A/N: Hello, all. It's been a long time, I'm sorry. I hope this extra long chapter begins to make up for my negligence. For all of you hoping for more Shoker-esque interaction, don't worry-there'll be plenty in the next one! Please R&R-I'm always trying to get better, that's why I'm here, and I'm afraid I've gotten rusty in my absence. Anyway, hope you like it.


Myla rested her head against the cool glass of her empty fishtank, letting the blue glow soothe her closed eyelids. It was quiet, this ship, her cabin, was so quiet, that she could just… think.

Had she made the right decision? Would this last call be the one to doom them all? She didn't regret saving the geth — it was different, it had helped her. She didn't regret waking it — she sure as hell wouldn't let it be sent back to the Illusive man for experiments and whatever terrible things he'd had planned. But if there'd only been more time…

Talking with it, them, Legion… she hadn't really thought of the geth as sentient before. Here was an unknown factor, an ancient enemy of organics everywhere — she'd faced so many in the months pursuing Saren — and yet she couldn't shake the feeling that this Legion was as much a person as Kasumi, Thane, Grunt, Liara, or anyone she'd talked to before. Its mannerisms were unnerving, to say the least. Abrupt movements, precise and efficient. It never used more words than were necessary, and it didn't express any form of emotion that Shepard could recognize. A being of logic, of absolute rationality, whose religion was matrices and calculus, yet willfully opposed the Reapers, the Old Machines, despite the overwhelming odds.

And it had her armor…

Did I make the right choice? It, Legion, shouldn't have made her decide the fate of his kind — she had only known real geth for a matter of hours. She was a stranger, an outsider, a curiosity that it had been following across the years, and yet it had let her, told her, to choose for thousands of… people. A consensus could not be reached. An objective third party had to intervene.

But was she truly objective? Myla had unflinchingly killed hundreds of geth, the ones who worshipped the "Old Machines", in self-defense… sometimes just because she'd seen them first. Before Legion, she'd thought of them as drones, not…

Their virus can be repurposed. If released into the station's network, the heretics will be rewritten to accept our truth.

Was it forced conversion? Indoctrination? The geth were a hive mind, sharing data and memories fluidly in a pool of instantaneous comprehension, pure thought. Legion had said that their thought processes were akin to mechanical calculations, that a mere .000001 meant the difference between allying with the Reapers and choosing to remain independent. Was that fraction of a number so crucial to individual identity, or was the virus like an argument, changing someone's mind through logic?

573 favor rewrite, and 571 favor destruction.

If it had only told her more. If there was more time…

The geth grant their fate to you.

What had qualified her to decide the fate of thousands? She was an organic — she didn't take the time to compute every little factor. She made irrational decisions, based on emotions, gut instincts. Sometimes they were the right ones. Sometimes… not. But what was this?

Accepting another's path blinds you to alternatives.

Would she condone brainwashing all of humanity to believing in one god? No, but that was an irrational subject — it couldn't be decided by rational means. To convince a person of a singular path was possible, but it took time, and was a voluntary process. This… this was different, wasn't it? This wasn't an argument between two parties, this was bullying. She had forced a new ideology, a new way of thinking upon a group of people. A meddling organic arrogantly reprogrammed an independent synthetic organization.

The minds of both forms of life can be shaped. Organics require time and effort. With synthetics, replacement of a data file is the only requirement.

Myla sighed deeply, pushing back from the aquarium. The heretics… surely a change in reasoning was preferable to total destruction? There was no way that the Reapers would simply allow their new pawns to forge a life for themselves, anyway. This choice, her choice, would enable them to survive, more, to reunite with their kind and begin to work toward a mutual future, to earn it. But that wasn't what they wanted.

It would have been easier if the others had given their opinions more explicitly. EDI was the only other synthetic life form Shepard had known, whose advice was grounded in pragmatism. Mordin was no stranger to moral quandaries, and had always seemed to consider such dilemmas with an eye towards the future. Samara…what would the Code dictate for this kind of totality? Would the Justicar see Shepard's choice as a reasoned and selfless decision?

Was it selfless? Shepard sat heavily in front of her private terminal, staring through the orange screen. Had she rewritten the heretics because it was the "right thing to do", or had she succumbed to the undeniable temptation of having another powerful ally against the Reapers? She couldn't deny that the thought of synthetic forces to bolster defenses, to catalyze communication and retrieve valuable information would be tremendous assets in the war to come. But it was a risk. Anything that would make the geth stronger, whatever Legion's assertions, was a possibility of aiding an enemy. The quarian Flotilla would certainly see her act as a betrayal.

This one decision was more contentious to her crew than any before — she caught murmurs in the mess hall, whispered conversations that hung awkwardly in the air when she was noticed nearby. Even Joker, who was beginning to act more politely towards EDI, seemed like he'd rather she'd just have sold Legion off to the Illusive man or thrown him out the airlock. His post-mission quip had been barbed, to say the least. It had hurt, and they hadn't spoken since. She didn't want to ruin what they had over a single decision. If her choice would, in fact, come back to bite them in the ass, she'd prefer the added difficulties to genocide. They didn't see Legion the way she did — they were afraid of it. Afraid of him.

Her team was noticeably uneasy around him. Myla rubbed her eyes, weary of constantly having to balance the various idiosyncrasies, preferences, and prejudices of the dysfunctional rabble she had to lead into hell. If they didn't trust the geth, if they were actively suspicious of him, it threatened the success of the mission. She'd have to bridge the gap somehow, and quickly. She planned to go through the Omega Relay as soon as the IFF was fully installed — they'd made every conceivable improvement to the ship, their armor and weapons — they couldn't afford to have time for doubt or complacency. The rest of her team would have to be made to accept the geth as a companion and ally, if not a friend.

Shepard pulled up a miniature copy of the galaxy map on her holo projector. She cycled through the nearby systems, scanning for a suitable planet. Something that hadn't been developed, with varied terrain and no interference nearby…

...

She took the whole team down in the Kodiak, issuing the weapons she'd had specially modified on her last trip to the Citadel.

"Okay, everyone, time for a simple training exercise." It was a tight fit with all eleven of them in the passenger section, especially since Grunt had discovered the word "claustrophobic" and decided he liked it. Myla spared a quick envious glance towards the pilot's section, where Gainey was doubtlessly stretching his legs, but the shuttle bucked as it entered atmo, and an immediate snarling started up among her more rowdy charges.

"Listen up!" Her drill sergeant in the N7 program had a distinctive bark — harsh, yet powerful and able to carry through walls and over the sound of artillery fire — that Myla and a few other recruits had taken great pains to be able to imitate. All bickering stopped immediately, although Jack and Miranda still glared daggers at each other. Good enough.

Shepard hefted her modified assault rifle for everyone to see. "You'll get to fight each other in a minute. These weapons have been especially fitted for today's little outing." She opened the chamber and withdrew the ammo pack, cracking it open so that her team could see the bright green pellets inside.

"Projectiles — old-school ammo, but not bullets. Each pellet is filled with a phosphorescent liquid, like industrial paint, that will explode upon contact with your target. Aim for the body — not everyone has helmets." Zaeed coughed into his hand, jerking his head toward Miranda and grinning. She tossed her flowing black hair, sneering.

"Therapy, eh, Shepard?" Garrus's mandibles twitched in laconic amusement. "Well, some people need to vent by now, I'd guess. Months cooped up on the ship."

"It is peaceful," murmured Thane, steepling his hands. "Reflection, and meditation prepare the mind — no less essential in a fight than the body."

"It's practice," said Shepard. The shuttle shuddered again, but her team was intent upon her. "We'll divide into two teams and carry out a series of objectives. We don't know what kind of opposition we'll face at the Collector base, so it's best to go over the basics."

"Team Urdnot will crush the opposition!" roared Grunt, slamming his fists together. "We shall mount their heads on pikes and dine on their innards like the fearsome thunder lizards of Earth!"

Mordin leaned delicately away from the excited krogan. "That outcome would be counterproductive and inadvisable. Mission more likely to succeed if team members are… alive to attempt it."

"Agreed," Myla grinned. "No killing or maiming. If you have biotics, only use them defensively, and even then, no shielding from the paint pellets. No snares, traps, etc — if you get in hand-to-hand combat, incapacitate and subdue without significant injury. Chakwas is good, but she can't heal a broken bone in a couple days."

"How will the teams be determined?" Samara's gaze was level, her blue hands folded primly on her knees.

"The teams will change after every objective has been completed or failed, and there will be no negotiation." The whole point of this exercise was to get her group of talented individuals to become a cohesive team—if they were allowed to choose sides themselves, this venture would never work.

"Are defections allowed?" asked Zaeed casually, buffing a scorch mark on his armor.

"No defections, no traitors. If you think the Collectors will offer you a bounty or special privileges, we can easily give you a long-term vacation on this little planet. It sees about five ships per standard year."

They asked a few more questions, about the various safety rules and combat regulations, and she could sense their anticipation. Some of them, as Garrus had said, had been cooped up on the Normandy for a long time because their talents didn't quite compliment Shepard's, or their fields of expertise were unsuited for the respective mission. Everyone needs a little fieldtrip now and then, thought Myla wryly, if only to keep from shooting each other.

Gainey's voice filtered back from the pilot's section. "Hey guys, just a heads-up. The magnetic fields of this rock are in some kind of weird flux. Probably just some heavy iron deposits, but it's screwing with my instruments and it'll make any trans-atmo communication pretty difficult."

"Acknowledged, helmsman," Myla considered. "After the drop, head on back to the ship. Retrieval in six hours." That should give them enough time to get used to each other and to get some solid practice in to boot.

The landing site was promising—this planet had lots of jungles and cliffs, and the air was dry but not overly hot. There was lots of cover, and several prominent landmarks for rendezvous points or defensive positions. The first objective, she decided, shading her eyes as she looked out to the horizon, would be to reach that stone bluff as a team. She divided them up quickly, without bothering to balance abilities—this was just a warmup. Still, she made sure to place Jack and Miranda on different teams.

"Alright. If you get lost, use your comm. We'll all be on the same frequency, so don't give away strategy, etc once we begin. No shooting, this is just a race. Remember, it doesn't matter who gets their first—whatever team reaches the bluff gets the victory."

She hesitated a moment, looking out at the people she'd gathered to her impossible crusade. She wouldn't patronize them by designating leaders—they'd work that out for themselves. It was time to see how the chips fell.

"Go."

Instantly, everyone started running for the trees. No communication. There was a blue flare as Jack used a biotic wave to shunt Mordin, Tali, and Grunt off course, and her snickering rose above their remonstrations.

Myla sighed and slapped the side of the shuttle. Gainey could go back to the Normandy and have a beer or something. This might take longer than she'd hoped. She pulled on her helmet and jogged into the vegetation, resignation seeping into her heart.

…..

"Shepard! Get on the left vantage point. Thane and Kasumi are trying to sneak around back!" Tali's sweet little voice rang out authoritatively, and Myla sprinted over obediently.

They were defending the bluff against Jacob's assault. Shepard, Zaeed, and Mordin had been assigned to the small plateau at the crown of the rock, and were providing cover and sniping for the ground forces. Grunt was pinned down by Samara and Jack — an odd pair if there ever was one — and Tali was holed up in the shallow cave behind him. Miranda had been taken out by Jacob a few minutes ago, and was sitting on a nearby rock, arms folded over a very noticeable green splatter mark, and pouting.

"I'm here, Tali," Shepard reported, taking up her new position. The jungle was dense on this flank - good cover for a small team of infiltrators, especially if, as Shepard suspected, one of them was using her tactical cloak despite orders. Fortunately, there was no wind, so the trick was to look for — a thick vine shifted in the scope, and a flash of black darted for the rock.

"Got him!" She squeezed the trigger and blossoms of neon green exploded about a foot from Thane. Arcs of blue energy crackled briefly as Kasumi's tactical cloak sputtered out, and she stamped the ground in irritation. The lucky shot made Myla smirk, but she still needed to take out the drell before he reached the natural blind spot. She adjusted quickly and centered the crosshairs on his abdomen, exhaling to steady her aim. A sharp zipping sound distracted her, and she looked up just in time to catch a pellet in the faceplate.

Bright green spread across the entire visor, and she heard laughter across the mic.

"Oh Shepard, I don't think that's Alliance regulation." Garrus' voice was smooth and smug, if a bit fuzzy with static.

She lay down her sniper rifle in disgust, pulling off a glove so she could clear away the paint. "Tali, I'm down. Vakarian, was that you? You turian bastard, that's another drink I owe—"

"Wish I could claim yet another victory over you, Shepard, but Legion is responsible for your newest decoration."

"Apologies, Shepard-Commander, we did not anticipate that you would change position."

"Don't apologize, Legion, it was a good shot." Shepard grinned. Garrus respected the geth now, she could hear it in his voice. In fact, over the course of the day, Legion had proven his worth repeatedly, and had been instrumental in seven of twelve victories, two of which he had led himself. Whatever issues Jacob had had with Thane seemed to have been worked out as well — the pair had been on the same team for three "missions" in a row now, and there hadn't been a hint of animosity. Thank the gods for common enemies.

"S'cuze me, Shepard, but I've got to do your job." Zaeed knelt over her and peered through his scope for Thane, cursing softly when it became clear that he wouldn't be found. There was another zipping noise, and the old merc rolled away, a vivid splotch coating his left arm. He inspected it critically, then looked to Shepard in a way that, had it been anyone other than the former Blue Suns leader, could only be called hopeful. "S'only a flesh wound. Only need my right, anyway."

Myla rolled her eyes, but nodded. Miranda getting taken out early was unlucky, especially considering they'd been the short team to start with. Besides, she had no doubt that the grizzled man would push himself to fight on even after losing an arm.

Jack's enraged groan was audible without the comm.

"Fucking baby krogan! Dammit!"

Since Shepard was "dead", she wasn't supposed to further involve herself in the fight, which meant that she couldn't change position to see what had happened to Jack, but Grunt's newest victory roar (he'd been practicing them all day) left little to the imagination.

"All enemies of Team Urdnot shall fall! They die, green guts spilling on the sands for the varren—"

"A true warrior never takes satisfaction in victory, but in the pursuit of justice." Samara had gotten Grunt. That meant—

"We're getting overrun! Snipers cover the front!" Tali wailed.

Zaeed and Mordin moved to the head of the plateau, presumably to shoot down at Samara and Jacob. The slim salarian was a crack shot with a heavy pistol, but something about long-range weapons didn't seem to click with him. He was muttering something to himself, at speeds too fast for Shepard to understand even if he'd spoken into the mic.

"Go for the asari," snarled Masani, nudging the doctor with his shoulder. "She's closer."

Shepard's forearm was covered in paint, but she'd managed to clear a respectable little window in her faceplate. Nodding in satisfaction, she lifted it up, but a slight scraping sound made her spin to look at the rear.

Thane lifted himself up quietly, so slowly and smoothly that Shepard wondered at his absolute control. Zaeed and Solus were intent upon the battle below them, firing far too rapidly for real accuracy. The drell had pulled himself up fully onto the plateau, and crouched for a moment, pulling his pistol from his belt. He looked over at Shepard and his full lips twitched into a ghost of a smirk.

She shook her head unable to keep from smiling.

"I am hit." Samara announced her mock-death with as much passion as one would employ when remarking upon the unusually mild weather.

"Garrus, Legion," Jacob's voice was admirably steady — he had to know that his plan was close to succeeding. "Come in and help seize the stronghold."

Thane walked silently up to Tali's last two teammates and leveled his gun at Mordin's back.

"Hey, Masani, what do I have to do to get your attention?" Garrus was enjoying himself. There was a whine, and a green splat, and Zaeed slapped at his ribs reflexively as Thane pulled the trigger. Mordin yelped in surprise, and fell against the raised lip of the rock. Krios helped him up.

"I'm sorry, Doctor, I hold you in the highest regard."

Mordin brushed the back of his odd armor, examining the green paint on his fingers. "No offense taken, Krios. Stealthy approach — admirable. Will come in handy against Collectors. Only hope stain washes out."

"Goddam turian," Zaeed glared into the jungle, "There's no bloody cover up here."

"Someone sounds like a sore loser."

Thane bowed to the three casualties of battle, and disappeared down the side of the cliff. Shepard got up and joined Zaeed and Mordin, looking down at the field below. When they'd first found this "defensible post", the approach to the shallow cave had been fairly clear. Smooth hard-packed earth, with a few scattered boulders big enough for even a krogan to shelter behind. Now it was riddled with green spots and puddles so that it looked like an acid field from above. Footprints and biotic wakes had left gouges and sweeping tracks in the ground.

Mordin noticed Shepard's look of guilt. "Topical damage. No real impact on local ecosystem — perhaps will even encourage growth of vegetation near cave area. Lack of toxins in paint — harmless." He smiled and wiped his green fingers on her shoulder. "At least… think so."

Jacob had his back to the rock that Grunt had used for cover. The "dead" krogan was slumped on the other side of it, petulantly scoring the dirt with his shotgun nose. Garrus and Legion jogged out from the forest, and took positions to either side of him, weapons at the ready.

"Come on out, Tali. We'll accept your surrender." The Cerberus operative grinned. There was no cruelty in his voice, just a warm edge of pride.

"You'll never take me alive!" cried the quarian, humor and shame sharpening her accent. This had been the quickest match, but to be fair, her only tactical error was to send snipers up to a post without cover. The rest was just bad luck, but it happens.

There was a scuffle near the cave entrance, and Thane fell back, green dripping down his pale chest and onto his black jacket. Jacob, Garrus, and Legion spun out from behind cover, ready to charge the cave, when a small leaf-bound package sailed out, bursting open at their feet and covering them top to bottom in green paint.

"Take that, you bosh'tets!" Tali laughed, striding out of her cave, waving her empty pellet cartridge. The "dead" on both sides surrounded her, clapping her shoulder and complimenting her ingenuity. Shepard, the merc, and the doctor climbed down and joined the group.

Myla flicked Garrus's chest-piece. "Mm, Vakarian, I don't think green is quite your color."

He ran his claws down his front, gathering paint, and smeared it over her face-plate. "You're right, Shepard. It looks so much better on you."

"Nice going with the bomb, bucket-head," Jack high-fived Tali, grinning widely. The tattoos on her stomach were obscured by a layer of slick green paint — she must have gotten the business end of Grunt's shotgun at close range.

"Thanks, Jack," Tali's face was as inscrutable as always, but her body language was animated — excited and proud.

"An excellent improvisation, Creator Zorah," Legion regarded itself, head-flaps flaring in quiet alarm, "We suspect the fluid will impair the kinesthetic capability of this platform. Perhaps when we return to Normandy, Creator Zorah will honor this unit with maintenance assistance?"

"Of course, Legion," the quarian said politely. Shepard smiled. The two would never be friends, she thought, but at least they seemed to get along without trying to kill each other now, although that change was mainly one on Tali's part. Quarians were subjected to terrible discrimination when they left the Flotilla, and sweet little Tali had more than her fair share of it on her eventful Pilgrimage. Myla guessed it had taught her that a person's nature could not be surmised by their race, no matter how different or popularly reviled. It had taken some quick talking to keep her from shooting Legion earlier, but she seemed to have developed a grudging respect for the geth since then.

Miranda had apparently gotten over her disappointment at being the first to go down, and was teasing Jacob about his defeat. Grunt and Mordin were discussing the merits of technology in battle, and Kasumi was tinkering with her Omnitool. Probably trying to bring her tactical cloak back online.

Shepard rolled her shoulders, staring up at the golden sky. This was better than she'd expected — everyone was participating, their respective strengths were revealed and recognized, and nobody had tried to kill anybody else. They were able to come together as a cohesive unit, and if not necessarily as effective in any given incarnation, they still preformed as she'd begun to think they'd never be able to — as a team. Maybe one more round. For luck. Definitely not because she wanted to end on a personal win, no, that would be juvenile.

Shepard was about to divide everyone into teams again, when a burst of static hissed across the comm channel.

"Shep—rew…the—mandy, bu—was able to…opy?" The signal was garbled, indecipherable, but sounded unmistakably like EDI.

Everyone stopped talking, straining to hear the faint message in their own headsets.

Myla pressed a hand to her helmet, hoping that if the speaker was closer to her head… "Come again, EDI? We couldn't read you."

"I wi—temp…to boo—ignal—" The static receded slightly, but the message was no clearer.

"Stand by, Normandy, we'll rendezvous for pick-up. Bad reception down here." Shepard was irritated, but tried not to show it. Her experiment was going so well, but… maybe they could go again tomorrow.

She turned to her team. "Pack it up people, we're going back aboard the mothership." The drop point was a long way off in the distance, but a cool-down run was good for building character. Besides, the sooner they were back, the sooner she could see Joker. Her pulse beat faster and she grinned, sauntering toward the tree line. "Last one to the pick-up zone has to pay off my tab on Omega."

She'd never seen people run so fast.

They waited for the shuttle, scouring clean their armor and weapons with handfuls of the dark coarse sand that floored the clearing, and discussing tactics and the most noteworthy moments of brilliance or stupidity that had occurred during the day's events. Shepard had finally managed to clean the worst off of her helmet, and sat back to enjoy the sight of her team simply getting along. This exercise had been more than a team-building outing, though. She'd wanted to see how they handled different combat roles, how they performed outside of their comfort zones, and the practice had proven very illuminating.

Garrus, as she had suspected, was a capable leader and a shrewd tactician. His first turn at command had been his last after his team demolished Samara's in a complex hostage-retrieval mission. His exploits on Omega as Archangel had hardened him, shown him the worst aspects of command and responsibility, but they had also given him experience in assessing the value in his charges and utilizing them to the highest degree of efficiency and effectiveness. Miranda possessed a similar talent at skill appraisal, but lacked the charisma and empathy necessary to inspire obedience. It was probably unintentional, but whenever she issued orders, it was with a tone of strong superiority which everyone, especially the more independent individuals such as Zaeed, Kasumi, and Jack in particular, resented.

The diminutive biotic also displayed an impressive ability to size people up and put them where they were best suited, but her style of command was unorthodox. She'd get results by taunting, threatening, and screaming, but always without arrogance. Jack didn't like authority, so she didn't presume to wield it, but she was passionate when she had an opinion and a plan, which was easy to follow. As far as strategy, though, she'd spent too much time fighting alone to command a large group with confidence, but that could change in time.

Shepard had expected Samara and Zaeed to be effective leaders, but surprisingly, neither seemed suited to the task. Samara was powerful and intelligent, but used to working alone and utterly unaccustomed to having to explain herself to others. She could see the most direct way to her objective, within the parameters of her Code, but seldom looked for alternate approaches, and was unable to connect to her charges on an emotional level. Zaeed Masani had once been in charge of what was arguably the most powerful mercenary group in the galaxy, the Blue Suns, but most mercs only respected strength and credits, and would follow any given orders blindly in pursuit of a paycheck. Some of Shepard's motley team required (and deserved) more information and respect, when possible, but the old merc didn't have the patience to "coddle a bunch of whining soft-foots".

Mordin was most comfortable in a support role, but he didn't hesitate to offer tactical advice and helpful observations. Tali had the mind and charisma to lead, but was in severe need of experience and the self-confidence that comes with it. Than had no interest in or experience with command, but was able to follow good orders unflinchingly. Grunt took every assignment with enthusiasm, but fought with breath-taking ferocity when defending a position or a teammate. Kasumi didn't like taking or giving orders — she was a thief, used to working alone or in small groups, and was best suited for infiltration or scouting, not the chaos of widespread battle. Jacob was a good soldier, a solid biotic, and fairly knowledgeable of textbook strategy, but lacked the certain fire and adaptability that was so crucial in a leader. Legion… well, he was an excellent sniper — probably the most accurate Shepard had ever seen — and made tactical decisions at blinding speeds, but was still painfully unused to dealing with slower, less logical organics. At least—

The shuttle was coming down, roaring through the air, and the copper sun glinted off its tinted windowpanes as it turned gracefully in its descent. Something about its movement was off. Shepard frowned, rising to her feet, unable to shake a sudden uneasiness.

It touched down a few yards away, sending sand billowing out in russet clouds from the force of the stabilizers.

"Great," sighed Jacob, stretching his arms behind his back, oblivious to the appreciative looks from Miranda and Kasumi. "I am starving."

"I wonder if there's anything edible in the mess," mused Miranda. The green paint hadn't come off with the sand; the dirt had stuck to tacky liquid and browned the color, so that it now looked as though she'd vomited down her chest. Her fingers brushed self-consciously over the stain as the group headed toward the shuttle. "Is there anything left of the luxury ingredients that Gardner hasn't gotten to yet?"

Garrus muttered something to Tali about the tragic lack of high-quality dextro-friendly food, but Kasumi trotted up beside Jacob, smiling like the proverbial cat with a mouthful of canary.

"I may have access to some bread, fruits, and cheese. Perhaps a little wine," she said casually. "Anyone interested can stop by my quarters later."

The shuttle door lifted, and, mouth tight with pain and shoulders bowed in grief, Joker limped out. People stopped talking; even if they hadn't had much contact with the pilot, they could see something was terribly wrong. His eyes fixed on hers instantly, and she felt a jolt of fear.

"Shepard… EDI said she —" his voice cracked and he licked his lips, looking away. Myla started towards him, half-hoping he'd never finish, that the horrible feeling in her gut was over nothing, but — "The Collectors. They took… everyone's gone."

Miranda and Jack swore in unison and Grunt let out a rumbling growl.

"Oh keelah," whispered Tali.

Shepard felt like retching. They'd tracked the IFF—there was no other explanation. They'd found the Normandy, boarded her… toyed with her. They'd taken — oh gods, Chakwas, Kelly, Gardner, Kenneth, Gabby — every face flashed in her mind's eye. The people who'd trusted her, believed in her, who she'd talked to, helped, liked, teased, ate with — all gone. Taken by those creatures for who-knows-what. She'd failed them.

Her knees wobbled. The Normandy was home — it was supposed to be safe from monsters.

They should have run, she thought, anger closing her throat. They should have run and left us here. This planet is uninhabited — they couldn't have known we'd taken a shuttle. If they'd only run and come back later…

She became aware of the rising clamor. Her team was asking questions, shouting, demanding. All angry, shocked, grieving — advancing at Jeff, who could do nothing more than hold his hands out against the onslaught of noise. Myla swallowed her own confusion, anger, and fear, and stepped up next to him, asserting control on the unstable situation.

"You'll have your answers soon," she said firmly, "But for now, everyone get inside the shuttle. Assuming the Normandy's clear—" she glanced over at Joker, who nodded once, still staring at his feet.

"We'll have a full briefing aboard the ship." She held each of them in her gaze, steady, strong, resolved, until she was certain her next words would reverberate in their minds and take hold, giving them an anchor and a goal.

"This isn't a tragedy. It's a challenge. We are going to retrieve our people. We're taking them back, all of them. Understand? Everyone." She scanned their faces, then, satisfied, stood aside and beckoned them in the shuttle.

They filed on quietly, some faces tight with rage, some blank with shock, or withdrawn to hide emotion.

Eventually, everyone had gotten aboard but Shepard and Joker. Myla touched his shoulder, suddenly realizing how he must feel. Hunted by Collectors through the ship he had loved, watching the others get taken, unable to stop it… How did he escape? Why did the Collectors abandon the Normandy? Shepard bit her lip, reminding herself to hold her questions.

"Commander, I…" his voice petered out, every inch of his body seemed to sag, weighed down by grief and… guilt? Her heart ached with pity and concern, but she needed him to hold together, at least until they were back on the ship.

"Lieutenant Moreau," she said sternly, and he instinctively straightened. "I need you to fly this shuttle back to the Normandy. Can you do that?"

"Yes, Commander." He hesitated, eyes meeting hers for a moment, but entered the Kodiak without another word. She followed him in, exchanging murmurs and reassuring nods with her team on the way to the pilot's section, sealing the compartment behind her.

Joker gingerly lowered himself into his chair, grunting softly with pain. Whatever had happened to him didn't affect his piloting skills, however, and the shuttle took off smoothly. The planet shrank away beneath them, dwindling to a hazy smear of green and brown and dusty blue as they passed through the atmosphere. The silence was awkward, but Shepard couldn't find the right words to break it. The Normandy pulled into view, and she didn't have to.

Jeff cleared his throat. "EDI said she couldn't reach you on the comm." He shifted in his chair, gaze fixed on the ship ahead. "I came as soon as I could."

"Thank you." Shepard sat stiffly in the copilot's chair, suddenly thinking of how empty the Normandy would be. No more chatting crewman, no ambient hum of activity… so still… so quiet. Like the dead Reaper. She shivered, banishing horrible images of husks in Cerberus uniform dragging themselves along the Normandy's corridors.

"How did you escape?" she blurted; the silence only fueled her macabre imagination.

"I gave EDI control," he said simply. "The others, the others stalled the Collectors. Distracted them, while I crawled through ducts and snuck around." Hatred soured his voice. "I pushed a fucking button, that's what I'm good for." He raised his tortured eyes to her, helpless anger burning like a flame in their depths. "She flushed the ship — they'd already been taken, Shepard. I couldn't help them at all."

Shepard shook her head. "We still have the Normandy. That's because of you. We're going to get them back because of you and EDI." EDI… could she be trusted? Shepard had never really disliked the AI, but to have her in control of every function of the Normandy could be… no, they had bigger things to worry about. EDI could be trusted for now, Myla was sure, but when they went back to the Alliance, it would take some expert negotiation to prevent her from being wiped. "Are you okay?"

He rubbed a hand across his face wearily, and said nothing.