James

Through the window, the skies above Constant buzzed with furious activity, a far cry from the empty carnage just a few days before. The air pulsed with the burning of ship engines, and the ground beneath Jim's feet trembled at all the movement. The hastily rebuilt starport of Constant was the beating heart of this chaos. A thick and steady train of ships waited above it for admittance, most of them unarmed. Occasionally, one would be diverted by a militia vessel to the fields outside town. Most just waited above. Until now, Jim didn't know a vessel could be flown anxiously.

"No translator on this one either," said Declan, voice thick with frustration. He gesticulated to the smaller batarian sitting before them, whose two hands were clasped in prayer. While the batarian's inner eyes focused on Declan, his outer set of eyes remained tightly shut. "If you aren't Merchant, Soldier, or Noble, the Hegemony never saw much reason for its people to talk to aliens."

"Please, House Kirai willy pay handsomely for my family's wellbeing," said the batarian, his voice sounding oddly accented even to Jim's translator. "There are sixteen of us, enough to take care of an entire household. We are skilled laborers, and familiar with terran prefab constructs like the Morians brought us-"

"Tell him he ain't at risk of being sent back out," said Jim, wishing he could console the man directly. Declan complied, making the batarian open the rest of his eyes. "Tell him I just want to know what happened."

"I was tending the Kirai Estate's gardens on Khar'Shan," said the batarian, a small amount of foam gathering at the corner of his mouth. "My omnitool beeped, and this ghastly image of a terran appeared. It started talking about the end of the world."

"Yeah." Jim stared down at his lap. His new metal leg stared back at him. "Duran." He didn't mention Miranda … where the hell is she? Declan translated Jim's words, making Jim roll his eyes.

"He said his name was not Duran, but I never knew a Duran to begin with!" The batarian leaned forward, wrists pressed hard against the table. "He said we all had to fight, and he wanted the zerg and protoss. And I thought, well, good luck with the protoss, they sorted our civil war pretty quickly. And then there was great shadow, and the radio – I was listening to a radio, just music, you know – started saying that the Bahak System was gone, just gone … and then I looked up."

The batarian paused. Then his palms slapped together and his eyes jammed tightly shut.

"There was this ship, enormous, and it looked … alive? I never saw a ship with legs before. And I swear, it, it saw me!"

"That was a Reaper," said Declan, glancing at Jim. "We've heard this story a few times already today. How did you escape?"

The batarian bit his lip.

"The Estate was fitted with emergency escape craft – shuttles with moderate galactic reach. Since the protoss occupation, the Kirai family was concerned with being able to make a swift getaway if there were ever any reason to leave the planet in a hurry. I … I contacted my family and commandeered the first ship I could reach."

"Please." The batarian opened his eyes and reached out, resting an open hand on top of the table. "I just wanted to get us all out. We were supposed to wait … but we heard screaming. And the protoss, we saw their ships on fire, we saw the Hegemony's ships on fire. We couldn't stay. We took in six others while we waited … but we left others behind."

"Tell him we ain't gonna fault a father's judgement when his kids are on board." Declan complied. A bit of red returned to the batarian's face. "Tell him Eden Prime's got vast plains and plenty of real estate. Dunno how long he'll have to stay, just tell him it'll be for the duration."

The duration. Matt Horner had advised he use that phrase. No idea if the war will go long or go short, burn hot or cold, but best make plans for both. The duration, Jim. Try to sound reasonable.

"There are few words I can find that fully express my gratitude." The batarian bowed his head. "May your days be long, your children many, and your generosity answered in kind."

"Send him through." Jim jerked a thumb back to the door. Declan barked a short order to the smaller batarian, who practically leapt from his chair. Heavy footsteps heralded their exit. Jim took the time to stare out the window again. The dust from the UED invasion had just settled, and now the updraft from the ships was kicking it up again.

And how many are waiting in orbit? Jim frowned and stroked at his beard, a headache beginning to build behind his eyes. That's Matt's concern, not mine.

And how long would that last? Technically, processing refugees should not be a marshal's concern, either. But they were short on hands courtesy of the UED … and there was that other thing.

"Jim?" Declan's voice shook slightly from outside the room. "Need you here. Now." Jim grimaced and rose.

Part of him had initially thought that having a new leg would be just like having the old one. Put one foot in front of the other, repeat, walk out the door. But really, it was like having a huge hunk of stone dangling from what was left of his thigh, heavy and stiff. When he stood, the false knee bent half a second after his regular knee, and his foot scraped across the floor, making him grit his teeth.

Jim stood uneasily, most of his weight on his regular leg, which already ached from the overuse over the past week. He shuffled to the door, hoping Declan had a good reason for making him suffer.

Jim pushed open the door. The starport security checkpoint blasted him with noise. Batarians jostled against each other, most of them grouped together in clumps despite repeated requests for two single file lines. Terrans and asari in power armor waited at each checkpoint, flanking their smaller counterparts who looked over what little paperwork there was to be had. Most of 'em are just lucky to have the clothes on their backs…

Jim tore his eyes from the mass of anxiety stretched before him and looked to Declan. Declan grimaced and stood to the side, slightly. A shock of red hair greeted him. Jim felt an old lurch in his stomach. A bitter mix of guilt and defensiveness rose up from inside him.

"Hey, Jim." Sarah Kerrigan stared up at him, and likely through him as well. If Jim could not see her face, he might not have recognized her; she so rarely took off her ghost armor in public. Sarah wore a loose brown coat and slacks that would not have looked out of place on any of the terran refugees they had picked up in the last few days. If she wore a gun, she was hiding it well.

"Hey, Sarah." Jim felt his face redden. I don't need this today. Last I heard, she was in prison. He gestured to the door. "Yeah, we'll need to get you properly processed. Got your Spectre paperwork?"

"No. I didn't have time." Sarah shrugged. "It was revoked anyway, while they got … while they got everything sorted out. Figured you'd want a debrief." She made for the door with a stiff swiftness.

"That, and I'd like to make sure you're okay." Jim thought Sarah almost missed a step at that. Yeah, darlin', people still care about you. "Declan, I'm sure someone else is gonna need your translatin'."

"That's what the SIU is known for," said Declan glumly, slouching off back to the checkpoint. He clapped a hand on Jim's shoulder, making Jim wince as it put more weight on his false leg. "Good luck, keram."

"Yeah." Jim closed the door behind him with a smart snap. Sarah had already sat down at the close end of the table. She watched him shuffle awkwardly to the other end, something which took longer than Jim would have liked, even without her staring at him. He sat down, feeling a twinge of relief in his right leg.

"It took Saren quite a while to adjust to his new arm," said Sarah, her affect completely flat. "You weren't there for that. He would curse it daily, didn't believe he'd ever be able to channel biotics through it like the doctors said." Sarah met Jim's eyes. "But he did. Give it time, you'll forget what the old leg felt like. And you'll be able to really dent someone's shins if you feel a need for it."

"That's what Buck keeps saying," muttered Jim, casting a quick glance down at his leg. It didn't shake when he was bored. It didn't feel warm. It didn't tense up after a long day. It was just a slab of metal, strapped to a ragged stump…

"You don't believe me. But you will." Sarah's cheek twitched, her lips dancing between a small and very forced smile, and a hard line. "I hope you'll believe the rest. I came here from the Citadel."

"Right." Jim rested his forearms on the table, leaned forward a bit more than he would have before the amputation, feeling the weight on his shoulders. "You were still in lock up?"

"Yeah." Sarah couldn't quite meet his eyes for a moment. "I … I deserved to be in there, with the Nerazim watching me. Then the attack hit, and they left right away. The protoss – I mean, they're sanctimonious, but the minute people were in danger, they left me where I was to defend the Citadel and its people."

"Sounds like them." Jim waited for Sarah to continue.

"Couldn't escape. Protoss left some kind of nullifier. I heard a lot of gunfire … but worse was what I could feel. Something coming. Something … hungry. I might not have been able to read anyone's minds while I was in prison, but I could still sense general emotions. But this was just … empty."

"Duran." Jim waited for the nod from Sarah. He got it.

"Saren got inside before they did. Cornered himself in the process, but he turned off the device and opened the cell. Made for the closest docking bay and got on one of the last shuttles leaving." Sarah folded her arms across her chest, making her look smaller than Jim could ever remember.

"It was odd. There was enemy presence all around the hangar, but they didn't shoot a single civilian ship down. Once we were clear, the Citadel vanished. Mass recall, I guess. The enemy fleet left with it."

"What did you see?" asked Jim, leaning forward a little further. "Was Duran telling the truth? Hanar? And … hybrid?"

"Hanar, drell, and some kind of protoss." Sarah closed her eyes, thinking. "It's … hard to define, but minds feel different. Khalai all have this same ball of fire to them, and this mass of echoes. The racial gestalt I guess. They're loud. Nerazim are all different, but … quiet. Smooth. There's a certain stillness to them that I only feel in … I don't know. Asari matriarchs and the like." Sarah bit her lip. There was a certain redness to her eyes. Jim didn't think she'd been crying … it was just exhaustion.

"Those new protoss … Tal'Darim? They felt … spiky. I read their minds and they would know I was reading their minds and they would just latch on, like a sticky burr. You know what those are?"

"Seeds," said Jim, remembering pulling them off his socks way back when as a kid, wincing as they latched on to his thumb and drew blood. "Hook on to you. Pain in the ass."

"Yeah. They'd hook on, and it'd hurt, and prying yourself away hurt, and I could tell they … enjoyed it. There was just this visceral satisfaction to what they were doing. Nerazim are calm and collected, even when fighting, most of the time. Khalai, you know what they're like. This was something else. Haven't felt anything like it since the zerg, where reaching out made them sit up and notice you. And drool."

"They don't sound like good guys," said Jim, heart sinking. "Wish I could get ahold of, I don't know, Zeratul, ask 'em about these things. Probably have some legend about 'em and the end times. Protoss tend to have legends about these kinds of things." Jim drummed his fingers on the table. "And the hanar?"

Sarah rubbed her eyes, sighing. "They were ecstatic, Jim. I've never seen anything like it. Never had a good read on those guys, but they were rapturous. This was what they've been waiting for, all these years. I could sense vindication and triumph-"

"How exactly were they fighting?" asked Jim patiently, knowing that with a ghost, and Sarah especially, the weapons were sometimes an afterthought, since they were so easily swept aside.

"Aquatic exosuits with separately-linked mounted weaponry. Four guns. Heavy barriers. They weren't sending the drell to do all the fighting for them, Jim. I saw them on the battlefield engaging four different targets at once while … singing. Loudly."

"Glad to hear they ain't given up on being weird, even with times being what they are." Jim leaned back, folding his own arms and looking down at Sarah. "Hybrids?"

"I didn't see any of those." Sarah shrugged. "But I felt them. Hungry. Yearning. Silent. If Duran has dredged up some ancient weapon to fight Reapers, well, they're beyond my comprehension. I did get a sense of age, though. But most of it was drowned out by the Tal'Darim. And battle poetry."

"And you?" asked Jim, cocking an eyebrow. It took Sarah a second to realize what he meant.

"I'm … fine. I'm okay." Sarah didn't quite meet his eyes as she said this. "I mean … I've been having trouble sleeping. And I'm worried about, um, everything. But I'm fine."

"And what happened with Garrus was an accident?" asked Jim, as gently as he could manage. Cameras are watching, darlin'. I am a marshal. Sarah looked up, red in the face.

"I would never have hurt him, Jim. Not on purpose."

"Right." Jim nodded, feeling various parts of him twinge at that. "Just … making sure. I imagine the Council's gonna want us to turn you over at some point, assumin' the bigger problems end up dealt with." Jim smiled. "And they will, right? We've survived worse than this." …right?

"The mother of all wars is upon us, Jim." Sarah opened her mouth to say something else, but instead paused, tensed, and stood up, her chair almost falling over. "Just felt a huge surge of fear from your comsat station. Battlecruisers in high orbit. Unknown signature."

"Battlecruisers?" Jim lifted his arm and began tapping his omnitool. With a few deft key presses he keyed into Matt's frequency.

"Matt?"

"Battlecruisers!" said Matt, breathless, a hurricane of voices raging in the background. "Unknown signature!"

"Yeah, I got that," said Jim, chuckling. "Got an old friend with me, who I imagine would like to see you." He gave Sarah a small thumbs up. It was not returned. "Well, only so many people it could be, Matt. UED don't seem likely, and Dominion got no reason to come this way. Protectorate or Combine?"

Jim heard Matt's breathing, but got no response. He glanced at Sarah, whose face remained red.

"Cerberus," she said, and the pieces clicked into place.

"Matt," said Jim, the resignation already creeping in, "it's Cerberus. I think they finally come for me." First they send Tychus, now they send … hell, maybe the Magistrate himself?

"Cerberus?" Matt sounded doubtful. The voices behind him subsided. "Should we expect trouble? We're still on good terms with Harper, right?"

"Last I checked." Jim rose from his seat, leg still aching, and motioned for Sarah to follow. They're gonna wanna know she's here. "Nah, they're gonna give us the old spiel, Matt. Plenty of vets to recruit here on Eden Prime, folks from the Great War what Harper thinks owe him. You and me, Buck, Jenny … most of the Raiders, really." Shame we're down Norad II. Can't do too much without a damn flagship. Still, it made the corners of Jim's mouth twitch. Try and pull me in again? Too old, this time. Too broken down. Raiders found a home…

"We both know you're not going to sit this out, Jim," said Sarah from behind him, her last word diluted as Jim opened the door and the background noise of countless confused batarians filled the room.

"I only got so many legs left to give, darlin'," replied Jim, trying to sound light-hearted. "Yeah, there's a galaxy full of fight out there right now, but I got plenty of ways of makin' my mark. Cerberus is one of the…" Jim searched for the right word. "…uh, intense, ways of making the galaxy a better place." He stared out over the huddled masses before him. Eden Prime residents to be. "This place needs a marshal."

"And the galaxy doesn't?"

They shouldered their way through the presses of people, Sarah looking almost innocuous next to Jim, with the beard and the metal leg. The batarians certainly did not look at Sarah with anywhere near the same level of anxiety. They'll learn.

Workers crowded the short tube to the control tower, most of them glued to their omnitools as they half-ran to the runway, prepping for the next landing. Farther down the hallway, the sounds of barely comprehensible control-tower speak rattled down the metal corridor. Christ, that's a job I'm happy not to have.

"I don't understand it either, Jim," said Sarah, wincing as he looked at her. "It's … it's actually giving me a headache."

"Matt!" bellowed Jim as he strode in, only to get several dirty looks from men and women wearing headsets. "Eh, sorry. Matt. Matt."

From the second level of the tower, up a short metal staircase, a single hand waved them over. Jim followed it, mouthing apologies at the air control personnel. None of them paid him any more mind, however. Sarah followed close behind him. …forgot what she smelled like.

"Jim," said Matt as he approached, one arm still in a sling. His eyes were glued to the console, and he did not turn as Jim stood next to him, Sarah almost hiding behind him. "Nine battlecruisers, high orbit. They're not budging. Refugee vessels are in a bit of a panic. I'm trying to patch us in…" Matt adjusted his headset with his one good hand before finally looking behind him. His eyes glanced over Sarah briefly before going back to Jim. Then they snapped back to the ghost.

"Oh." For a moment, Matt just furrowed his brow, a small trickle of sweat materializing on his forehead. Then he removed his headset, stood, and extended his hand.

"Sarah. Good to see you escaped the Citadel, ma'am."

"Matt." Sarah took his hand. "How's the wife?" Jim looked away, biting his lip. Matt coughed once.

"We don't talk about the wife, Lieutenant. Do I want to know how you heard about that?"

"Spectres have ways." She released her grip. "Your arm … you're lucky to have gotten away with just that. You should know better than to ram other ships, Captain."

"Admiral, now. And I was having a bad day. It was crash to the ground and maybe take the UED with me, or just … crash." Matt shot a questioning look at Jim, who raised his hands in supplication. No, I didn't know she was coming. Yeah, it might make things more complicated.

"Anyway – Cerberus." Matt pointed to the console, which flashed. "Um, looks like they want a word." He looked back to Jim. "How do we want to play this, Jim? They're scaring innocent people, and I'm sure they have better places to be than here."

"We'll play it like we always play it, Matt." Jim folded his arms. "Fast and loose. They help us, we help them, so long as they stay on the level. But yeah, let's figure out what the hell they want and how we can get them to leave." Where the hell's Miranda, Harper, if you're up there? Jim felt a chill as static rose from the console, the viewscreen flickering into life. Nine battlecruisers. They're gonna bring war with them … Jim felt a squeeze at his shoulder, light but reassuring. Sarah's hand. He didn't know how to react, so he didn't.

"…CSV Undertaker to Constant control tower, come in, Constant." A helmsman, his cap a mixture of black and white, the gold symbol of Cerberus at its center. "Ah, Constant, we have a visual, this is Confederate Service Vessel Undertaker. How copy, over?"

"This is Admiral Matt Horner of the Independent Terran Systems Alliance," replied Matt, injecting an impressive amount of authority into his voice. I always forget he can play the hardass when he wants to. "Confederate Service Vessel? Spare me the games, Undertaker, we know you're with Cerberus. I want to know what the hell you're doing here, and why you feel it is necessary to harass innocent civilian vessels."

"Confederate Service Vessel is still this ship's official service designation, Admiral," replied the helmsman. Jim caught something unsettling in his eyes. That ain't anxiety. It's fear. "We have established our current orbit because we desperately need to resupply and repair our vessels. CSV Jokulhaup and CSV Monsoon are badly damaged, and the rest of our battle fleet is little better. This is the only terran port of harbor this side of Relay 118."

"They're runnin'." Jim shut his eyes and gritted his teeth. How long do we have before the enemy gets here, then?

"Is that … Jim Raynor?" The helmsman craned his neck, trying to somehow look around his side of the screen. "Uh, General?"

"Yes, yes, get out of the way." The helmsman vacated his seat with impressive speed while a figure all in white replaced him, his black shoulder pads ridged with gold. A face with an impeccable black goatee stared back at them. Ah. Right. Back from the Terminus.

"General Petrovsky," said Matt, inclining his head. "An unexpected … uh, it's just unexpected."

"Mr. Raynor," said Oleg, paying Matt no mind, "if you would kindly join the good admiral on the viewscreen, I would like to speak to you both." Matt glanced helplessly back at Jim, who felt something bump against his leg. Jim looked up to see half the control tower staring at him, and a rolling chair resting neatly against his thigh. The air traffic controllers all gave him an expectant look.

"Ya'll need to learn some privacy," grumbled Jim, planting himself on the chair and scooting where Oleg could see him. "Good to see you in on piece, General."

"A very mutual feeling." Oleg finally gave Matt a searching look. "Admiral, now? Given your talent, I knew it was always an inevitability. Still, I had hoped you would find yourself at the head of a larger fleet than the Alliance's."

"I go where I am needed most, General."

"As a good soldier should." Oleg looked back to Jim. "I had hoped you got Mr. Findlay's message, Mr. Raynor. Cerberus needs the best, and I can think of few better. You are truly committed to retirement? Even with the galaxy on fire?"

Jim raised an eyebrow. "If you're screwing up that refugee traffic just 'cause you're here to offer me a job, General, we're gonna have more than words."

Oleg snorted. "You heard the helmsman. He did not lie. We ran afoul of a Reaper in the Traverse. I'm sorry to say we got the worst of it." Jim heard several gasps from behind him. Yep. We're one step closer to the war already. It ain't just civilians getting savaged. Nine battlecruisers got the worst of it?

"What happened?" asked Matt, leaning forward, his cast brushing against the edge of the desk.

"Why, I would be delighted to tell you, Admiral," replied Oleg, his voice suddenly dripping with acid sarcasm, "especially since, given the aforementioned Reaper, the ships and the men aboard these ships are both in perfect condition for a prolonged chat. Or, perhaps you might permit us to make an emergency landing outside the city, and we can continue our conversation in person?" He cleared his throat. "And … I will need that starport, I'm afraid. You'll understand when it lands."

Jim and Matt looked at each other. They glanced back at Sarah.

"He isn't lying," said Sarah. "He's on a time limit." A sharp breath came from the monitor.

"Now, is that…?" Oleg smiled, and it was not an altogether happy smile. "Ah. It's going to be quite a little reunion, isn't it? It is a delight to see you alive, Miss Kerrigan."

"Thank you." Sarah turned to Jim. "Their ships are damaged. You should … I mean, my recommendation would be to let them land."

"Good enough for me," said Jim. That left Matt, the only one of them with any actual authority. Naturally, he did what they said.

"I'll get this set up, Jim," said Matt, placing his headset back atop his head. "You head on out. I'm thinking the fairgrounds for an LZ…"

"Splendid." Oleg clapped his hands together. "Miss Kerrigan, I will be delighted if you could join us. And Jim, if any of the old Raiders are still knocking around-"

"They do little else these days." Jim gave him a weary thumbs up. "I'll see if I can find Jack, too." Assumin' she's still on the planet. She's been sayin' any day now she'll run off.

"So, she survived the UED as well?" Oleg looked pleased. "I don't suppose Xeltan and Mr. Findlay…?"

"Xeltan did," snapped Jim. Tychus … did something stupid. "I'll grab him, too. Come on, Sarah."

"One other thing." Jim paused as Oleg took in a deep breath. "The good doctors: Mordin Solus and Ganar Okeer. I need them. Bring whoever else you want, but I need those two, understand? It's of considerable importance."

"Right," said Jim, hoping this was on the up and up. He didn't hear a squeak out of Sarah, so he guessed it was. "If they're okay with it, I'll grab 'em."

Jim left the control tower a good deal more silent than when he had entered it. The only voice he could hear was Matt's. The tube, at least, was a bit more lively.

"Battlecruisers?" asked one woman in a reflective landing jacket, incredulous. "We're landing damaged battlecruisers, now?"

"Not if we don't hustle, Maggie," replied the woman next to her, nudging her with an elbow. "C'mon. Don't need more goddamn 'cruisers crashing into Constant."

"Listen to her," said Jim as he walked by, "she's a wise woman." Somewhere close by, he knew, the remnants of Norad II still moldered and smoked. Damn shame. She was a good ship.

"Are you going to hear him out honestly, Jim?" asked Sarah, keeping pace with him this time.

"You can read my mind, darlin'. You tell me."

"Your head says "no," Jim, but you don't have the full picture yet." Sarah chewed her lip as they strode out on to the tarmac out side the starport. "Jim … if you do stay – would I have a place here?"

"Yeah, darlin'." Ironically, the answer came without Jim thinking about it. "I mean … we don't have any mind readers that I know of in the whole of the Alliance. And, well, if the Reapers do come here…"

"Right," said Sarah dully. "I'm useful."

"Everyone we keep here is useful in some way, Sarah." Jim found his ground car where he left it. The layer of ash and dust on the windshield was blessedly less pronounced today. Air has to be cleaning up by now. "You're a refugee, now. Gotta earn a keep." He opened the passenger door for her and spread an open hand before it. Sarah stepped inside without much enthusiasm.

Driving with the new foot felt like trying to operate the pedals with a pool cue tied to his leg instead of an actual foot. Still, leastways it ain't as embarassin' as trying to ride a vulture with it.

The car ride went in silence, not helped by the still eerily empty streets of Constant. Two invasions, and the city don't look better for it. Some buildings still smoldered. Some lay in ruins, toppled by an errant tank shell or far too much gauss rifle fire. A few, and this was what always sent a chill down Jim's spine, were completely untouched, standing pristine in a neighborhood of scorched earth. Never understood how that happened.

Most people who "lived" in the city now actually lived in prefabs outside its boundaries, as the city was barely suitable for habitation. Buck, sensing an opportunity, had claimed the closest tavern as his temporary home.

"And that's why we're stoppin' here, darlin'," said Jim, giving her a meaningful look as they pulled up in front of the wooden sign, swinging on a rusty chain, that said Joeyray's Bar.

"Joeyray's still alive?" asked Sarah, looking impressed.

"I'm plum convinced the man can't die," said Jim, stepping out of the car and bringing his shoulder backs with a click. A tired looking dog lifted its head from the dusty porch and glanced at him. Then it put its head back down. Hell. Feels like old Mar Sara out here, sometimes. Good deal greener, though.

The door was open, as expected. Amidst the numerous bar stools, a handful of sleeping bags were inexpertly rolled up in a corner littered with empty packets of snacks. Buck looked up from his pool cue from where he was standing, crouched over the table.

"Well, hey Jim! And who's this fine – oh, shit." Buck hastily stood up and removed his cap, placing it against his chest. "Hi, Miss Kerrigan. Thought you were Miranda. Or someone. I dunno."

"Hey Buck," said Sarah through gritted teeth. Buck became even paler, while Jim felt the heat creep up his neck.

"All kinds comin' to Mar Sara as refugees, Buck," said Jim, hoping that was a good enough explanation. "Includin' Cerberus. They want some of the old Raiders to meet up with them for a chat. Think you can rouse Jenny, Trome, and Swann to meet us at the fairgrounds?"

"Sure as I can make this pocket, Jim!" said Buck shrilly, crouching over the pool table. The pool ball jerked forward clumsily, knocked against the orange ball Buck was aiming at, sending it spinning well away from any pocket while the eight ball fell neatly into the corner. Buck stared in muted horror at the pool table.

"Well, I'll try harder, with Jenny and the others."

"Right," said Jim, turning away. "Fairgrounds, Buck. We should see some battlecruisers overhead shortly."

The drive to the alien refugee camp went in a decidedly frostier fashion than the rest of the journey.

"So. Miranda." Sarah looked at Jim, her expression calculating. "I only met her briefly. Old Family, right?"

"Yeah." Jim's fingers rapped against the steering wheel. He swore he felt his metal leg throb, somehow. "Old man Lawson was a right bastard, though. They don't share much in common. She's seen her fair share of hardship."

"Oh, I'm sure." Sarah didn't sound cold. Just distant. "Nova was Old Family too, you know."

"Really?" Well, Miranda and Nova certainly shared a certain … self-assurance. And coldness, when need be.

"You have the longest way to fall, when you're at the top. Arcturus showed the Old Families that." Sarah sighed. "And then he fell, himself. One of the most powerful men alive, toppled for his crimes."

A son cryin' out for his daddy. Mengsk fell in the dust while the Earthers cheered me on … that was supposed to be a happy day.

"Felt bad about that. Not that it happened, just how." Jim's hands tightened on the wheel. "Miranda said if I felt bad, shoulda stepped aside and let her pull the trigger." How long of a line was stretching behind me? How many ghosts? Jim shook his head. "Lot of people hated him. Killin' a few billion will do that."

"Killing just one will do that," said Sarah, bitterly. She looked up to Jim, full of pain. "You know. If it's done the wrong way."

"Yeah," said Jim softly. "I know."

The alien refugee camp possessed impressive fortifications for a temporary holding area. For good reason. The bulk of the inhabitants were not the freshly-arrived batarians, bound for the fields of Eden Prime, but rather those that fled Tuchanka. Behind the double-reinforced bunkers, gun barrels poking out from all sides, were medical facilities crewed by the best Eden Prime could still offer … and the two alien doctors, each inscrutable in their own way.

An asari security guard manned the booth. She took one look at the two of them only to do a double take. Jim rolled his eyes and then rolled down the window.

"Yeah, I can see a got a ghost next to me, Melira!" said Jim as the asari began babbling about security precautions. "Melira, she's a goddamn Council Spectre – yeah, I heard about the poor turian, it was an accident. Melira … Melira, just open the goddamn gate, I got Cerberus waitin' on me."

With much muttering and casting of venomous looks, the asari raised the heavy steel gate. A smell of sanitization greeted them. Gaunt salarians, turians, and batarians watched their car roll in, some of them calling out when they heard who it was. A few vorcha even poked their heads up from out of the soil.

"Gavorn!" Jim called out as he emerged from the vehicle. The turian, broad-shouldered and strong-looking, even given the circumstances, emerged from the crowd. "I need the doctors. Everything okay here?"

"No new deaths," replied Gavorn, mandibles twitching with a smile. "It seems the worst is over, Mr. Raynor. Once again, on behalf of the all the people here, I thank you for your refuge. The doctors are in the science facility." The turian pointed to the globed building. Jim nodded.

"Glad to hear it, man. If there's anything else you need, just let me know while I'm here."

Sarah kept pace with Jim again, her nose wrinkled even given the lack of smell. Jim was about to say something, only to see her eyes watering.

"Oh my God," said Sarah, sounding nauseated. A hand crept to her stomach. "I can feel it … what they went through. How can … how can anyone survive that?"

"Ask 'em. Any of 'em would be happy to tell you just how people survive it." Jim breathed in through his nose. "Or don't." Funny. Sun is shinin', wind ain't blowin', and I still feel cold all of a sudden.

"The Directorate … I had no idea." Sarah looked up at the skies, as if searching for something. "The Koprulu Sector … what have they done to it? Do you know? Have you been?"

"Not since the initial occupation," said Jim, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. Tychus said something about churches being used as dumpin' grounds for bodies. …what the hell did I turn a blind eye to?

A secretary pointed them to an elevator once they told them who they were looking for. The building felt remarkably empty – few enough scientists in the ITSA, most research was done by Umojans. No one stopped them during their ascent on the elevator. Sarah spent most of the ride periodically wiping her eyes.

"Why?" she asked under her breath. Jim had no answer. The doors slid open.

They made an odd pair, the alien doctors. Ganar Okeer stood larger than any krogan Jim had yet to meet, his lab coat looking comically overstretched on his frame. Yet when he glanced up at Jim, he got the same feeling from when the protoss would look at him; like something unfathomably intelligent were peering at him from a microscope. Mordin Solus, on the other hand, looked right at home in his own white lab uniform, and the impression Jim got from his demeanor was one of rabid curiosity.

"Raynor! And … Kerrigan. Unexpected." Mordin looked up from his own microscope before hurrying over. "Timing impeccable. Discussing next move with Okeer. Concurred should stay together. May be close to breakthrough on UED nanites."

"Close may be overstating it, doctor." Ganar moved with the speed and surety of a glacier, and Jim had to take a step back as the krogan made his way over to them. "I had only part of the puzzle on Tuchanka. Assuming Wrex has not executed the lot of them, I would need the rest of the science team, your protégé especially, to validate some of my hypotheses. To act without them would be reckless."

"You still want to cure the krogan?" asked Sarah, wiping her eyes again. "After seeing that?"

"Telepath. Experiencing the camp?" Mordin breathed in. "Wish could understand your experience. Krogan already cured. Would prefer to render safe, remove exploitation that killed Urdnot Grunt and several others."

"Whatever my problems with my people, they do not deserve extinction." Ganar leered at Sarah, who did not back down. "To cure the krogan is an admirable objective, even if the methods the UED are used were barbaric. On a more pragmatic level, I would hate to see all of that suffering lead to nothing but another false cure."

"Yes, yes, must still exercise caution." Mordin gave a wave of his hand. "Must get back to Tuchanka. Finish what was started. Purge remaining UED presence, save science team. Curious as to current status of UED occupants. Hard to imagine Wrex letting them live, in light of surrender."

"Right," said Jim, trying to cut through the salarian's thoughts. "Well, I think there's someone here to discuss all that … stuff, with you guys. General Petrovsky, Cerberus. He'll be touching down in the fairgrounds."

"Oh, Cerberus." Ganar chuckled. "Such joy. I was so very entertained by my imprisonment in the Norad II. I look forward to expressing my entertainment to this general."

"That was Raiders, Doctor," said Jim sharply. "My call. Not Cerberus's."

"Cerberus," breathed Mordin, looking excited. "Only limited contact. Understood Raiders contracted by group, not official part. Sometimes on par with STG, most times not. Curious as to current allegiance. Worked for Confederacy, betrayed Confederacy. Worked for Sons of Korhal, betrayed Sons of Korhal. Worked for Combine, Combine dissolved. Worked for UED-"

"Yeah, we get it," said Jim. "I don't know what their angle is, neither. I think they're friendly, though. At the least, they ain't helpin' Reapers. Said they got shot up by one."

"Hmm. Must remember to take notes." Mordin motioned to Okeer. "Come, Doctor. Expertise needed elsewhere. Blood samples will keep."

Okeer grunted but did not object. Jim nevertheless felt the urge to leave the two of them where they were.

"Always liked Mordin," said Jim as they left. "Patched me up after Thessia and the Collector base. Felt safer in his hands than most doctor's." Jim glanced at his leg. "Shame he weren't in no shape to get this thing fitted on. Swear it doesn't feel right…"

"If the people down below knew what he was working on, they'd hang him, hero or no," said Sarah bluntly. Jim stopped in place and turned to her. "Krogan let that happen, Jim. Maybe some of them didn't have a choice, but they were complicit."

"You gonna start tallyin' up grievances, darlin'?"

"I don't know. I don't know where to stand on this." Sarah's hands clenched. "But what happened was wrong."

The elevator ride back down was just as quiet as the one up. The aliens watched them approach the ground car with smiles, some of them waving. To Jim's surprise, a vorcha actually hunched his way over to the car, head bowed.

"Bright lady," he said to Sarah, not looking up. "Can remember Overmind's thoughts about bright lady. Would have made fine queen."

"Excuse me?" Sarah gaped at the vorcha, who smiled, his teeth glinting in the bright sun.

"Bright like star. Like Queen of Ruins. Can feel her, can't you? Unchained at long last. Soon, must leave Eden Prime for final pilgrimage. For War in Heaven." Behind the vorcha, others of his kind murmured in agreement. "Can no longer change bright lady. Still, must pay respects."

"What the hell are you talking about?" asked Sarah. Jim realized with a lurch that the question meant she could not read the vorcha's mind.

"Overmind missed you on Tarsonis. But found another." The vorcha bowed deeply. "Just know we will meet on the battlefield, bright lady, our true queen at our backs. So says Grazok the Brutal, from his throne on Heshtok. Soon the throne will go empty." With that, the vorcha returned to his fellows.

"Zerg," said Sarah, watching them leave. "I'm not sure how much vorcha is left in them. But I can say for sure that there's a whole lot of zerg."

"Queen of Ruins," said Jim, scratching his chin. "Well. Ain't that a catchy name. Ring a bell?"

"I'm guessing it's that asari. The one the Umojans claimed to have killed. The one that almost killed Nova." Sarah kept watching the vorcha, who began to spread out, some of them digging into the loose soil and vanishing. "God, Jim … I remember the zerg nipping at my heels in Tarsonis. Is that what was waiting for me? What that asari became?"

"Best not to think about it."

Having said that, Jim had no doubt that was what Sarah was thinking about for the remainder of the ride. Jim didn't really know what to say; he ended up welcoming the sudden hellish roar as the first battlecruiser soared overhead, belching smoke.

"Cerberus ain't in the best of shape," remarked Jim, as the second flew by, also spewing a copious amount of inky smoke. "Nothing a few SCVs can't fix." Please, God, don't let any of them crash into the city.

"Who are we picking up now?" asked Sarah in a monotone. Jim glanced over at her. Her head rested in her hand, and she was looking out the window, not really paying attention. Bright lady. Overmind. That damn brain wanted her?

"Jack, if we can find her." Jim drummed his fingers on the wheel. "Powerful telekinetic. Don't believe you ever properly met. Can't read minds for some reason. Some Kel-Morian Combine fuckery."

"They always did lag on the psi-ops front." Sarah did not sound interested. "Any idea where she'd be."

"Same place she always says she won't be," said Jim, feeling his insides go a little hollow.

In the center of Constant, there was a small square patch of earth. Before the UED had come, it used to be buried beneath the concrete same as everything else, but the battle tore away the technology to reveal the nature beneath. On that spot they had found fourteen shell casings, a charred piece of the Norad II that must have been flung some distance, and the broken body of Tychus Findlay.

It seemed like a good place to bury him. Seemed like the earth itself had opened to make way for his rest.

Each day Jack would visit the spot and stew sometimes in silence, and sometimes in barely constrained rage. And then, every day, she would let Jim know that this was the last time she would visit, and she would leave Eden Prime tomorrow. This included yesterday.

They found her sitting atop the golden head of Arcturus Mengsk she had set before the simple headstone, staring with bloodshot eyes at the small grave.

Tychus Findlay

2464-2507

Lived as a criminal, did not die as one

Hell … this was too early

"Hey, Jack." Jack did not look up as Jim approached. Hell. I can take a moment. He looked at the headstone and closed his eyes. You said you always knew you'd die doing something stupid. Man, there was nothing stupid about what you did. Wish I could have charged right along with you. Jim felt his false leg twinge with phantom pain. His teeth gritted, but not from any physical pain. Lost a lot of buddies. Wish I could say it didn't get easier. But it does. God help me, I feel a little less pain each time.

"Who was he?" Jim turned to answer, but Sarah wasn't asking him. She crouched next to Jack, who still paid them no mind.

"A stupid fucker who died," spat Jack. "Same as all the others. A criminal. Worthless. Weak. If he was strong or smart he would have lived."

"Right." Sarah nodded. "And those were his redeeming qualities?"

"Redeeming…?" Jack stared at Sarah, and Jim felt the sudden urge to step back. "He wouldn't have known redeeming qualities if they shoved a stimpack up his ass. Every decision he made in his life was the wrong one, except befriending that moron over there who busted his ass out of prison." Jack's fingers twitched. Pebbles on the ground twitched and danced over the dust.

"So why are you sitting here?"

Jack snarled and stared at the headstone as if wishing it to burst into flames. Another battlecruiser roared overhead, this one mercifully free of smoke. Jim didn't even watch it go. He didn't dare take his eyes off Jack.

"I'm here because where else would I be?" Jack asked, fists balling. "Everything's shit. You, me, the galaxy, but especially him." Jack's voice broke at the last part. "He … suited me. I mean, I thought he did. I thought he didn't give a fuck. Then he goes and kills himself for no reason."

Sarah nodded but didn't say anything. For a long time, the only thing Jim could hear was birdsong. Then another battlecruiser burst through the clouds and reminded him what he came here for.

"Jack," said Jim, "Cerberus is here. They're recruitin' people for the fight. If you, uh, if you do want to leave and get into this…"

"Fuck that." Jack's voice was as flat as the headstone. "Sure as fuck not gonna stick around here, but I don't want shit to do with Cerberus. Go tell that Magistrate fuckboy of yours that he can cram his Phantom Initiative up his-"

"I got it, thanks." Jim looked at Sarah and jerked his head.

"It wasn't your fault," said Sarah, rising. Jack tensed up … and then something went out of her, and her head went to her hands. Her body convulsed as she sucked in a deep breath. If Jim hadn't seen the girl fold a siege tank in half with her mind, he might have felt bad enough to stay and try to help.

"Don't know how you knew what to say," began Jim as they went back to the car, but Sarah only shook her head.

"I didn't. I just told what I wished I could tell myself about…" Sarah shut her eyes for a moment, and then shook her head. "It … it was just a lucky guess."

"You must be the luckiest woman alive, then," said Jim as he started up the car. He couldn't fathom why, but he suddenly felt a very intense urge to drink.

The fairgrounds had not seen much use since their inception. Being built just two months before the first of two serious invasions had that effect. Jim had missed the first and only actual fair of Constant and felt somewhat fortunate for that fact. It would be eerie, to stand among the deserted buildings and remember when they were decked with red and gold. To him, the place always looked empty.

They weren't empty anymore. SCVs rolled back and forth between the parked battlecruisers, a few of them already chewing away at the hulls of the ones with the worst damage. Personnel of all stripes marched from the loading ramps and staggered into the dust with a haunted look in their eyes, almost disbelieving at the greenness of their surroundings.

A small circle of them gathered around a familiar tall figure. Trome read aloud from a small and leatherbound black book, the words rhythmic and comforting. Seen that book a lot lately. Trome had carried it into the alien refugee camp. The turians in particular really seemed to appreciate it.

Jenny, Swann, and Buck watched the proceedings from outside the circle. The doctors stood a little further out, conversing amongst themselves. Jim approached the steadily gathering crowd, feeling his real leg grow heavier and heavier. Long day. Weird day.

"…with the predictability and power of the tides, the slow but inexorable rotation of planets, the tilting of the galaxy, so too do our lives follow patterns both predetermined and chosen by our own accord…"

"Hey, cowboy." Swann gave Jim a genuine and toothy grin before doing a double take. "Whoa! Miss Kerrigan! Buck said you were here, but uh, still somehow wasn't expectin' ya. Whoa, don't think I've ever seen you in civvies."

"Hey, Rory."

"Hey, Sarah." Jenny spat a wad of tobacco on the ground before stepping towards the smaller woman. To the surprise of practically everyone present, she reached out and drew the ghost into a bone cracking hug. "Knew you were too much of a bad bitch to die. You ready to kick some ass?"

Sarah brushed herself off as Jenny drew back, some color returning to her face.

"Yeah," she said, nodding, slowly at first, then with more energy. "You know what, I think I am."

"…and yea, they did grow plentiful crops as their understanding of the seasons grew, and yea, they did predict the ebb of the storms and quakes, and yea, they did grow strong from their hardships…"

Another tall figure stepped from the crowd towards Jim. He cast one incredulous look at the figure of Trome, who had put away his book and shut his eyes, but droned on regardless.

"Cyclism," said General Oleg incredulously, his white uniform looking far less immaculate in person. He extended a hand to Jim, who shook it with only a little enthusiasm. "I had forgotten you had that old Alpha Squadron preacher with you. I will give him this, he can draw a crowd when he needs to."

"…and remember that, in all things, there is a pattern, and that there is nothing that should not be, for one day it must." Trome opened his eyes and furrowed his brow at the crowd gathered before him. Huh. Guess he didn't think he'd get that many. "Hrm. I hope this was helpful. In times of need, I find these words comforting." He looked over to Jim, who motioned him over.

"I must thank you, Mr. Raynor, as well as your admiral, for this succor." Oleg pressed his palms together and inclined his head.

"Uh, he ain't my admiral, and I don't know what succor means but never say it again," said Jim. Jenny guffawed while Oleg frowned, but he smiled pretty soon after.

"And I see the doctors are here. Good." Mordin and Ganar Okeer stared blankly at the general. "Very well. Mr. Raynor, if you would kindly follow me into CSV Undertaker, we might discuss this away from…" Oleg paused, "…well, to be blunt, rather large crowd of servicemen, most of whom, I must note, have better things to do?" The general gave a rather pointed look to the closest NCO, a grizzled master sergeant who jumped at his words.

"We ain't got time for this god botherer, people! Fourth level repairs, on the double! And see if we can't get some more of these damn Alliance SCVs for CSV Cleopatra, her starboard engine's about to fall off!"

"God botherer," muttered Trome. "Where, exactly, in those passages did I mention God?"

"You implied him, Dan," said Buck, eyebrows wriggling. "They knows when they're being preached to about shit."

"It's possible to have faith without relying on some omnipotent but consistently inactive deity!" snapped Trome. "God botherer … do you know what I did to Alpha Squadron cadets who called me that?"

"Carefully explain the differences in secular and nonsecular Cyclism?"

"I-" Trome paused. Buck grinned at him toothily. "Yes, actually. Exactly that. They never called me God botherer after that, I assure you." He leaned over to Jim. "I suspect I have told this story before."

CSV Undertaker did not look any larger than the other battlecruisers, but Jim recognized the extra plating when he saw it. Compared to the dull gray steel of the other Cerberus ships, Undertaker stood out with its jet black finish and sleeker profile. Never seen it in action. But I can imagine it. The UED might have taken pride in its Normandy's stealth capabilities, but in some respects the Confederacy was still way ahead of them. Of course, the 'cruiser could not manage a full spectrum cloak like the frigate could, but still.

The interior of the ship matched the sinister exterior. Compared to the gaudy likes of Norad II and Hyperion, this Confederate vessel featured little décor. The walls did not record the lengthy accomplishments or notable prior servicemen of the vessel, but instead only offered directions. Jim could only wonder what the actual recreational facilities of the vessel looked like.

"It takes a certain kind of individual to join Cerberus," said Oleg, as if reading their minds, "and it takes a very certain kind of individual to serve in this ship. An excess of clutter disrupts the cloak. We did not choose to cultivate this…" he waved his hand, searching for the word. "…grimness."

"Knowledge of terran psychology suggests majority of species would go insane living on vessel within only single week," remarked Mordin, head jerking back and forth to take everything in. "Best fix … recruit individuals already insane?"

"Yes, precisely," retorted Oleg. Jim wasn't sure if Mordin caught the sarcasm.

The bridge met Jim's expectations. It was brightly lit and yet somehow gloomy, featured a single adornment on the wall (closer inspection revealed it to be several old Confederate medals awarded to both Oleg and Harper), and the command chair from which Oleg and the helmsman had conversed with Jim and Matt earlier.

"This seems an appropriate place to hold our discussion." Oleg sat at the Captain's chair. "Please, sit wherever you like."

"Your seats are too small," rumbled Okeer, making Oleg start.

"My apologies, Doctor, I was not thinking." Oleg looked around, came up with nothing, and lifted his hands. "Please do not be offended if I suggest the floor…"

"Terrans." Okeer remained standing. "Get on with it."

"I understand the admiral is directing space traffic, so I trust you will bring him my message, Mr. Raynor." Jim shrugged. Oleg narrowed his eyes. "Yes, well. As promised, I will explain my presence here."

"We left Omega having failed repeatedly to convince Elias Kelham to return to Morian space. Even with the UED out, he seemed convinced someone, probably Zaeed if I had to guess, would kill him if he went home. Having secured Aria's place and made sure the UED's manipulations fell flat, we returned home."

"No sooner have we arrived in the rimward part of the Traverse, we catch wind of a strange ship signature. Now, we all received that Godawful transmission from Duran, so we were aware the Reapers were here, but we thought we were well clear of the invasion areas. At any rate, we prepped Yamatos."

"It was at this point we learned, to our mounting consternation, that the Reaper's weapons outranged our Yamatos by about, oh, fifty percent. It proceeded to slice CSV Avalanche in half with some spine-mounted giga cannon, almost did the same to CSV Jockulhaup and Monsoon, and then turned around and began climbing out of our range again faster than we could close the distance." Oleg wiped his nose, as if suddenly self-conscious.

"I wasn't about to chase something both faster and with better reach than us, so we made for the relay. Before we left, the Reaper sent us a short transmission. As I recall, it was a rather nihilistic message about the futility of our existence or some such, something better suited for a stroppy fourteen-year-old rather than a sentient starship out for our blood. I almost didn't take it seriously, until I saw a chunk of CSV Monsoon drifting by the viewport. I was glad to get through that relay."

"See any more of 'em on the way here?" asked Jim.

"Oh, plenty," replied Oleg, and Jim felt a chill down his spine. "Most of them were clustered around inhabited batarian worlds and didn't bother us as we made our jumps. Given their level of firepower, I was hoping they would be few in number, but there we have it. And from what I hear, more are arriving in the galaxy by the day."

"Protoss will handle it," said Buck confidently. "They said the Overmind couldn't be killed, but then they sure as hell killed It!"

"Reapers older than Overmind," said Mordin, looking thoughtful. "Reapers older than protoss. Reapers older than protheans as well. Must cobble together alliance of the young races. Protoss included."

"That is why I am here, gentlemen." Oleg smiled, and this time it didn't make Jim feel vaguely uneasy. "Humanity is in no condition to call the shots for all races, especially given our precarious position … but the protoss have asked us to assemble both our species and others, and we are here to deliver."

"The ITSA have the only terran outposts outside the Koprulu Sector," began Oleg. "Striking through Relay 119 is exceedingly costly, even with the existing bases on Chau Sara. We need the Alliance's cooperation to begin mounting rescue efforts and counterattacks from their planets. The uh, relative neutrality of the nation means we can station forces from all other terran nations here without a great degree of political fallout."

"You know the UED just attacked here, yeah?" asked Jim.

"We wouldn't station UED forces on Eden Prime, Jim. Think Terra Nova, or Horizon."

"We still ain't the people to ask about that," said Jim, shifting uncomfortably. "That would be Matt, or whoever the planetary governor is now, given that we lost the last two to surprise invasions."

"And I will ask the admiral about that, in time. What I am here to ask you, all of you, is whether you are willing to work for us."

"Called it!" hooted Buck. "I knew Cerberus would come back to pick us up, just like they always do!"

"Yeah, Buck," said Jenny, rolling her eyes. "You can sure as shit call it."

"What's the pitch, General?" asked Trome. "Tychus did not move us, although I suppose the situation did not involve a pan-galactic invasion at the time."

Oleg's eyebrows met at the bridge of his nose. Jim folded his arms and watched the man deliberate. Make it good, man. We'll fight on our home territory, sure, but we've all seen too much blood on alien shores already.

"Cerberus is humanity," began Oleg, running a hand through his hair before smiling up at Trome. "We did not intend for it come to this. We have worked for the Confederates, Umojans, even the UED … and now we finally stand separate from all of them. The protoss hold us in the palm of their hand while the Reapers encroach on our borders and Duran demands our compliance. The shattered remnants of the Dominion, Combine, and Directorate all rage at one another over recent slights … leaving us to do what we have always done. But for whom?"

"Jack once told me that a soldier without a nation is a pitiable thing, but I think such a soldier could stand for something greater. Freed from the folly of failing flags, he or she could draw purpose from higher ideals. And what higher ideal is there than service to one's species as a whole?"

"You sound like the UED," said Okeer. "I've seen enough of this "human supremacy" to last me another lifetime." He shifted his bulk, and Jim swore he heard the metal floor creak. "If you're trying to bring back them back…"

"The UED had quite a few qualifications for what it meant to be human." Oleg licked his lips, but did not stir from his seat as he examined the krogan. "Cerberus has none. We are also not serving humanity to the exclusion of all other species. Harper wanted us dissolved once the UED were through, but humanity itself is threatened."

"We intend for Eden Prime to be the birthplace of our proposed All Flags Navy," said Oleg, bringing up an overlay of the galaxy. "It is close to Relay 118, it is one of the few planets that can service human ships, and there is a great deal of undeveloped land. It can also access turian, salarian, and asari space through the relay network in a matter of hours." As he spoke, red lines spread from Eden Prime's star, linking Palaven, Illium, and Sur'kesh. "We cannot rely on the protoss for all our logistics. This is a logical position to resist the Reapers from this side of the galaxy."

"And what about Duran?" asked Sarah, her eyes glimmering in the light of the galaxy's model.

"We will not tolerate the extermination of the protoss," said Oleg, fingers steepled, his face framed in shadow before the light of the galaxy. "His goals align with ours, but his methods do not. Perhaps the situation will develop in such a way that we might become allies … but Harper wants his head."

"Good."

"We need you all to head a crusade," continued Oleg, standing from his chair. "A crusade for the continuation of independent sapient life. Obviously you cannot give us permission just yet to use Eden Prime as a base of operations – that responsibility lies with the planetary governor and Admiral Horner – but there are few people as decorated as the veterans on this planet. And I need your doctors." He swept a hand before Mordin and Okeer.

"Purpose?" Mordin cocked his head.

"Curing the Genophage. Properly, without caveats. The krogan will not be sitting the war out this time."

"Now you sound exactly like the UED." Okeer stepped forward, bringing his face close to Oleg's, turning his head so that one of his red eyes would meet with Oleg's. "Serve humanity. Crusade. Curing the Genophage. What makes you different?"

"The galaxy has a gun pointed to its head, Doctor." Oleg did not flinch. "Cerberus does not have the time nor inclination to screw over an already declining species. We need fighters, and we need good will. Moreover, the combat simulations were clear. Krogan infantry backed by UED medics will win almost any ground war. The protoss need troops who can stand shoulder to shoulder with them on Khar'shan."

"Hmph. Part of me says I should have brought my hammer." Okeer snorted in Oleg's face before retreating. Jim thought a bit of color returned to Oleg's face as the krogan stepped backward. "Good enough. For now."

"I trust you two are up to the challenge?" asked Oleg, glancing to Mordin. "No ethical or pragmatic objections?"

"No. Understand importance. Ethics demand completion of incomplete cure. Removal of potential human exploitation."

"That leaves the Raiders, such as they are." Oleg raised an eyebrow in Jim's direction. "I am not asking you to fight on the frontlines just yet, Mr. Raynor. We need you on Tuchanka to help talk down Urdnot Wrex. We have another asset en route there already, but we need someone to do the heavier lifting."

"ITSA don't got the ships to spare, General." Jim folded his arms. "And the Norad II's been destroyed. Even if I wanted to work with you guys, which I still ain't sure about, we don't got the means to haul ass around the galaxy anymore."

"I think you'll find that you do, Mr. Raynor." A quiet smile played at Oleg's lips. "Check the starport. She's a good ship, you know her quite well. We plucked her from Korhal following the assault, much to Stukov's frustration. We lacked the crew to fully man her, as she is a bit larger than the average battlecruiser … too large to land without the assistance of a starport." Oleg gestured to the door. "Please … go take a look and then send me your answer. In the meantime, I will get ahold of your admiral."

"I can't be bribed with ships, General," said Jim, amused. "I don't even fly the damn things, just use 'em as armed taxis."

"And there are few finer than this one. The only one that comes to mind is the DSS Aleksander." Oleg gestured again to the door. "Confer with your associates and decide if you wish to spearhead the galaxy's salvation." You leave out just what that will cost. Can I ask the Raiders to go through all of that again?

The others filed out to leave. Jim held back and caught Oleg's eye.

"Miranda-"

"Missing, and we have no idea what has become of her." Oleg shut his eyes for a moment and gave Jim a pained look. "Like I said: Harper wants Duran's head. Perhaps he would be merciful if he returned her to us. I'm sorry, Jim."

Mordin led them back out through the ship, claiming to have already memorized every corridor they had marched through. Jim made a mental note to keep any and all building and weapon schematics away from the man.

"Thoughts?" Jim looked back and asked the group.

"Been too long since I burned somethin', Jim," came Buck's reply. "Get me into one of them new Firebat suits and let me at the Reapers."

"We got a duty, Jim." Jenny sounded tired. "I was getting used to the soft beds and warm food, but it'll be there when we get back."

"There's a cycle to things, Jim, we know this." Trome put a hand on Jim's shoulder. "We fight, and rest, and fight again. But this will be the last time, I think. If you are ready, so am I."

"I never trusted Harper," said Sarah quietly, making everyone prick their ears. "But … this is it. It's fight or die. I know which option I like better. I don't care about the serving humanity crap, but an All Flags Navy sounds like what we need."

Jim's leg scraped against the floor. The phantom pain crept back in again. You know what the right thing to do is, Jim. It's just gonna be hell, a hell like you ain't seen for seven years.

They took their own separate vehicles back into Constant proper. The traffic above now returned, a sign that all battlecruisers had landed. Several SCVs scooted past them on the way, bound for the most damaged of Cerberus's ships. Up high, the sky began to turn a light orange and pink, a sign that the lengthy Eden Prime day was beginning to draw to a close.

"You sure you want to dive into the heart of this, darlin'?" asked Jim as the starport came into view. Sarah gave him a somewhat scathing look.

"I'm still a Spectre, Jim. I won't huff Terrazine if they ask me to, but I have a job to do. Attaching to Cerberus makes sense. And … I have a few things to make up for. We don't all have a clean conscience like you."

"My conscience ain't clean, darlin'." Jim looked up at the looming battlecruiser perched atop the landing pad. Jesus, that's a monster. "I just don't want it gettin' any muddier." Crusade. Might have chosen a better word.

The battlecruiser had gathered a small crowd just outside the starport entrance, some of whom were taking pictures with their omnitools. Matt waited at the head of several Cerberus technicians, all of whom were thrusting specs into his hands.

"I'm familiar with the ship's schematics, thank you," he said curtly to one particularly pushy Cerberus engineer. "I just need to know all modifications made since 2500. I don't recognize the reactor make. Just who did Mengsk contract for that job?"

"Hey, Admiral!" Matt practically spun around as Jim called out. He adjusted his askew cap and coughed politely.

"Excuse me a minute. That would be her prospective owner. Jim!"

"That's one of the biggest capital ships I've ever seen outside the turians and protoss," said Jim, looking up appreciatively at the vessel. "Looks like, what? Over two hundred laser batteries? Wish we had that on our side when the Directorate attacked."

"You don't recognize it?" asked Matt. He turned to Sarah, who actually nodded, smiling. "Sarah does. Although, I suppose you spent more time on it, didn't you, ma'am?"

"Yep. I thought that was a ship you wouldn't forget, though." Sarah pointed to the starboard side of the vessel. "Recognize the lettering?"

"Not at this distance." Jim looked around. A pair of binoculars dangled from one asari's neck. "Hey, can I borrow that a minute, ma'am?"

Jim brought the lenses to his eyes and zoomed in. For a moment, the letters remained fuzzy as his eyes refocused. He read an H. It didn't take him long to fill in the rest.

"Downed during the battle of Korhal, but not too badly damaged," said Matt, and his enthusiasm was becoming infectious. "You remember her, don't you, Jim? Think she's had a few body lifts since she took you off Mar Sara, but she's meaner than ever."

Trome whistled. "Well, as far as bribes go … I can't even think of a comparison. There would be a certain justice, I think, saving lives in such a vessel. Repurposing it for his greatest enemy."

Arcturus Mengsk's flagship, Hyperion, shone in the dying Eden Prime sun. Jim lowered the binoculars and made a decision.

On balance, it wasn't so hard. The galaxy needed a marshal.


Next Chapter: Amelia

A/N: We're all done with new PoVs. There will be one-offs, but these are the faces we'll be sticking with.