*******

They didn't put new paint on her after Shanxi.

Blast marks, scorches, scuffs, she collected damage the way old ships took on barnacles. On more than one occasion, enemy forces had spied her out the viewport, thought her a cripple. Theirs for the taking. They had been wrong. Battered, but never beaten, she still fought as hard as she did the day she came through the relay with the fleet of Kastanie Drescher.

She was SSV Stalingrad, loitering now in Citadel space. The soft misty purples of the nebula did nothing for the pockmarked frigate. A small shuttle was manuevering toward her.

It contained officers from the Crecy, the Sekigahara, and Qadesh, among others. A last-minute meeting of minds had been called while the ships were in-system.

The Crecy's XO was in a foul mood already. The science officer from the Sekigahara had insisted on eating his lunch on the way over, and now the whole shuttle smelled. It smelled like.. he didn't know what, but he didn't like it. The young lieutenant off the Qadesh was polite enough, but he kept tapping his foot. And he was starting to suspect that the marine lieutenant from the Gallipoli had just secretly passed gas. The self-satisfied smirk on her face said it all. Commander Danvers hated marines.

"I don't know why we're all crammed on this frigate," Danvers said, as they came off the shuttle into the aft airlock of the Stalingrad. "We've got the Lord Lao in-system, and an embassy on the Citadel. No need to pack us in here like sardines."

"The old girl's a good ship, sir, you just got to get used to her," said the marine from the Gallipoli. His omnitool interface showed her name to be MacMillan.

Lieutenant Daweed was speaking now, as they moved into the vehicle bay. The voice of his translator unit went over the murmury sound of his natural Arabic. "Look," he said, "the scars from the Grizzly cannon, back at Qutaaru. I thought that was just a story."

The science officer from the Sekigahara looked at the huge scorch marks, the deep scars on the walls of the crowded garage. "How did that happen?"

"We picked up some people on the forbidden world," MacMillan said. "But not everybody wanted to be saved.. "

"The batarians put chips in their captives," Danvers said. "They cause pain at the press of a button. It makes you mad after awhile. That's why there's so few escapes. That's why it's so hard to rescue them. They're too afraid to escape.. or have no desire to."

"One of the batarian slaves went on a rampage," Daweed said. "She stabbed the captain, got free, and jumped into one of the Grizzlies. She started up the cannon and Mikhailovich airlocked her. So the story goes, anyway."

"I was groundside at the time, so I can't say." MacMillan ran her hand over a Mako as they passed. "All I know's what a friend told me. He said the woman was so happy to be rescued, just crying the whole time, shook Mikhailovich's hand, talking normal enough, and then who knows what. She just changed. She had to get off that ship right then. When the batarians take you.. they take all that you are. They change you, and you're not you anymore."

Danvers frowned at the cannon damage. Stalingrad was lucky to not have been torn apart from the inside out. But to keep the damage like this was a structural weakness. A folly. Danvers couldn't believe a man as sharp as Mikhailovich would have kept it. Whyever for?

The man himself was coming over the comm now. Mikhailovich preferred to conduct himself in Russian, but the North American voice of his translator device carried across the same level of personal contempt.

"This is Stalingrad," Mikhailovich said. "My turf. No bitching. I brought you here so you can see the scorch marks and twisted metal. I want you to walk the cramped hallways, breathe in the sweaty air, and drink the recycled piss water so you know I'm not fucking around. We're at war, and it just got worse. MacMillan, bring them up to the comm room. We're going to have a little talk about the geth."

*******

The perpetual false daylight of the Presidium made Williams uneasy. Even snug in her armor, she felt exposed; it was just her and Shepard stepping out into the wide white vista of the Citadel's finest district. It was only her determination and Phoenix armor that stood between the first human Spectre and any alien bad guy that wanted to take a shot at him. She knew this was bound to be ugly.

She didn't know where the attack would come from, only that it would come. Garrus had explained to her that Spectres often assembled teams of their own, and that they could operate with certain privileges beyond the scrutiny and reproach of ordinary law. Blindsided by Saren's wild turn, C-Sec was still struggling to find, capture, or neutralize the network he had built over the decades of his tenure in Special Tactics.

Williams watched the crowds carefully, searching alien faces, waiting for one of them to reach for a weapon. Alarm registered among some of them, seeing two armed and armored human marines; others were curious or excited, spotting the newest Spectre. Some avoided them. Some stared. Others disapproved, but from a safe distance.

The stories of Shepard's wrath had travelled far.

They'd best hurry. It wouldn't be long before Saren's men made their move, or before the councillor figured out that her little pet was going behind her back.

There was something about this proposition that annoyed and creeped Ashley, but then, it was just business wasn't it. That's what the asari did. Besides-- she'd heard Moreau joking that Shepard preferred close encounters of the turian kind. He better not say that where the commander can hear him!

Shepard happened to glance back at her just then, catching her with a smirk on her face. She wiped it off and gave a stern military nod.

"Lot of Biotic Response Teams out here," he said to her, pointing out a patrol on a lower level. "That's a good sign, at least. Garrus said they're biotic themselves, equipped with the best to prepare for the worst. If Saren hits us, he'll have to hit hard and hit first if he wants to do anything. Snipers is how I'd do it. How's your shields?"

"Good. I can take a wallop."

"They'll probably target me first, anyway," he said. "If it happens, don't help me, go for them right away before you lose them in the crowd."

"Have I mentioned lately that I think this is a bad idea?"

"You got anything better, chief?"

"I don't know. C-Sec actually does their job, arrests Saren's henchmen, the Council pulls the stick out of their collective ass. HQ accepts my transfer. Udina is replaced by that hot snowboarder prince as the human ambassador. Saren dies alone and unloved." I get laid for the first time in like ten months. "And Glitterhoof the Sparklecorn devastates the geth fleet with a rainbow out his ass."

Shepard made a solemn face behind his visor. "I served with Glitterhoof back in '78, he's got my back."

Ten months.

"I like you, Williams. Don't worry about your transfer. I cooked up a solution, by the way. I just need to beam some paperwork back to Arcturus. I got your pay straightened out."

"It's difficult for me to imagine you doing paperwork."

"Why's that?"

She took her eyes from the crowd and gave him a once-over, taking in the power armor, the modded shotgun-- "Mirabelle" was her name-- and the intermittent blue glow that signified dormant biotic powers. He was probably going to do that shield boost thing.

"You just don't seem the type."

"I worked in headquarters for a year." He sounded smug, then. "I got an award. Saved the Alliance two hundred thousand credits in efficiency."

"How in the hell."

"Well, they had this wasteful program where--"

"No, I mean, skipper.. why?"

"Oh. Alliance thought I needed some.. time out. Drugged me to the gills. Put me behind a desk."

"That's terrible."

"It's an important job," he said, a little snippily, she thought. "It's got to get done."

She smiled slightly. Already part of his OCD personality had started to reveal itself to her, the way he had to clean and organize everything, especially when it came to the Mako. She supposed his amp-induced insomnia only magnified that tendency.

They were approaching now the asari statue gardens, crossing the slim arm of a bridge into a plaza of chin-high garden boxes rife with blue grasses and exotic flowers. The alien blooms were striped like a tiger from an acid trip, and as they came up on the first of the displays, an alien animal scuttled for cover, half chameleon and half marmoset. It moved too quickly, but it looked to have six legs. Its eyes had looked almost human.

The councillor's aide stood by the statue of an asari warrior, her ridged head pressed against the slim ankle of the marble depiction. Her hand ranged higher toward the calf. Her eyes were shut, but opened when Ashley and Shepard came upon her.

"Commander Shepard," Anarinda said softly, in a delicate voice. "A pleasure to meet you, and blessings of the Goddess."

"Frisk her."

"I.. as you wish, commander."

Ashley approached the asari.

Up close she could see the mottling of freckles. The paper thin skin. The deep blue blood vessels showing beneath.

Heroin chic.

Feeling for concealed weaponry.

"Take her amp out, she won't need it. The base of her skull."

Ashley looked into her eyes.

Slippery port at the base of her skull.

She felt a twinge of guilt, unease, to be touching someone like this. But the moment passed. The need to keep Shepard safe was overriding any sense of propriety. This Anarinda, she was perhaps hundreds of years old, she knew what to expect. She knew what she agreed to.

"She good?" Shepard said to her.

"So far, yeah."

Shepard pulled off his helmet. "Thank you for meeting with me, Anarinda," he said.

The asari stared for a few moments, and then blinked her soft, placid eyes. "Of course, Shepard," she said. "I do what I must. I believe you. I believe what you have seen."

Ashley moved to position herself where she could still defend him, if she had to. He had his helmet off and this could be incredibly dangerous if something happened. Shepard balanced his helmet on the foot of a playful statue as he went closer to the asari, reaching out a glove for her hand. She met him readily, slender and graceful. Ashley felt like a gorilla in her armor.

By this time, the old battlemaster shuffled into view from the south, scorn on his froggy face.

Ashley never thought she would feel relief at the sight of a krogan.

Their eyes met; she saw his nostrils contract and then flare out, blowing air.

She saw Shepard lick his lips, and she felt a twinge in her belly. Her armor was growing warm.

She saw the muscles in his face relax.

She felt as though she was seeing too much already.

God, he is so beautiful, she thought.

His fingers curled slightly against the nape of her neck.

"Relax, and be calm," she said. "Try to breathe as I breathe."

"I know," he said.

"You may feel a little strange."

With slight annoyance in his tone, he said, "I've done this before."

He licked his lips. She watches his mouth part slightly. What am I watching them do? Ashley thought.

The asari took in a little gasp.

Just do it already, Ashley thought. Wrex was making a snort of a sound, unimpressed.

The alien's eyes went black.

Shepard groaned. She watched his face tense. She saw his knuckles stand out when their hands gripped tighter.

His eyes flew open.

*******

Yeshek Ortalna drew Garrus out of the interrogation room. He went slowly, limping along; the crash that broke his leg had removed him temporarily from patrol, to his everlasting sour attitude.

Garrus had always shared something of a rivalry with the man. Yeshek was two years older than Garrus, from a rival colony, from a rival unit, though they had both been in the same line of work when in the military. They both knew the love of low-gravity vehicles. Both embraced the hatred. Treaded tanks were the scourge of the turian hierarchy, always breaking down, always rattling an axle, always down a tire.

"Still a virgin, Vakarian?" was Ortalna's greeting. His voice still bore traces of his Baetik colony upbringing, which to Garrus only seemed to make his commentary more sarcastic.

"I don't know, I woke up under a tank with a human woman and Urdnot Wrex," he said in his most distressed and incredulous voice.

Yeshek snorted. "Ha ha, really?"

"No. Wrex and the woman stay on their own sides. Fuck you, Ortalna."

Garrus had been hearing the unfortunate rumors of Shepard's interests; all false, of course, well, weren't they? There were so many rumors attached to biotics of all species, the asari in particular, who could not escape the rampant speculation. It was scientific fact that biotic abilities went hand-in-hand with an increased metabolism, the springboard for all sorts of wild imaginings. How would a human and a turian even.. ?

Yeshek shook his head with a low flanging chuckle. "I can't believe you quit, Garrus."

"If you still can't figure it out after all these years, I don't know what to tell you. I'm free."

Ortalna shook his head. "Technically you're not supposed to be here."

"I can be wherever Shepard needs me to be. Spectre business."

"Look Vakarian. I didn't pull you out to fight you. I'm trying to help. If anything happens to Shepard, the executor is going to have our ass. I want to help. One of Saren's henchmen has turned himself in. Tries to give us information, but he's in a bad way."

"What do you mean?"

"Remember the case with the salarian doctor?"

"How could I forget."

"The techie reminds me of some of those people. Kind of a hollow stare. Doesn't react right away. Something's wrong but we don't know what, not yet. It took everything to get him here, you can tell. We moved him to medical, last I heard."

A gaggle of salarians shoved by.

"What's going on?" Garrus looked after them, half-ready to follow.

"Hell if I know. The place has been like this all day." Ortalna shook his head. "What are they asking Dr. T'soni?"

"They want to know about her mother's associations. The comings and goings of people into Benezia's household. They've got a list of commandos who went MIA recently."

"And Liara doesn't know anything? I heard the salarians are getting impatient."

"Salarians are always impatient. And anyway, I don't think she does, she wants to cooperate, but she's not really too helpful. She seems estranged from her mother, and too wrapped up in her archaeology."

"Oh well, it's the thought that counts?" said Ortalna with rich sarcasm.

"We need her for our mission."

"Do you believe him? Shepard?"

"Of course I do."

Yeshek Ortalna stared at him a moment, studying him, and Garrus met the cold yellow eyes that stood out from the swathes of red Baetik-colony paint. "I don't care," Ortalna said, at last, with a shrug, easing away from confrontation. "Personally I wish the Hierarchy would put Saren down. It looks bad if we let the humans do it."

"Exactly," Garrus said. "That's why we hoped the Council would send some ships to help. The humans can't fight the geth and the batarians at the same time."

"I can't believe I'm agreeing with you. But well there you have it. I'd rather the Council dealt with Saren, and they just pointed Shepard at the batarians and let him run wild. That was the original idea, wasn't it? Why there is even a human Spectre?"

Garrus suspected as much. Perhaps some on the Council or in the human Alliance believed this might be some great opportunity, a gesture of faith or inclusion, but Nihlus knew what he was doing. The Butcher of Torfan. "Our mission now... is more important than the batarians."

"All right. Well. I don't care what Shepard raves about, really.. " Yeshek let his mandibles fall open. "All I care is that he has a safe and enjoyable visit to the Citadel, and that nothing exciting happens. It's a security nightmare. I'll be so glad when he zips off again to be crazy in space."

"He's not crazy."

Ortalna snorted. "If you say so."

"Any luck with the krogan we brought in?"

"No. They're just being pushy and sullen. Probably working together. They're about the same age, same clan, judging by the markings, but then again they've always looked alike to me. Neither one of them is saying very much."

"We've moved them to opposite wings, right?"

People were moving now in the corridor junction just ahead, carrying datapads. Someone was spilling coffee.

"Of course."

"And the technician who supposedly defected.. "

"Like I said. We have him in medical." Ortalna flexed his mandibles. "Look, can't you just tell Shepard he's wasting his time with the Council? He can break things and shoot people in space, far from here... "

Pel Votho broke from the junction ahead and came bounding down, his blinky eyes huge. "Ortalna! Come quickly!"

Yeshek grunted. "Not anymore," he said, favoring his hurt leg. "This is just what I was talking about, Vakarian," he said.

"You can't be in here!" Votho cried as Garrus followed, easily outmatching Ortalna as he ducked into one of the side-rooms. "You're not on the force anymore!"

The salarian's protest died quickly, dissolved in the commotion of the room, the talking, murmuring, the dialing of comms, where a crush of officers stared at a bank of holoscreens.

"Ah, shit," said Ortalna. "Is this happening now?"

*******

"You were one of the best on the force. You could have been sitting here at this desk, not me." Executor Pallin leaned back in his chair. "But you've chosen your path and there's little I can do for you now. Don't come to me for favors. I don't work that way. You should know that."

The asari smiled through the thick scar tissue. There were very few still living who would recognize her now, even before the accident. "Everything's negotiable, Rizu," she said. "It's for a good cause. You believed in those once, and maybe you still do.. somewhere beneath all the paperwork."

"And that was your problem," Pallin said. His head was canted to look at the blinking symbols on his screen. "Thinking you knew best. The system works." He depressed the comm button. "What now?"

A salarian voice said, "The asari statue gardens!"

On his screen the camera view popped up:

A marine, Shepard, banging an asari's head into the stone corner of the statue base. Anarinda, the asari councillor's aide and personal favorite.

Another marine trying to wrestle him off.

A huge red krogan standing by, watching. Urdnot Wrex.

The footage looped two or three times before it stuttered and showed what was happening now.

"You see this," Pallin hissed. "This is why. This is why." His eyes snapped up, but Yaera was gone.

*******