omni-tool as cameras … blast it. Front-page news was not how he intended to finish out this day.

He caught his train of thought. "We have a lot more bullets if they want to try another rush, but this time I suggest we let the tanks handle it."

A shout from outside the walls garnered his attention. "Wonder what that is?"

That turned out to be a batarian wielding some sort of megaphone. While that was not unusual, he had a line of human civilians behind him, each with a captor holding a gun to his or her head.

Shepard twitched, almost reaching for his rifle, but he managed to still the angry beast struggling against his ribs. It was a struggle, but the beast responded to his touch now, no longer blindly unleashed.

"Human!" the batarian shouted. "I know you're up there! Quit hiding behind your walls!"

Shepard waved from his position. "The only hiding here is being done by your cowardly scum. Drop the hostages and I'll consider letting you live."

The batarian flushed…although it was hard to tell. Batarian skin always looked flushed. "Surrender or the prisoners get it!" he yelled back.

"El-See?" murmured Arvid.

Shepard looked out over the prisoners. More were gathered in a large group just out of assault range, with multiple guards. The guards weapons were very obvious.

"Contact Captain Meyca. Tell him to get the gunships moving on a precision strike, southeast. After they're in position, all units fire at will." Shepard muttered.

He turned to face the spokesman theatrically. "What guarantee do I have that you won't kill all of us?" he called back.

The slaver lifted his megaphone, gesturing at the prisoners. "You don't. I have the slaves, I'll kill them before I let you take them. And if you don't surrender, I'll kill them before I kill you!"

"Bold words from slime that can't even make good on his threat. You say you can kill me? I dare you! Kill me now!" Shepard flung both arms outward in an inviting gesture. A shot missed his head by a small margin.

"That the best you can do?" Shepard laughed at the furious slaver. "I've killed hundreds of your kind in the past few hours alone, probably more. I've killed thousands of slavers in the last couple years. And you think you can bandy words with me? Get your boss, his retarded monkey shouldn't be trying to negotiate."

The roar of gunships blasted over whatever the batarian was trying to say. Five Mantis gunships dropped out of the clouds, mini-guns roaring their death-song. Marksmen in the missile bays took precision shots, taking out triggermen. In return, the slavers fired indiscriminately, at least until they met their fate.

A Marine contingent led by Arvid charged out the breach rounding up what prisoners still lived … although many might not have wanted too. Shepard had once told his friend what batarian slavers did to their slaves, how implants were shoved into their brains for controlled obedience. Anticipating that kind of response, Arvid had engineers deploy scrambling devices, blocking the slavers commands. The engineers circled the herd of prisoners while shuttling the prisoners back into the city. Some could be saved … others … would be avenged.

The slavers rallied, pushing again. Somehow they'd gotten their heavy weapons close enough to the wall, forcing the defenders to stay down most of the time. Fortunately, the Makos were more than capable of covering the breach. Small arms fire bounced off their thick armor like mayflies on the freeway. Every time the slavers made a concerted effort to charge through the gap, the Makos coordinated fire; anything that made it through the withering barrage was taken down by an angry milita.

Shepard leaned back against the protective lip of the wall. He was still angry … but somewhat gleeful as well. On his own, he'd never have been able to gather all those prisoners, and the batarians had done it for him.

That made him chuckle.

The two krogan nearby heard him. The elder bared his teeth approvingly, nudging the younger. "See, some humans can get it," he rumbled. One massive arm indicated the militia, "Others are surrounded by targets, getting shelled, have a weapon in their hands, and keep whining. This human," he nodded towards Shepard, "sees the opportunity."

Shepard didn't bother correcting the krogan. There was something to what the krogan said … when the odds were stacked, you could get the most kills.

Using that line of thought, he jerked above the wall, and fired three times. Dropping back down, he pulled up his omni-tool and tapped it. "Three shots," he gave his best carnivore smile to the krogan, "three kills."

Both krogan laughed, throwing their heads back. The smaller one with red markings stood, scorning the incoming fire hitting his shields. His assault rifle thundered to life, spitting lead at the gathered slavers.

Even as the krogan fired, an unearthly roaring noise gradually rose to hearing level. It overpowered even the barking detonations of grenade launchers.

Shepard looked up tiredly. What he saw looked downright heavenly. Is that? No … maybe … It is! Hallelujah!

Dozens of Kodiak class shuttles flew in formation, deafeningly loud. Mixed in the formation were Trident fighters. Even from a distance, Shepard could see the Tridents were all armed with HailFire air-to-ground missiles.

A welcome voice came over his omni-tool, shunted in by the media liaison.

"Lieutenant-Commander, this is Captain Anderson. Here comes the cavalry, son."

A second voice broke through just after the Captain. "Hey Shepard, Karl here. I have around a thousand missiles ready for deposit, where would you like to bank them?"

Shepard laughed aloud. "It's good to hear your voice Captain, we've been holding out down here. Can you tell Karl to trash the shuttles? They're parked about thirty klicks out of town."

Shepard stood, raising both arms skywards. Startled defenders caught a glimpse, then saw what he was staring at. Contrails spiraled from the brightening sky, exploding through the slaver ranks.

The victory yells only grew from there.


~o~O~o~

Shepard watched as the militia and civilians cheered uncontrollably, shuttles swooping into the city. Squad after squad of Alliance Marines leaped from the shuttles in action mode, ignoring the crowd, securing the area and rushing medical supplies to where it was needed.

Further out in the fields, explosions erupted into clouds of grey smoke. Shuttles that had made it into the air clumsily tried avoiding the Tridents, but few actually reached space. Those that did make it were unable to rendezvous with their motherships … the entire 5th Fleet had arrived, fresh and loaded for bear.

Relief crews came down on the second wave of shuttles. Volunteers swarmed to the medical facilities set up by the first wave. They were needed. Thousands of civilians were hurt, hundreds killed. The emergency response teams from the city were nearly all exhausted; while some had volunteered for the militia, others had stayed back and made run after run through live fire to help the wounded. A full thirty percent had urgently required medical attention themselves, none would escape without scars.

Shepard had to acknowledge one fact: it had been a bloody disaster for the slavers.

This can't be right, he thought, scrolling through a report. Drones had been sent out, scanning the battlefield. An estimated three thousand had managed to escape and fifty vessels managed to escape via the Mass Relay, despite the best efforts of the Fifth Fleet and the SSV Agincourt frigates.

Shepard shook his omni-tool in disbelief. Even accounting for escapees, the final death toll for enemy combatants was eventually settling on over twelve thousand raiders, five hundred and thirty vessels, and two dozen ground vehicles.

The defenders of Elysium had losses as well. Hundreds had been killed in the initial suicide shuttle attacks; one of the shuttles managed to make a direct impact on one a civilian bunkers. The first two levels had collapsed, crushing the inhabitants.

Of the thousands in the Elysium militia, a full one hundred and thirty-three had died defending the walls. Half of those had given their lives holding the breach until Shepard and the Marines filled the gap in their last enraged charge. Five volunteer snipers had died, a testament to the capable leadership of Shayna, the former Armali Commando. Apparently, she'd already been offered a defense contract, but had turned it down.

Between both sides, over five hundred thousand rounds were fired, not including grenades, rockets and mines. Not a single Trident fighter had been lost, although one of the A-61 Mantis gunships had been shot down.

On the plus side, the Governor had apparently recovered, but had elected to stay out of the command structure during the fighting. His Lieutenant had survived the fighting, and was going to be tried on the charges of Aiding and Abetting Slavers, Treason to the Alliance, and engaging in criminal actions. It was a good probability he would be convicted on all counts. So good in fact, that somehow, on his trip to the holding cell, he managed to obtain a sidearm, attempting to escape. His attempt was short lived in every sense of the word.

~o~O~o~

Two Days Later

The collar itched. It always did. No matter what Shepard tried, the dress blues had an itchy collar.

There were, of course, cameras. Lots of them, to match the huge crowd, so he had to maintain his composure and avoid allowing his face to twitch … despite the irritation of an itchy collar. And boredom at political glad-handing. I leave politicians alone when I work, why can't they leave me alone when they work?

Captain Feyn Meyca was out in the audience, a knowing look in his eyes. Was that a smirk?

With a start, Shepard realized the current speaker was prompting him up to the podium. Captain Anderson, as his immediate superior was beckoning, a small box in his hand.

Shepard put on his Best-And-Brightest face and kept his shoulders back. No one liked seeing a slump-shouldered soldier. All soldiers had to be tall and broad-shouldered. Why not a skinny lethal soldier? Why couldn't it be anyone but me?

Admiral Hackett, representative of the 5th Fleet stood next to the podium and nodded sagely. Shepard was somewhat assured, the Admiral was a wise master of conflict, in multiple theatres. Political efforts always seemed dissipate before they reached the Admiral.

Two rows of Marines saluted as he walked up to the microphone. Arvid, at their head, winked.

Hackett waited for Shepard to salute, then returned it with the speed and grace of a much younger man. First, he spoke to the crowd in his gravelly voice, extolling the virtues of Elysium. Next he spoke to the Marines, complimenting them on their holding action. Finally, he turned to the audience and really looked at them, not just roving his gaze over individuals. His steel grey eyes blazed with an ancient fire.

"Lieutenant-Commander Shepard has been an exemplary soldier, a comrade-in-arms with whom every man and woman in the Armed Forces would be proud to serve." Hackett waited for the crowd to settle down, "His record, from the first day of enlistment has been a series of remarkable achievements. He is one of the few enlisted soldiers to be recommended for the ICT courses, and the first soldier to achieve all seven gradations within two years." The crowd cheered uproariously … calming again with a little difficulty. Oh for Pete's sake, they don't know what … guess they're just in a celebratory mood.

"Shepards dedication and character have protected humanity since before he joined the Marines. On Mindoir, before he even reached the age of majority, he personally guided Marine rescue forces." Hacketts' expression faltered, it couldn't have been a good memory for anyone. "Tragically, most of Mindoir was lost. But Shepard still saw the value in defending the helpless, in standing vigilant guard over those who could not fight on their own."

Shepard swallowed hard. He avoided looking at the vid panels overhead, depicting various actions during his service. One of them showed the cemetery on Mindoir. Anderson had been decent enough to warn him ahead of time.

Admiral Hackett made a ninety degree turn to face Shepard, clicking his heels.

"Lieutenant-Commander, for your actions in defending the colony of Elysium, for your spirited defense and capable leadership in the worst of situations, you are hereby promoted to the rank of Full Commander."

Commander? This wasn't in the script ….

Admiral Hackett wasn't finished. After pinning the insignias on Shepards shoulder (shaking hands for the cameras), Hackett stepped back and waved down the audience.

"In addition, it has been decided by a unanimous vote, that further honor be given for the Defender of Elysium. Therefore, it is with great pride and even greater satisfaction, that I award you the Star of Terra."

Captain Anderson stepped forward smartly, holding up the opened velvet box. Inside shimmered the Star of Terra, a gold five-pointed star on a platinum circle, hanging from the middle of a gold chain. A phrase from Ancient Latin was etched in the center: virum honoratum populus: To Honor a Hero of the People.

Hackett and Anderson stepped back and saluted. The crowd, already cheering, increased the volume. Someone still had control of a few loudspeakers on the walls, and started pumping a celebratory music list. Farther down, the Marines acted like undisciplined children; Arvid and Karl flung their formal-wear hats skywards.

Captain Anderson caught Shepards eye. The older man mouthed a phrase Shepard could easily lip-read, "Well done, Commander."

~o~O~o~

Three Days Later

"So, what are you going to do next?" Karl asked.

The combat engineer lounged on an expensive table. Shepard winced at the thought of potential damage to mahogany shipped from Earth. Being housed in one of the most expensive hotels on Elysium was nice, but … frightening.

"Soon as I can, I'm getting off Elysium." Shepard answered. "What about you guys?"

Arvid had his feet up on a footstool, "I'm staying on Elysium. The local Alliance post needs some looking after, what with the damage it took from the Blitz, and I can help."

"Yeah, and that chica you've been seeing has nothing to do with it?" Karl teased.

Arvid flushed. "Tanya's just needed a little help settling back in, she was really shaken by that slaver squad."

"And your blundering in with a grenade and accidentally tripping her, then falling on her before the blast has nothing to do with it?" Karl kept his voice poisonously sweet.

Arvid changed the subject, "What about you Shepard, you ready to settle down?"

Shepard shivered. "It's been … offered …." he returned. "Offering" was a minimal description for some of the messages sent his way, some of which had been highly …descriptive … "but I'm headed out for my next mission in a few days."

Karl sat up sharply. "What? Where?"

Shepard smirked. "Need to know basis."

Karl mock-scowled, flinging an orange from a nearby fruit bowl. "Come on, you can tell us."

Arvid looked up, interested.

Shepard sighed. "Just a reconnaissance run … through some kinda rough neighborhoods. Apparently my ability to survive has gotten me some … attention."

Karl grinned. "Look out, someday you're going to be famous, Commander Shepard."

It was an interesting thought, Shepard had to admit. The title didn't sound too bad. Not bad at all.


A/N: This is the final chapter of the Skyllian Blitz. I hope you had as much fun reading this as I did writing it!

Thank you for the reviews, the suggestions and the impetus for correcting errors. Further thanks to Lady Aimee for her stellar knowledge of FanFic systems, The Werdna for his suggestions, and NightStride, for his tireless grammar corrections.

Until next time!