"You will be defender of humanity and all her people. You will be the shield that will protect her colonies. You will be the sword the cuts through her enemies. You will be the best that humanity has to offer and more. You have been given the best equipment, training and resources possible. And we demand nothing less in return"

- Admiral Shawn Harrigan's address to the recent graduates of the N7 program -

"Know your enemy and know yourself and you can fight a hundred battles without disaster.

- Art of War, Sun Tzu -

15 months after the destruction of the Normandy

SSV Ain Jalut

Nemean Abyss

The Ain Jalut floated silently through the void of space, its passage unmarked and unnoticed. With it's swept down delta wings and its curved prow, the stealth warship harkened unto a graceful swam swimming through the stars.

The younger sibling to the SSV Normandy, the Ain Jalut followed in her design. Equipped with her own Tantalus Drive Core and Internal Emission Sinks, the Ain Jalut inherited her sister's talent for stealth and subterfuge. State of the art, advanced sensors allowed it to penetrate the chaos that was the galaxy and peer into the depths of enemy's fortifications.

Armed with a spinal mass accelerator canon and a bank of Javelin disruptor torpedoes, the Ain Jalut had teeth and firepower to make any unlucky foe that discovered her meet their doom. A skilled helmsman could pilot the ship deep in the heart of an enemy formation and hurl a swarm Javelin missiles straight into the heart of its flagship and then flee before anyone was the wiser.

Captain Sasha Makarov stood at the helm of the stealth ship, as her pilots guided the frigate through the deadly Nemean Abyss. Her mission was relatively simple. Follow the last known route of a deceased krogan and find his synthetic pursuers. With their stealth technology, the Ain Jalut would be able to linger in the system for days on end, sweeping through the asteroids and planets if need be.

"And we've made it Captain." The co-pilot reported as the Ain Jalut, drifted silently, her heat emissions absorbed by the high-grade lithium sinks built into the vessel. The stealth frigate coasted through the scattered debris and asteroids that plagued this system.

The Ain Jalut silently scanned its surroundings, her on-suite VI banks dutifully cataloguing everything the sensor's caught. Chemical composition of nearby asteroids, solar output of the system's stars, background radiation and traces of eezo were recorded, analyzed and stored in its electronic databanks. A team of expert naval analysts, poured over the data as it came in, noting inconsistencies that would reveal their prize.

"Whoa…Picking up something on the scanners." The co-pilot reported, as his VI chimed insistently. Slaving one of the Ain Jalut's sensory arrays around, he programmed the VI to fire series of short laser pulses designed to quickly provide an image of the target without revealing their position.

Makarov frowned as the image of a derelict Athabasca-class freighter slowly materialized on her screen back in the CIC. For the infinite time, she wished that whoever designed the Ain Jalut hadn't fastidiously followed the Normandy inch-by-inch. A captain's place was at the front, with her helmsman and operators, not stuck at the back relying on suit radios and VIs.

"Registry matches it as the MSV Thunderback" Her XO informed her, as he thumbed through the VI's analysis of the wreckage.

If it was matched to the terran registry, then it meant it was a human vessel. What would a human vessel be doing out in the Nemean Abyss? Even the Blue Suns refused to set foot in such a lawless sector, let alone an unarmed tramp freighter.

"Getting a ping, captain." The communications officer reported. "Its Alliance issue."

What was an Alliance beacon doing out here in the Nemean Abyss. For a brief Third Makarov wondered whether the Normandy's death had been faked and whether the Ain Jalut was about come to face to face with her older sibling. But shaking her head, she instead focused on the task ahead.

"Navy?" She queried, her strict professional tone hiding her curiosity

"No Captain…but its definitely one of ours." Came the response

Intelligence. That's whom it had to be. No one else would dare set foot in the darkest regions of galactic space. What had she stumbled upon? Was it a band of operatives trapped in lawless space? A lone agent sucking down the last vestiges of oxygen in his suit?

"Get the QEC up and running." Makarov snapped "And get Commander Werner and his team prepped for Zero-G."


SSV Ain Jalut's Storage and Cargo Bay

SSV Ain Jalut

Nemean Abyss

Staff Lieutenant Jacob "Boss" Werner snapped the last piece of armour into place and nodded confidently at the rest of his team. The distinctive N7 badge and red detail on his right arm, proudly declared him a member of the elite band of comrades.

Werner cast a discerning eye over the rest of his squad. Too small to host even a platoon, the Ain Jalut had to make do with merely two squads. Commanded by Werner, they were meant to reconnoitre objectives, designate targets and god forbid, defend the Ain Jalut from boarding.

But now they were being dropped in some of the most hostile space known to man. A zero-g rummage aboard a floating wreck in the middle of the Nemean Abyss spelled trouble and were he a lesser man, Werner would have refused the order.

But Werner was a rare breed of humanity, a man whom saw danger and menace as a challenge to be overcome. And overcome this challenge he would.

"Troopers!" Werner bellowed, instantly bringing his marines to attention. Handpicked from some of the toughest Alliance veterans of the Terminus Systems, he had chosen his team well. Made up graduates from the legendary N-villa, all were N5s or N6s. All of them were deadly warriors, sharp-eyed snipers and stealthy operatives. Discretions, loyalty and firepower were their watchword. They were Team Wolfpack.

"Our op today, is simple." Werner continued, his infectious confidence flowing into his team "We are to reconnoitre the MSV Thunderback, recover any Intel possible and located possible survivors. Questions?"

None was asked. Good Soldiers. Werner nodded to himself. He eschewed the Normandy's practice of interspecies teams. No on Alliance stealth warships the crew had to be loyal, human comrades. No room for krogan warlords, turian agents, quarian mechanics and asari archaeologists. How Shepard had managed to prevent an outright mutiny was beyond him.


Quantum Entanglement Communication Room

Arcturus Station

Arcturus Stream Nebula

Admiral Steven Hackett allowed a frown to spread across his face, as the SSV Ain Jalut reported in. Captain Makarov had followed the trail of jumps gleaned from the dead krogan's navigation computer and had landed in the Nemean Abyss. What they had found were dead planets, asteroid belts and the wreckage of a human freighter. What truly was curious was that an Alliance beacon was hailing the stealth frigate.

Makarov had taken the initiative to send in a team to reconnoitre the dead freighter, hoping to glean some clues as to its demise and the presence of a classified beacon. But Hackett's old instincts howled in protest. The last time they had yowled was when the Normandy had been sent to investigate the Omega Nebula.

Wearily he shook his head. The Ain Jalut bore a mere superficial resemblance to its deceased sister, the Alliance incorporating the lessons learned from the legendary prototype. His engineers had assured him that the stealth system had been modified to cover the ship's transition entry and exit out of FTL, something the original Normandy didn't have.

Yet Hackett couldn't help but wonder whether he was stepping into a larger game, played by forces larger than the Ain Jalut, himself and even the Alliance.

"No way out but through" He muttered to himself. It was too late to pull the Ain Jalut out. Even if he could, he owed humanity an explanation as to how and why four geth frigates powered into human space.

"Sir?" One of the confused technician queried, confused by what the Admiral had muttered underneath his breath

Silently Hackett ignored the technician as he contemplated all the possible scenarios. He had a feeling that this was going to be more than a simple reconnaissance mission.


MSV Thunderback Wreckage

Nemean Abyss

Staff Lieutenant Werner wouldn't admit it, but he abhorred zero-g ops. The disorienting lack of gravity, the sound of his own breath and the glare of the uncaring void of space starting back at him, all conspired to engender dread whenever he had to venture out into space.

But Werner was not given to surrendering to his phobia and neither was the rest of his team. Which was why at that very moment they were floating away from the graceful SSV Ain Jalut, towards the mangled remains of the MSV Thunderback, small thrusters built into his suit firing to keep aligned to his destination.

Even at one kilometre out, Werner could tell that he would be encountering no survivors. Whoever had hit the Thunderback had been precise and efficient. The cockpit on the Athabasca-class freighter had been violently sheared off and the engines had been drilled through. Even the large, powerful comm. array had been ripped apart and he could see the trademark bore-holes of boarding parties. Slavers, it had to be.

Yet the presence of the Alliance beacon hailing the Ain Jalut was truly curious and he was duty bound to investigate it, dread be damned. His boots clanged as they made contact with the hull of the Thunderback and as his magnetic soles activated. He was grateful for solid ground or hull if you wanted to be precise about it. He did not look forward to floating through the hazardous wreckage.

True to their ingrained professionalism, Team Wolfpack didn't engage in idle chatter as they moved through the wreckage. Moving silently, their movements muffled by the vacuum, each soldier kept an eye on the partner next to them. With a wreck like this, danger could be lurking within the errant pieces of hull, wiring and furniture.

His scanner picked up the steady beat of the Alliance beacon. Moving to where the signal was the strongest, Team Wolfpack stacked up outside what appeared to be a single, passenger compartment. As errant pieces of wiring and fuselage floated past them, one operative wielded a cutting torch and began to work.

The simultisms loved to depict Special Forces as using frame charges in situations ranging from breaching a fortress to simply opening the refrigerator. Yet Team Wolfpack new that detonating an explosive charge in a floating wreck filled with potentially compromised eezo canisters was suicide. Plus if someone was alive on the other side, the blast would kill them.

Finally the compartment's door gave way and was batted away into the swirling mess of floating furniture and equipment.

One of the troopers gave the all-clear sign and Werner moved into the compartment. No bigger than the captain's cabin on the Ain Jalut, the simple compartment was sparsely decorated. A lone bed took up one corner, its rumpled bedding floating against the ceiling. A rather humble desk took up the other corner, its legs bolted to the floor as data-pads floating helplessly around it.

Werner frowned. The beacon's signal was strongest in this "room" and yet he couldn't immediately discern it. Obviously whoever activated it had hidden it well, praying that their captors wouldn't bother to scan for its signal.

Motioning to one commando, the pair of them began to rifle through the mess of the cabin. Werner batted away a lone light fixture that came near his visage. Spying something the subordinate tapped Werner on the shoulder, motioning towards the bottom of the desk.

Leaning underneath the bolted down fixture, Werner finally spied what he was looking for. A single half-sphere had been hurriedly hammered into the desk, a lone flashing red light giving its position away. It was the beacon, it had to be.

Werner reached for it and then hesitated. He had no way of knowing whether it was booby-trapped or not. The last thing anyone wanted was to have an explosive trap detonate in his face. Motioning at the explosives expert in the squad, he signalled the expert to scan the object.

Moments passed and Werner found himself sweating as awaited the operative's inspection. After what seemed to be an eternity, the expert gave the all clear and Werner finally held the rather humble sized beacon in his hand. Devoid of any official emblems or markings, Werner knew of only one group whom operated such devices. Alliance Intelligence.

Savouring his victory, Werner opened up a line with the Ain Jalut.

"Team Wolfpack here, objective secure…"

Suddenly an explosion of movement erupted beyond the door of the passenger compartment. Throwing himself to one side, Werner spied a round slash past him and bury itself in the bulkhead behind him. The commandoes beside him raised their rifles and fired a burst back into the swirling mess of errant

A single red laser burned out from the swirl and into one operative's rifle. Violently slapping his rifle in a bid to free the overheated thermal clip, the commando wisely moved behind cover as a burst of slugs silently tore where he had been moments ago.

Firing their thrusters, the commandoes of Team Wolfpack manoeuvred in the vacuum. Trapped in the belly of the MSV Thunderback, the commandoes sought to gain any advantage over their attackers. Activating his thrusters, Werner powered out from the passenger cabin, his two comrades on his flanks.

"Jester, clear that mess!" Werner roared over the squad's internal communication network. Without a clear line of sight on their attackers, Team Wolfpack was fighting blind.

Jester, the team's biotic, violently punched the air with his fist. The swirling mess of freed furniture, torn hull plates and warped armour suddenly ploughed forward towards their attackers. The wall of debris crashed into their attackers, smashing against kinetic barriers and crushing armour.

Geth! Werner finally recognized their attackers, as a lone geth synthoid tried to aim its rifle, despite being impaled on a metal beam. Werner dodged to the side as the burst missed him and fired a hail of rounds in return. The valkyrie rifle fired true and the powerful rounds ripped past the synthetic's shields and ripped its head apart.

Beside him, the squad's gunner; "Ozone", finally opened fire with his heavily tooled typhoon light machine gun. The powerful gun coughed an ever accelerating hail of slugs, the flash from the rifle's barrel casting a harsh light on their surroundings. For a brief Third Ozone resembled the ghost of an angry god hurling judgement and destruction on all those whom challenged them. The remaining trio of geth were violently ripped apart as the rounds pulped into them and then suddenly it was all over.

Cautiously Werner moved forward, his valkyrie trained on the dead geth in front of him. Tentatively kicking at one, he leaned forward and fired a precise round straight into its core. Around him the commandoes of Team Wolfpack dispassionately copied his example. After all geth were not covered by the Citadel Conventions.


Quantum Entanglement Communication Room

Arcturus Station

Arcturus Stream Nebula

"Say again, Captain?" Admiral Steven Hackett frowned as he listened to Captain Makarov's report. The Ain Jalut had deployed one its squads to recon the wreckage of the MSV Thunderback and from what they could tell it was bad.

"There were no bodies, Admiral." Makarov repeated, her piercing stare replicated over a thousand light years away "No corpses either human or alien. All team Wolfpack found was the data-disk and a squad of geth troopers."

Geth troopers on board the vessel, the lack of bodies and now an Alliance encrypted data disk. On a tramp freighter in the middle of the Nemean Abyss. Something was off and Hackett was determined to find out.

"Understood, Captain." Hackett nodded in reply "Remain in system and maintain observation. Contact me as soon as you have more information and watch your six."

"Roger that, Ain Jalut out" Makarov signed off and Hackett was left alone in silence.

In the confines of the QEC comm. room, Hackett pondered the new information he had received. Ain Jalut had definite proof of a geth presence on the other side of that relay. Whether it was significant remained to be seen, but he couldn't afford to simply hope for the best.

As much as the media portrayed it, the Battle of the Citadel wasn't the roaring success it was. The geth armada had made the human fleet pay dearly for their victory, and even then Hackett wasn't sure they had eliminated all the Geth.

The tactician in him realized that the geth could have seeded outposts all over space, ready to rally for another strike at a weakened foe or continue a campaign of ruthless guerrilla warfare. The death of the Normandy could have been opening salvo in their Third assault on humanity. Their assault through the mass relay could have been a cover for a scouting party.

He needed answers. He needed to now what an Alliance data-disk was doing on a tramp freighter out in the Nemean Abyss. He needed answers now.

"Contact, Director Lang. "He snapped at the communications officer "I want him in my office in pronto"

Fifteen minutes later Director Stephen Lang of Alliance sat fuming in Admiral Steven Hackett's office, coldly staring at him across his desk. Hackett's haunches always rose whenever he encountered the man, his mannerisms resembling a cold, calculating cobra, but today he wanted answers.

"Pray, Admiral," Director Lang finally began, his voice barely concealing his irritation "What possessed you to summon me to your offices?"

In response, Hackett slid forward a lone datapad. Wordlessly the admiral activated it and and the barely controlled voice of a lone human operative played out from the pad's speakers.

"This is 'Mobius', we've been attacked." The agent breathed desperately into the datapad, as in the background an alarm shrieked. "The captain tried to take a shortcut, but we've stumbled onto something.

Hackett deliberately folded his hands and stared pointedly at Director Lang, as the agent desperately tried to dictate his position into the datapad. Finally the recording ended with the bone-chilling shriek of durasteel being ripped apart.

"Explain." Hackett curtly ordered. He was done fumbling in dark, done trying to build a house with no mortar.

To his credit Director Lang didn't blanch at the most powerful military man in the entirety of Alliance space. Alliance Intelligence was nominally a civilian organization, answering directly to Parliament and no one else. Yet both knew that one couldn't exist without the other. Without intelligence, the Navy wouldn't know where to place their ships and without the Navy, the Intelligence couldn't defend humanity.

"After Commander Shepard's death, we examined the possibility that the Normandy was betrayed by an insider." Lang coolly spoke, pointedly ignoring the raised eyebrows from Hackett "We seeded our agents throughout the Terminus and Attican Beta and began to investigate."

"What did you find?" Hackett gruffly interrupted, disguising his unease at the prospect of having a traitor amongst an Alliance stealth frigate.

"A lot." Lang continued, politely ignoring the rude interruption "Slavelords, mercenaries, the Geth and even Cerberus. All wanted Commander Shepard dead"

"What about the cruiser that attacked the Normandy?" Hackett queried, his tone measured and controlled. His analysts had no clue as to where that vessel came from or whom it belonged to.

"Myths, legends and gossip." Lang replied "Nothing solid, concrete to go on. But we did find this."

Land activated his omni-tool and sent a single file across to Hackett. Bringing it up on his own omni-tool, Hackett briefly sucked in his breath as it played out on the holographic screen.

A crashed geth dropship lay in a verdant green valley. Its belly lay crumpled on the valley floor and surrounding it were a groups of uniformed humans. Hackett could see armoured guards patrolling the perimeter. A team of engineers were busily setting up a turret near the downed vessel and a constant stream of workers carried equipment in and out of the synthetic ship.

"This was sent by Mobius, from an unknown location." Lang explained, as the Hackett studied the image. "It didn't concern Shepard, but it did concern the geth and Cerberus, two groups with a reason to hate him."

"What are they planning?" Hackett asked. The prospect of a terrorist organization getting their hands on lethal geth technology was a frightening one. The last thing the galaxy needed was for some warlord armed with geth's advanced technology to start a new conflict.

"We don't know." Lang admitted, a rare admission from the normally taciturn spymaster "We sent in a vessel to extract Mobius from the prearranged drop-zone but he had disappeared"

"Disappeared?" Hackett queried, unease rising within him. Did Cerberus get their hands on the agent?

"We sent one of our corsairs to pick him up, but their vessel was destroyed with all hands." Lang continued "As far as we could tell Mobius was dead."

"So you mean to tell me…"

"Yes, Admiral" Lang finished, "We have no clue as to how and why our agent's beacon showed up in the Abyss halfway across the galaxy."


Interfaith Chapel

SSV Shanghai

Caspian System, Maroon Sea Cluster

The distinct smell of incense wafted through the makeshift chapel on the SSV Shanghai. Ostensibly a storage compartment for cleaning equipment, the crew of the Shanghai had converted the rather small space into a temporary place of worship.

Closing her eyes in prayer, Ashley Williams began whisper to the divine.

"Our father who are in heaven…" Ashley began, her hands clasping onto a rather humble set of prayer beads. Amongst her few private possession, the beads held a special place in her heart. Carved from the rosewood imported all the way from earth, it was a present she had received from her mother upon graduating from infantry assault training.

Her fingers moved quietly over each individual bead, reminding her of whom to pray for. A prayer for her grandfather that he might some measure of comfort in the afterlife. A prayer for her father, that he might at least find some rest in heaven. A prayer for her mother, back home on Sirona, that she be blessed with the strength to handle Ashley's sisters. A prayer for her deceased comrades that their deaths will not have been for nought. A prayer for Alenko that his memory be honoured. A prayer for….

Ashley paused as her finder hovered over the last bead, a recent addition in comparison to its brethren. Ever time, she did her prayers; she would hesitate at the last bead. A part of her clung onto the idea that Shepard had survived the void and was now marshalling his forces to defeat his reapers. Yet the cynic in her crowed that even Shepard's fortitude and wit could not hope to match the cold, uncaring, vacuum of space.

Every sapient knew what happened with zero-g exposure. If you were lucky, you suffocated due to the lack of oxygen. If not….death was not pretty. Whether it was the absolute zero temperatures that froze your body as your nerves screamed in agony. Or it was your organs rupturing as they los their integrity to the sudden drop in pressure, your blood boiling in the cold void of space. Death was guaranteed within five minutes of suit rupture.

Still Ashley hesitated. No matter how she reasoned, she couldn't bring herself to say the prayers. To admit that Shepard was dead and gone. To admit that the galaxy's hope against the Reapers was dead. To admit that the man she had loved and cared for, had left her cold and alone in this life.

"Chief…" A deep voice murmured from behind her.

Ashley turned around to regard the new source. Corporal Behari, stood respectfully behind her. Nodding sympathetically, he passed a note to her.

Company meeting in ten minutes. Clear your omni-tool and bring your data slate – Lt. Guo


Private Quarters

Citadel

Widow System, Serpent Nebula

Councillor David Anderson read the report that Admiral Steven Hackett had forwarded him. The Nemean Abyss. A dark heart in the twilight of the Terminus Systems. A place so lawless and wild, that most reputable navigational charts simply pretended that it didn't even exist.

According to the Ain Jalut's team, one planet in particular stood out. Resembling a dried out version of earth, by all account it was the closest thing that system had to a garden planet. Combined with the spike in electronic chatter and signal emanating from that planet, any layperson wouldn't hesitate to say that it was inhabited.

Except that most denizens of the Nemean Abyss avoided that patch of space. Even the most hardened of pirates and slavers religiously avoided that sector. Except one. According to the captain of the Ain Jalut they had discovered a crippled freighter, registered as the MSV Thunderback. More surprisingly they had found an Alliance Naval Intelligence beacon onboard.

Councillor Anderson had spent enough time amongst the admiralty to read between the lines and he understood enough about the Alliance's strategic capabilities to understand what Hackett was subtly requesting. They needed help.

It made sense really. The Alliance may have emerged victorious from the Battle of the Citadel, but it was in no shape to prosecute a war deep into the heart of the Nemean Abyss. Concerned with protecting her colonies and new found responsibilities, they simply didn't have the manpower or the material to send a fleet's worth of warships.

For a Third Anderson considered encouraging Hackett to send some mercenaries instead to finish the job, but he cast that thought aside. At most they'd likely get a company's worth of mercenaries and that wouldn't be enough to deal with the geth in that system. No, they would need fleet support, close air-support, armoured vehicles and the works.

Task Force 121. Assembled in the aftermath the human-led, multi-species task force had occupied itself with removing geth outposts in Council space. Denied the chance to reclaim their lost honour at the hands of their synthetic attackers, the turians had been irritated with discovering most of the outposts were empty.

As a councillor, he had no formal military standing. But he did have the contact information for the various Turian captains and admirals whom would be amenable to sharing space with human vessels.

One turian came to mind: Ambassador Orinia. A tough, suspicious, former general whom served in the First Contact War, she was one of the few turian whom Anderson had built a tenuous rapport.

It was 2:00 pm, Citadel time. If he calculated it right, he would catch the ambassador as she returned from lunch or whatever the turians called. Rising quickly from his chair, he exited his office and began to march towards the turian embassy.

What he was doing was a diplomatic faux paus. Bypassing the turian councillor and speaking directly to his ambassadorial underling was the political equivalent of marrying your date without asking for the father's blessing.

But then again he was a Citadel Councillor, Anderson reminded himself. He was responsible for protecting humanity's interests within the hallowed halls of the Citadel.

He marched past the turian receptionist whom manned the front desk, a corner of his mind noting the young assistant punch a button that alerted the ambassador to his arrival. A few turian guards tried to politely stop him but he sailed past them, even as a part of him enjoyed exercising his new power.

Coming to a halt, he finally allowed the nervous turian officer whom had followed him all the way from the reception to knock at the door for him. Nodding respectfully at the turian as the doors slid open, he was greeted by the turian ambassador.

"Afternoon, ambassador." He began, "Does the Hierarchy still want a chance to defeat the geth?"

The smile that began from the corner of her face told him everything he wanted to know.


Arcturus Station

Arcturus Stream Nebula

Attacking the geth fortress in the Nemean Abyss was not going to be a simple task, Hackett rued to himself.

Anderson had already put him in contact with his opposite number in the turian navy. Under the banner of Task Force 121, a strike force of two human and three turian flotillas would conduct the attack on Planet X91.

What Hackett failed to detail was that there Thirdary objective was to recover an alliance asset, named 'Mobius'. An asset that could contain valuable information on Cerberus' relationship with the geth.

Now all he had to do was convince his fellow human admirals to surrender their vessels to a task force that was about to go deep into the Nemean Abyss. It would be an exercise in diplomacy, Hackett realized. Normally cagey at the best of times, the admirals would be sure to demand a series of compromises from him. At best they'd merely wound his pride. At worst they could scuttle the political relationship forged with the Citade.

The First, Third and Fifth fleets had already lost enough vessels in the Battle of the Citadel to make recruiting any warships from them a null probability.

The Third Fleet was headed by Admiral Nitesh Singh whose captains shared their leader's xenophobia. Choosing Singh to join a cross-species task force was asking for a disaster. Singh wouldn't open fire on a turian vessel mind you, but he would growl and moan the entire way. Strange how some admirals could act like children.

That left the Second, Sixth and Seventh Fleets. All three had their hands full protecting human colonies, patrolling alliance space, counter-piracy operations and defending the Citadel.

But the Sixth Fleet had Admiral Samantha Smith. Ever since the embarrassment of Terra Nova (a stealth frigate defending their territory) and the Battle of the Citadel, the Sixth Fleet had been chomping on the bit to recover a bit of their pride. If Hackett remembered correctly, she had participated in an asari-human war games exercise a few years ago.

Sixth Fleet it would be, Hackett decided. Smith might give him hell, but she would jump on the chance for at least a few of her captains to salve her fleet's pride.

Thirty minutes later Hackett was standing in the Quantum Entanglement Communication Room in the heart of Arcturus station. Beside him the operator went through the protocols of opening an encrypted QEC channel.

A part of Admiral Hackett marvelled at how far humanity had come since the past twenty years. A little more than three decades ago, humanity had barely dreamed of overcoming its differences and forging a new future. Now it had unified itself, a thousands of it traditions, specialities and morals forming to become one player on the galactic stage.

The holographic forms of Admiral Smith and Singh, materialized on the projectors in front of him.

As they went through the formalities of greeting each other and confirming their authentication codes, Hackett wondered which of the pair would be harder to convince. Would it be Smith whom would be asked to surrender two previous patrol flotillas or would it be Singh whom would saddled with the task of filling in the holes?

Admiral Smith eyes momentarily widened as Hackett made his request. Finally she responded

"You mean to commit three of my flotillas, take twenty one of my vessels to strike at the geth that may be in the Nemean Abyss" She asked, with no small trace of virtriol in her tone, "To do someone else's work for them?"

Hackett wisely prevented himself from sighing in frustration. He knew the Sixth Fleet's patrol and defence of the Attican Traverse had undergone a brutal test in the past few months. A wave of opportunistic slavers and mercenaries, gambling that the Navy would be stretched thin had launched a series of raids on human interests and colonies.

As much as Smith critiqued the prospect of handling Task Force 121's (TF 121) workload, they all knew that at the moment it existed merely as an intelligence sharing set-up. And the longer the organics kept from working together, the more time the geth had to recover.

"Read the briefing, Smith." Fleet Admiral Nitesh Singh snarled "The birds are committing are willing to commit three of their battlegroups to this. Are we really gonna back down from that?"

Hackett grasped how Singh's confrontational mindset perceived the turian response as: a challenge. A test to see if the humans were really up to task of shouldering the responsibilities of being a Council member in the long run, not just in one battle.

"Ah yes I forgot." Smith sarcastically snapped back "We're all friends now; peace, brotherhood and Kumbaya. Where the hell am I supposed to get three free battlegroups from?"

In another day and time, Hackett would have stood back and watched his two fleet admirals verbally brawl with each other. Polar opposites in many ways, their personalities clashed as their fleets defended human colonies far from the arms of Arcturus. But up till now he believed that they had been able to maintain at least some decorum.

"Fine, Smith." Singh threw down the glove "I can commit the Moscow, the Sydney and their respective battlegroups. Can you spare at least one cruiser, Smith?"

The holographic avatar of Singh leaned back in contentment as he licked his chops at the prospect of upstaging Smith. Yet Hackett could see the corners of Smith's lips curl up in a satisfied smile.

"I'll do one better" Smith replied "I'll commit the Shanghai battlegroup, the Benjamin Davis and the Shasta."

The holographic avatar of Singh all but dropped its jaw in shock. Smith was committing her prized assets to the taskforce, in essence robbing Singh of the lion's share of the prestige. The carrier SSV Benjamin Davis and the dreadnaught Shasta were the emblems of the Sixth's power and in essence added her personal signature to the operation.

"Can she do that?" Singh sputtered, before he collected himself "I mean, can the Sixth Fleet handle its current responsibilities without one flotilla, its carrier and its dreadnaught."

Now was the time for Hackett to step in and exercise his authority. The trick was to do so without making an enemy of either admiral.

"I'm sure the Sixth Fleet will defend human space….if the Third Fleet is willing to shoulder with the rest of the Navy." He calmly intoned, as he fixedly stared at Singh.

For as much people described Singh as a bull in a china shop, the man possessed a certain low cunning. He knew when he was beaten and he knew when to press forward.

"The Third Fleet will help Sixth defend their sectors…and I will personally oversee it from the Logan. ETA 24 hours" Singh meekly surrendered, even as a flash of defiance swept through his eyes.

"Thank you, Admiral Singh." Hackett replied, nodding respectfully at the Third Fleet's admiral.

As Singh signed off, no doubt to give his new marching orders to his fleet, Smith remained online. Staring at Hackett, she gave off an intensity that reminded him of the proverbial mongoose as it studied its prey.

"Singh was never meant to command the strike force, was he?" She finally asked, after what seemed an eternity of silence.

Hackett dodged the question by sending an encrypted data burst of the QEC channel. The holographic avatar of Smith flickered as the data was shot all the way across the galaxy from Arcturus to the Shasta.

"I see…"she began as she thumbed through the briefing. Task Force 121's assault was merely a cover for the Alliance's true objectives: Recover 'Mobius'.

"How sure are you about this, Hackett?" She curiously asked, briefly revealing her interest in the underlying objectives. The idea that one agent could have so much information on Cerberus' activities sounded too good to be true, but stranger things have happened.

Hackett could have sworn he saw brief flicker cross Smith's face, but he couldn't tell whether it was a glitch in the communicator's software or a genuine crack in her façade.

The late Admiral Kahoku and Smith had always been comrades in arms, the pair of them creating and supervising the tactical teams that scoured the Terminus Systems. Rumour had it that Smith had allowed one single tear to fall down her face upon hearing of Kahoku, but such talk was best left to taverns and bar-rooms.

"Truthfully…I don't know." Hackett finally answered, as he stared back at Smith. It was the truth. As much as they wished otherwise, even in the 22nd century, the fog of war was ever present.

What he was asking Smith was beyond what any normal fleet admiral should ever expect to bear. In essence he was asking her to accomplish two differing objectives at the same time while keeping half of her strike force in the dark. Anyone else would have sworn off such a task, but Smith was different. Smith possessed a capacity for cunning that could compete against the canniest of Salarian dalatresses.

"Hmm…I see." Smith replied, "I will of course be commanding the strike force from the Shasta. Am I right?"

Hackett nodded as he acquiesced to the admiral's request. Besides Smith was the admiral bringing the dreadnaught and carrier to the party, it would have been pointless to argue otherwise.

"I will be detailing an N7 squad to you." Hackett added "Team Neptune. They're good and disciplined. Use them how you see fit."

"Aye, aye. Smith over and out."

As the holographic avatar of the Fleet Admiral Smith winked out of existence, Hackett's mind was plagued with a hundred different thoughts.

Why did the geth target the MSV Thunderback in the heart of the Nemean Abyss? Why didn't the geth, the masters of synthetic technology, discover the Alliance beacon on the freighter's wreckage? What were the geth up to one a rock so obscure that most of civilization simply forgot that it existed?


Planet X51

Nemean Abyss

Jason 'Mobius' Barnes groggily returned back to consciousness. His eyes adjusting the darkness, as he gradually became aware of his surroundings.

Hanging from a rather medieval use of mass effect fields, Mobius was suspended in mid-air via a series of mass-effect fields. Placed at the back of a dimly lit chamber, the walls carved out of ore and rock, the only source of a light was a single recessed bulb which hung from a rocky ceiling.

He craned his neck and examined his surroundings. Around him were slaver pens, they type favoured by batarian pirates. Large enough to fit fifteen doomed souls, they now swelled with nearly twice that number. Humans, most of them adults were crowed into confined pens, with barely enough room to move.

Slavers…Mobius mentally cursed his luck. After surviving nearly two years alone in the Terminus Systems, dodging suspicious gangsters and bloodthirsty mercenaries, he had been captured by batarians on his way back home.

"You should have waited…" A corner of his mind whispered. Mobius shook his head. Waiting would have been a one way ticket to the interrogator's chair where they would have sucked out his brains and dumped his corpse on some backwater shit-hole.

Not that what the slavers had in store was any better. If he was lucky they'd put him to work somewhere in the Terminus Systems. If was he damned he'd be sold in Hegemony space, serving as canon fodder in the endless brush-fire wars that plagued that corner of the galaxy or worse.

His ears picked up a small whimper over to his left side. Craning his neck to the left, he stared down into the nearest slaver pen. A little girl, couldn't have been older than six, was huddled by the corner of the pen. Strangely enough, the child had the entire pen towards herself, in sharp contrast to the dozens of pens that were crammed with adults.

"Hey, hey…" He murmured gently at the source of whimpering. "That's enough don't you think?"

Before the child could respond, the durasteel doors at the end of the chamber flung open and four figures marched in. In that instant Mobius' heart almost froze in terror.

Marching step by step, with a precision that would put a Turian military parade to shame, the four figures strode into the room. Their torsos resembled their organic ancestors and their pasty-white musculature betrayed their origins. Yet one look at their heads and their eyes betrayed their true form. Geth

The emotionless machines strode through the room and without a word, yanked back open the door of a single pen. The frightened humans within cowered back, as the machines coldly examined their captives.

Suddenly, one of the machines learned forward and grabbed on a decidedly elderly captive. Shrieks of horror and terror echoed across the chamber, as Mobius found himself yelling at the automations

"Leave him alone! He's worthless." He desperately yelled, despite being unaware of their true intent

The other captives in the pen tugged at the elderly human as the geth pulled on him from the other side. Within Thirds the other geth moved into the pens, striking at the captives. Bowling over in agony, the captives released their hold and the elderly man was yanked into the cold embrace of the automations.

Marching their captive forward, one pair of geth marched their prize through the chamber, whilst their comrades sealed the cage. The pair of geth passed by Mobius hung and would have continued until one paused.

Turning its glowing eye to regard Mobius, its electric snarl deepened and then rose in frequency. Its cold hands still holding onto its captive, its headlight burned into Mobius face, as definite chill ran up Mobius' spine.

"What do you want?" Mobius managed to croak out, as a wave of terror rose up from within him.

With dismissive electronic snarl, the geth turned away and marched its captive past the durasteel doors. As the light vanished once more, Mobius found himself alone in the darkness with only his fear to keep him company


CODEX ENTRY: SSV SR1 Ain Jalut

Built in a hidden location deep in Alliance space, the Ain Jalut sought to rectify some of the design faults that plagued the original Normandy. Sharing its sister's optimization for stealth reconnaissance, its designers added an enlarged onboard weapons complement that adds Shiva-class mines to its standard complement of disruptor torpedoes, spinal mass accelerator canon and GARDIAN suite. Albeit this comes at the cost of losing its ability to deploy the M35 Mako, a feature the crew of the original Normandy used to great effect.

One improved feature of the Ain Jalut, is its updated Tantalus drive. While the original Normandy's Tantalus drive allowed it drift through space without relying on thrusters, the act of engaging or disengaging it generated a minute, momentary spike in electromagnetic emissions. Too small to be registered by even the geth, alliance intelligence nonetheless believed that this fault may have given away the Normandy's position to their mysterious assailants.

Officially the Alliance denies the existence of the stealth warship, though pictures of its profile at an Alliance ship depot circulate widely throughout the extranet. In essence the Ain Jalut carries its sister's legacy of human innovation in the face of a changing galaxy.


I know the mass effect codex defines a flotilla as 5 or 6 frigates lead by a cruiser, but I used the term "Battlegroup" to avoid confusion with the Quarian Flotilla.