A/N: Delay longer than intended. Three rewrites bad. Working to get stuff out faster. Must type type type type type.


"Pressly-" she began as she stepped out of the briefing room.

"Already on it, ma'am," he interrupted crisply, punching figures into the galaxy map.

"Good," she said as she jogged for the door, nearly knocking one of the sensor technicians over. "Sorry," she said as she plowed by the ensign, taking the steps two at a time.

She winced at the moment's dizziness that coursed through her as Joker brought the ship's mass effect core to full power. There were downsides to having a chunk of element zero buried in your skull. Much like a piezoelectric crystal, refined element zero would also generate electrical current when subjected to shifting gravitational fields... and having it buried in her head meant that a strong mass effect field could do all sorts of unusual things to her state of mind, from momentary unsteadiness to wild mood swings.

Of course, given the glial tissue that had built up around the nodule in her brain, if she was subjected to a mass effect field strong enough to do more than make her momentarily unsteady on her feet, then she had other problems to worry about – like what she would do about her brain getting smashed into paste against the inside of her skull by its own mass.

She punched the emergency override into the elevator, sending it – and her – down to the cargo bay in four seconds instead of the much more leisurely twenty it normally took.

"MARINES!" she bellowed as she stepped out of the cargo elevator bay, and she felt the gaze of the twelve soldiers in her squad snap to her.

"Get suited up," she said in a more normal tone of voice. "Guard/Escort loadout. We've got our first assignment, and we're leaving fifteen seconds ago."

The resulting surge of activity was suitably impressive. It was like somebody kicked a hive of bees, as soldiers leapt away from their card games, dropped half-eaten sandwiches, and left holos playing on portable displays while they ran for the equipment lockers.

"Ma'am? Any details?" one of the marines hung back to ask.

She shook her head. "We're headed for Eden Prime. No details until we're clear of the station, the brass is worried about operational security more than usual. We'll be on station in an hour tops, so move quickly."

"Understood, ma'am," he said with a respectful nod, then jogged off to join the rest of his squad.

The hurry was warranted. Even though Eden Prime was at least an hour out, even at full military speed, the crew would start preparing for the mission now. While modern armor and equipment had vastly increased the survival chances of soldiers in the field, it was also not quick or easy to put on... especially if one was gearing for a potentially long-term mission.

It was strongly suggested, for example, to visit the restroom before putting on an armored jumpsuit. While the suit wouldn't be compromised by the addition of... refuse... to it, it was not something you wanted to be walking in for hours, and taking off your armor while in a combat zone was a major no-no, even in planetary environments where it was possible.

Making the other plumbing connections wasn't exactly comfortable either, at least for women. Men were lucky and had less invasive options. Women simply had to deal with uncomfortable plumbing, or resigned themselves to thoroughly cleaning their armor suits after a long shift. Shepard was lucky in this regard – she wasn't as bothered by the plumbing connections as some were, although she wouldn't have called it comfortable by any stretch of the imagination.

For short missions it was usually skipped, but Anderson's warning of "guard duty" meant that they might be active for eight or twelve hours, more if the target was high value and they were the ones trusted with watching it.

Other parts of gearing up for a mission took time, as well: Loading the armor's medi-gel reservoirs, topping off the charge in the superconducting coil that served as the armor's power cell, replacing the high-density air canisters, and running the full diagnostics. All of the steps could be skipped in case of an emergency deployment, but if you had the luxury of warning that a fight was coming, you didn't skip out on the chance to go fully prepared.

Not if you liked living, at least.


"-you hate him," Kaidan's skeptical voice drifted down the hallway as Shepard walked toward the cockpit.

"You remember to zip up your jumpsuit after you get out of the bathroom, that's good," Joker's said. "I just jumped us across the galaxy and hit a target the size of a pinhead. So that's incredible!"

He gave a derisive snort while Shepard padded silently up behind him, lacing her hands together behind her. "Besides, SPECTREs are trouble. I don't like having him on board. Call me paranoid."

"You're paranoid," Alenko said bluntly. "The Council helped fund this project. They have a right to send someone to keep an eye on their investment."

Interesting, Shepard thought. Either Kaidan had been briefed more closely than she'd thought, or he was cleverer than she'd initially given him credit for. It wasn't perfectly accurate, but it was close, and that showed a lot more political savvy than most soldiers had.

"Yeah, that is the official story," Joker said with more skepticism in his voice than Shepard had believed possible, "But only an idiot believes the official story."

Despite Joker's rather well-known dislike of authority figures and agencies, Shepard was actually inclined to agree with him. Nihlus was not the kind of representative you went to 'observe efficiency' in a new ship design. He was there for some other reason. What that reason was, she didn't know... but there was definitely something else going on.

"Well, they don't send SPECTREs on shakedown runs," she said from behind them, and they both gave a little jump as she spoke. Gossiping without checking your six? Tsk, tsk.

Joker recovered quickly, nodding in agreement. "Which means there's more going on here than the Captain's letting-" he said, glancing at Kaidan before the comm interrupted him.

"Joker!" Anderson's comm-distorted voice was tense. "Status report."

"Just cleared the mass relay, Captain. Stealth systems are engaged, everything looks solid." Joker's response was – despite being a bit more casual than most soldiers' – completely respectful. He's actually pretty good, she thought absently as she processed the information he'd given the Captain. No nonsense when it matters.

"Good," Anderson said. "Find a comm buoy and link me into the network. I want mission reports relayed back to the Alliance brass before we even reach Eden Prime." Great, the Captain's nervous. That's never a good sign, no matter who he or she is.

"Aye aye, Captain. Better brace yourself, sir, I think Nihlus is headed your way." Shepard winced. She'd walked right by Nihlus heading up to the cockpit, and he hadn't headed for the stairs, which meant...

Anderson's voice could have dehydrated a desert. "He's already here, Lieutenant." So much for being respectful.

Kaidan and Joker shared a tiny shake of their heads.

"If you see the Commander, tell her to meet me in the comm room for a debriefing." The comm beeped as Anderson closed the link.

Joker glanced up slightly. "You get that, Commander?"

"Yeah, I got it, Joker. Try not to bury your feet in your mouth any more, Chakwas is too busy to do boot extractions and the Captain's angry enough as it is."

The pilot sniffed. "He's always like that when he's talking to me," he said.

Kaidan shook his head and glanced at Joker. "Can't imagine why," he muttered under his breath, and Shepard snorted in amusement before stalking off to the communications room.


Shepard's amusement evaporated quickly.

Between Pressly's inability to see past his own prejudices – which normally wasn't a problem, except when he insisted on belting them out at nearly shouting levels across the entire CIC – and Jenkin's inexplicable presence on the upper deck instead of down below with the rest of his squad, more things were going wrong than Shepard was comfortable with.

Plus, Jenkins child-like attitude toward the world grated on her. She was a soldier; she would do what was required of her. There was nothing more to it than that. Well, perhaps slight satisfaction at tying up all the loose ends in a task nicely... but that was more a matter of professional pride and a boon to her reputation than any kind of glorified fantasy. To hear the man go on you'd think that they were all action heroes from some children's comic.

She was not in the best of mental spaces, then, when she finally walked in to the large circular briefing room above the elevator. She took some solace in the fact that she'd be getting some answers soon.

The door slid open with a pneumatic hiss, and she stepped through quickly. "Captain And-" she began.

She stopped quickly. The captain wasn't there.

Nihlus, however, was.

He was standing next to one of the side consoles, flicking idly through some document. At the door's hiss, he glanced up and gave her a turian smile – a slight nod of the head, a minor lift of the mandibles.

"Commander Shepard," he said, and his metallic voice echoed slightly in the empty room. "I was hoping you'd get here first. It will give us a chance to talk."

Shepard glanced pointedly around the room. Not because she didn't know what was in it – she'd given the room the same fast sweep the instant the door had opened – but because body language was a subtle thing, and even to those trained in reading it across species it could still be misconstrued or ignored altogether if one didn't take the effort to be obvious.

"The Captain said he'd meet me here," she added, in case he missed her gesture.

"He's on his way," he said dismissively. "I'm curious about this world we're going to... Eden Prime. I've heard it's quite beautiful."

His tone was distinctly questioning, which was odd. She was a soldier, not an artist, and the same unique traits that made her an exceptional fighter made her a rather poor artist.

To her, art was only relevant because other people cared about it. She understood the effort that went into it, obviously, but it didn't 'stir her soul.' When she looked at a painting, she saw a combination of techniques, both technical and emotional: Technical in the production of the work, and emotional in making something that others would understand and also feel.

It was simply another way to communicate to the viewer: The technique of the creator made the communication possible, and the objects painted were the message. As far as Shepard was concerned, they could have saved a lot of time and effort simply writing an essay on the feelings they had when looking out their window.

Still, he had asked her a question.

"I've never been there," she hedged. It was true, and she didn't know much of the place. Given the name, she supposed it probably was an classically beautiful idyllic place, but humanity often had a keen appreciation for irony. Shepard didn't like to gamble.

"But you know of it," he pressed. "It's become something of a symbol for your people, has it not? Proof that humanity can not only establish colonies across the galaxy, but also protect them. But how safe is it really?"

She scowled at him. She knew most of them, even the unconventional ones, disapproved of the Systems Alliance policy for protecting colonies. "If you have something to say, just say it," she said.

He shook his head. "Your people are still newcomers, Shepard, and the galaxy can be a very dangerous place," he said ominously. "Are you people truly ready for this?"

Ready for what?

She opened her mouth to ask him, bluntly and with more disregard for protocol than she normally showed, what in the world he was talking about when the door hissed open.

"I think it's time we told the Commander what's really going on," Anderson said as he walked toward the pair.

Nihlus stepped forward. "This mission is far more than a simple shakedown run," he said ominously.

Shepard bit off a sigh. Of course it was. Pressly was right; you didn't send a fully staffed crew on a shakedown run... especially not one where the mass of their medals had to be factored into jump drive equations. "I already figured that out," she said dryly to the turian.

Anderson cleared his throat, and the two looked back at the captain. "We're making a covert pickup on Eden Prime. A working prothean communications becaon."

Shepard's eyes widened slightly. Prothean technology that was undamaged enough to determine its purpose was rare enough; finding actual functioning technology was a once-in-a-century find... if that. The last relatively intact example of prothean technology that had been discovered in the galaxy was the Mars archive, and before that... well, she didn't actually know the last major example of working tech before that. It had been centuries, at least.

Anderson smiled grimly at Shepard's obvious surprise. "The whole area's in lockdown, and has been for a week or two now. We were supposed to finish our tests and pick it up for our shakedown, but..." he trailed off, glancing at Nihlus.

"...I was informed by intelligence agents working for the SPECTRE office that they knew a sample of functioning prothean technology had been discovered on Eden Prime, and was being prepared for pickup."

Shepard nodded, understanding what had happened. "And if you knew, it had to be because we had a leak somewhere."

Nihlus chuckled. "Well, not necessarily. The SPECTRE intelligence teams do more than search existing data networks... however, I checked before speaking to your captain," he said, a hint of smugness in his synthesized voice.

"Which is why we're leaving drydock like we owe the commandant money," she said, and Anderson snorted.

"Indeed," Nihlus said. "However, the beacon's not the only reason I'm here, Commander."

She shrugged. "Anderson mentioned something about the R&D teams that codesigned the Normandy not seeing eye to eye, yes."

Nihlus glanced at Anderson, who shifted slightly before folding his hands behind his back and refused to meet either of their eyes.

The silence held for several breaths.

Finally, Nihlus flared his mandibles in a turian shrug and stared at Shepard. "It's more than that, Commander. I'm also here to evaluate you."

Shepard's mind whirled. Evaluate me? For what?

She thought quickly. I've done nothing that would warrant an investigation by a SPECTRE. The batarians don't have a presence in council space, and the mess back on Earth is strictly a domestic problem. She pursed her lips, not liking where her logic was leading her. Which means that if I'm being evaluated, it's for a new position... only, I haven't volunteered for anything, and I know my contract doesn't include getting promoted or reassigned to another branch of service against my will.

Her eyes narrowed imperceptibly.

...which means they're going to force me to volunteer. The old leverage again, I wonder, or do they have something new? The muscles in her face twitched, and she clamped down on her desire to sneer.

Nihlus spoke on, oblivious to Shepard's growing discontent. "Torfan was a grim business, Commander... but you got the job done."

He paused, and Anderson closed his eyes.

"That's why I put your name forward as a candidate for the SPECTREs."

For a moment, the words didn't register.

Then they did.


Anderson knew it was coming. He'd hoped he'd be able to talk her around before Nihlus dropped the metaphorical bomb, but she was – quite frankly – beyond his ken.

He was a good soldier, and a good leader. He knew when to crack down on unruly behavior, and he knew when to let things slide. He knew how to be good friends with his crew while still keeping enough distance for them to follow his orders without question. He was, by any reasonable metric, good at his job.

He had no idea how to handle Shepard.

He knew that she didn't think like the rest of the humans in the galaxy did. He'd seen the medical scans, listened to the psychologists talk, read the testimony – the unedited testimony – of the soldiers who'd actually served with her on Torfan. But that really hadn't prepared him for how alien her thought process was.

That was the best term, he realized belatedly: Alien. She wasn't evil, or cruel, just... different. Heartless, yes, but in the same way a butcher was heartless: It was their job to kill things, and they went about it with a sense of... duty? Boredom? Professional pride? He wasn't sure.

What did a pig think before it went to slaughter, anyway?

He gave himself mental shake, and opened his eyes.

He was glad, in a way, that the person delivering the news wasn't human. For all the strides in inter-species relations, there were subtleties – in all the races of the galaxy – that were nearly impossible to pick up on. He figured that Nihlus would know something was up... but that he'd have no real clue what she actually felt.

Which was good.

Her expression – normally a polite mask of caring and concern – lost all emotion, as if whatever puppet handle pulling on the muscles of her face had its strings abruptly cut. The slight worried crinkle near the corner of her eyes, the forward cant of her jaw, the barest tightening of her mouth... all the subtle hints that said "I'm listening, I care!" evaporated. They were just gone, as if they'd never been.

In its place, the ghosts of several emotions – real ones, he guessed – flitted across her face as she processed all the ramifications of what Nihlus had just said. There was surprise, then... hurt, maybe, or frustration and anger. Those vanished quickly, replaced by consternation... which finally yielded to the most terrifying emotion of all:

Conviction.

She'd just chosen her path, he knew. He didn't know what it was, but he doubted he'd like it. It probably resulted in a messy – and untraceable – end for him, and no few members of the Alliance brass who had helped organized this stupid plan from the beginning.

It really was a pity, he thought as he exhaled slowly. If he'd been able to find a way to get her to put the Alliance and humanity first... there was no telling what she'd have done. Great things. Terrible things, he had no doubt, but after all... polite and well-behaved people rarely made history.


Shepard did not feel rage.

She felt frustration, yes. Displeasure at a plan gone wrong, disappointment at opportunities missed. Satisfaction at things done well, or in her favor. Amusement at a cosmic coincidence or clever twist of words. Even friendship, in her own way.

But not rage. Rage was an inarticulate reaction to injury, be that injury physical or otherwise. She had been betrayed, yes, and in a fashion that would likely lead to her death.

To her, it was simply another reality to deal with. She would effect some kind of retribution, or threat thereof, to ensure that the same gambit was not attempted again. She would do so quietly, and cleanly, and as final insurance.

Contrary to popular belief, Shepard understood love. She understood how two people could grow to enjoy each others company, adapt to having each other in their lives to the point where absence was painful. She could understand the happiness derived from being with someone that shared your viewpoint and supported it. She didn't experience it as such, but she understood it.

Shepard didn't understand vengeance.

It was, to her, a waste: If someone took action against you, it was because you failed to provide sufficient disincentive for them to do so... or you were unable to do so. In either case, acting irrationally was not likely to improve your standing, and hurting them because they were not impressed by your deterrents was not productive by itself.

Shepard would not bring suffering to the people who had betrayed her because they had to suffer. That was pointless. She would bring suffering to them to ensure that nobody else would attempt to do so in the future.

Her expression hardened as she began formulating and rejecting plans. It would be tricky, she realized quickly: For the message to be effective, she had to be known as the cause... but for it to serve its purpose in improving her future lot in life, it had not to be traceable to her.

She was getting ahead of herself, she realized. There were steps to follow through, things that Commander L Shepard – the dedicated soldier for the Alliance – would say and do, things she needed to say and do.

Her plans were not an immediate concern... and, she realized, they might not even be necessary. If she truly was being considered as a SPECTRE, that would carry its own weight, if anything Jenkins had said in the hall was true.

Anderson watched the mask fall back into place and stopped his mental count. Four seconds. It took her four seconds to deal what had just been said, move through the stages of shock, denial, anger, and acceptance to process what had just been said and formulate a plan of action.

He shook his head. It really was impressive.

She turned her head to face him, and her green eyes were hard. "And if I don't want this, Captain?" Her words were serious, but her tone made it clear she knew it wasn't negotiable.

He knew his duty in this, just as she knew hers. "The Alliance needs this, Shepard," he said firmly.

Nihlus nodded his agreement. "Humanity would be well-served by having you as its representative in the SPECTREs, Commander," he said.

Shepard gave an overly dramatic sigh. "Very well. What's next?"

Nihlus paced. "Eden Prime will be the first of several missions together. I need to see your skills for myself," he explained.

Anderson nodded his agreement. "You'll be in charge of the ground team. Your job here is locating and securing that beacon and getting it on board ASAP. Nihlus will accompany you to observe the mission."

Shepard raised an eyebrow.

Anderson held up his hands. "I know, it's overkill for a cargo pickup... even one as valuable as this. Consider it training for the team."

Shepard tilted her head to the side in thought, then nodded. "The marines are pretty good, sir, but I agree they could use the practice. They're suiting up now. Just give the word and we'll be ready."

"Captain!" Joker's tense voice echoed through the room. "We've got a problem. You'd better see this,"

He felt the bottom fall out of his stomach. Joker was often irreverent and ran his mouth... but he was good, and he knew not to joke about something while on duty. If he said there was a problem, there was a problem.

"Bring it up on screen."


Shepard's mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions.

To be quite honest, it wasn't a state of mind she was accustomed to. While she felt no pressing need to organize the entire world, she kept her mind well-disciplined and focused. To have aspects of it running amok was distinctly a foreign experience to her, and not a pleasant one. She began, slowly and haltingly, trying to sort through what she was feeling.

She was concerned over what was happening at Eden Prime. The unknown alone was not frightening; but a confirmed hostile unknown was worrisome... especially when it broke the accepted norms for the galaxy.

She was upset with Anderson and the Systems Alliance for their betrayal. While she might not feel the same anger, she was no stranger to frustration. Getting stabbed in the metaphorical back was distinctly unpleasant, and cast a negative tint on everything she did.

She was also intrigued and, to a certain degree, excited about the upcoming mission. What looked initially to be a simple (and boring!) guard and escort job had turned into something completely new... and even though there was no small amount of risk in it, a part of her was already looking forward to finding out what was happening.

Still. Regardless of her feelings on the matter, she had a task to complete.

She hopped down onto the cargo bay, ducking through the gap in the elevator as soon as it moved into position. The marines were waiting for her, weapons already in hand and grim expressions on their faces.

"Since rumor has proved once again to have an eezo core, I'll skip the summary," she said as she walked up to the group. "Change of plans. I want a mixed armament loadout, two heavy weapons teams, and everyone carrying a full kit of weapon mods. We're going in blind, so pack accordingly."

The heavy weapons fire team began pulling the heavy armaments – a high caliber microgrenade launcher and a high velocity machine gun – off the rack to begin loading. She nodded at them and continued.

"It's highly likely our objective has been moved, so we're leaving most of the marine complement in reserve while I take a small team down to confirm our target's location." She paused, glancing at the assembled soldiers, then nodded. "Jenkins, you're with me – I need someone that knows the lay of the land," she said, and he stepped forward.

She pursed her lips. One more would round out a scout team. As a Vanguard, she covered the front-line combat well enough, but with an unknown foe, her usual tactics might not work. She needed someone that could keep up with her if she pushed forward, with the skills to treat anyone that might have information, a level head in the face of the unknown, and a certain tactical flexibility.

There was only one member of the crew who came close to fulfilling that, and she glanced at Lieutenant Alenko.

"Kaidan, grab your guns and helmet, you're our third," she said finally. He gave a quick salute and moved briskly for his locker.

Shepard had just finished pulling her helmet on – SOP when dealing with unknown foes that could potentially be using toxins or bioweapons – when Anderson and Nihlus came down the elevator into the cargo bay.

Anderson was still in his normal uniform, but Nihlus had donned a large and bulky backpack along with a remarkably diverse arsenal of weapons.

"Nihlus," Jenkins said with surprise, "you're coming with us?"

The turian shook his head, checking the status of his rifle. "I move faster on my own," he said, before slapping the door to open the cargo bay. The roar of wind drowned out Jenkins' reply, and Nihlus executed what was – for a turian – a very elegant dive out the back of the Normandy.

Captain Anderson stepped closer to the three man team. "Nihlus will scout out ahead and feed you status reports throughout the mission," he explained for the benefit of Kaidan and Jenkins. "Your team's the muscle in this operation, Commander. Go in fast and hard, and get that beacon."

Kaidan scowled. "Sir, what about survivors?"

Anderson shook his head. "Helping survivors is a secondary objective. The beacon's your top priority."

Shepard understood. If the beacon had any of the schematics in it that explained how to fully control the mass relays or the citadel... far more were at risk than those on Eden Prime. "Ready and able, Sir."

He stepped back from the trio, giving them one last evaluating stare.

"The mission's yours now, Shepard," he said formally. "Good luck."

Shepard grinned and jogged for the cargo bay doors.


Well, I was planning on covering all of Eden Prime in this chapter, but that obviously went out the window.

Next up: We see how she fights! More importantly, her crew gets to see how she fights. I'm looking forward to that.