A/N: Just want to notify you guys and gals of something. I'm afraid to say I'll be taking a short hiatus from my weekly updates. My English Lit coursework deadline has been pushed forward to the 28th so it looks like chapter seven will be coming along the week after next. I'm sorry I can't give you a definite ETA. Oh well, good things come to those who wait! :) Did you know that Samus Aran was the youngest ever member of the Star Trackers Elite Recon Unit? At the age of sixteen she beat out millions of hopefuls to become part of this unique force in the Galactic Federation Police.

N7 Special Forces

Samus had been in contact with the Admiral since the week before passing through the Daiban relay. Her story and offer had impressed him greatly, that and the fact that she had found his personal extranet address and breached the Alliance's firewalls without compromising her identity.

She noted the irony that while she hadn't told Hackett of her origins – her immediate back story had been accurate pertaining to her short 'war' in the Terminus. Those kinds of battles had been and still were her specialty; for the last epoch of her old life she had waged conflicts for privately invested firms, it had paid very well.

The omitting of the 'alternate reality' where the majority of these skirmishes had taken place was necessary not only for her own reasons but because even the unconventional Admiral Hackett might be put off by seemingly insane gibberish. But she was working on revealing this in the long run.

"Besides," she thought pragmatically, walking alongside Hackett, "he doesn't need to know, no one does."

Still, she had picked the man as her first ally for many reasons. He was dedicated, rational and had an eye for spotting talent. It didn't hurt either that they were of one mind when it came to military matters and he possessed his own; not inconsiderable political clout.

"That's the difference between us warriors Shepard and the pencil pushers at city hall." A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "They're content to bitch and moan about this, that and the other, while we can actually get things done."

"Amen," she replied.

Hackett chuckled into his beard, trailing off into a more serious tone.

"I know you probably don't want to hear any false pity from me but this is genuine. I'm sorry we couldn't save Mindoir, these past years probably feel like forty years to you."

"If you only knew Hackett, I'm probably twice your age. Wish I knew exactly how old..."

"You're not the girl anymore but a woman in full; and a dangerous one at that. I've never seen someone with that measure of control over their biotics."

Aran dipped her head in acknowledgement, surprised by his perceptiveness. "Thank you, Admiral. That means a great deal. I'll do everything in my power to help Humanity - and all the Citadel races."

"I believe it well, another thing about those pukes, they only seek to criticise, condemn and complain, most fools do – for them it's always the brain that's trusted first, we trust our guts and by God I've got a good feeling about you Shepard."

Hackett continued to vocalize his praise, there was only a few conditions to their arrangement.

"From what I've gathered from your dossier you'll need very little training in basic at Kingston. Three months should be enough for you to get another set of Masters Awards and you'll need to show you can mobilise and operate in a team. There will also be psych evaluations, medicals; the full works. After that we'll make special arrangements for you to be added to priority one for Arcturus and our special forces program."

They stopped by a large panoramic window looking out as the day began over the city. Aran addressed Hackett respectfully.

"I accept those terms... how long does it usually take to become an N7 marine, Sir?" Hackett put his hands behind his back and replied:

"Well, that all depends on your initiative now, doesn't it?" Samus crossed her arms, looking at him shrewdly.

"What's the record?"

"Very few actually make it all the way. There are two hundred marines in active service at this current time. The fastest to fully graduate did it in about two years and a couple of months."

"I'll do it in less than two. Months, I mean."

Hackett grinned more broadly than before. She was definitely the one.

Retiring to the Admiral's office, he poured them both whiskey on the rocks and discussed further matters for Aran's placement; in a much more civil manner than the Major had conducted his.

"Now I understand you've got all your accommodations and other matters sorted out, you can be at RMC and begin today if you want."

"Of course, Sir," she swirled her glass, then continued. "I realise you didn't expect me this early but certain events accelerated my plans, I think you'll be greatly interested in the information I obtained though."

Hackett sipped his whiskey thoughtfully.

"Not even out of basic and you're already supplying the Alliance with Intel?" Aran swept the files onto a holo document and handed them to him with a gleam in her eye, then she took another measure of the spirit. Hackett scanned Qaitus' files for a few seconds.

"Interesting, very interesting. Well Shepard, we know what to look for now. Even though we can't take immediate action without similar confirmation from our own sources, I'll see if I can petition for a surveillance fleet to locate anchorages in the Hong system. The Join-Chiefs won't implement it for a time though."

"What about Qaitus' confession of an en masse attack in 2176?" she frowned. Hackett seemed to consider every word as he spoke deliberately and slowly.

"Once again, the Alliance can't make an official decision regarding this, which means I'll have to take certain precautions, like massing several of our scout flotillas near the Styx-Theta relay during that year."

Samus nodded, wordlessly voicing her thanks to Hackett; then they rose and shook hands.

"It's a privilege to be here, Admiral. I look forward to serving with you."

"Likewise, Shepard. I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

Samus Aran was without a doubt, one of the strongest and most athletic individuals in the known Universes. So it took her a moment to grudgingly admit that the Alliance knew their stuff. After several hours orientation at the college and allowances for moving into an apartment in downtown Ontario; every raw recruit had to go on a standard 20km 'initiation run' that evening, while carrying full equipment amounting to nearly 90 extra pounds.

She relished the activity as the group of forty potential marines tramped through the idyllic scenery of Bon Echo's Provincial Park woodland. Everyone was wearing combat fatigues and army boots, Samus had scraped her hair back and tied it into a standard regulation length pony tail.

Many were beginning to lag behind as they slowed to a jog. Aran herself, excluding three other women and six men held the lead.

By 15km, they had nearly run the circuit back to town. Now only the drill instructor, two men, a woman called Diana Cromwell, and Aran Shepard led the pack.

Victor Wilson, the unit's drill sergeant looked impressed as Aran came level with him, unlike her, he was not carrying a weighed pack. Wilson noted that Shepard was sweating just as much as the others but she was not flushed; or even out of breath for that matter.

"You take your morning runs on Mercury, Shepard?"

"No, Sir. Though I heard you have gravity settings in your gyms; I'll be sure to try them out."

"I'd be disappointed if you didn't, by the end of this first week, even you will have been pushed to the very edge..." he took a deep intake of breath, "of your endurance."

"Oh we'll see, Sir. We'll see." And with that Samus commenced to sprint at full speed, leaving her comrades choking on dust.

Over the next month Aran excelled at basic and with her studies, preparing for courses on advanced technical systems, R&D and Interstellar politics. At the same time she felt glad to have found her place in this new world; by this time in her life she had no more need for training but there was a desire to prove herself, something indefinable. She just knew that her advancement would benefit others as well.

Every morning she led her colleagues for a three mile jog, or broke a new record from activities ranging from an assault course time trial to firing range scores. In comparison, her studies were harder but far more absorbing.

Working with like-minded individuals catapulted her penchant for invention, during her seminars in Kingston's tech labs she reverse-engineered a prototype hard-shield, that by inserting a suspended nano-crystular gluino atom; (removed from her gloves sigil) into the inner matrices; the barrier's projection radius could be shortened to within a centimeter of her outline.

It would even repel hostile tech mines and biotic attacks, by lowering the activation-threshold of the shield to a lesser degree. Upon its completion, she wondered if she should patent it for the Alliance, it had the potential to save many lives. Yet she decided not to, the advantage it would give her was too great. Once it became public, other groups would pay a great deal for this technology and abuse it for their own ends.

On the other hand, its potential for future defensive tech was too great, in the end, Aran decided on a compromise. She left her personal blue-prints and the exact calculations for an eezo variant out of her final thesis, the concept alone won recognition from the Galactic community and Shepard's scientific peers respected her above all others. Humans weren't exactly taking the lead in most fields.

If only all her time on Earth had been that problem-free. Aran was becoming frustrated with boot camp. She couldn't operate any higher than the other potentials without seeming arrogant or unable to be a part of the team.

Mindful of one of Hackett's conditions, she strove to work as amiably as possible with the other men and women. Unfortunately there was no escape from the fact that many of the males found her extremely attractive; her vivacity and intelligence was another turn-on.

During hand-to-hand combat training, her patience had been worn thin over the barrage of sexist comments and within a second – a certain, ruggedly handsome, brown haired, strong featured Ben Hanks was laid down on the mat; out cold.

Taking Aran aside, Wilson decided to have a serious conversation with her.

"Christ, Shepard! You could have hospitalised him!"

"We had a disagreement, Sir."

"Bullshit! You can't let every sleaze ball get to you! I'd have thought you knew how to respond under duress considering you're taking these politics courses."

"Honesty's the best policy, Sir. And I've been enduring his remarks for several weeks now."

"Nice comeback, Shepard. But the fact remains, as a unit you can't let animosity build up. That's when people start dying, you need to trust each of these guys and gals with your life."

"I'm trying! It's not my fault if they can't be professional!" she snapped, her features infuriated and somewhat bewildered.

"Hate to break it to you but that's just not the case," Wilson replied sternly. "I realise you've operated alone in the past. Looking out for yourself and all that lone wolf crap. Not everyone's at your level Shepard, some of them will never be. So it's your responsibility to hone them into a fearsome fighting force. No one gets your kind of skill without seeing real action; you came to us, the cadets respect you sure, but you're an insular person Shepard, gain their admiration, you gain their loyalty."

Aran was moved by his pep talk, she could not deny any of it, although she socialised as much as anyone, she stood apart from others, it lay in the rift between her greater prowess compared to the ordinary men and women she lived alongside – but on a more profound level it was ultimately attitude once again; she was withdrawn and didn't offer support to her new friends.

Facing the skin-headed, stocky instructor, she felt a surge of admiration for him.

"I promise you Sir, I'll take every step to improve my own team building skills and that of others," she saluted him proudly. Wilson's face softened as he saw her sincerity.

"Good, soldier, and to prove it you're going to coach some of the recruits with Hanks."

Aran groaned inwardly.

The day dawned early but Aran was already in the fitness room, on a pair of gymnast rings, practicing her full arsenal of acrobatics, after twenty solid minutes suspended there; she performed a perfect dismount then toweled the sheen off her body before resetting the Gs in the room from three hundred percent – back to Earth standard.

Having already eaten at home, she began to set up the groups with their trainers depending on skill level. By the time Hanks had arrived, sporting a puffy black eye; she had already got everyone ready.

"I see you haven't left anything for me to do," he said sourly.

"We're supervising Hanks, I hope you're up for it," she answered, trying to withhold her distaste.

Falling into line, Aran and Hanks remained at the back during the jog, this time Samus noticed those flagging and boosted their morale with a steady stream of encouragement. Those hitting the wall managed to dredge enough willpower to continue despite the pain, her example inspired them to push themselves; and even Hanks seemed to be doing better with some motivation.

And so it went on, Aran began to informally instruct recruits from matters ranging from biotics and martial arts, to point shooting and survival techniques. The women of her unit idolised her and the men had to concede that she was by far the best cadet the college had ever had.

Aran practically led every class's training but the Alliance hopefuls never resented their model student, not when she was so willing to impart her own knowledge and experience to them. This was without even mentioning the host of other activities she got up to. Samus was the captain of the ice hockey and skyball teams and led them to consecutive victories against the boys.

The other lads tried jokingly to keep her out of their MMA bouts every Wednesday evening but gladly accepted her upon Hank's challenge.

"You're going down Shepard, you surprised me last time with me egging you on, now let's see what you can do!"

"I wouldn't want your mother to be unable to recognise you!" she hollered back, Wilson was there to supervise the bare-knuckle brawls, Aran got into the cage ring, dressed in blue spandex shorts, tank-top and wrist supports. Hanks had black trunks and mouth guard with white wrist supports. Each round was three minutes long and the rest of the cadets were crowding around; placing bets.

"2-1 that Shepard takes him out within thirty seconds!"

"Twenty!"

"Fifteen!"

With a ring of the bell the match began, Hanks advanced, hopping on the balls of his feet while Samus began to jog around him backwards, unblinking and impassive.

Ben made the first move, charging forward and throwing a volley of punches at Aran's head. She weaved and parried them away, counter-attacking with two slaps to the eyes, causing them to water and for him to retreat. A side-kick caught him in the abdomen and he was barreled over, gasping for air, backwards rolling to his feet he saw that Shepard was bouncing around him with a grin on her face even though she could have struck him on the ground.

Infuriated, he stumbled up – trying to get the wind back into his sails. Ben aimed a powerhouse hook at Aran's jaw, this time she stepped with it and seized his arm, utilizing his own force and spun him off his feet to land hard on the mat.

Once again she backed off and allowed him to rise, Ben now realised she was toying with him, this was no contest. Well he'd show her! He came at her and feinted to kick, she didn't react, and as he came up with a haymaker – Aran moved neatly to the side, flowed around him and gripped him around the scalp while locking up his wrist. The momentum corkscrewed him around as she revolved in a small circle. Hanks thudded to the canvas, Shepard's long chiseled legs wrapped around his throat, choking him, even as she extended his arm, threatening to break it.

Hanks struggled for about a millisecond but then thought better of it as his windpipe was nearly crushed. He tapped out like a man dying of oxygen starvation and she released him immediately.

Groans from some of his friends made him blush embarrassedly but they were drowned out by the cheers from everyone else. They only intensified when Aran pulled him to his feet and kissed him demurely on the cheek. Ben's frustration vanished as he burned hotter and massaged his raw throat:

"What a woman!"

It seemed she could do no wrong after Wilson's sermon. Everyone gathered around her during lunch or dinner to hear tales of her exploits after Mindoir. She counseled some who were apprehensive about taking a life when they reached active duty. Others she listened to intently, often debating philosophical ideas or the political situation of the Galaxy with the veteran instructors.

The green recruits showed particular devotion. Towards the end of her training, Samus led a squad of these rookies in a RTFA (Ready – Team – Fire – Assist) simulation against an 'enemy bunker;' on the geosynchronous facility of Fort Charles Upham. The tests results became a legendary benchmark and her troops were recommended for early enlistment.

If all of her successes on a personal level were not enough: (she had made life-long ties with many of her colleagues, going so far as to indulge in some casual flings with men and women alike.) On the 30th July, at the peak of summer – Samus took her finals on systems architecture, decryption research and Galactic law.

Surpassing expectations, she gained distinction in all three advanced courses. Drawing the attention of numerous cooperation analysts and offers from various Citadel businesses for work placements; they were all politely refused. Aran's skills were really being noticed by the Alliance High Command now. The Media at large had even interviewed her, declaring that she was: "an inspiration, a paragon of Humanity."

Somewhat uncomfortably, Samus had given her 'blessings' to the Alliance Parliament to petition for a new settlement on Mindoir. It was a PR stunt but there was no denying that her popularity was increasing along with her presence in the spot light.

The higher ups listened intently as Admiral Steven Hackett outlined and explained why this incredible Human-being should be accepted into Arcturus's Special Forces Program.

"A prodigy, gentleman. And I don't use the word lightly. In spite of everything fate has thrown at her she continues to lead by example. As a poster child for the Alliance and Humanity she has the potential to outdo John Grissom with her excellence; it's only a matter of time before our trade partners on the Citadel and the greater Galactic community notice her.

One of the suits perked up: "Hackett, are you saying we might have a potential candidate for the Spectres?"

"That's exactly what I'm inferring General Chan. It's not everyday a self-taught mercenary joins the military. In terms of her personality and her skills; it's like she was sent by providence."

Major Antella snorted uncouthly, Hackett clenched his fist as the mewling excuse for a man addressed those assembled.

"It's true, her records are superlative, personality tests claim she is politically savvy, charismatic, unbiased, adored by fellows and superiors alike," he laced each word with unmistakable venom.

"Yeah, everything you're not Caleb. Does this have a point?" growled Hackett. Antella looked mutinous but he dared not directly contradict his superior officer; not after the incident in Vancouver.

"I was merely suggesting, Sir, that the matters regarding Aran Shepard be looked into more closely. Her psychological evaluation leaves a lot to be desired."

"You mean the fact that she has a moderate case of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder," stated Hackett conversationally.

"More than moderate according to some experts. They hypothesise that she may have once been rendered catatonic by the horrors she saw on her home world. Her parents consumed by flame throwers, friends blown to smithereens. The raid was only four years ago for God's sake! You honestly think she's stable enough, trusted enough, to be a part of the N7s?"

Some of the bigwigs shook their heads at the Major's outburst while others seemed swayed; then Hackett spoke menacingly.

"If anything she'd be stronger for the trials to come and we have no right to reject her claim to join the N7 program. Now, who believes we should grant her top priority clearance as of August 24th?"

Hands were raised. Votes were cast. And Hackett nodded approvingly.

It was the morning of August 17th 2174. Samus Aran rolled out of bed as her body's internal clock reached 6:00 a.m. on the dot. Crashed next to her, in a deep slumber was Private 1st Class Ben Hanks; completely drained from their nocturnal activities.

"He's lucky I didn't break his pelvis," she thought, amused, he was a good one at heart but he still had a long way to go if he wanted to serve Humanity.

"Couldn't even service me," she laughed, while throwing his trousers onto his face, causing him to stir fitfully.

"Rise and shine, soldier!" she barked in an imitation of drill instructor Wilson, the fact that she had a Canadian lilt to her voice after living in Ontario for over three months helped quite a bit; causing him to tumble out of bed in fright.

The woman known to her colleagues as Aran Shepard shrieked with mirth as Ben tried to free himself from the tangled duvets. He chortled gleefully himself after he was untied, then they both did some morning work-outs together.

Ben, impressively did fifty clap push-ups. He looked to the right during them to see his bed-fellow banging out one armed push-ups with nothing but her thumb and index finger for support. Then she did it without toe support.

"Jesus wept!" he thought weakly.

After Samus had done one hundred of these, on each arm, she went to shower first, pent up as he was Ben decided to join her in the steamy bathroom and see if he could do better this time...

Beaten yet again, Ben realised he would probably never be with a woman this aggressive and domineering in the sack again. In a way he was glad, secretly though; he was disappointed.

Samus had had much more free time since the confirmation of her Master's Degrees. Often eating (and drinking) out with the gang, playing sports or taking part in paintball games, there had also been hikes, rock-climbing and kayaking.

"All in all," Aran contemplated, "it's been a strange period of my life, transitional, (I've never gone so long without killing someone) and dare I say it, it's kind of enjoyable not to have to..." she tucked in to breakfast with gusto, Ben and several of her friends who lived in the spacious apartment block joined her.

Conversation was animated and lively at the table. Inevitably Diana steered the talk away from the Treaty of Faraxien and back to her best friend.

"So, girl. I hear today's the day you get a reply back from the brass at Arcturus."

Aran winked knowingly but continued to busy herself with her scrambled eggs and black coffee. Mark Jensen, a burly red-headed friend of Ben's picked up on the unspoken thread.

"Hey, that's right. Come on Shep, we are going to throw you a leaving party, all of this week!"

Aran frowned perplexedly over the top of her coffee cup.

"I don't even know if I've got in, Jensen. They may have refused my application."

"And we'll have a Council seat by next week!" mocked Ben childishly. "There's no way they can refuse you, babe. Not after all those Guinness World Records you set, the prestige you've brought Canada, then there's your past - "

"Leave my past out of it, Hanks. You know I don't like talking about it."

"Sorry Shep, but I've heard that the Maple tree's Alliance Parliamentarian is going to make you an honorary citizen."

Samus basked in the excited nature of her friends. It was true, her achievements reflected very well on Kingston and its enlisted servicemen and women.

In fact, she had to acknowledge that she was going to miss the people she had got to know for a quarter of a year; as well as the natural beauty of Earth.

During the mornings team-building exercises. The entire year's recruits had come down to the sandbanks of Charleston lake and were working together to shift weights in small groups up and down the loamy shore.

The enigmatic Huntress, now a beloved soldier tackled the objective head on. Despite her efforts to hide her imposing strength she had still gained a reputation for being as powerful as any three of the men together due to her height and physique.

Said muscle was being used to haul the half ton weights with five others, it required co-ordination, grit and plenty of straining tendons as they navigated the treacherous footing of the bumpy ground.

An hour later, the whole beach had been churned up into a muddy quagmire, thunderheads were gathering above as the marines in training slapped their buddies on the back heartily and congratulated each other.

Covered from head to toe in mud, the lads started to wrestle, trying to pin one another down. Samus stood a while off reading an incoming message on her omni tool.

*INCOMING TRANSMISSION*

To Aran Shepard,

It's my pleasure to inform you that Arcturus has accepted your application to the N7 Special Forces Program. Make good use of it, you're the cream of the crop now Shepard, an example for all of our kind. I hear you've also put Kingston on the map, that's to be expected; after all, you know where you came from. You'll report to me once you reach the station and then you'll get underway. We're privileged to have you with us.

Yours sincerely,

Admiral Steven Hackett.

Aran mused to herself. "Yes, I know where I come from, I come from the planet Zebes of FS-176 and K-2L before that. I am also a bastion of Earth, sworn to defend it and her people. I will not fail."

Her moment of serious pondering was interrupted by a mud ball splatting into her face. Spitting the muck out of her mouth Samus saw Ben and his mates doubled over with laughter.

"Jokes on you guys, I've got a place at Arcturus and I'll be leaving you soon," she yelled back indignantly.

The guys quietened down, though many of them wouldn't dare to admit she had become a mentor figure in their eyes and they would be sorrowful to see her move on while they fell back under the complete rule of thumb of drill instructor Victor Wilson.

"Well, we'll all make this last week memorable Shep, count on that!" roared Mark over the wind and the first patter of rain drops coming down on the trampled ground.

"I'm already filthy thanks to you children, what do say to a little wager to kick off the leaving party for me?" The bunch of twenty strapping young men tentatively came forward.

"And that would be?"

"I'll give each of you a hundred credits if you can pin me down; all of you on me."

"If you win?" called Ben as the heavens opened and heavy bullet drops of rain pounded down, making the ground even slipperier under foot.

"You each give me five credits!" she yelled back over the gale.

"Come on lads! Shepard's giving money away!" they cheered and surged forward like an army of linebackers.

The competition began.

Deciding to give her friends a fighting chance, Samus attempted to leap up from the mud, becoming partially stuck and nearly falling over. Mark reached her first, wrapping his arms around her midriff and legs, he lifted her onto his shoulder and spun her round like a tea cups and saucers ride.

His fun ended all to soon as his boot sank down into the saturated soil and he flailed out with his arms - trying to balance himself comically only for her heavy frame to land on top of his back and dunk him into a dirt bath.

Teddy-rolling free, the indistinguishable brown covered woman scissor kicked several legs out from underneath their similarly sodden owners; sending them to join Jensen in the squelchy, water clogged ground.

Ben tried to belly-flop Aran into the mud, but she caught him with her leg and catapulted him over her, grabbing his wrist as he fell, gravity pulled Hanks down and righted Shepard on his chest.

"Thanks for the platform rookie." She crouched cat-like on his abdomen as the others lumbered through the rain towards her.

"Ooooof!" Ben gasped as Samus rose and pushed her compatriots back with one leg resting on stable ground. The other flicking out with perfect economy and balance, her kicks were light and pulled but they still thumped Julian, Trevor, Zoe and Diana (who had decided to join in;) with enough force to mail them to mudsville.

Impetuous Oliver tried next, going in low for a classic tackle and managing to drive Samus back, she dug her heels in, ploughing two trenches in the mud and coming to a halt. With both legs immobilized, she simply strained against him, then relaxed, allowing him to fly past and inter himself up to his waist in a mud bank; legs kicking haphazardly up in the air.

Grasping his ankle she yanked him free, coughing and spluttering. Only half were out of the play fight and now; Aran utilized CQC.

Divining the centre line, she controlled Vargas's grappling hands and wind milled him around, splashing him in a heap and bringing up a plume of mud. Lenny actually had the guts to swing a karate chop at her neck, it didn't help him as she countered his action's trajectory, bringing it back up and around his head and forcing the rest of his body to follow after his limb to avoid a break; leading to an entertaining roly-poly onto his back.

The largest built recruit: Arkady Yezhov, bided his time as the blonde Voyevoda made short work of the others. He made his move just as Raghid was head-rammed in the stomach by Aran, folding him onto her back, then she straightened; sending him flying over her head as she tossed his legs up.

Yezhov grabbed her by the wrists, Samus contorted her body around, her height no disadvantage as she slipped underneath his bulk. Not daring to let go, Yezhov threw his 300 pounds of body-building weight down upon her, hoping to drive her into the earth – but, impossibly, he was borne aloft. Helpless as a squirming child, the two densely corded arms shot upwards to their full extension of two more feet. Yezhov spun nine revolutions before he fell over eight feet into the morasses and was promptly stunned.

Surrounded by the last six of the trainees, Aran cajoled them to work together as a unit instead of coming at her as individuals, and though it cost them some knocks; they managed to wrestle Samus playfully to the ground. Inherently she found herself luxuriating in the feel of wet earth and icy rain water against her skin, it felt alive, bounteous: the very opposite of the dry plains of Crateria. This was a good home.

Applauding, the recruits pulled Aran to her feet and carried her on their shoulders back along the banks. By allowing them to grow and adapt, as well as displaying the fighting acumen that could one day be theirs – Samus knew that she had gained both their admiration and respect at long last.

The last week in Ontario sped by in time's quiet way. Probably because of all the partying that years recruits got up to – celebrating that one of RMC's own had been accepted into the N7s. When Shepard gave her unit the money she owed them, they all pooled it to buy her a customizable grade ten Onyx hard suit, no words were needed; since Aran knew the armour had cost them much more than two thousand credits. Eventually the celebrations began to wind down and their champion graduated from basic, heading for the Arcturus System and the military and political headquarters of the Systems Alliance.

Samus Aran looked from her star-board view port to see the gargantuan, metallic, Stanford-Torus-type space station looming high above the reflective blue gas giant of Themis. Out of hundreds of thousands of troops, only forty had been accepted into the N7 academy that year; many would not endure the elite training to come.

On the flight from Earth, the Huntress had been introduced to several of the men and women she would be working alongside. There was the quiet Jane Hatchel, bawdy Robert Thompson and nervous Martin Lowe to name a few. Yet the one who caught her attention the most was not a potential but an on-duty N3 marine who was accompanying the recruits back from Earth.

He was muscular in a lean, panther-like way, Chinese and Slavic features, with close cropped black hair and an Ouroborus tattoo on the back of his neck. He carried himself with the poise of a professional killer; to Aran's trained eye he exuded this quality in his unconscious mannerisms. The rigid stillness, as if every sinew was coiled in readiness for violence.

Since he was sitting in the fifth seated row of the shuttle, with Aran seated right next to him they had both introduced each other. His name – was Kai Leng.

Her room overlooked the halo ring of the station crowning the planet below; it housed forty five thousand people: ranging from dreadnought pilots to high-ranking Fleet Commanders. As a Corporal, Shepard was at the highest attainable rank for an enlisted soldier. Now was the time for her second career in the military to begin in earnest; as she fixed her eyes on the awesome cerulean planetoid below.

Sixty thousand light years away, the leader of the black ops organisation Cerberus sat gazing through a tinted window at a blazing red sun, the smoke of his cigarette twirling around his nigh symmetrical face. Cybernetic ocular implants served only to set off this attempt at 'classical looks' and they scanned the holo pad emitted from his sleek chair with a horrible avidness.

They were the profiles of every in service and potential N7 Marine. This 'Illusive Man' needed people of such quality for his wet-work operations. He would have to bide his time while his contacts sent out feelers for those sympathetic to a human-centric cause. In the meantime however, he looked at the one recruit who had managed to beat his record for five consecutive perfect games of skyball. She was without a doubt one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen.

"Always did have a thing for blondes," he thought to himself slyly.

Colonel Leo 'Leonidas' Jackson surveyed his troops dispassionately as he walked up and down the line of the last ten marines, the thirty others had been broken in five months and had abandoned the program; those left at Arcturus on the date of January the 20th, 2175 were the finest the Alliance had to offer.

The 6ft 5 giant of a man scoffed privately. "They'll be the best of the best when I'm finished with them." In the homogeneous culture of Earth, Jackson seemed to possess physical traits of both Inuit and Grecian ancestry, with the hard, wood-cut features of the former and the olive skin tone of the latter.

His last batch of N7s were all dressed for advanced hand-to-hand combat training in the academy's well-lit Dojo, with light navy jogging bottoms and shirts, some had wrapped their hands with cloth strips for protection.

They were comprised of six men and four women and as their drill instructor; Jackson intended to be merciless, anything less would be an insult to the reputation the N7s had accrued, even among the STG and the famed Asari Commandos they were renowned.

"Listen up, you feckless maggots!" Jackson bellowed, despite the fact that all the marines were already at ease. Some flinched at the noise, while others did not react at all. He noted which; they were the ones who could take the heat and would be suitably rewarded for their commitment and conviction.

"Now I've heard many good things about all of you, you're the best of the best according to your respective skill set in the military but any trooper who wants to earn his or her red stripes has to complete this course to my satisfaction."

The troops in question remained silent, Jackson continued:

"When I'm done with you, the Batarian SIU will look like the goddamn girl scouts!"

One of the women frowned, it was almost imperceptible, a subtle act of defiance to the Colonel's comment, always quick on the uptake Jackson was not taking any crap today.

"Servicewoman 1st Class, Aran Shepard! Got anything you want to tell us?"

Shepard stepped forward and saluted, then asked: "permission to speak freely, Colonel?"

"Granted," Jackson consented.

"Shall we cut the crap and get down to the fighting aspect of the exercise?"

Leo Jackson was momentarily gob smacked. No soldier had ever gotten away with so much as a thinly veiled insult towards him. Now this tall blonde had stolen his thunder right out from under him. It didn't help the fact that she was disarmingly good-looking, with sea blue eyes that seemed to shift in colour from dark turquoise to viridian, as if they were the bottomless pools in a corral reef.

"Corporal Shepard, the same Shepard who interned at Kingston?" Jackson queried imperiously, trying to regain his swagger in the face of her abruptness.

"The same."

"And who completed basic training, plus three advanced courses in just as many months?"

"Are we going anywhere with this, Sir? You've read my file."

Once again Jackson found himself drawn to her tangible strength but felt obliged to look away from those bold, melancholy eyes; the only similar moment in his life had been when he'd tried to out-stare a Matriarch – it just couldn't be done.

To save face Jackson spun on his heel and walked back to the centre of the Dojo mat, while Samus stepped back and stood at ease.

"If you're truly as good as everyone says, Shepard," said Jackson, about-facing and taking up a ready stance. "Then let's have a throw down."

Aran advanced till she was about two metres away from him, then settled into her own centered fighting position after checking the tightness of her wrappings and checking her hair was still done up in a low bun. The other three women giggled under their breath. Kai Leng, who was watching from a side bench shot them a filthy look.

Ready for anything, Aran adjusted her guard.

"While we're young, Shepard," reprimanded Jackson impatiently.

"Don't you have two years till retirement, Sir?" she shot back.

"Ha! If you win this fight Shepard, consider my post yours when I retire, I'll even throw in a special commendation, I did when Mr. Leng over there beat me; four years into his martial arts training."

On the surface, Jackson showed his typical bravado. On the inside however, it was another story. He had read Shepard's files and he knew her to be a consummate master of the fighting arts, instructors in basic had experienced her proficiency for unarmed combat first-hand. Not only that but her tests on reflex and strength bordered on superhuman. Most worryingly of all, was her medical report, deep scans of tissue coupled with standard interrogation training had revealed that over 60% of her skeletal structure, as well as 80% of her muscle, capillary, cartilage and epidermal fibers were micro-fractured. Meaning that a strong blow with a blunt instrument, even to a vulnerable pressure-point like the throat or groin would be unlikely to drop her; let alone cause her to feel the usual amount of pain.

Aware of all this, Jackson was still not prepared for the attack when it came. Her expressionless veneer had conveyed nothing of the attack as they stood just under a metre away – trying to glean anything from their opponent.

There were eight moves in the entire fight, six of them belonged to Aran.

Blindingly fast, Samus kicked Jackson in the knee, causing his leg to buckle, seizing his right forearm in an iron vice she swept her left elbow around and up into his solar plexus while simultaneously stamping on the instep of his foot.

Hurt badly and short of breath, Jackson managed to bring up his left arm to prevent her from turning his nose into bone shards by swinging her head back at his face. With a dull thunk his arm connected and threw her balance and proximity off, in that snap-shot in history he knew he could counter and win with a simple punch to the base of her skull.

It was not to be. Samus continued to fall forward, dragging Jackson's right arm over her shoulder, his blow passed over her neck and at the same time her calf hooked back and struck him in between the fork of his legs. Bolts of furious, gut-churning, debilitating pain shot through his body.

Contorting her entire sinuous length forward, Aran's scorpion kick / leg-lift throw launched the Colonel off his feet, over her back, to be cast down on the mat with the harsh snap of a body hitting taut crash material.

Because his left arm was crossed over his chest he was unable to break his fall, many of the recruits gasped in surprise at the quick turn of events; and Kai Leng leaned forward, captivated.

In the endorphin-drunk delirium that he was, Jackson was unable to muster any kind of defence as Shepard rapped him on the temple with her clenched fist and took him down for the count.

Awakening from his twenty second black-out was a blurry and ear-ringing experience for Jackson, not to mention the throbbing aches on his head, knee, diaphragm and balls. He knew he had been played in that encounter, he couldn't even remember being that outmatched since basic training at the age of seventeen.

A wrapped hand was offered and he allowed Aran to hoist him back up. She looked slightly concerned; as if she feared she may have given him concussion.

"Sir, focus on this point," she called as if from a distance while holding up a finger. As his vision came back into focus Jackson was able to track her digit's movements and soon a semblance of balance and normality returned to his lower trunk.

He appraised the Hunter for a moment. Then he clapped her on the shoulder and let out a hee-haw of delight.

"Ladies and gentleman, Shepard here has just passed this part of the course with flying colours! That is the level of unmatched muscle memory and subjective willpower that I want to see from all of you. To lead on and control your enemy just like this fine warrior here does!"

Shaking Aran's hand, Jackson looked ecstatic, Samus didn't know whether to thank him or to laugh out loud. So she did both as the marines, (including Kai Leng) gave her a standing ovation.

"I'm a fast learner, Colonel," she said diffidently.

"You're telling me, we can learn a lot from each other. Right now though, I'm sure you wouldn't mind helping me and Mr. Leng drill the others? There's not much I can teach you after that."

"Of course sir, I'd be honoured." Samus Aran found herself caught up with her fellows who extolled her with all honour; as well as giving her numerous requests for private tuition. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Kai Leng sharpen his 17cm Fairburn and Sykes combat knife with a whetstone, then toss it upwards, twirling through the air to land back in his palm, it caught the light as he flicked his wrist up yet again; looking intently at her. An expression of utter fascination drawn over him.