Horizon – Jacob Taylor


An obnoxious alarm pulse blared throughout the ship, just loud enough that it could not be ignored.

The Normandy was at full burn - Jacob could feel the adjustment thrusters shaking him down to his bones as he made his way to his locker on the crew deck. Five minutes ago he'd been comfortably asleep in his shared bunk when the alarm had roused him, but unlike many of the others scrambling from their beds, he was sure-footed and calm as he pulled on his armor. His time with the Alliance had been good for something, at least.

Jacob was a relative rarity among human soldiers in generally not wearing a hardsuit – he'd become a master of biotic barriers if ever there was one and he preferred speed to strength any day – but sometimes a skin-tight jumpsuit just didn't cut it. His vest of ceramic plates and Leibniz packets slipped on easily over his usual wear, and he adjusted the straps with rote efficiency before snapping on a pair of padded gauntlets. His helmet he tucked beneath one arm and, shutting the locker, he headed to do a final check of the crew quarters.

Above him, the intercom system was alive with voices, commands and reports being tossed back and forth. "EDI's finished with the approach vectors to Horizon, Commander," Joker's voice boomed. "Fastest course will put us right on top of the colony as we enter the system."

"And right on top of whatever's happening," Shepard responded. "How much longer for a rear approach?"

"…eight minutes, EDI says," Joker said as Jacob finished checking the crew decks and headed for the elevator. "We can take the long way around the planet."

"Do that. Can't assume the collectors can't see through the stealth systems. Mordin, are your countermeasures ready?"

Mordin's voice appeared. "Shortly, Shepard. Running final tests on newly-assembled modules. Miss Zorah will distribute to human crewmembers in hangar after verifying adequate power supply." As he stepped into the elevator, Jacob frowned at the power indicator on his vest. Just about fully charged. Hopefully that was enough for whatever Mordin intended. He punched the button for the hangar access.

Shepard's voice rang out from the elevator's speakers. "Jacob, you suited up?"

"Sir yes sir," Jacob said, snapping a salute (and grimacing as he realized Shepard couldn't see him). "Locked and ready to go."

"Good. Get to the hangar and make sure Zaeed and Grunt can say the same. They're taking some heavier guns this time, make sure they're both in working order."

"You got it."

The hubbub in the upper decks was nothing compared to the hangar where most of the ground team was preparing. The sound of the Kodiak's initialization runtimes and the whine of the cargo crane thundered off of the walls as Jacob exited the elevator. The dozen or so Cerberus crewmen bustling about to fill Shepard's last minute orders muttered nervously amongst themselves. Many of them were from the civilian sector. They were all masters at their field, of course, but many had never seen real battle before, and Jacob could see the fear in their faces as he headed for the shuttle. They gave a wide berth to Shepard's new pet krogan, who paced furiously like a caged lion, snarling at any who strayed too close. Perhaps the only one apparently unaffected by the coming fight was Zaeed, who'd set up what looked to be enough guns for a small militia on the workbenches next to the shuttle and was servicing each weapon with a calm reverence that seemed to pierce the storm around him. Jacob frowned, his distrust for the mercenary surging anew. He was all for confidence, but the expression on Zaeed's scarred face looked entirely too serene considering a whole colony was at stake.

He was distracted by a resounding crash as something (something heavy and expensive, by the sound of it) slipped out of nervous hands and broke upon the floor. The first accusations of blame were not halfway out of the accusers' mouths before Jacob cut them off, "this is not the time, people!" he shouted above the din, not bothering to see what was broken. "We are on a mission here. Do your jobs and we'll all get through it!"

Jacob calmly set his helmet on the bench next to Zaeed's arsenal and set to checking his own two guns. The grizzled mercenary paid him no mind, his hands hard at work adjusting the fuel lines to the heavy flamethrower – one of Shepard's newest requisitions – strapped onto his back. The weapon was brand new – never before used – and yet it filled the air with a foul, smoky smell. Or maybe that was Zaeed, Jacob wasn't sure.

"Think it's best to be smoking while handling inflammable fuel?" he asked, not looking up from his shotgun.

Zaeed rolled his eyes and puffed arrogantly on the stub of his cigar. "Firestorm 603," he said, hefting the flamethrower's ignition system with a misty gleam in his eyes, "Damn good gun. Heavier than the 451 but a hell of a killing machine. Can turn a city block into a goddamn inferno in a couple seconds." He fixed Jacob with a two-toned stare. "I've done my homework, Kid. Find someone else to mother."

"Yeah, well. At least you're good for something."

"That's funny," Zaeed said, rolling his eyes. "You condescending to me like that. Shepard I get, but you're Cerberus' bitch, so if you got a bug up your ass about me, Taylor, I recommend you get it out in the open. We gonna have problems?"

Jacob met the man's threatening stare without flinching. He didn't have to justify himself. He was here to help people. Zaeed was here for money. They were not the same. "So long as you do your job, we'll get along fine," he said, stepping forward to come face to face with the mercenary. "For now. But yeah, we have problems. I don't trust anyone who does what you do. I'll have my eye on you."

Zaeed just smirked, casually flicking cigar ash onto the floor. "Consider me warned."

The rest of the loading went well and, by the time the ship dropped out of FTL in the Iera system, the ground team was ready to go. Even after putting up with Zaeed (and worse, having to help strap a flamethrower onto an excited but uncooperative krogan), Jacob found his spirits high. After he'd picked up his anti-seeker swarm countermeasure (a thick, unattractive box that plugged into his armor suit's power unit) he joined the rest of the team in the shuttle.

Shepard's ragtag army was on its way to what might be its first real test against the collectors – against aliens of unknown strength and technology – and yet Jacob couldn't help but feel hopeful. He stared across the row of faces – human, salarian, turian, krogan, and quarian – and saw every emotion, from fear to bloodlust, and yet for the first time he felt like he was seeing the sparks of a real team. On the ship Zaeed was a dick and Shepard and Miranda were perpetually about two steps from killing one another in their sleep, but in the looming shadow of the oncoming battle personal grudges were forgotten and people began to work together. They all had their reasons for being there and there was unspoken agreement that these reasons were more important than petty grudges.

They might all die, of course. Mordin's countermeasures might (as he had plainly announced) not be fully functional, or the new Normandy might turn out to be no more resilient than its predecessor. There were a million ways for it to end, and all but a handful were very, very bad. But they would die a team.

More or less.

"Didn't realize you were coming, Mordin."

Above the sounds of the Kodiak's thrusters, the salarian looked up from his weapon to stare at Jacob. "Yes, yes," he said, gesturing to a belt of test tube cartridge holders around his chest, "Samples. May need to bid hasty retreat. May not have time for proper collection. Need to be on site, see collector technology and activity in the field." He smiled warmly at Jacob. "Appreciate concern," he cocked his submachine gun with elaborate flair, "but unnecessary. Not soldier, but can handle self."

Jacob laughed. "Didn't mean to imply otherwise."

"Of course. Besides, tactically wise inclusion. Need non-humans on ground team in case humans get collected in first five minutes." He stared at Jacob, who swallowed nervously.

Jacob was spared the chance to ask the salarian if he was joking or not by Shepard, who banged against the shuttle wall to grab the group's attention. "Listen up, team," he said, gesturing around at the eight of them, crammed like sardines into the shuttle. "I'm sorry we didn't have time for a proper briefing, but we'll have to make do." He pointed to Miranda, who activated her omnitool with a few swift button presses. A holographic city map bloomed from her wrist, coming to float lazily in the middle of the shuttle. "We have scans of the four major settlements on Horizon," Shepard began. "The Normandy's long-range sensors confirm a massive energy source here, on the outskirts of New Discovery." He pointed to a glowing yellow marker just south of the miniature town.

"That's a ship?" Tali asked incredulously, scooting forward on her seat. "It almost looks like a space station. I've never seen a ship with that kind of energy output, and certainly not in atmosphere."

Joker was the first to reply, his voice thrumming from the speakers overhead. "Yeah you have. You watched me waste one two years ago. Ask Shepard – he almost got a real close look." Jacob looked at the commander's face and was unsurprised to see it drawn in a grim frown – Joker's levity aside, Sovereign had been no laughing matter, and the comparison did nothing to improve their chances.

Miranda broke the uncomfortable silence. "Personal incredulity aside, this is what the data indicate."

"At least we know it's the collectors, then," Garrus offered helpfully, one arm still struggling to get the human-sized harness latched down over his deep armor shell. "No one else could build a ship like that." No one looked overmuch cheered by this either.

"It doesn't matter," Shepard insisted.

"Regardless of what technology they have," Miranda said, taking over the briefing, "the surveillance footage from Freedom's Progress suggests that the collectors retrieve the colonists by hand, down on the ground. There are more than three hundred thousand people living in New Discovery. Even with an army of collectors, it will take time to load them. Time enough, maybe, for us to do something to stop it."

"That's what we're counting on," Shepard said, grinning. "Time to see just how many bullets it takes to make them think twice. Once we're on the ground we'll split into two groups. Miranda, Tali, Garrus, and I will sneak down the main road to the Alliance headquarters in the center of town." A red marker appeared on the map and traced its way down a long, straight road. "With luck there will be holdouts there. Maybe even Kaidan." Out of the corner of his eye, Jacob saw Garrus and Tali's twin looks of surprise. Shepard tossed them a nod and continued.

"Jacob will be leading the rest of you in a distraction team," a blue marker appeared on the town's perimeter. "My team's going to be right through the highest population areas. Good chance the collectors will be thick. We're going to need you to circle northwest around the outskirts and draw as much fire as possible, lighten things for us while keeping in range to respond if things go south." He looked to Jacob. "Think you can do that?"

The prospect of commanding Grunt and Zaeed did not appeal, but Jacob was a soldier. He saluted. "Yes sir, Commander."

"Do you really think Jacob can handle the krogan?" Miranda asked.

Shepard sighed wearily. "I think Jacob can handle Grunt fine, Miranda. They both know their jobs. And besides, Zaeed and Mordin will be with them. Right guys?"

"Hell yeah, Shepard," Zaeed said, hefting the nozzle of his new toy. "Taylor's got his eye on us all. Me and Grunt'll be walkin' on our tippy toes." He cast a taunting look in Jacob's direction. Behind him, Grunt sniggered.

"Indeed," Mordin agreed, oblivious to the malice in the mercenary's voice. "Will assist Mr. Taylor as needed."

Shepard grinned widely. "See Miranda?" he said, "The merc and the insane doctor agree we're fine. We can do this."

Miranda rolled her eyes. "I'm so relieved."

"You sure you'll be alright?"

Jacob turned to look at Miranda. Even in Horizon's insufferable humidity, she was as beautiful and flawless as ever. She even made Mordin's unattractive countermeasure – which hung like a pendant from her neck – look fashionable. But it was the twinge of not-quite-hidden anxiety on her face that made Jacob grin. Were it anyone else he might be offended by their lack of confidence. But Miranda, as much as she might dress it up as a tactical concern, was worried about him. He'd always had to work to get any kind of emotion out of her. Seeing her unease reminded him of what he'd always tried to remind everyone else – Miranda was still human.

"I'll be fine Miranda," he said, briefly entertaining the idea of embracing her before casting it away. He followed her gaze to where Zaeed and Grunt were testing their flamethrowers out on a nearby tree while Mordin watched, fascinated. "Promise. I've handled guys like these before."

"Hey Lizard!" Zaeed was shouting to the krogan, "I challenge you to a fire-pissing contest! Bet you a thousand credits I can burn more bugs than you."

Grunt's enormous blue eyes narrowed angrily and his hands wrapped around the flamethrower with renewed vigor. "I am pure krogan. My victory in this 'fire-pissing contest' will be glorious, human, and I will take your credits as a trophy."

"Not sure whether you should be proud or ashamed of that…" Miranda said, shaking her head in disapproval at the filthy hand gestures Zaeed was making. Behind her, Shepard, Tali, and Garrus had started down the main road. With a final shrug, Miranda turned to follow them, pistol drawn.

"Be careful, Miranda," Jacob said.

She tossed him an arrogant wink over her shoulder. "I'm always careful, Jacob."

Jacob chuckled before turning to his group. A merc, a krogan, and an eccentric, amoral crackpot. He had his work cut out for him. "Alright let's shape up!" he shouted. "Conserve your fuel, you two! Let's move!"


15 years previously…

Summers on Kofi's Moon were hot. For a few months every year, the planet tilted so sharply towards its sun that everything baked. Animals migrated away, rivers dried, businesses shut down to avoid the unending sunlight. The thirty thousand humans who made Kofi's Moon their home agreed down to the man that it was the worst time of the year.

There were, however, three things to redeem summer. The first was the plants. Those that didn't simply retreat into the ground changed pigments, flooding their leaves with a beautiful blue color to reflect the brunt of the sun's radiation. The vast blue-green grasslands had become the colony's signature image, featured prominently on all of Transelm's marketing. Even those locals that had lived in the colony for twenty years still found the massive yearly transformation beautiful.

Second, it turned out the plants' summer pigments were absolutely lucrative as components of low-cost solar power and heat bleeding systems. It had taken some years to discover their value, but once it had been revealed Transelm had jumped on it, and the colony's GDP had been growing by leaps and bounds ever since as more and more farms were started to extract the valuable chemicals. Now thousands of tons of grass were processed every summer, attracting legions of transport ships and harvesters and laborers from all corners of the galaxy, eager to get a piece of the profits. The capital's population tripled for the summer months, bringing outside goods and culture that were otherwise unobtainable.

And finally, and most importantly, school was cancelled.

It was for this third reason that sixteen-year-old Jacob Taylor and his friends could be found spending their rare free hours in the shade of the forests just north of town, hiding from being conscripted back into the endless harvest. The three boys' bodies ached with weeks of backbreaking labor, to the point where any activity beyond staring at the sky and talking seemed like an intractable effort.

"I'm so tired," Jacob said, watching the little flecks of blue-white sky peeking through the canopy, "I could lay here until next year's harvest."

Next to him, his best friend Thames ran a hand through his unkempt hair. "I'm so tired I could sleep through the next batarian raid. Ugly bastards wouldn't even have to struggle to load me up with the other slaves, so long as they had a pillow." He held a hand up to the back of his neck, miming the tracking-device gun the batarians used to implant their slaves. "Pop. Anything to avoid seeing another bale of grass."

Red's voice came from above, where he was stretched out on a tree branch, his lanky limbs hanging. "I'm so tired I don't even care that someone is coming to drag us back to work."

Jacob and Thames sat up in a flash. "What?" Thames demanded. "They found us already?" Jacob just groaned, cradling a (sore) head in a (sore) hand.

Red gazed lazily down at them. "Yeaaaahhh… Someone's heading for us, saw him coming up the path ten minutes ago. Be here any minute. Nobody we know, though." He sniffed, unconcerned. "Looks like a tourist, maybe."

The boys relaxed. "So it's for Taylor, then," Thames said. "Wonder who his dad beat up this time."

Jacob tensed. "Shut up about my father," he growled. Jacob was a big boy, his youthful frame already heavy with muscle, but it was the blue corona that inadvertently plumed from his body that caused Thames to blanch.

"Just kiddin, Jacob," he said, holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "You know I love your dad. Anybody who can wreck Stevens up like that is a damn hero in my book."

"Yeah, fine," Jacob muttered, letting it drop. The dark energy rippled away as quickly as it had come. He squinted and stared down the path, shielding his eyes under one hand. In the distance, he could just see the approaching stranger. The glare made it hard, but already Jacob could make out the man's cream-colored suit and hat and his blissfully confident stride as he made his way up the forest path. He looked out of place in the grit-stained colony, his clothes cleanly pressed; his designer shoes polished and somehow free of mud and grass. If he was winded at all by the time he reached the boys, he didn't show it.

"Afternoon, boys," the man said, removing his hat and giving an elaborate bow. He grinned, showing straight, white teeth under his laboriously-coifed blonde moustache.

"Afternoon, sir," Jacob said politely, nodding his head. "You must be here for the harvest. Something we can do for you?"

"Yes sir, I believe there is," the man said, replacing his hat. "I never met you before, son, but I know you're Taylor's boy." He extended a hand to shake. "Captain Justinian Andsworth, at your service." Jacob stood and shook the man's hand. He tried to hide his surprise when he realized the limb was cybernetic, but Justinian caught it and grinned knowingly. "Aww, don't worry about the metalworks, son," he said, lifting his metal fingers up to his face and flexing them experimentally – the servos in each joint shifted quietly, and Jacob was astonished to notice the hand had only four fingers, and had apparently been designed that way.

Jacob kept his face neutral, but inside his mind was moving a mile a minute. Justinian looked for all the world like a rich tourist, a soft man, a city-dweller from Elysium or the Citadel, and yet underneath his fastidious grooming and affable smile was something else, something darker. His stance was too smooth, too calculated. His eyes held an edge – they were the eyes of an ambush predator, the eyes of a hard man who'd seen the worst the galaxy had to offer, and they moved constantly, taking everything in. Missing nothing. Jacob felt alarm bells going off in his head.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Andsworth?" he asked, burying his suspicions.

"I have a… gentlemanly offer for you, son," Justinian said. He turned to Thames and Red. "Would you boys mind if I talked to Jacob alone for a moment?" he asked.

Thames frowned and pointed at the bulge in Justinian's coat pocket. "You've got a gun. Heavy risk, leaving you alone out in the forest. How stupid do you think we are?"

Justinian smiled disarmingly. "Heavy risk yes," he agreed, pulling a long-barreled pistol out of his coat and holding it out to Jacob, "but I assure you, Mr. Taylor, the prize is well worth it."

Jacob hesitated for a moment, then grabbed the gun. In a flash, he'd checked the ammo chamber, primed it, and flipped the safety off. The weapon felt as natural in his hands as any tool – Jacob's father owned quite the collection and Jacob had been firing guns since he was eight. The gun gave the quiet whine of fine craftsmanship as he leveled it at Justinian, whose face flickered in surprise for just a moment before returning to an impressed grin. "It's alright, guys," Jacob said over his shoulder. "I can handle him."

Justinian beamed. "Thank you, son. Let's take a walk." Without waiting for an answer, he headed off in a random direction, the same spring in his step from before, striding between the blue-tinged trees like he was on a Sunday stroll. Jacob cast a last slow look at his friends and they stared back, their intentions obvious in their eyes. They would follow from a distance. Jacob gave a nod and, jamming the gun into his pocket, headed after Justinian.

"So talk," Jacob said as they picked their way through the forest.

Justinian grinned (he seemed to be always grinning, when it came down to it). "Like I said before, son," he said, "I never met you but I knew you were the Taylor boy the moment I saw you. You're a special sort. Obvious if you know what you're looking for. Wish there were more like you, but there aren't."

Jacob had a guess where this was going. He'd been propositioned by so called 'captains' before, looking for cheap labor to help them unload their harvests at any of the dozens of planets that the colony sold to. "You a shipper?" he asked. "Looking for hands on your ship? Because I'm not interested."

"No sir, I'm no shipper," Justinian said, shaking his head. "Messy, crazy business, shipping. I do captain a ship, however. The Anaximander. Beautiful machine, if I do say so myself. Mighta seen her land this morning." Jacob said nothing, and Justinian continued. "Alliance knows how to fit 'em," he added, winking at Jacob.

"You're Alliance?" Jacob asked, incredulous. "You're kidding."

"And why not?" Justinian asked, feigning offense. He gestured down to his suit. "Alliance men can't look good from time to time?" He clicked his tongue. "But no, son, not officially Alliance. Alliance of a sort. You ever hear of the Corsair program?" Jacob shook his head. "Well, whatever men on the frontier say about them, the Alliance does have a brain and it does have a conscience. There are men in it that know how the world works, know that the rules don't always apply. Know that sometimes the right thing and the political thing aren't the same thing. Men like you, like me. Let's just say I occasionally 'accidentally' intercept Alliance transmissions describing certain situations in need of a good Samaritan. I happen to find that Samaritan, and it might just turn into one hell of a tax exemption."

Jacob frowned. "So you're a mercenary," he said, disappointed. "The Alliance pays you to kill people quietly."

"Not at all, son," Justinian said, looking genuinely affronted. "I am a doer of good deeds, a conscience with a ship and a crew and a whole lot of guns. A champion of justice without all the red tape."

"And you want me to help."

"Well obviously not now, son. Could never take a sixteen-year-old boy out into the void to save the galaxy. You got to finish your studies. But I keep an eye out for talent, and I've heard great things about you. A man like you could do great things up in the void." Justinian eyed Jacob expectantly.

Jacob truly thought about it for a moment. There weren't many kids his age on Kofi's Moon, and most of those that were wanted to leave. It was a backwater planet, pure and simple, and staying there meant inheriting their parents' lives. Backbreaking work on a farm, struggling to keep your family fed, eight extranet terminals on the whole planet, and a whole lot of nothing else. Up in space there was fighting and robots and sex with blue aliens. On Kofi's Moon? Grass. Jacob himself had never seen fit to complain with his lot in life – he was happy enough with a simple existence – but he admitted it was hard not to wonder about what lay beyond the sky.

Still, his answer was clear. He had spent his whole childhood hearing his father warn about the dangers of the Alliance, of the Company, of anyone else who took away a man's freedom without understanding the situation first. Men like Justinian were dangerous, pure and simple, and even more so to Jacob. He smiled at Justinian and offered a hand to shake. "Thanks but no thanks, Captain," he said, "but I have plenty to do here with my father."

Justinian frowned, clearly disappointed. "Yes, your father," he said.

"My father is a great man," Jacob insisted, eyes narrowing at Justinian's doubtful tone.

"He is at that," Justinian agreed, "but he is also an angry man. I would be asking him this same question if I truly believed he could ever willingly work for anyone but himself. But I don't, son. Do you? He's goin' off the rails, Jacob." Jacob frowned, looking at his toes. He knew Justinian was right. A few years ago, when Kofi's Moon's value was first fully realized, Transelm had muscled Ronald Taylor out of his self-appointed position as town sheriff and replaced him with corporate security forces, and the man had held a grudge ever since. He was respected, by and large, among the colonists for being a champion of their rights and freedoms, aside from his endless array of skills, but his temper was feared far and wide. It was a common argument whether Ronald Taylor was the greatest mean man or the meanest great man on Kofi's Moon. Jacob was starting to wonder if either was true after the tenth or twelfth time his father had gotten drunk and his usual rants against The Company had led to fistfights.

"He is going through a tough time," Jacob said resolutely. "That's all. He's a good father who has given me everything."

"I believe it, Jacob, but there will come a time when you will want to leave this moon. You are a gifted man, above and beyond what he is. Men like you belong up there," he said, gesturing up at the sky with his four-fingered metal hand, "where you can do the most good. Your father is too… stuck in the old ways. Too scared of civilization. The frontier is shrinking and he can't handle it. Hell, if he wasn't so damn frightened of your biotic potential he'd have enrolled you in a proper school, given you a proper future anywhere you wanted."

Jacob frowned, pulling out the gun and training it on Justinian. "We're done here," he said.

Justinian's affable smile disappeared as he faced Jacob. "Your biotics are not an illness," he said. "And your father's attempts to hide them do not make them go away. You have a gift, and an obligation to repay that gift to the galaxy. If your father can't see that-"

The gun primed, its whine filling the air. "I said we're done."

Justinian fell silent. "Very well, son. I come by here every year at harvest. When you change your mind, you know how to find me."


Presently…

Jacob had set foot on many human colonies in his work with the Alliance and, later, Cerberus. An outsider might see them all as one and the same, and indeed, they always bore certain hallmarks – usually low income, usually no aliens, usually some big company's logo plastered over every surface. But that was misleading. The universe had gotten so much bigger in the last half century that it was easy to pigeon-hole whole planets as 'human colonies' and go no further, but Jacob knew every one had its own identity, its own little quirks. Kofi's Moon's blue grasslands, Eden Prime's spectacular red skies and glowing vistas, Freedom's Progress' bioluminescent storms, they all looked great on the colonial brochure, but it was the community that gave these places their unique spirit. This was simple colonial life. This was home. Jacob kept his head on the swivel, ostensibly to keep an eye out for more of their insectoid foes, and yet he could not help but find himself taking in the sights. The air was fresh, the day deceptively clear and cheery. Though there wasn't a soul to be seen, everywhere he looked Jacob could see evidence of a tight-knit community of neighbors and friends.

And yet Jacob had never been somewhere so alien. As big as the universe had become, the collectors were from somewhere still beyond its edge, truly foreign in a way none of the other aliens Jacob had met matched. Their lidless eyes locked in place – when the light hit them just right, the glisten of hidden cybernetics was apparent in their depths. The great insects were utterly silent, almost ghostly in their motions. Never a wasted muscle twitch. No sign whatsoever of communication or order. Practically machines.

Above them, an undulating ceiling of seeker swarms pulsed about. At first glance they looked just like swarming insects, but with care Jacob could pick out an unnatural symmetry of movement emerging from the apparent chaos, like the swarms were being pushed by a computer. It was unsettling. "Mordin," Jacob asked, fingering the countermeasure box around his bicep, "You sure these things are going to work?"

"As explained earlier, most certainly not sure," the salarian said, peering unconcerned up at the swarms. "Rely upon several key assumptions about swarm behavior. Corroborated by tests on captured units, but impossible to apply model to field without direct observation. Very poor science." He clucked his tongue, disappointed. "Device produces counter pulses to confuse swarms' active electrosensory systems. Apparently sole mechanism by which they find humans, but possibility of backup mechanism. Would recommend caution."

"Great," Jacob said, nervously checking his power pack.

The squad moved quietly through the remains of a now-vacant shipyard. In the distance, the afternoon sun glinted off of carapaced forms and they slowed, keeping out of sight until they took cover behind a maze of abandoned construction equipment not ten meters from where the collectors worked. The insects – dozens of them – were gathering up the paralyzed colonists and packaging them in massive, pupa-like pods, which were laid out in orderly lines. The only sound came from the otherworldly hum of a great, floating machine with armor so black it seemed to suck up all the daylight, which stacked the pods into hexagonal bundles before carrying them away in its massive metal claws.

"Good thirty, thirty-five of 'em up there," Zaeed whispered into his communicator, his usually implacable voice betraying his unease. "Why aren't they firing?" Jacob just shook his head, at a loss, as he watched the creatures work.

From his position behind a nearby stack of steel beams, Mordin tapped at his face. "Unexpected. Appear unaware of our presence. Perhaps blind." Without waiting for an answer, he stood up and stepped into plain sight, gun held out in front of him.

"Get back into cover, Mordin!" Jacob hissed. The salarian ignored him, taking a few steps nearer to the collectors. None of the insects budged, just continued their relentless packaging, even when Mordin waved an omni-tool directly in front of one's face.

"Point eyes primitive, but pupillary responses intact. Suggests some light sensitivity – not blindness," Mordin said calmly, walking in a tight circle to examine the preoccupied insect from every angle. "Extensive cybernetic augmentation obvious. Behavior, physiology not dissimilar to Citadel keepers. Connection?"

"Get back, Mordin!" Jacob repeated, "this isn't a science fair!" This time the salarian obeyed, striding back to his cover. Jacob thought for a moment. For whatever reason, the collectors were giving them a break, but he had little doubt that would end as soon as they opened fire. They had to take advantage while they could. "Zaeed, Grunt, take position at the corners of that building," he said, gesturing up ahead. Grunt nodded, gleefully stroking the barrel of his flamethrower until Jacob stopped him with an outstretched hand "No throwers. Too many colonists around. Assault rifles only." The krogan grumbled but acquiesced before plodding off to his position. "Mordin, keep out of fire. Let us handle it. We're going to hit them all simultaneously. Be ready to take cover."

"Understood," Mordin said.

Jacob gripped his shotgun and crept forward to take point, ultimately crouching in the shadow of an earthmover. In front of him, the collectors continued their quiet work. They would look almost entirely dead to the world if not for their wicked chelicerae, which flickered about as if they were chewing something. And, of course, the fact that they were abducting entire cities with casual ease. Jacob checked his flanks – Grunt and Zaeed were in position. Inwardly, he grumbled at the idea that his only protection was a ruthless mercenary and a clearly unstable krogan, but he trusted Shepard's judgment.

"Go."

Thunder sounded as Jacob fired his shotgun into the nearest collector. The insect's head and torso exploded spectacularly, spattering the frozen human it had been manhandling with black ooze and flecks of shattered chitin. Its remains thudded heavily to the ground without so much as a shudder. Grunt and Zaeed's rifles cracked as they advanced on the other collectors, mowing them down with flawless precision. Jacob didn't bother stopping to wonder what the hell was going on, and hopped over the half-open pod before him, took aim at the next bug, and fired.

It was hardly twenty seconds before they had killed every single collector in sight. None of them had raised a claw in self-defense, or even given any signal they recognized the threat all. Jacob stood, confused, among the gore.

"Cybernetics clearly interfaced heavily with brain," Mordin observed, stooped over one carcass. His hands cut with mechanical care as he took dozens of tissue samples, clicking the vials into a black cartridge on his belt. "Perhaps even receiver for external control device. Collectors given order, not capable of violating, even to protect life."

Jacob ignored him, staring at one of the frozen men. A farmer, by the looks of him, maybe fifty or sixty, with skin like well-worn leather. And completely frozen in place. Jacob felt for him – just a simple man, trying to make a life for his family on the frontier until he was caught up in something bigger than him. This was a man like his father had once been. Like he had almost been. A man who deserved a little peace. It wasn't fair, the way the universe worked sometimes. "Can we help the colonists?" he asked, turning to face the professor.

Mordin's enormous eyes flickered to one of the pods. "Perhaps," he said, running a few perfunctory scans across its surface. "Life signs atypically low but detectable. Captives likely forced into a coma state to reduce life support requirements, simplify transport."

"Is the paralysis reversible?"

"Impossible to say now. Volunteers on Normandy recovered in four to eight hours with no severe side effects, but colonists may have been stung multiple times. May be unable to clear paralyzing agent. Impossible to know without experimentation."

Jacob frowned. Some part of him knew they had to keep moving, but a greater part could not leave innocents in this state. It did not take him long to come to a decision. Shepard would understand. He clapped a hand on the paralyzed man's shoulder – he did not know if the man could hear him, but he wanted him to know help had arrived. "Fine," he said at last, "Open the pods and we'll lock the colonists in one of these buildings. Is there any way to use your countermeasure to make sure they aren't found again?"

"Not unless you or Mr. Massani wants to give up yours," Mordin said, a frustrated look on his slender face. (Jacob could not help but fleetingly consider sacrificing Zaeed) "Cannot conjure calibrated pulse generator from nothing. With proper cover, however, risk probably small. Swarms appear to recognize human nervous impulses. Comatose humans unlikely to attract much attention." Jacob nodded, stooping to loop his arms beneath the colonist's armpits. He was struck by how stiff the man felt, like he'd been turned to stone.

"Shepard said to be a distraction," Grunt complained as he yanked one of the pods open and tossed its peel-like door across the street. The smell of the pod's putrid, sap-like blood filled the air. "So far they haven't even noticed us."

"We'll get to it. We help the colonists first," Jacob ordered, lifting the man off of his feet and dragging him towards the nearest prefab. Shepard's team hadn't met any resistance yet. They had time.

Seventy-eight colonists within a block of them, every one stiff as a board. Jacob panted with exertion as he pulled the seventy-eighth – a young woman – into place and stacked her with the others. They were piled up like cordwood – or like corpses – but they'd live. He hoped.

His radio crackled. "Jacob, you there?" It was Shepard.

"Here Commander. What can we do for you?"

"Nothing that you haven't already, I think," Shepard said, sounding winded but excited. "Garrus just sent word. Looks like you have incoming."

"Collectors?" Jacob asked, deciding not to mention the fact that the collectors hadn't seemed to notice them at all yet.

"And husks," Shepard said, and Jacob felt his stomach descend past his knees. "Not the colonists," Shepard continued. "Too dry. But different from the ones on Eden Prime." For several seconds, Jacob said nothing, his mind full of haunting images of grasping hands. "You can handle it?" Shepard asked.

"Roger that, Commander," Jacob managed.

"Keep your head. You'll be fine," Shepard said, and the radio quieted.

By the time Jacob had pulled his team to the second-story balcony of an adjacent apartment, the moaning had started. A slight breeze was not enough to hide the symphony of low wheezes and pounding feet that now echoed over the colony. Jacob's blood felt like ice. "Ready weapons!" he shouted. "Take position! Now!" The moaning intensified, until even Grunt looked about nervously.

It turned out the collectors had noticed them.

It was astonishing how rapidly the situation turned. The squad had barely had time to raise their weapons and crouch behind the railing when the entire street exploded with furious activity. Shambling black silhouettes, hunched and ragged imitations of the human form, poured from every alley and barreled towards the group with glittering malice in their luminescent eyes. Jacob had always aimed for the eyes – something about their glassy blue glow helped him accept what the husks were, or more accurately what they were not. They were not human anymore.

The sound of the squad's opening salvos filled the air.

"Holy shit!" Zaeed shouted, dropping to a knee and sweeping through the shambling mass approaching them with his assault rifle. Dark, coagulated blood spattered in every direction. Each impact tore the unshielded husks apart with ease, blowing off limbs or splitting heads like melons, but the creatures kept coming like a tide. The husks did not falter, nor react to the pain at all. Even some of the more determined limbs continued to crawl towards them as the horde continued to expand. "What the hell are these things!"

"Husks," Jacob said, face in a grim frown as he fired over and over into the swirling mass of angry limbs. "Cybernetics."

"The colonists?"

"No," Jacob said, pulping the husk front lines as they closed the distance. "Aim for the joints." Never in his life had he imagined so many husks at once – the ground seemed to shake under their combined weight. But at least they weren't fresh, still dripping with strips of flesh displaced by the burrowing circuitry. At least you couldn't see your friends' faces on them.

The group stood their ground as long as they could, shredding the waves of husks, but more and more appeared with each passing second. The whole legion pushed forward with a scrambling intensity, climbing over each other and giving their blood-curdling screams. Jacob's team's height advantage let them slaughter the approaching cybernetics with impunity, but soon the husks were on them, clambering over the ever-growing piles of their fallen brethren.

"Additional threats incoming," Mordin said calmly as four or five collectors dropped from the sky, landing amongst the sea of husks. Lasers lanced from their weapons with thunderous report, sweeping across the squad's cover and nearly decapitating Zaeed, who swore and dove for safety.

"Now can we use the flamethrowers!" Grunt shouted, backhanding a trio of husks hard enough to send them flying in pieces.

"Use them!" Jacob shouted. "Carefully!" Grunt didn't seem to have heard the last word, too busy laughing as he drew the flamethrower's igniter and primed it. It gave a deadly sounding beep, joined seconds later by Zaeed's, and then twin plumes of fire set the world ablaze. A wave of oily heat bloomed as the two sent streams of scorching fuel into the enemy masses.

The husks' desiccated flesh burnt, and in seconds the whole battlefield was an inferno. Jacob saw one of the collectors stray too close to the arcing fuel streams and burn away like paper. Zaeed and Grunt worked effectively, tracing out neat walls of fire all around the battlefield, watching as the husks barreled into the flames without the barest hesitation.

The crackle of splitting flesh was deafening. Jacob drowned it out as best as he could as he and Mordin took advantage of the momentary lull to climb atop the building and take cover behind a swamp cooler, away from the licking heat of the thirty-foot tower of flame. The high-pitched chatter of alien assault rifles announced the arrival of two more collectors. Jacob could almost feel the oncoming laser fire, and dropped into a familiar stance. The amp at the back of his skull gave a delicious hum that tickled at the deepest parts of his brain, flaring to a head as Jacob punched the air in front of him. Dark energy rippled out from wherever it had been hiding, blooming out from Jacob's arms into a great barrier just as a pair of yellow energy beams struck home. The shimmering wall hung in the air, twisting and fading as it soaked up fire, until Jacob gave it a great push and watched it barrel forwards, plowing through collectors and husks alike.

Another great amber beam shook the air, and Jacob felt the building shake. It was coming apart. "We have to get away from the building!" Jacob shouted into his communicator. It was a prefab – solidly built – but it was no castle. "Zaeed! Grunt! Try to push them back towards the earthmovers!"

"Right away, Taylor," Zaeed shouted back, turning his stream onto a new pack of husks that had burst through another alley in the distance. Grunt just laughed.

Trading a significant glance with Mordin, Jacob ran for the back of the building. Below, a half-dozen husks who'd managed to avoid the inferno scrambled at the rear walls – they were quickly dispatched. As he and Mordin climbed down the building's gutters, Jacob heard the sound of collector wings from above. One landing right next to them was quickly slain by a dart from Mordin, and the two of them made a beeline for a line of prefabs on the next block.

More collectors dropped in from both sides, splitting up to flank Jacob and Mordin's retreat. These were a far cry from the passive workers they'd killed earlier, and moved with graceful coordination, slowly shepherding them along, pushing them back towards the husk horde. For their part, the husks seemed to lose interest in assaulting Zaeed and Grunt's position and barreled towards Jacob and Mordin without hesitation. Jacob did his best to keep his foes sandwiched between him and the fires, but before long he found himself separated from the professor.

Even as he let his training take over, Jacob could still hear his squadmates chatter in the back of his head. Grunt's boyish laughter, the stream of curses that seemed to come as natural to Zaeed as breathing, Mordin's calm analysis of the battlefield. But none of it registered. He was in his element, and time seemed to slow. His shotgun kicked in his hand, over and over as he fired it into the writhing field of husks that steamrolled towards him. He continuously gave up ground, backing up to stretch out the husk ranks and keeping as many buildings as possible between him and the approaching collectors. His hands worked fast, throwing up biotic fields as fast as he could conjure them. Dozens of husks were vaulted from their feet as they tripped over his barriers and were pounded into the ground by those behind them. Jacob's limbs burned with exertion, and more so when one of the husks finally caught up with him and sank its bladed fingertips into his bicep, but he was a killing machine when he wanted to be and left an orderly swathe of destruction in his wake. He kept cool, he didn't let the heat of the moment cloud his planning. He kept control.

"I am assuming direct control."

The synthetic voice boomed from the nearest collector as if a loudspeaker had been implanted in its head (and, Jacob thought fleetingly, it probably had). The voice was so jarring, so deeply unnatural, that Jacob started, his hesitancy earning him another painful gash from a lucky husk. He staggered backwards, eyes fixed on the collector a few meters ahead of him, which had doubled over as if in incredible pain. A flash of light burgeoned in its chest before growing so intense it shone through the creases in its armor and illuminated the creature's four eyes like beacons. Jacob felt the dark energy course off of the creature as it stood and fixed him with a deadly gaze, tossing its weapon to the side.

The glowing collector's opening attack came too fast for him to react. A great wisp of black and brown – not the pleasant blue aura of any biotics Jacob had ever seen – shot towards him like a cannonball. It struck him in the stomach and Jacob felt the world lift out from under him. He heard the tinkle of his visor shattering into powder before his back connected with a solid surface. Pain blossomed and he cried out as he struck ground.

"This hurts you," the empowered collector stated in its basso, grim reaper's voice.

No kidding, Jacob thought, teeth gritted in pain as he rolled to his feet and peeled his crumpled helmet from his head. His shoulder thrummed with agony and demanded that he stop, but he ignored it, diving for cover just in time to avoid another biotic assault, which struck an abandoned loading truck hard enough to send it toppling.

"Cybernetic construct," Mordin was saying over the communicator. "Surgically implanted endoskeleton controlled from outside source. Shepard's classified reports described similar technology in Saren. Fascinating."

"Whatever! How do I kill it!" Jacob shouted, slamming his way through scattered husks as he scrambled for safety. He could hear the sound of the construct collector's flesh being cooked by the powerful machines within.

"Suggest bullets. Possibly EMP."

The creature shrugged off gunfire in its single-minded pursuit. Skin and muscle peeled off of its frame, revealing a grisly marionette of glowing bars beneath, but it showed no signs of slowing down. It closed on Jacob quickly, and he felt another biotic field hurl him to the ground hard enough to force the air from his lungs. Stars exploded before Jacob's eyes and it was all he could do to listen to the thud of the creature's approaching footsteps. He turned to see its glowing eyes piercing the blur.

"Human," it said, reaching out a clawed hand.

And then burst into flames.

Jacob blinked dumbly as the possessed collector was devoured under a torrent of flame from Grunt's flamethrower. It stood for several seconds, its flesh blackening away to reveal a charred skeleton armature, and Jacob was almost convinced it was going to keep chasing him when it collapsed to the ground, its glow finally receding.

Grunt laughed uproariously as he plodded over to stand next to Jacob. "Krogan!" he barked, utterly amused with himself, before turning the flame back onto the husks, which screamed and died in droves. For the briefest of moments, Jacob chuckled deliriously at the prospect of owing a krogan his life. Above him Grunt stood solid like a mountain, bleeding from a half dozen places but full of immovable vigor all the same. Perhaps Shepard had been right to trust him.

Jacob's relief turned to terror as he watched Grunt's jet of flame arc towards a half dozen husks still scrambling at the prefab where they'd hidden the paralyzed colonists. His mind cleared in an instant.

"Grunt! STOP!" he shouted, but it was too late. The fuel struck home and the building lit up like a torch, devouring husk and colonist alike.

"WHAT DID YOU DO!" Jacob demanded ten minutes later, gesturing at the blackened remains of the battlefield. The enemies had stopped flowing and, except for the lick of fires and the restrained moan of the occasional dismembered husk, the world was quiet.

"Saved your life," Grunt grunted.

"You could have killed them all!" Jacob shouted, furious. "You never risk innocents!" He kept his gaze pointedly away from the burnt out shell of the building. He and Zaeed had rushed in and dragged out anyone they could get their hands on, but the fuel had burnt angrily and less than half of the colonists had been saved.

"They risk themselves by standing in the battlefield," Grunt said. "If they had honor at all they would gladly die to see the collectors killed." Jacob stomped up to Grunt's face, ignoring the way the krogan towered over him. He knew getting in a krogan's space was a sure way to get your neck broken, but he didn't care. "Back off," Grunt warned, unrepentant as he brandished the barrel of his flamethrower.

Jacob was not stupid enough to punch a krogan out of rage, but he was stupid enough to take one's weapon. With a swift biotic move he yanked the flamethrower nozzle from Grunt's hands. Grunt stumbled as the fuel tubes ripped away, sending thick, sticky oil gushing across the ground.

"You're lucky I don't gun you down where you stand," Jacob growled, staring defiantly into the krogan's astonished face.

Grunt hit him.


7 years previously…

Jacob was the only man in the Anaximander's converted brig, but he wasn't alone. Might as well have been, though – the elcor in the other cell wasn't much of a conversationalist. It had remained stone-still, frozen in a defeated posture, since the two of them had been incarcerated two weeks before. In the rare moments when its beady eyes had opened Jacob had tried to engage it in conversation, but he hadn't been able to glean anything useful amongst the swatches of what he suspected was the slow-motion elcor version of a panic attack.

He shook his head and set back to doing pull-ups on the doorframe. He did them carefully, in perfect form; his breathing measured and slow, his movements smooth. He yoked his mind and body equally into the rhythm of each repetition; letting the exercise quiet his tempest of thoughts and stamp down on the prickly feeling he still felt where his amp should be.

Jacob had no illusions of being a particularly smart man, but he was prone to over-contemplating things. He measured things in his head, ruminated over them until they'd lost all context. He mused about his purpose, his every choice. He regretted things. Though the crew had snuck him a few magazines to pass the time with, he'd long since read them all through and now, with only a silent elcor as companion, his thoughts seemed very loud indeed.

Nice guys finish last, his mind told him, so clearly he might have thought his father was in the cell with him. It was the last thing Ronald Taylor had said to him, the night they'd had the fight. The night before Ronald abandoned him, abandoned everything, to serve as first mate on the Gernsback.

Jacob had done his best to rationalize the bad memories away. He just had to think about it enough, turn it around in his mind until it made sense, and bit-by-bit his anger at his father had dissipated. He'd been upset when he'd heard about the Gernsback's disappearance a few years later, but it was mostly out of sentimentality for what Ronald Taylor had been in the past. The man who'd raised him, the man he'd respected, had died long before that. Jacob had resolved not to let it destroy him.

But that last line – nice guys finish last – had never truly left him. He hated that saying, hated that the world had reduced his father to that, had convinced him that the morals he'd taught Jacob were not worth his time anymore. It was a terrible weakness, to say such a thing, to give up yourself for the sake of convenience. The warning seemed particularly appropriate now, however. Here he was, rotting in jail, because he'd done the right thing. It was upsetting to think that his father might have been right. To think that he might actually agree.

He increased the pace of his exercising, pushing that thought from his head for the umpteenth time.

"Apologetically," a rumbling voice said, "could you please stop that?"

Surprised, Jacob dropped to the floor and looked to the elcor, who stared back at him with beady eyes. "You got it," he said, wiping the sweat from his forehead with one sleeve. He sat down on his cell's makeshift bed. "You finally decided to start talking?"

The elcor sighed wearily. "Resigned. The ship has docked with an Alliance vessel, no doubt to transfer me to a maximum security facility for permanent incarceration. I have accepted my fate."

Jacob frowned, listening carefully. When he strained his ears he could hear muffled voices from the upper deck, but could not resolve the words. He supposed elcor just had better hearing. It was odd to think of Justinian intentionally approaching an Alliance craft, however. By and large they'd tried to avoid the Alliance, if only to keep their connection a secret.

It had been two years since Jacob had finally swallowed his pride and joined Justinian's crew, and even after two years, he still didn't think he understood his captain. It was clear, of course, that Justinian was nothing if not a pretender. He was the sort of man who always wore a big smile, always told you exactly what you wanted to hear, even while he was preparing to screw you over. He rarely joined the ground crew, but when he did, his silver tongue was a thing to behold. He could lie his crew's way through just about any situation. Jacob had found himself hating the man's dishonest character, and the two had clashed over how to handle situations over and over. Still, Justinian ran a tight ship and got things done. Things that needed doing. Personal dislike aside, Jacob had stayed on this long because he truly believed that the Anaximander was fighting for the galaxy's best interests, however smarmy her captain might have been.

That was, of course, until said captain had seen fit to lock him up. Justinian had claimed, the last time they'd spoken, that he'd turn Jacob over to an Alliance for disciplinary action. Maybe that was really what he intended to do with him and the elcor, but somehow Jacob doubted it. More likely, if the Alliance really had boarded, it was quite outside of the captain's plans.

"You know," Jacob said, eyeing the elcor, "you could just escape. This place isn't even a real brig. I think it used to be a laundry room or something. You could break your cell door and make a run for it." None of the ground team, at least, would lift a finger against the harmless alien.

The elcor stared blankly at him before ever so slowly lifting a hand and resting it against the cell wall. His massive limbs dwarfed the skinny bars holding him in – Jacob could imagine them bending like plastic under any real effort. "Horrified," the elcor said, examining the bars, "you are correct. But I have already called in dissonance to the herd. I will not compound my crimes by attempting to escape justice."

Despite the melancholy of the alien's words, Jacob couldn't help but smile. Elcor were so damnably charming it was hard not to.

"You know, you never actually told us what you did," Jacob said. He and the Anaximander's ground team had found the elcor standing hostage in the pirate base they'd infiltrated on Shopa. The creature had been (it claimed, anyway) terrified to the point of confusion and had demanded they kill it for its crimes. It was only when Jacob had promised to jail it that it had been convinced to leave the base. He figured they'd deal with it when they got back to the ship, but of course then he'd ended up pissing off the captain and now they were both in jail.

"Melancholy confession," the elcor said. "I am Wunya, elcor inventor and merchant of the Shopa herd. Three standard months ago I was abducted by the Crawler gang and forced to ply my trade on their equipment. I buckled to their threats of violence and modified several of their firearms with advanced accelerator rails of my own design." Wunya stared down at his feet. "My work has been used to commit violence and injustice upon the innocent. I am complicit. My guilt consumes me."

"That doesn't sound so bad, Wunya," Jacob said, doing his best not to laugh at the alien's comically neutral proclamation of guilt. "You were a hostage. You had no choice."

"Forcefully. I called in dissonance to the herd. I was weak. I am guilty."

"We stopped the Crawlers, Wunya. Your work isn't in their hands anymore."

"Pleased. I am pleased. But I am not exonerated. I expect your Alliance will wish to execute me for my crimes. I will accept my punishment."

Jacob's response was cut off by the sound of the door sliding open. He fell silent and craned his neck to watch as an Alliance officer strode inside, flanked by two marines and followed by a nervous-looking Justinian. The officer – a large, broad-shouldered man with dark hair sprinkled with just enough gray to look distinguished – stared around the room for a moment. His eyes fell upon Jacob and Wunya and he gave a disapproving scowl.

"Captain Andsworth," he said, "tell me you do not have Jacob Taylor incarcerated in your hold." Behind him, one of the marines tapped frantically on a datapad.

"Taylor, Major Izunami?" Justinian asked, planting himself in front of the officer (smiling, as always). "Never heard of him."

For a moment, Jacob feared that the major would fall for Justinian's games like so many others did, but the big man simply shook his head. He looked to Jacob again, his face friendly. "Mr. Taylor?" he asked.

"I'm Taylor," Jacob confirmed, ignoring the dark look Justinian sent him. "Have we met?"

"No Mr. Taylor, no we haven't. But I've known about you for some time. My name is Major Derek Izunami, Alliance. I command the 2nd Frontier division."

"Sir," Jacob said, snapping off as official a salute as he could manage. Izunami nodded his approval, then turned back to Justinian.

"Interesting to me, Captain, to find Mr. Taylor here on your crew," he said. "Alliance has had its eyes on recruiting him for some years now. You'd think him joining the Corsairs would be reported." The last word hung in the air.

"I assure you, I did report it, Major," Justinian said, the lie obvious in his eyes.

"I suppose you figured you'd found yourself your own biotic, free for the taking," Izunami said, cutting him off and striding towards Jacob's cell. "Wonderfully good fortune for you. Stable human biotics like Mr. Taylor are rare. Valuable." He stared at Jacob for a moment. "Now tell me, Mr. Taylor, why you are in this cell, and why you have not broken your way out to wreak vengeance on this man you call a captain." Justinian started to answer for him until Izunami silenced him with a hand. He looked to Jacob, brows raised expectantly.

"Three weeks ago," Jacob started, "I led a ground team on Shopa to put a stop to the Crawler gang's kidnappings, under what the captain told us were Alliance orders." Izunami nodded. "We infiltrated their base and freed several captives, including the elcor. We trapped the gang's ringleaders in their headquarters and went in to make arrests. They were mostly who we had expected – known turian slave traders, mostly. But we found a human man with them, who had apparently been negotiating a deal with them." Jacob shook his head. "We cuffed him too, until Captain Andsworth radioed in to tell us that he should be let free."

"Did the Captain give a reason?"

"No sir, but one of the ground crew believed he recognized the man as an Alliance staff commander. Graves, I believe was the name. We presumed the Captain wanted to avoid Alliance backlash for exposing one of their officers."

"And what did you do?"

"I refused. The man was a slave trader, Alliance or not. His victims deserved justice. When it became clear that the Captain would not do the right thing, I took Graves to the Shoba police department myself. When I returned to the Anaximander I was locked in here and my amp removed. I was told I would be taken to face an Alliance court for insubordination, though I'm surprised it took so long."

Izunami smiled wryly. "Would have taken a lot longer if we hadn't been tracking your Captain for another issue. He wasn't about to take you anywhere near an Alliance court." The Major stood and stared at Justinian, who scowled back.

"Private," he said to the marine with the datapad, his eyes not leaving the captain's, "please put down that due to numerous conduct violations, Captain Andsworth has not passed inspection to my satisfaction. His ship will be detained and a formal investigation will be levied against him." He turned back to Jacob. "And as for you, Mr. Taylor," he said. "Your captain conveniently forgot to register you on his crew, and so you are officially not in the Alliance. However, I wonder if I can convince you to change that."

Jacob frowned. "What exactly are you asking?"

"Join my division," Izunami said simply. "The Alliance needs men like you, men willing to stand up to men like Graves. The 2nd Frontier is mostly security to fringe colonies. Heaven knows we can always use help."

"You aren't going to leave me in here if I say no, are you?"

Izunami smiled. "Of course not. But Alliance command has always assumed you'd end up joining us eventually." He shrugged. "Why not sooner rather than later?" He held out a hand.

It took Jacob all of a second to make up his mind. He smiled and shook Izunami's hand. "When do we leave?"

At Izunami's orders, the cell was opened and Jacob stepped into freedom, grinning victoriously at a visibly ruffled Justinian. His amp was returned to him and settled into its familiar place on the back of his skull. He looked around the room again – for the final time, he hoped – and his eyes fell on Wunya, who was still staring morosely at the ground.

"Major," he said, an idea occurring. "I wonder if the 2nd Frontier could use a weapons technician."

Izunami followed Jacob's gaze to the elcor. His brow rose curiously. "Perhaps. Do you know one?"

"I do," Jacob said, nodding as solemnly as he could manage. "An elcor. I hear he has a great talent for weaponry, but his skills have been used for evil in the past." Behind him, Wunya's massive head rose to stare at his back. "I think it is only a fitting punishment that he be forced to repay his heinous crimes to the galaxy by outfitting your soldiers."

Izunami nodded, catching on. He scratched at his chin and made a show out of inspecting Wunya from every angle. "I don't know, Mr. Taylor," he said. "That seems harsh."

"Oh I assure you, he deserves it," Jacob said, not quite hiding his smirk. "He has talked dissonantly with the others, or something."

"Very well then," Izunami agreed. "You there," he said, pointing at Wunya. "Come with us." The elcor was released and, if possible, looked slightly cheered as it plodded out of its cell. One of the marines patted the alien's massive flank and led it away.

"Thank you sir," Jacob said once Wunya's heavy footsteps had receded into the distance. "I imagine we can drop him off on Shopa if you don't really want his help, though he might not allow it. Either way, I appreciate it.

Izunami nodded. "You're welcome. I'll have the paperwork sent off immediately. You'll join my unit straightaway," he said, before fixing Jacob with an expectant stare. "I don't know what you've been doing out here on this ship, but in my division, we follow orders. Understood, private?"

"Yes sir," Jacob said, saluting again.

"Then your first order is to incarcerate Captain Andsworth," Izunami said, the ghost of a smile on his lips. He inclined his head towards the cells.

Jacob was smiling as they left the brig and former-Captain Justinian's indignant shouts behind.

Nice guys finish last?

Yeah right.


Presently…

For the second time that day, Jacob struck the ground hard enough to make the world spin. For the second time that day, he looked up to watch a murderous alien rampage towards him, a symphony of charging meat. Grunt was as agile as a glacier but just as unstoppable, and Jacob had a few bleary seconds to wonder just how deep underground the krogan was about to stomp him.

There was a gunshot and Grunt stumbled. He staggered to a stop mere feet shy of Jacob as another shot glanced off the plating at his neck. He snarled and whirled about in time to get another bullet to the forehead – this one ricocheted off with an impressive crack, sending chips of bone armor spinning through the air. Two more shots to the collar nearly knocked the krogan over.

"Step again," Zaeed dared, smoothly popping a fresh heatsink into his pistol. "Next one goes through your eye."

Grunt stared murderously at the scarred mercenary, gaze unwavering even as rivulets of sticky orange blood started to run down his armored chest. Even from the ground, Jacob could see the krogan's mind working, calculating his odds. If the five bullets he'd already taken had phased him, he gave no sign. His predatory eyes flickered between Jacob and Zaeed with a deadly gleam. In a flash he'd made up his mind and he took a lurching dash for the mercenary.

A plume of blood erupted under Grunt's left eye and he dropped to the ground with a roar of agony and rage.

"Wrong choice," Zaeed said, face grim. "Next one goes in your brain." Grunt roared in fury and thrashed out with every limb but moved no further, curling up around his bleeding face.

Mordin appeared in the haze above Jacob's head, an unstable blur of frantic movement as he helped the fallen man rise to a sitting position. "Broken ribs," Mordin intoned to himself. A light flashed in Jacob's eyes as he fought to get his head together. "Concussion." Questing fingers pried his mouth apart. Mordin's omni-tool clicked and beeped as he swept it over every part of Jacob's body, tsking to himself in concern. He drew a needle and jabbed it forcefully into one of Jacob's fingers, causing him to cry out in pain. Seconds later the process was repeated at the feet. "Pain reflex undamaged. Cogent, Operative Taylor?"

Jacob grunted. He felt Mordin's injector at his wrist and a sudden sharpening feeling as his head's muddiness cleared, giving way to pain. He groaned miserably, trying and failing to spit the taste of blood from his mouth. "Goddamn krogan."

Mordin opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off as Jacob's communicator crackled. "Jacob!" Shepard shouted, sounding so uncharacteristically terrified that Jacob sat up in fright. "Send Mordin to my position, NOW."

Jacob felt his stomach twist. Perfect timing for a disaster. Just perfect. "He's on his way," he said, waving Mordin off. "What happened?"

"We got a man down! Some kind of biotic attack," Shepard said. In the background Jacob could still hear the chatter of gunfire. "It's Miranda," Shepard said at last, confirming Jacob's worst fears. "Get over here, Mordin!"

Mordin shook his head. "Operative Taylor injured, Commander," he protested. "Cannot abandon him now."

"Is he dying?" Shepard demanded. There was an explosion on his end of the line.

"I'm okay." Jacob insisted, shakily trying to rise to his feet. Blood pulsed in his head and his hands itched to reclaim his fallen shotgun. "Miranda needs you."

Mordin shook his head. "No wish to see Miranda dead," he insisted. "Not heartless. Simply aware of concept of triage. Can help you here, now. Miranda may be beyond help."

"GO. I'll be fine. Go!"

Mordin stared at him for a pregnant moment, the intellect behind his enormous eyes working. Jacob grimaced back. "Going, then," Mordin said finally, nodding resolutely. He stood and faced Zaeed, who still had his gun trained on the moaning krogan on the ground. "Do not allow Operative Taylor to move quickly. If disorientation persists, force him to rest," he commanded. The mercenary nodded his understanding, and Mordin, satisfied, rushed away. In seconds he was gone.

Jacob sat on the ground, struggling to find the strength to rise. Miranda needed help and every part of his body screamed at him for not being there to give it. His heart beat furiously, adrenaline coursed through his veins, and yet he could barely lift himself before his arms gave way and he flopped back into the dust. He tried again, pointedly ignoring the way Zaeed stared down at him.

"Doctor said to sit your ass down," Zaeed reminded him.

"Yeah, well, I'm not listening," Jacob insisted, managing to rise to a kneeling position. He put a hand down to steady himself as he tried to make his feet obey.

"I seen men take hits like that," the merc continued, rubbing his chin. "Big bastard mighta torn something up in your innards. You move too much, you tear it the rest of the way."

Jacob scowled. The old windbag never knew when to shut up. Gritting his teeth, Jacob rested on all fours for a moment, placing each foot with care. As soon as he dared, he gave a heave with both arms and staggered to his feet. He stood for all of three seconds before losing his balance and falling. "My friend is hurt!" Jacob snapped as his frustration came to a head. "I don't give a damn about that!"

"You're a loony."

"I wouldn't expect you to understand," he growled, spitting the dust out of his mouth before trying again.

"Right, 'cuz I'm just a mercenary," Zaeed said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "I never had someone I cared about". Jacob was shocked to see a calloused hand appear in front of him. He looked up into Zaeed's mismatched face – unreadable as always – and actually felt a pang of guilt. He hadn't seen it before, but Zaeed did seem like a man who might understand loss.

He took the mercenary's outstretched hand.

They made all haste to Shepard's location, Jacob leaning against Zaeed's armored shoulder while the mercenary herded Grunt along at gunpoint. The krogan sulked angrily but put up no resistance. His eye socket was a blackened mess of gore, already scabbing over, but flashes of furious blue proved Zaeed had spared the eyeball itself. It was more mercy than Grunt deserved, as far as Jacob was concerned.

They caught up to Shepard's team at the base of one of the colony's defense towers. Corpses of every kind littered the ground in all directions – dozens of husks and collectors and foes Jacob could not begin to describe, twisted wrecks seemingly cobbled together from human bodies. Aside from them, enemies were nowhere to be seen – the occasional husk straggler came screaming into the plaza, only to be cleanly picked off by Garrus from his vantage point atop a nearby building.

"Shepard," Jacob said, spying the commander arguing with Tali and EDI at a nearby console. "Where is she?"

Shepard looked up at the sound of his voice. "Both of you get over it," he ordered Tali and EDI, before stomping up to the approaching trio. He was covered in collector blood and dirt, breath heaving and face angry. "What the hell happened?" he demanded.

"Grunt happened," Zaeed said before Jacob could answer. Jacob was about to ask about Miranda again, but the anger that crossed Shepard's face as the commander whirled on Grunt gave him pause.

"You attacked them?" he asked the krogan, voice low.

"Taylor disarmed me," Grunt mumbled.

The air temperature seemed to rise around Shepard. "I thought you wanted a clan," he said furiously. "Is this krogan loyalty?"

"No," Grunt admitted, sounding (to Jacob's shock) truly repentant for the first time.

"There are no traitors, Grunt. Not in my clan," Shepard said, grabbing Grunt's collar and pulling the bleeding krogan down to look him in the eye. Amazingly, Grunt seemed to shrink next to the commander. "Not ever." He gave Grunt a shove (the krogan barely moved) and turned. "Garrus!" he shouted, looking up at the turian sniper. "If Grunt takes another move against me, make sure it's the last one he ever takes! I am his warlord, and if he can't find some honor and loyalty then he's a clanless varren. Put a bullet in his head and let him die in the dirt like the animal he is!" He cast a dark look at Grunt. The threat seemed to be having its intended effect, and Grunt stared shamefully at his toes.

"Shepard," Jacob said, sensing his opportunity.

"She's in there, with Mordin," Shepard said, interrupting him and pointing off to a nearby building. "Are you fit to fight?"

Jacob hesitated. "Yes," he decided after a moment.

"Then I need you out here. EDI and Tali are about to turn the GARDIANs on and they're going to hit us with everything they got. We have to set up. Zaeed," he said, turning to the mercenary, "you're with me up front. The rest will take the rear. Go find some cover." Zaeed grunted in agreement and rushed off, assault rifle in hands.

"Shepard..." Jacob said.

"I need you focused on this one, Taylor," Shepard said, ignoring him. "She's going to need you focused. Can't help her if we all die."

Jacob swallowed his fears. The commander as right, of course. And in any case was clearly in no mood to argue the point. "You can count on me, Commander."


2 years previously…

The perfect woman.

Jacob had had a lot on his mind lately. The Jade's bartenders knew their stuff, and the drinks he and Miranda had ordered had been potent enough to chase most of his worries away for a while, but now that he was awake they were back in force, poking at him through the haze of a spectacular hangover. But still, of all the things he'd learned about Miranda last night, all the amazing things she'd said after the drink had started to chip away at her usually invulnerable inhibitions, that one, offhand claim had stood out.

She was the perfect woman. She'd said it simply, with no arrogance, as if she were commenting on the weather. Jacob had not been surprised in the least. She certainly looked perfect. And she was clearly a genius of the rarest kind. It didn't matter what topic he'd brought up, even drunk Miranda had come off like an expert. She knew more about biotics than he did. More about the Alliance than he did. More about his homeworld than he did. What stood out to him, though, was something that had been in her tone. He couldn't remember exactly what he'd said to her, but he'd been very complimentary at first. And it had upset her. She hadn't said anything, but she'd clammed up, closed herself off, distanced herself from him until he'd steered the conversation away from her.

The perfect woman was self-conscious. It was too weird to be true, but it was.

Jacob poured over everything in his pounding head as he stumbled off of the couch where he'd slept the night, having ceded the bed to Miranda. He felt absolutely famished and so, as soon as he'd pulled on a shirt, he walked into the kitchen of his spacious vacation suite to find something to eat.

He supposed he shouldn't have been surprised to see Miranda up already, but she was, calmly seated at the table tapping away at her computer. She looked… (he sighed at the word choice, but could come up with no other) perfect, her hair back in place, her clothes wrinkle-free. She didn't look hung-over in the least, despite having had at least twice what he had (Jacob didn't feel threatened by talented women in general, but he did think it a special kind of injustice to be drunk under the table by someone half his size).

Miranda didn't look up when he entered, but pointed towards a plate and glass of juice on the counter. Jacob mumbled his thanks, grabbed the food, and sat down opposite her. He downed the juice in one gulp and set upon the meal with relish.

"Feeling better?" Miranda asked once the last bite was gone.

"So much better," Jacob said, wiping the sleep from his eyes. "What time is it?"

"Ten thirty-seven," she replied instantly, not needing to check her computer.

"Sheesh. My old major would have kicked my ass for sleeping in like this," Jacob said, chuckling. "Not to mention the hangover thing."

"Yes, well, I took the liberty of drugging your drink. Your head should clear up shortly."

Jacob blinked in surprise for a moment. Was she joking? Miranda just looked at him.

Of course not. He shook his head, sighing. "This how it's always going to be between us?" he asked, a little disappointed.

Miranda smiled. "I have nothing against you, Jacob," she said. "You are a talented man and a pleasure to work with. A friend, even. But last night was a one-time thing. I do not make a habit out of getting drunk at all, let alone with co-workers."

"Huh. And now that Jath'Amon is dealt with, are we still co-workers?"

Miranda clicked her computer off. "I mentioned last night that I had a proposition for you," she reminded him.

Jacob nodded, crossing his arms over his chest. He'd been delighted (if a little shocked) to see Miranda show up unannounced at his door, bottle of expensive champagne in her hands, but when she'd made it clear she only wanted to offer him a job, he'd put his foot down. It had taken some convincing, but eventually he'd managed to persuade her to just have fun, if only for one night. They were on a luxury liner, after all. "I'm listening."

Miranda nodded. "First, a question. I know what the reports say, but I want to hear it from your mouth. Why did you leave the Alliance?"

Jacob frowned, thinking. It was something he'd put a great deal of thought into, like just about every decision in his life, and he found the answer came to his lips easily. "I want to do good," he said. "I want to do the most good I can, I want to protect people from the evils out there." He gestured to the stars sliding lazily past the windows. "I thought I was doing that in the Alliance. My whole division, it was about protecting fringe colonies. I thought that was important, I thought that was the best I could do." He paused, shaking his head. Miranda nodded knowingly and waited for him to continue.

"And then Eden Prime happened. Turns out the batarians and pirates we expected were geth and spectres and husks." He fixed Miranda with a serious look. "They kicked our asses, Miranda. We didn't have a chance. Alliance can dress it up however they like in the reports, but the two twelve probably didn't kill twenty geth between us. If Shepard and Anderson hadn't been there, the whole colony would be gone right now, and it would be the Alliance's fault." He sighed. "I guess that just convinced me that the bad guys out there are bigger than the Alliance. I respect them, I really do, but they clearly aren't going to be the ones who do the real saving work. When I heard Shepard and Anderson had left that was the final straw."

Miranda looked enormously satisfied by his answer. "And what do you intend to do now?"

"Find out who can stop the bad guys and do whatever it takes to help them. Or just do the best on my own." He shrugged. "Don't really know yet." Jacob had originally boarded the Arcturus Jade at Izunami's urging. The major – who had turned out to be more a mentor than a commanding officer – had been upset to lose him but had understood his reasoning. Izunami had suggested that some relaxation would help Jacob find what he needed. And then, of course, the ship had been attacked by batarians and started this whole mess.

Had Izunami known about the batarians' plans and intentionally set Jacob in their path? Jacob couldn't see how, but he wouldn't put it past the man. Derek Izunami was a leader, a manipulator. Born to direct the energies of soldiers like Jacob. If he looked like he knew twice as much as he claimed, it was because he knew three times that much. That was the kind of person he was.

Of course, so was Miranda. She was smiling at him (which he already understood to be a rare thing to witness). "Jacob Taylor, you are a wiser man than you know. The bad guys are bigger than the Alliance. Much, much bigger." She had a devious gleam in her eye, the gleam of someone for whom everything was going right. She had him where she wanted him, wherever that was.

Of course, follower or no, Jacob was not stupid. It wasn't hard to guess what enemies she might be referring to. "As big as the ship that attacked the Citadel?" he asked slyly.

"About that big, yes."

"And I suppose you're about to tell me you represent someone that can do something about that?"

Miranda nodded. "I want you to be my lieutenant. You have the skills that I need. My organization represents the best of humanity. The best science, the best weapons, the best intelligence. We fight the real threats to humanity, and you should be among us."

Jacob frowned. "How do I know you're on the level with me here?"

"I have not misled you in the past, and I am not misleading you now. You trust me because you want to trust me. Because you know you're right about the Alliance. I can tell you the real story about what happened on Eden Prime. What happened on the Citadel. And I can put you somewhere where you can do something about it."

"Does Shepard work for you?"

Miranda's face fell the slightest bit. "Not yet."

Jacob fell silent, thinking, while Miranda watched on. Technically, he knew this was exactly the sort of thing he was looking for. Miranda had proven herself twenty times over on his quest to stop Jath'Amon. If her organization was anything like her, maybe they could have stopped Eden Prime. And yet there was somehow something foreboding in her words. He did not miss that she hadn't named her employers yet. He looked at her. "I'll think about it."

"Excellent. Your possessions are being packed as we speak. They will be waiting for you at the transport station when we disembark."

Jacob was momentarily stunned. "You're that sure I'm going to agree, are you?"

Miranda smirked at him. "Am I wrong?" Jacob realized that she wasn't. He intended to think about it – he really did – and yet he already knew as well as she did he would say yes. Miranda caught his hesitation in a heartbeat and her grin grew smugger. "One thing you will soon learn, Mr. Taylor, is that I am never wrong."

This time she did sound arrogant, and Jacob couldn't help but smile. "Am I really that predictable? Every time someone offers me a job they tell me they already know I'll t-" Jacob was interrupted when Miranda's computer gave an urgent beep. Miranda's head snapped to attention, Jacob forgotten. Her eyes widened as she read the message that appeared on her screen, and her face – previously flawless – drew into a terrified scowl.

"What?" Jacob asked, worried by her sudden mood shift. Miranda wordlessly turned the computer so he could read the single line that flashed in the center.

-Commander Shepard killed in action in the Amada system-


Presently…

Jacob was quiet as he was loaded onto the Kodiak on a stretcher next to Miranda's. Everyone was. They had fought and killed the collectors and lived, and yet none of them dared do anything to further instigate Shepard, whose mood had dropped so precipitously by the time Alenko had stormed off that he looked about ready to order Garrus to shoot them all down. Even Tali had not been spared Shepard's anger when she'd stepped out of place and nearly taken one of the collector general's biotic warps to the chest, and now the quarian was sulking around like a kicked puppy, quietly helping Mordin collect samples from the legions of dead.

And if Shepard was ready to yell at Tali, Jacob knew it was time to keep his mouth shut.

Still, his mind raced a mile a minute, still pounding with the energy of battle, even an hour after the collectors had retreated. It was funny, in a cosmic kind of way. Despite the disaster that Horizon had been – Grunt's attack, two of the squad down, the collectors escaping with most of the colonists, and Shepard's shouting match with the Alliance commander – he realized he hadn't been wrong. They really had been a team. A bickering, disorganized team, but a deadly one all the same. Every one of the squad was a master combatant, and together the collectors had broke upon them like water on rock.

Jacob had propped himself up behind a fortress of crates where he didn't have to move and done his best, hurling collectors out of their cover and tossing barriers up whenever he had the strength. More than one collector managed to pin one of the squad only to find itself yanked backwards into full view of the others and quickly shredded by gunfire.

From his sniper's nest, Garrus had slain with impunity. The boom of his rifle had shook the battlefield over and over, each time signaling another kill. He never missed. He never fired more than once. Even the rare collector that flew up to dethrone him found itself immediately pumped full of assault rifle fire and kicked to the ground by the grim-faced former vigilante.

Zaeed and Shepard, taking cover on the front lines, had sprayed a constant stream of death with their assault rifles. Zaeed shouted and raged, taunting each kill, while Shepard was quiet, but both slaughtered with a clockwork efficiency, never a wasted degree of motion, never a misplaced moment.

Tali and Mordin had taken up the rear, their omni-tools glowing as they set the battlefield ablaze with traps. Smart-targeting grenades flew in every direction, arcing over obstacles and hurling themselves towards their foes with grisly enthusiasm. More than one collector seized and died as Mordin's home-brewed toxins coursed through its body, while Tali's drones sprouted across the battlefield like holographic flowers, fluttering into their opponents' faces and exploding with results far gruesome-er than their colorful cuteness would seem to allow.

Perhaps most spectacular of all, however, had been Grunt. Whether out of a deathwish or an earnest desire to get back into Shepard's good graces Jacob did not know, but the krogan had tossed himself into the fray with incomparable enthusiasm. He had eschewed cover and fought well ahead of the rest of the group, charging from enemy to enemy and grinding them into paste in his wake. Husks had swarmed over him like ants until he'd been buried under a pile of writhing black limbs, and yet nothing had seemed to slow him down. Husk and collector alike had been dashed to pieces in his rage, tossed about like chaff. Even the possessed collectors had looked puny next to the angry krogan – one had transformed right next to him and had hardly finished announcing itself when Grunt (apparently unimpressed) had grabbed it by its arms and torn it in two.

It had hardly been what Jacob would call a textbook operation. And yet it was hard not to be humbled (and even a bit terrified) by the show of power. They had painted the battlefield with their enemies. They had sent a message. Shepard was back, and he was pissed.

Jacob wondered what he'd gotten himself into.

From the next stretcher, Miranda gave a moan, and he turned to look at her. His eyes flickered over her, straining to see some semblance of activity from her, something to reassure him that she was alright, but there was nothing but the steady rise and fall of her stomach to prove she was even alive. Covered in bandages and with an oxygen mask clamped over her bloody face, she looked disturbingly like Shepard had when he'd first been wheeled into the Lazarus facility, all those months ago.

Shepard survived, his mind reminded him.

"Miranda?" he asked, ignoring the shooting pain in his stomach when he sat up.

She moved weakly, turning her head towards him and staring for several long seconds, as if fighting to remember who he was. "I told you you couldn't handle the krogan," she mumbled finally, voice slurred under the effects of the anesthesia.

Jacob laughed, despite himself. "How are you holding up?"

"Severe lacerations," she said, trying and failing to point to the bandages wadded over her arms and side. "Shearing biotic field. Blood loss."

"You'll pull through," Jacob said, though he wasn't sure who he was trying to reassure. "You've been through worse." Though he doubted that.

"I'm in a tremendous amount of pain," she said simply, teeth grit. "Genetically engineered skin gives me the pain tolerance of an infant." She hissed deeply, clearly biting back tears. "Thanks a lot father."

For a moment, Jacob hesitated. Miranda wasn't telling him this for pity. She didn't want to be comforted. She wanted to be respected and left to deal with her pain alone.

Too bad.

He reached for her hand and squeezed with all his might. There was a much-too-long pause, and then she squeezed back.

Miranda had slipped away again by the time Shepard finally stormed into the Kodiak and slammed the door, plunging Jacob into darkness. There was a brief delay, then the sound of engines firing as the pilot VI routines activated.

In the dim light, Jacob saw the commander slump down on the far bench, utterly defeated. The loss of the colonists stood on Shepard's shoulders like a great weight, and Jacob felt immediately ashamed. He'd spent all his time fretting about Miranda, but Miranda was on her way to medical treatment. So many others were collected, taken away for who knew what purpose. They had failed.

"I'm sorry, Commander," he croaked, releasing Miranda's hand and setting it gently at her side. "I screwed up."

"Don't, Jacob. Just don't," Shepard said, clutching his head in his hands. "I don't have the patience to deal with it right now." Jacob fell silent.

It was Shepard who finally broke it. "She got hit by some kind of giant husk," he said eventually, voice haunted. "Huge, bloated thing hit her with some kind of biotic attack, some kind of shearing wave. Before we even knew what had happened she was down. Couldn't even see her under all the blood."

"She's strong, Commander. She'll pull through."

"What if she doesn't?" Shepard demanded. "Or what if she's deformed for life? It would destroy her. If I hadn't..." Shepard started, staring into his hands as he let his sentence die. "And then I sent you off with Grunt." He shook his head, disgusted with himself. "I screwed up, Jacob. And the two of you paid for it."

Jacob said nothing, sensing that Shepard wasn't really talking to him anyway. In the silence of the shuttle, the commander's grim thoughts seemed to echo from every direction as he stared hopelessly at Miranda's unconscious form.

"DAMNIT!" Shepard shouted, punching the shuttle wall so hard it dented.


Codex Entry: Transcript of the audio log of Dr. Mordin Solus, Normandy SR2 science lab, 01-13-2185

Mordin Solus: Trial 131. 31 milligrams of certropan injected dorsally into live subject AM-101, species 01-a, Hemimechoptera racemia, "seeker swarmer". Subject lethargic.

EDI: Dr. Solus. Operative Lawson is requesting a progress update on the seeker swarm countermeasure.

*clattering sound*

Mordin Solus: (sighs) Research not complete. Cannot be rushed. Reporting premature until verification.

EDI: She demands a summary of preliminary results for transmission to the Illusive Man.

Mordin Solus: Very well. Will summarize. Begin recording.

EDI: Recording begins at 3:01:01 Earth standard time.

Mordin Solus: First, disclaimer: All following observations based upon preliminary research only. Invalid until proper verification. Important.

(clears throat)

14 samples of species 01-a acquired, ten dead, four living. Chemical analysis of dead specimens reveals previously unknown carbon-based biochemistry, fundamentally similar but independent from all known extant biospheres. Enriched sulfur levels, depressed phosphate levels. Genetic information carried in quad-stranded microgenomes, similar in many respects to fragments associated with prothean artifacts. May thus represent descendent of species from prothean homeworld. Cell extracts thus far unculturable.

Dead specimens average 14.8 centimeters in length, measured dorsally, average 311 grams. Quadrupedal insect analogs. Rigid exoskeleton, four jointed limbs moved by combination of muscle fibers and hydrostatic force, two membranous wings moved by chest compressive muscles. No evidence of eyes or mouth. Single ventral slit contains three-centimeter stinger. Dissection reveals extensive cybernetic augmentation, average 127 grams of equipment implanted throughout body. Electronics clearly of advanced, unknown design. Digestive system removed, replaced with chemical power unit implanted into abdomen. Organic brain resected, integrated with computer interface and receiver. Appears species 01-a is biomechanical effector of external electric signal – cyborg drone of sorts. No evidence of previous surgery - probably engineered tissue grown over pre-fabricated cybernetic frame.

Anterior thoracic device appears to be electronic pulse generator. Current hypothesis that generator primarily sensory in nature. Active electrosensory organ analog, creates electric fields and interprets their interaction with external fields. May explain selectivity for humans – human nervous impulses easily distinguishable from other species', produce different interference patterns. Several experiments in progress to test. May also play a role in interruption of communications – several lab instruments already damaged by subject pulses. Posterior thoracic device –"

*knocking sound*

Enter.

Kenneth Donnelly: You said to meet you here when I was ready?

Mordin Solus: Ahh yes, excellent! Come in. First test subject for next experiment, exposure of human to live subject AM-103. Testing of paralysis mechanism.

Kenneth Donnelly: Sheesh. Sounds a lot worse when you say it. I figured it's just a bug bite.

*sound of Mordin Solus rummaging through equipment*

Mordin Solus: Mr. Donnelly first responder to open call for volunteers. Very brave. Suspect only volunteering as part of circuitous courtship ritual to impress female human crew members with bravery, but appreciated all the same.

Kenneth Donnelly: Hey!

Mordin Solus: Preparing to inject Mr. Donnelly with mild sedative. Attaching cardiac, respiratory, and brain activity monitors. Will clean arm, then expose to subject AM-103 to study effects of paralysis on human subjects.

*cracking sound*

Kenneth Donnelly: Cripes, look at the little bugger.

Mordin Solus: Fascinating. Live subjects AM-101, 102, and 103 show greatly heightened aggression in presence of Mr. Donnelly. Attempting to break enclosures to attack.

Back to summary. Posterior thoracic device appears to be element zero injector. Nodes throughout remnants of seeker swarms' nervous systems suggest rudimentary biotic abilities. Current hypothesis, posterior thoracic device injects element zero-based toxin that interacts with host nervous system, producing a stasis effect not unlike that intentionally produced by many human and asari biotics. Believe effect is temporary, as toxin should ultimately be metabolized much like high dosage red sand or other element zero-based drugs.

Kenneth Donnelly: You believe?

*more cracking*

Mordin Solus: Biotic individuals likely to recover swiftly due to higher metabolism, previous exposure to element zero. Or possibly recover more slowly due to risk of overtaxing nervous systems and stroke. Unsure.

*shattering sound as subject AM-102 breaks enclosure glass*

*crashing sounds*

Kenneth Donnelly: Jesus Christ! It's out!

Mordin Solus: Stronger than anticipated. Will reinforce enclosures for next trials. Subject AM-102 shows persistent aggressive behavior towards Mr. Donnelly.

*more crashing*

Kenneth Donnelly: Ahh, damnit! Kill it! Zap it with your omni-tool or something!

Mordin Solus: Only four living specimens. Must avoid killing. Also, EMP blast likely to harm lab equipment.

*Kenneth Donnelly screams and falls silent*

Fascinating.

EDI: Subject AM-102 has escaped the lab, Dr. Solus.

*muffled shouting from outside lab*

Mordin Solus: End recording.

EDI: Recording ended at 3:14:41 Earth standard time.

EDI: Recording resumed at 7:13:28 Earth standard time.

Mordin Solus: (panting) Subject AM-102 successfully recaptured, unharmed. Subject Kenneth Donnelly successfully paralyzed, along with four additional human crewmates stung during recapture efforts. Paralyzed crew moved to medical bay for monitoring. Life signs depressed but measurable. No obvious permanent damage. Encouraging. Trial 1 successful. Looking forward to trial 2.


A/N: Boy, good thing I've been writing shorter chapters so they don't take so goddamn long to write, huh? Way to show self-control, AssaultSloth.

Anywho, sorry for the long delay on this chapter. Not only did it give me a lot of trouble, but I must blame a combination of finals (boo!), thesis (boo!), and the Starcraft 2 beta (*high five!*) for eating up a lot of my time lately. Jacob is… tough. I ended up rewriting about half of this chapter at least once, and so it's getting a little disjointed in my mind. I hope it still makes sense and is a fun read.

On the subject of action: In general, I don't really like writing fight scenes. I don't feel like they tell you much of anything, or develop anybody, etc, and they risk falling into over verbosity. That said, some action is fun, and I hope you enjoy what I've written here. I had a lot of fun with those last little descriptions of the final battle.

Chapter 12 is more interesting than this one (and shorter), I promise. It focuses on an unusual character that I don't think I've ever seen given a POV in fanfiction before (though I could be wrong on that). It shouldn't take me 3 weeks to put it up, either. (For one thing, all three of those distractions I mentioned will be done for by the end of the week).

Anywho, enjoy.

And finally: Obviously we have four main recruitments to go yet (not counting Legion). I have a rough plan of in what order I want to do them, but if any of them stand out as characters you really want to see me add, let me know. A lot of the ordering can be pretty plastic so I'd like to know your opinions.

Finally finally: Whoohoo! 100k+ words! Thanks to all my readers and reviewers and my beta and all that jazz so far. You guys make it fun!