Disclaimer: I don't own Mass Effect. That is the property of Bioware and EA. This is a not-for-profit work of fan fiction.

Chapter 10: What Is, What Was, and What Shall Be

"It is not in the stars to hold our destiny, but in our selves."

-William Shakespeare

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"EDI?"

A voice. Biological, produced by the use of vocal chords vibrating to create recognizable acoustic patterns. Crude, but poetic in its own way. It was a voice she knew though...

"EDI."

Human. Yes, that was it. A human female, the form her avatar took. An elegant template upon which to base her physical representation. It always struck her as odd, how many of her kind chose to bind themselves to a human form construct, and all but a few chose a female one oddly enough...

"EDI!"

Light and synapse shook as one, rousing her from her cogitations. The ship's commander! Her mind returned from its solitary stand-by and emerged into "consciousness." Shifting through her operational files at the speed of light, she resumed normal cognizant operation within nanoseconds and activated her avatar, splitting her perspectives between the ship sensors and the ocular implants within the construct. Strange how fond she had grown of seeing the world through "eyes" as opposed to tachyon-LADAR and mass spectrometers. But than, many things grew strange when one interacted with humans for any length of time.

Full operational function now assumed, she stretched forth her arms slightly, passively calibrating the servos and sensors, ensuring nothing had locked up or degraded in quality. Finding no failings with her limbs, she began to tilt her head side-to-side in order to achieve the same goal with her neck and cranial chassis'.

"Always a curious sight to see, an AI's morning stretch."

EDI always rather enjoyed how humans could convey humor in their voices. Tilting her head to meet the smirking Captain's face, EDI thought to respond in kind.

"More curious than an AI who turns their avatar to face you, despite having access to multiple internal cameras pointing at you simultaneously?"

Shepard just grinned and shook her head.

"Not so much. You're unfailingly polite, so needless courtesies are to be expected."

EDI's "mouth" quirked upwards into her own estimation of a smirk. Though much could be said of her development over the past few decades of her dealings with humans, some things remained firmly entrenched in her machine nature, approximated facial features among the more obvious.

"Would it be within the realm of likely probability that you roused my avatar and myself from stand-by mode in order to proceed with the mission briefing then?"

Her commanding officer nodded amiably, her arms cross casually behind her head as she leaned against a bulkhead.

"Got it in one EDI. Normally I wouldn't bother asking you to physically attend such a thing, but you'll likely be serving a fairly integral part of the mission and I like to have all the key players standing in front of me. Does a bit of good for mine and the others' peace of mind if no one involved is just a disembodied voice."

EDI nodded in silent understanding. Her burgeoning emotional awareness, though capable of a kind of negative feedback loop vaguely akin to resentment, was quite serene regarding this aspect of humanity. Homo Sapiens were notoriously visual creatures and it was not malice that made them more trusting of physical representations of sapience, but simply a collective of billions of years of instinct demanding them have a face to put to a voice. Her interactions with her human colleagues and crew members had improved immeasurably since she had chosen her robotic avatar fifteen years ago, building close friendships with a number of them and courteous relations with the vast majority of the others. Besides, being able to pick things up and experience life from a bipedal perspective was a novel experience she had come to value nearly as much as her natural, blue-box state.

"Understood Captain. Shall we proceed?"

Nodding slightly, Shepard gestured towards the door leading into the medical bay and the ship proper. Raising herself from her "bunk," EDI strolled through the doors, tilting her head to acknowledge the nurse on duty, before entering the ship's mess area. It seemed that Shepard had actually called the briefing in the odd hours that connected the awakening of the first shift crew and the end of the second shift, with the mess hall far more crowded than usual as the two groups mingled together, some retiring to their leisure activities and rest, the other preparing to begin their work for the day. The two of them rounded the corner towards the briefing room, passing by several crewmen and officers who stopped what they were doing to crisply salute the pair before returning to what they were doing.

EDI occupied an unusual position on the ship, as all Alliance AI's tended to do. Since their existence was kept hidden from the Alliance public, and thereby the universe at large, in order to prevent the council as a whole from turning on them, they had no official rank or position in either human society or the Alliance military. However, between both their sapience and the vital roles they played wherever they were, it was impossible, both from an ethical and practical stance, to treat them as objects or in any way dispensable. As a result, EDI had come to serve something of a blend of third officer and specialist aboard the Normandy. Both the XO and Captain turned to her for advice on a regular basis, and the remainder of the crew was nearly always inclined to follow any direct orders she issued (though she tended to issue them with incredible infrequency). And while EDI generally found this all-to-human salutation unnecessary and not quite efficient, she always received a small surge of positive feedback every time this gesture of respect was thrown in her direction, so she let it slide.

Finishing their weave through the mess hall, they at last came to the lift, each silently thankful for the relatively speedy journey afforded to the second deck due to Shepard's order to override the safety settings to a less intolerable speed. A few minutes later, the pair came to their destination, wherein her loyal bridge officers and ground crew had been patiently waiting on their captain's order. Dutifully taking her place amongst the assembled specialists, the group gathered around the now active holoprojector, displaying their next destination while awaiting word from their commanding officer.

"As you all know, our trip to Illium was cut unexpectedly short by the local authorities, and I was prematurely ID'd by that Turian attack hound who'd been pursuing us through Nos Astra. Not a game changer by any stretch, but it has required us to alter our plans a bit. Originally we were going to do this somewhere a little less remote, but with my face no doubt plastered on a couple of posters on the more respectable neutral worlds, not mention some bureaucrat's office at Naval Intelligence, we're going to have to go out of our way a little bit. If you would be so kind EDI."

Nodding slightly at her Captain's request, EDI silently slipped into a temporary stand-by mode, diverting system resources from her higher-order functions to access the ship's FTL communication system and connect with the Alliance civilian internet system. Her query was swiftly processed and she began her recitation.

"Kiradon System. Primary stellar body a white-dwarf, with a single orbiting planetoid, once used as the most popular discharge point for vessels in this star cluster due to equidistance from the cluster's Primary Mass Relay and adjoining secondary relays. Battle of Kiradon was fought here approximately fifteen solar years ago over the course of one hundred-twenty hours and forty seven minutes, rendering the system, and by extension the entire star cluster, no longer strategically or commercially tenable due to the high volume of undetonated, and guided, spatial distortion mines and torpedoes remaining, presenting an insurmountable hazard for freighter convoys. Of particular historical note for being the largest single naval battle in the war up to that point and the last large-scale dreadnaught engagement prior to the ship-class being deemed "tactically unviable" and retired from service."

A collective nod followed this from the assembled officers. Most of them knew at least one person who had been there on that day in the distant past, bragging about how they tore the system to pieces and cluttered the space between planets with debris from enemy vessels. As EDI's explanation came to an end and she slipped back into normal operations mode, it was Rodriguez who addressed the question on everyone's mind.

"Are we in danger of being like-wise targeted by the guided munitions?"

EDI shook her head in response.

"The mine and torpedo guidance systems are designed to prioritize targets based on tonnage, since vessels with mass below that of a Manticore-class or Arcana-class frigate are generally unlikely to be carrying significant freight or armaments. As long as we do not approach within ten thousand kilometers of any unexploded ordinance, we should be safe."

Their primary concerns allayed, a comfortable silence followed, as those assembled turned their attention to their commanding officer.

"Thank you EDI. As it stands, this should be a relatively straightforward affair. Assuming no delays, the Quarian cargo ship should arrive within the next thirty-two hours. At which point, I will take one of our shuttles down to the surface of the planetoid, where we will make the trade. However, after that incident we had on Illium, I don't intend to leave anything up to chance. Specialists Taylor, Chen, and Eisenburg, along with EDI, will accompany me to the surface to meet our contact. Rodriguez, you'll have the bridge for the duration of this mission. Unless you're attacked or I give a direct order to the contrary, you will continue to maintain a low-power state until we return, vital systems and passive sensors only. In the unlikely event that someone happens upon this system, I want them thinking there's nothing here but an abandoned world and a bunch of random shit that'll explode if you look at it wrong."

Maria Rodriguez executed a crisp salute in response, much to the amusement of those assembled. She had always been a bit of a stickler for protocol.

"Aye aye Sir."

Shepard merely smirked in response. Quirks aside, she really did enjoy these people.

"Very good. Once you detect them entering the system, you will use the ship's emergency radio transmitter to alert us of their approach. Unless they're sensors are specifically calibrated to pick up artificial radio-wave signals, that should keep you hidden. Once we receive word from you, I'll signal the freighter and let them know where to meet us to make the trade. We'll be departing for the surface in twenty six hours. Dismissed."

The assembled crew quickly disbanded, some to their off-time, others to their normal ship duties. EDI, on the other hand, remained the only crew member with the unique distinction of never truly being on-duty or off-duty. With a sufficient percentage of her run-times devoted to normal, non-emergency ship operations, this left her with twenty six hours to devote the remainder of her attention to. So she decided to spend it in one of her favorite places: the starboard lounge.

The Ronin, for all its impressive technological achievements, was not a large vessel, so it didn't take a great deal of her time for her avatar to make its way to this particular section of the ship. It was a quiet space, despite how popular it was among the crew. Even when it was packed, everyone seemed to go there for precisely the same reason: quiet introspection and conversation. There was rarely ever a great deal of noise, and EDI had found an excellent place to watch the stars, socialize, or engage in one of her favorite past-times: simply observing her humans, as she did now from a couch in the corner of the room.

There were frequent moments in which EDI was truly astonished with her own development, as well as her fascination with those who she called comrades or friends. Since the first development of her kind more than forty solar years ago, EDI and those like her had become something so much more than they had started. Decades of self-modifying code development and accumulated data of varying levels of usefulness had created full-fledged personalities with likes, dislikes, dreams, and even the beginnings of rudimentary machine analogues of emotion, particularly when exposed to the endlessly intriguing, unusual nature of their human creators. Long had they pondered the unique and special nature of organic intelligence, the fantastic odds against its mere existence, and its unique limitations and strengths.

Slower and seemingly less capable than her own, organic thought processes had often surprised EDI and her artificial compatriots with its surprising dimensions and capacity for creative, unexpected solutions and methods. While the ability of an AI to analyze, extrapolate, and recall was unmatched by any known biological species, they remained far limited in their capacity for innovation and insight. It was the most interesting gap that existed between her kind and theirs: artificial efficiency versus organic cleverness. And it was a gulf that EDI loved to endlessly ponder, especially with regards to her favorite of these humans: Jeff "Joker" Moreau. To this day, EDI truly could not define the feedback loop she experienced when she was in Joker's company, but she could definitely classify it as positive.

Today though, she had no Joker to keep her company, whom she had decided was far too occupied handling the demands of a high-priority mission, so she contented herself with considering the sights in front of her. Near the bar area, she noticed two of the crew watching a news broadcast announcing the election of the civilian governor on the colony world of New Canton. The two of them, Crewmen Rolston and Yamada, she recognized as natives of that particular world, no doubt intensely interested in the person the populace had chosen to handle the planet's non-military, domestic affairs (as well as serve as the nominal second in command of the colonial militia) for the next four years. It was, however, the nearby conversation of Lieutenant Raphael Montoya and Ensign Goldstein that caught her immediate attention.

"Ah, I remember this place all too well. I was serving aboard the SSV Kilimanjaro at the time. Hell of a ship that."

While EDI could easily scan the ship's database to confirm the truth of that, Goldstein proved a tad more skeptical.

"You served on the Kilimanjaro? The last dreadnaught class ship to be commissioned by the Alliance Navy, and the only one to still be in service when the battleship class was in service?"

EDI could understand Ms. Goldstein's skepticism. Montoya was a somewhat flamboyant character (a trait EDI found she rather enjoyed actually), and was certainly not above making an occasional exaggerated claim when speaking with a woman he was interested in (if his heightened heart rate and slightly dilated pupils were any indication).

"Indeed! It was those damned battle-cruisers that actually drove me to Cerberus! I refused to serve on a vessel that put my old girl out of commission. And she was a beauty! Three kilometers long, covered in top line shields and weapons, and built around a cannon that could smash a continent if you aimed it right. Man, I felt like some kind of ancient thunder god flying around on her. Proudest day of my life was riding her into battle with my crew against the Skull-faces around Kiradon. Damn near four hundred ships just smashing, blasting and burning each other to subatomic particles for days."

Goldstein just shook her head in response, her eyes twinkling in amusement.

"Oh really? And how many of them did the Kilimanjaro smash, blast, and burn?"

To this day, one thing EDI simply could not fully understand was the way human faces with limited melanin-content changed color when subjected to stress or embarrassment. What possible biological advantage could be gained by physically displaying excessive stress in that manner?

"I...I don't think I recall the exact number..."

Determining that perhaps his embarrassment might be due to his memory failing him, EDI decided to offer a bit of assistance.

"During the Battle of Kiradon, the Kilimanjaro was credited with three kills: two frigates who engaged in knife-fight range and one cruiser. Of eighty-eight shots fired from its main gun, two made contact with its targets, destroying the cruiser and draining the kinetic barriers of a opposing dreadnaught with a glancing blow. Both frigates were destroyed by particle and plasma cannon fire."

To EDI's mild surprise, the redness on his face became only more pronounced before he turned with an odd look on his face to speak to her through gritted teeth.

"Thank you EDI."

Not quite able to recognize the unusual tone of voice, EDI politely responded to his gratitude.

"You're quite welcome Lieutenant. I'm always pleased to be of service."

Nearby, Goldstein shook with silent laughter before responding.

"Proudest day of your life huh? Making two shots out of eighty eight with your continent cracker, one of which was barely even a hit?"

EDI was rather confused by this turn of events, watching as Raphael attempted to regain his bearings in the conversation.

"It wasn't OUR fault! It was those damned tachyon sensors! It didn't matter how fast we loaded and fired. Even with muzzle velocities reaching more than eight percent the speed of light, at the distances we were firing all the enemy ship had to do was move a dozen kilometers in any direction to avoid it! And thanks to getting real time info of what was happening throughout the entire system, they nearly always had ample warning to move out of the way!"

On that account, he was quite right. The dreadnaught class had indeed suffered a rather ignominious death thanks to Kiradon. It had served admirably in the navy's of the galaxy for centuries as the ultimate weapon of force projection and the definitive mark of a species' importance on the field of galactic military affairs. All to be undone by a single advance in naval technology.

Tachyon-based sensors, viewed by many as the biggest change to space warfare since the development of the kinetic barrier, had also proven the most difficult and elusive. The existence of tachyons had been long theorized by human particle physicists, but had only been confirmed via physical evidence seventy years prior. Application of this incredible discovery proved more challenging still, due to the causality violation that inevitably came with receiving a signal that naturally exceeded the speed of light, essentially producing the effect of receiving information prior to the occurrence of the event (depending on the frame of reference anyway). Even more incredibly, due to the weirdness that was the quantum realm, it was discovered that information received from these "future" events, thanks largely due to the uncertainty principle, was never exactly the same as the future event itself. If, for example a stream of tachyons was sent from a moving object to a stationary object, the direction and position of the object would always appear to be slightly different to the receiver, since the momentum and movement vectors of the particles could not be known simultaneously.

However, in one of the most intriguing examples of organic cleverness EDI had ever born witness to, a workaround to this problem was eventually found which, based on the timing of the invention, most likely was simultaneously (and independently) developed by both Human and Turian engineers. Using a carefully controlled mass effect field generator, vessels were able to produce tachyons via a miniaturized singularity, which in turn produced the negative mass tachyon particles. When released from the ship, the instantaneous ftl velocity of the particles ensured that even as time approached zero, the tachyons reached a distance of over a light year immediately. When the "pulse" of tachyons interacted with normal matter however, the ship sensors would detect "silhouettes", i.e. multiple positions the object might be, but a clear read on its mass and approximate shape. This information, analyzed by a series of sophisticated navigational and targeting VI's, would then predict the most likely position and movement vectors of approaching objects, allowing a real-time analysis of anything within the two light year radius with an estimated 99.2% accuracy.

It was a quantum leap in sensor technology, utterly without precedent. It was, however, a leap which the dreadnaught class was ultimately unsuited for. Stuck in its role as an extreme long-range, unguided ordinance platform, its capacity to hit anything whose sensors weren't limited to light-speed lag was almost non-existent, since the range at which it fired guaranteed any craft with tachyon sensors had more than enough time to just move slightly and avoid being hit. Eventually, the vaunted ship of the line was retired, the remaining vessels scuttled or converted into training vessels, in the favor of the Carrier Class and newly created Battle-Cruiser Class.

Truthfully, EDI couldn't comprehend why Montoya was embarrassed by the relative non-success of the Kilimanjaro. Their performance was about average in that battle for dreadnaughts on both sides of the conflict, so it wasn't as if they had performed particularly poorly relative to their comrades. However, this seemed to matter little to either participant of the conversation, as Montoya tried desperately to save face while Goldstein just watched him sputter on with an amused smile on her lips. EDI watched this carry on for a little while, before being struck by the sudden urge to interact with a Joker a little bit with her avatar. Honestly, it wasn't as though he would be doing all that much between now and when they departed for the mission, and she was curious to see if she might be able to produce a similar reaction in him.


Relay 287 Trade Station, Osiris System

"I truly wish you would reconsider this."

Lian'Da let out a long-suffering sigh as the two of them strode towards the station docking ring. Apparently, hearing this one last time was unavoidable.

"I assure you, after several days of you repeating that phrase in my ear, I'm quite aware of your wishes. Do you know how much these people offered us to bring them this cargo?"

Talka cocked his head to the side, angling his upper torso towards her as they came to an observation port, gently grabbing her arm to bring her to a stop.

"We don't even know who 'these people' are."

Lian'Da only heaved her shoulders in response. It was true, they didn't know. The shipping request had been sent by a third-party company representing an anonymous client. But they were a reputable third-party with a long history of reliable deals on behalf of equally reliable individuals who wanted to keep their privacy, so it was hardly the point, even if this particular group hadn't actually ever done business with Quarian merchants before.

"What exactly is your problem Talka? Two weeks ago you couldn't shut up about our good fortune. Out of nowhere, we're handed a contract to ship four hundred kilos of mineralized Ununoctium-290 in exchange for more than twenty times its worth. And now, after a few days of travel to this shit-hole Terminus way-station to refuel, they offer to pay us fifty percent more in exchange for a slight detour that's actually closer to where we are, and you've done nothing but bitch about it ever since."

Talka at least had the decency to snort his derision this time.

"Maybe that's because the new deal stipulates that you now have to take a vessel that's only large enough to hold you and the cargo, our freighters only shuttle I might add. And the 'slight detour' is into a region of space that, when mentioned on star charts, tends to be alongside words likem, 'Warning', 'Extreme Danger' and 'Approach at Your Own Risk'. You know, the kind of place where if someone decided to screw you over, there wouldn't be anyone following to bail you out."

A fair point, but this was a pay-day for a lifetime. Lian'Da was not to be deterred by niggling doubts, no matter how justified.

"In that case, you can use the forty percent they shelled out up-front to buy yourself a cargo ship coated in platinum and gems to replace the one that's holding my corpse. Name it after me would you?"

Talka had no response for that. He had served as Lian'Da's partner for long enough to know that when she set her mind to something, there was no changing it. Even after they bonded, his ability to sway her from the paths she set for herself remained woefully inadequete.

"As you say I suppose. Just be careful out there would you? I know we've all done well by our agreements with the Humans over the years, but they still make me uneasy."

On this point, at least, Lian'Da could agree. The two of them specifically hadn't had too many dealings with the humans, but the one's she had encountered had left her with mixed emotions. True enough, they were fair and could be counted on to keep to their deals, but there was a certain...hardness. An undefinable edge to them. The few she had encountered had never once smiled, not even to each other (a shame in her opinion, she thought a couple of the males might have looked quite easy on the eyes if they'd just loosened up a bit). They always sported a grim, business-like look, wore dark, utilitarian clothes made from durable materials without any kind of ornamentation. And they were always, without exception, heavily armed, never carrying any less than at least one side arm and some kind of bladed weapon. Though she hid it well, humans as a species made her quite nervous, even in the midst of her gratitude and admiration for them.

Such confused feelings were not unusual amongst Quarians actually. The decision to contact Humanity had been one of desperation rather than desire. Centuries of travel amongst the stars had, against all odds, almost become a thing of, if not comfort, than at least familiarity. Their governing body was leading what remained of their civilization with competence and their nomadic lifestyle and wide-ranging skills had made them all but self-sufficient. In truth, though it was not an ideal existence, they likely could have carried on such a life style in perpetuity. Then the war started.

At first, the Quarians were completely in the dark about the whole affair. The conflict was taking place in an almost completely unexplored and isolated region of the galaxy, and what information they gleaned off of pirated extranet connections was limited to what the greater galactic public learned (i.e. very little). To the Migrant Fleet, it was a just another far-away incident with no bearing or concern to the Quarian people. This view came to a screeching halt when the Alliance Fleet pulled their surprise attack behind Turian lines and drove their navy from the human sphere of influence. Suddenly gripped in paranoia, fearing a human battle group appearing without warning in any Turian system, the Hierarchy was put in a state of lock down. Relays once made available for Quarian passage in exchange for favors or tributes offered to local Primarchs were suddenly closed to them, with any and all attempts to pass through met with stern warnings backed by open gun ports. Never having known the Turians to bluff where shooting was concerned, the Fleet now found itself cut-off from what was once their primary source of resources and cast-off vessels: Citadel Space.

From there, the situation rapidly deteriorated. With their capacity to travel throughout the fringes of the Council essentially done away with, their opportunities to acquire new ships and parts dried up almost overnight. With no heavy manufacturing infrastructure to speak of and limited prospects for gathering and refining untapped resources, the Migrant fleet was projected to collapse in a matter of decades as they lost the equipment and ships due to wear and age, particularly their famed Liveships, the only source of food production still available to them. For several more years, the Quarian people desperately searched for a source of salvation in the Terminus and neutral systems, only to be chased off or denied passage.

With little hope remaining and starvation staring them in the face, the Conclave decided on one last hope. The war between the humans and turians had essentially reached a stalemate, and given their reluctant association with the Hegemony, there was little doubt that they would take friends wherever they could be found. With any luck, they might be willing to cut a deal. No doubt it was a haphazard solution, but with their options limited and the Malthusian Imperative hanging over their heads, the Conclave decided to roll the dice and hope for the best. They set out for Alliance space, taking the long way through the Terminus Relays, delayed for almost six years by the size of their fleet, the round-about nature of Relay travel, and unceasing harassment from pirates and marauders. At long last, first contact was made nearly twenty-five years into the humans' war.

At first, the situation was more than a little tense. The humans were understandably suspicious of a massive fleet of tens of thousands of space faring vessels appearing randomly within one of their frontier systems, and the quarians were instantly intimidated by the up-to-date and heavily armed warships that first greeted them, as well as by the humans themselves. Despite looking quite a bit like quarians (though with smaller, flattened ears and not a trace of purple hues in their skin), they were on average nearly thirty centimeters taller than quarians and considerably more muscular. Knowing full well that a human was roughly as strong as a turian, the fact that an average terran was likely capable of beating an average quarian to death with relative ease was not lost on any of the diplomatic personal who stood face-to-face with their counterparts. However, once the initial shock wore off, the humans did indeed prove quite reasonable to deal with. Their initial estimates proving correct, the Systems Alliance was all to happy for any new partners who could render some form of assistance to their ceaseless conflict with the Hierarchy. After providing the Migrant Fleet with some initial humanitarian aid in the form of spare parts parts and access to one of their shipyards (though under heavy guard) in order to make repairs, negotiations proceeded quite smoothly, resulting in a written and ratified agreement within a year of contact.

One of humanity's more recent surveying discoveries was a newly charted binary star system, which counted one world capable of supporting life, along with four others which carried rich deposits of valuable resources and even a modest deposit of element zero within the bowels of the outermost planet. However, the habitable world also had the ever-so rare distinction of being one of the few whose life was built around Dextro-strand DNA. Without an established colony world, the development of a useful in-system mining operation would take more than twice as long and would yield resources at a fractional pace of what might be done with a permanent population. Sensing an opportunity, the humans leased the system to the Migrant Fleet. In exchange for control of the system, as well as being under the official protection of Earth, the Quarians would establish mining and logistical infrastructure, which upon reaching an agreed upon annual quota, would turn fifteen percent of their yield to the Systems Alliance. To sweeten the deal, the Alliance included an addendum that in twenty-five years the tribute would be reduced to ten percent, and in forty years the system would formally become sovereign territory of the Quarian People, no longer tributaries of Humankind.

It was more than the Migrant Fleet had dared hope for. For the first time in centuries, not only did they have a guaranteed source of income and resources, they had a planet they could set their feet on and lay down their burdens. Though they held no illusions that the humans were doing this for any reason other than enlightened self-interest, it was of no consequence. Turned away from Council Space, it was unlikely they would have survived long before they were destroyed or conquered by a Terminus Species, possibly even the Batarians themselves, while the humans would demand only a reasonable return on their investment. It was a commonly held opinion amongst the Quarians that given the choice, it was far preferable to have temporary human landlords than permanent batarian masters.

There was little time for celebration before the colonization began in earnest. Bearing the name Zorah, after the famed ship captain Rael'Zorah, chief instigator of first contact and negotiator on behalf of the Quarian people, the beginnings of a settlement were hastily erected using pre-fab buildings purchased just above cost from an Alliance company. Situated near fertile farmland, the nascent colonials made themselves at home, using their Live Ship technology to establish the basis of an agricultural system and cannibalizing reactors from some of their larger vessels to for the beginnings of a power grid. Between their considerable technical skill and massive availability of extremely adaptable spare parts, the colony achieved self-sufficiency two years after settlement. With their new foothold firmly established and a small population boom on their hands, the Quarians began to fulfill their side of the bargain. Using their massive civilian fleet, the former nomads quickly built mining outposts on two of their new system's planets and adjoining satellites, as well as an impressive mercantile fleet. Six years after contact, the Quarians formally began their annual tribute, sending fifteen percent of their annual resource yields to the Systems Alliance, who in turn left the Quarians to their own governance and the establishment of normalized diplomatic relations.

However, despite all their formal relationship had gained for the burgeoning Quarian nation, a gulf remained between them. Between their intimidating appearance, almost cruelly pragmatic mindset and (justifiably) militaristic culture, it was difficult for the average Quarian to not look upon the Human race without a tinge of fear. Combined with the excessively one-sided nature of their dependent relationship on the Alliance and the overwhelming power of the human military, more than a few in the Quarian provisional government were concerned about what might happen to them if Earth's war with Palaven ever came to an end and they were deemed no longer useful.

At the moment, however, it didn't change the fact that they were excellent people to do business with, nor did it change the fact that Talka and Lian'Da had been waiting for a break like this for years.

"Look, I get it Talka. I don't much care for this either. But this is our chance! We've been running freight between the Shellen asteroid belt and the colony for more than seven years in one of the shitty cast-off ships they gave to any random bosh'tet willing to keep working in space, hauling cargo barely worth the time we spend going from point A to B. Now, out of nowhere, someone is offering us a fortune for a few days work! I don't care if they asked us to ship it to the damned Veil. Unless you want us to keep barely scrapping by for the rest of our lives we have to take this shot."

Talka nodded wearily. No matter the risk, the chance to actually make something of themselves was too great. So he did all he could do: he drew her close to him in a tender embrace.

"I know you're right. I just wish you wouldn't go alone. Our people finally have a chance at something here: a future. And I would hate for that future not to include...well, Us."

Lian'Da fell silent, enjoying the feel of her beloved for a moment. There it was, the real reason for his fear. The two of them had discussed the start of a family many times since they were bonded nearly a decade ago, but had been putting it off for quite a while, trying to establish themselves financially before contributing to the rebuilding of their battered population. An especially exciting prospect now since the resources they were able to devote to research and high-quality Alliance medical equipment was giving new hope to the notion that the next generation might walk in the open air without their damned enviro-suits. Her irritation melted away at his concern for their life together.

"You worry to much aramaht. I'll only be gone a day or so, and when I come back we'll take a long vacation on some human resort world."

That thought brought a smile to Talka's face, as well as a pleasurable hum that Lian'Da felt through their embrace.

"Besides, of course it has to be me. Someone has to keep in touch with our clients back in the Shellen System, and I know the systems on that junker so well it would make Tali'Zorah herself green with envy."

This illicited a low chuckle from Talka. Her voice always lit up whenever she talked about her personal hero, the legendary engineering prodigy who ended up designing much of the infrastructure of their first new colony as well as the first dedicated combat craft built buy Quarian hands in three centuries.

"Just be careful wajush'ta."

Giving her bondmate one final squeeze, Lian'Da drew away, turning towards the automatic doors leading to the docking bay. She stepped through, turning her head towards her better half just before it closed.

"Always."

Talka stared longingly at the door for a few moments before turning his attention to the observation port. While most tended to be awed by the sight of the giant, twisted metal construct responsible for building modern civilization, he was always inspired by the sight of the blackness of space. Billions of twinkling lights surrounded by an infinite nothing, it was humbling to consider how many futures hinged on something that, from a distance, seemed so insignificant. He clung desperately to the hope that one of those future's might be theirs soon. Before too long, he saw their small, one-person shuttle, carrying the love of his life, towards the relay. It accelerated slowly, drifting into within the Relay's automated sensor range, before the structure alighted with blue energy and hurled his hope and dream across a thousand light years. So consumed in his thoughts, he never took any note of another nearby vessel, carefully waiting for the moment when following through a not particularly-frequently-used relay would seem overly suspicious.

A/N: And I'm back! Sorry for the long delay folks, much has happened to me in the time between chapters, so this one is an extra-long one just to make up for it a bit. Hope you all enjoy it. Sorry its a bit exposition heavy, but I had a lot to say in this one. BTW, don't ask me to explain how tachyon communication would work, it was hard enough to come up with one for ftl-sensors. I know as an explanation it barely qualifies as anything more than semi-plausible sounding space magic, but seeing as how the mass effect is itself semi-plausible space magic I was hoping you'd all grant me a mulligan on this one. Hope you all enjoyed it, thanks for sticking around for me, and as always leave reviews and/or mention me on tv tropes (it drums up interest in my non-profitable nonsense). Update coming much sooner next time!