Author's Note: The description for Anderson's heritage was lifted straight out of Mass Effect: Revelation, by Drew Karpyshyn.

"Your actions still reflect on humanity as a whole, Commander. You make a mess and I get stuck cleaning it up."

Anderson didn't need to turn around to know she was pasting a neutral expression on her face, listening to Udina's lecture about what she should do and that she'd been a human long before she'd been a Spectre. She'd listen. She'd nod politely. And probably dismiss all but a few words.

Anderson doubted Shepard would have any problems adapting to doing things her own way.

He stood at the edge of the dock, looking out over the Ward below, his back to the Normandy. Unlike the Presidium, the Wards didn't have artificial daylight; it was always dark as a night on earth and the view was always a magnificent landscape of light. When he'd first visited the Citadel, he'd enjoyed the tranquil order of the Presidium much more. But now there were so many bad memories he associated with it. They had soured the enjoyment. Saren had soured it.

This is how it has to be. This is the kind of thing the Normandy was built for. She knows that ship, and the crew knows her. But you...your past with Saren will taint any decisions regarding him if Shepard manages to catch up with him. The Council will be watching every step she takes and if you're there alongside her, they'll wonder what kind of influence you have over her.

He knew Udina was right and so did Shepard. She'd protested at first- vehemently- saying the Normandy was his ship, but he knew her well enough to know she would bow to necessity. As he had. Stopping Saren was more important than either of them.

But he allowed himself one moment of heavy heartedness. He'd had the Normandy for such a brief time, then circumstances had taken it from him the same as it had so many other things. He wondered if he'd ever quit paying for the past and the weight of Saren's hatred.

"Sir?"

He turned from the view of the Wards to look at her as she approached. He imagined they made quite a picture against the backdrop of the Normandy. Two generations of a culture that had just started to come together. You could see it in both of them. Anderson was well built and dark skinned, his features reflecting ancestors African, Native American and Central European. Shepard's skin was a soft tan several shades lighter than his, the tilt of her eyes and sharp planes of her face mixing Asian and Eastern European features. Most humans these days were similar mixed bags of genetics, offspring of the Alliance bringing humanity together. They'd come so far from the days when they were at war with each other constantly and yet it was disconcerting how young humanity was to the stars, especially compared to the other Citadel races.

The symbolism of him, from the First Contact war generation and first Spectre candidate, handing the reins over to her, from the generation expected to help humanity pull all those threads together and the first inducted Spectre, wasn't lost on him.

He couldn't quite manage a smile. "Take care of her, Shepard."

She stopped a few feet from him, twisting her fingers in front of her with an anxious expression he'd never seen on her before. "I never planned to take her from you, sir."

He wondered if it was cynicism that made her so worried he'd think she had stabbed him in the back or if she was simply used to her superiors questioning her motives. "I know that, Shepard. But Udina was right. You're a Spectre now, you can't answer to anyone but the Council. It's time for me to step down."

"Is it because of this past you have with Saren?" she asked, moving up beside him.

He looked away. "What have you been told about it?"

"I saw how Saren spoke to you at his hearing." She paused. "And Harkin said something about you having been a Spectre."

"I wasn't. I didn't make it that far. But I was being considered. I went on a mission alongside Saren. He was supposed to evaluate me the way Nihlus was for you." Anderson closed his eyes for a moment. "We were after a scientist who'd taken refuge in a refinery. The plan was to sneak in and get him and get back out but Saren and I split up to cover more ground. About halfway through the mission, there was a massive explosion at the refinery core."

"Saren."

"It was ruled an accident but I think he did it purposefully to draw off the enemy guards." Anderson shook his head. "More than five hundred dead, Shepard. Most of them civilians. But Saren didn't care. The mission was accomplished, the target eliminated. And I ended up taking the blame. That ended all talk about me joining the Spectres."

"How could they blame you for it?"

"Saren lied in his report. He claimed I blew his cover and the guards were ready for us. That's why it turned into a massacre. It was all the Council needed."

Shepard was silent, staring out over the Ward, her face coldly blank. For a moment, Anderson almost regretted telling her because it was clear if her anger toward Saren hadn't been personal before, it definitely was now. He couldn't hold onto that regret, though. He hadn't missed that silent exchange between her and Saren at the hearing. Nonetheless, he moved into her view, drawing her attention back to him. "Don't go hunting Saren, Shepard. It will do no good. Keep your focus on the Conduit."

Unlike Udina, she actually listened to him, taking his words to mind. It was probably wrong for him to take some enjoyment in that fact but, well, there it was.

She nodded without replying, her gaze troubled now. She was silent for a long time, then she spoke hesitantly, "May I ask you something, sir?"

"What is it?"

She was quiet for a moment longer and then bust out in a sudden, anxious torrent of words so utterly unlike her it made him stare at her in shock. "Why me? With my background... I mean, I'm not a good soldier. Not the way Alenko and Williams are. Certainly not the way you are. Under normal circumstances, there's no way in hell I'd be the captain of any ship, much less this one. I've only advanced as far as I have because I was out along the Traverse where they're desperate. Hell, if I wasn't a biotic, I wouldn't have even been in the military. Don't get me wrong, I'm proud to serve, I'm glad I was given the chance. I was perfectly okay with where I was and what I was doing." She paused and stammered for a moment. "And don't get me wrong again; it was like some kind of miracle when you asked me to join the crew. But that's just it. You could have chosen anyone from the ranks you wanted for the Normandy's XO. You could have chosen a...well a hero. Someone decorated. A real soldier. You had to have gotten grief for choosing me, so why did you?"

Udina must have gotten to her more than she'd let on. He considered her question for a long time. In some ways, she was right. She seemed tailor made not to hold so much responsibility. She'd graduated from the middle section of her class, and her skills reflected it; strictly middle of the road, spiking highest in tactics, hand to hand combat and computer based electronics. Her biotics were low to mid level, high skill in stasis fields but nothing remarkable otherwise. A natural leader, personable, smart, very manipulative, a bit of a wild streak. Her only repeated warnings were in regard to her not keeping up an appropriate appearance, which Anderson had come to find was honest forgetfulness rather than defiance. She respected the rank but was willing to bend rules, even orders, to suit her needs. She was one of those that people serving under her spoke highly of and people that ranked above her kept a close eye on, just in case. Because there was always something just a bit off about her...not bad or unstable, exactly, nothing you could put your finger on or define. Just...off.

Akuze had drawn his attention to her but it was one fact that echoed in every report that had fixed his eyes and had advanced her through the years; when problems arose, Shepard stepped up to the line. Always.

Spectres are not trained, but chosen. Individuals forged in the fire of service and battle—those whose actions elevate themselves above the rank and file. They are an ideal, a symbol. The embodiment of courage, determination, and self reliance.

She was that.

"I needed someone I was certain would balance the needs of a mission with the safety of the crew and you proved you could do that for both civilian and soldier alike many times out there on the Traverse. You laid your life on the line once to save children that weren't from any of the colonies...who weren't even human. I say the same thing then as I said when I was considering you; if you were willing to do that, what would you be willing to do to save your crew? To save the galaxy itself?"

Anything.

The word hung unsaid in the air between them.

He looked at her, his eyes meeting hers squarely. "Shepard, whatever the circumstances were that brought you in, you've served the Alliance. And you've served it well. Remember, I'm N7 too. I know perfectly well that you don't finesse your way to that level, you earn it."

Shepard looked at him for a long moment, meeting his gaze. She straightened up and nodded. "Thank you, Captain. For everything. I...it's been an honor serving under you." Though she technically didn't have to salute him anymore, she did it anyway. "I won't let you down, sir."

"Good luck, Shepard, we're counting on you."

She turned to head to the Normandy.

Anderson remembered another piece of advice he'd been meaning to give her. "Shepard."

She turned back.

"I overheard Udina giving you grief about avoiding the press."

She scowled, no trace of anxiety or uncertainty in her now. "He's got a hundred people on his payroll whose job it is to spin the news in the Alliance's favor. That's all they do all day."

"Just continue to give statements to his PR people and give them as little as possible if the reporters corner you. And keep the orders about steering clear of Westerlund News. Especially al-Jilani, she'll have it in for you now."

"Yes, sir." She turned away again, not quite muttering quietly enough, "I bet Wrex would shoot her if I asked him politely."

"Barring the legalities, Shepard, if shooting them actually solved anything, they'd all be dead by now."

"Yeah." Shepard blew out a breath. She started to turn back toward the ship and paused again. "Sir? What are you going to do now?"

"I'll be here at the ambassador's office, looking into Saren's activities. If I find anything of importance, I'll let you know."

"Likwise, sir."

Anderson turned back to stare out over the Wards. Udina wanted to talk to him but he put it off for now, not up to dealing with the ambassador any more than he was up to watching the Normandy take off without him.

"Man survives a hundred battles and gets taken down by backroom politics," Joker muttered, punching buttons as they left the Citadel behind.

Shepard remained silent, standing a couple paces behind his chair, her eyes on the window.

He glanced back. "Just watch your back, Commander. Things go bad on this mission, you're next on their chopping block."

Shepard didn't even have the heart to come up with a quip in reply. "It's not right..."

Joker turned to her. "Hey, Commander, nobody's blaming you. Anderson got screwed but it's not like you could have done anything to stop it." He looked back to the console. "Everyone on the ship is behind you. One hundred percent."

Or pretending to be, at least. Shepard nodded and gave him a slight smile, appreciating the support. You could always depend on Joker. The snarky bastard. Modern medicine had eliminated most diseases but there were always exceptions and the Normandy's pilot was an unfortunate victim of one of them. Known as Vrolik syndrome, it gave him bones so brittle they could break with the greatest of ease, leaving him barely able to walk. He only got defensive about it when someone started suggesting it was charity in regards to his condition that had gotten him this far rather than his own skill.

When they'd first been introduced, he'd made it a point to state several times he was the best pilot in the Alliance fleet. She'd made it a point since then, on general principle of course, to never let him know she fully agreed.

The pilot nodded toward the intercom. "You want to say anything to the crew, now's the time."

"Oh, hell..." Shepard winced, eyeing the intercom like it was a snake.

"Aw, Commander, your speeches aren't that bad." Joker's attempt at comfort was negated by the fact that, A- it was a blatant lie, and B- he was smirking while he said it.

Shepard stared at the console for a long moment, trying to formulate what to say. Hey, I know Anderson is the kind of man we want leading a crazy mission like this one but I hope you'll accept me instead.

Yeah, maybe not.

She ran her fingers through her hair. She found it both amusing and sad that she was better at twisting an enemy with words than speaking to people she actually gave a damn about.

Man it up, Shepard. This isn't about you, it's about being their commander. You want their complete confidence, start fucking earning it. They deserve that much.

She sighed and reached for the button, pausing a moment to squint at Joker, who was clearly on the verge of a snicker. "You laugh at me, I'll steal your hat and toss it into a volcano when we get to Therum."

"You wouldn't dare..." Joker laid a hand over his ball cap protectively.

"And I'll laugh while I'm doing it, too."

Joke muttered something that was, no doubt, very uncomplimentary under his breath. Shepard smirked and finally pressed the button.

"All hands, this is Commander Shepard."

Sargent Kell, who'd been talking to Navigator Pressley, glanced up and cocked an eyebrow. Ashley, as well as most of the people on the command deck, turned to listen as the commander's voice echoed over the intercom. It was a bit of a relief really, most of them had been divided between watching the krogan nervously as he passed by and watching the turian prowl around the deck, looking everything over with interest. Shepard had introduced everyone earlier but this was still the first time many of the crew had been trapped on a ship with an alien, much less three at once. She was glad she wasn't the only one that felt a bit nervous about that.

"You know me, so I won't torture you by making you sit through an attempt at a speech."

Chuckles echoed across the deck and Kell grinned. Ashley noticed that the krogan had paused to listen and the turian and come up beside her near the map.

"Our orders are to find Saren and find out what this Conduit is before he gets to it. Saren knows it, too, which isn't going to make our job any easier. His followers will be ready for us, but we're ready for them too. And he thinks this crew isn't a match for his, which is his mistake. He has to be stopped, for everyone's sake, and we are going to stop him."

"Not too bad, maybe she's getting the hang of it," one of the techs commented.

"This is definitely going to be an interesting mission," Pressley said quietly.

Sargent Kell started chuckling again. "Oh, you ain't seen nothing yet. I'm waiting for it to sink in she ain't got a chain of command wrapped around her neck and she can do things her way."

Ashley and the turian glanced back at him. Kell simply grinned. "Then, ladies and gentlemen, things are gonna get real interesting."

Shepard sat in the dark in the captain's office, her bare feet braced against the desk. Anderson hadn't been a man who loaded his space with personal objects, there was virtually nothing in the office or cabin that indicated he'd ever been there. She was trying not to let that bother her.

She fingered the battered leather case in her hand for a moment before flipping it open, revealing her last hand rolled cigarette from Angelus. Health risks from smoking weren't generally a problem anymore, thanks to advanced medical and chemical research, but Shepard still kept her smoking down to an occasional one now and then. Because no matter how advanced your medicine, breathing smoke into your lungs just seemed like a non-healthy thing to do.

Shepard finally shrugged and lit it. She couldn't think of a better occasion to smoke it. Out with the old and in with the new. Au revoir to the past, and all that jazz.

She blew out a stream of smoke and leaned back, letting the darkness settle her thoughts now that she was behind a closed door. It wouldn't do to let the crew see how she was reeling. So much had happened so fast, she felt like someone had hauled up and tossed her into the air with a rock of responsibility on her shoulders. She was now a symbol for humanity. That was just...sad. And funny as hell. If Maman could see me now...

A sad smile curved her lips at the thought of her mother, long dead, lost in some careless, unmarked grave with so many others from the massacre on Mindoir. From this angle, she could look down the length of her legs to where her right pant leg had drawn up. She could barely make out the tattoo there on her ankle, one of the first she'd gotten. A tarot card, an exact replica from the design in her mother's old deck she still kept with her. The Queen of Cups. Maman.

Her eyes drifted to some of the sketches she'd been fiddling with over the past few days, pinned to the wall, and she rose to walk over and study them. Hazy scenes that twisted through her mind, haunting her already haunted dreams. Scenes of violence, death, of a threat far more than batarian slave rings. The weight of it was heavy in her mind indeed but...it was inevitable and she wasn't proud of it...there was also a low thrill of violence to come, of pitting herself against impossible odds.

She laid her finger on the sketch of the image that haunted her the most: a monstrous shape silhouetted against a bloodied sky. It was a vague blob, all she could make out without making her head hurt, but it haunted her. Chilled her. Brought her thoughts together into one cold, simple focus. Past, present, future, it's a threat to all of it. I don't know how I know that. I don't care. And I don't know what the hell you have to do with this, Arterius, but you'd better believe I'm going to find out...and find you.

Across the galaxy, in the depths of a ship that glided through space like a shadow in the night, Saren Arterius lifted his head, his thoughts momentarily drawn away from the voice layered over a thousand other voices whispering in the back of his mind.