MASS EFFECT: INTERCEPTOR

*Episode Thirty-Six*

Captain David Anderson straightened the cuffs of his navy blues, fiddling with them as the elevator hummed around him.

Beside him, the inner workings of the Citadel flashed by in streaks of grey. An infernal tune piped out, the warbling melody assaulting his ears.

His dark skin grew flushed with frustration and he frowned as a shining gold button came away from his cuff in a tangle of wiry black thread. Anderson pursed his lips and pulled the button away before slipping it in his pocket. He would sew it back on later when he got back to the Normandy.

The brand new Alliance frigate was still in dry dock, with armies of engineers doing all they could to do to make sure everything worked before the ship's shakedown in six months' time. There was always time for a 'make and mend', though, especially for the ship's captain.

His black dress shoes gleamed as he tapped a foot on the floor impatiently. The elevators on the Citadel were famed for their lengthy journeys, though Anderson had been a soldier all his life; if anyone was equipped to weather the tedium of waiting, it was him.

The tinny music, however, was enough to sap the patience of any man and he felt an overwhelming sense of relief when the doors finally opened.

A blast of cool air hit Anderson's face and he blinked at the scent of freshly cut grass, the last thing he'd to smell expected on a station in deep space. He stepped out into the Presidium's embassy district and noted the freshly-pruned bushes lining the edge of the lake in front of him, filling the air with the earthy scent.

The place hadn't changed a bit since he was last there. The walls were still clean and white, and politicians still wandered in their droves, men and women of all species dressed in smart clothes and large smiles.

He hadn't seen Earth in over eight months and being in such a place only made him miss his home world all the more.

It did not take him long to reach his destination and he stopped in front of the door before taking a deep, steadying breath. He had dealt with Ambassador Udina only once before and couldn't say he cared for the man. He couldn't deny Udina was good at what he did but the man seemed to forget his manners in front of the very people he was supposed to be representing.

If the elevator ride wasn't a big enough test of Anderson's patience, this meeting certainly would be.

The door opened to find Udina standing by his desk, his back straight and arms crossed. He was speaking to someone else, a senior Alliance officer in full uniform.

Anderson entered the room and recognised Admiral Steven Hackett instantly. The old man's face was just as gnarled and fierce as always, the creases of age complemented by a long red scar running the length of his right cheek.

Anderson stopped just outside the door, not wanting to intrude on their conversation.

'I agree, the reconsideration of humanity for Spectre candidacy couldn't have come at a better time,' Hackett said, his voice warm and gravelled. 'With this Normandy project we have running with the turians, it shows just how far we've come since the First Contact War. Still, a lot of the brass are nervous. They don't want alien eyes on our classified hardware as it is, and you know that when Spectres are selected they automatically come under Council authority. Many people will overlook the benefits and see not only the best Alliance men and women, but the best Alliance ships being handed over to alien powers.'

'I understand, Admiral,' Udina replied. 'I'm counting on you to change minds out there. No offense, but military egos are stubborn and resistant to change, especially the older ones. Not everyone will appreciate what the Alliance does out here, or what I do.'

Anderson narrowed his eyes as he noticed the swellings and lumps on Udina's face. His skin had been covered up well but bruises still darkened his left eye and even as he stood, the ambassador favoured his right leg, taking his weight off it every other moment.

'It isn't a problem,' Hackett said. 'At least not yet, but it will take time to change those attitudes. If this Spectre business goes off without a hitch then perhaps malcontents like Mikhailovich will quieten down.'

Hackett's bright blue eyes immediately turned from Udina to Anderson.

'Captain, thank you for joining us.'

Anderson saluted. 'Thank you, Admiral. Ambassador,' he added with a polite nod to Udina, who only frowned in response.

'You're late, Anderson,' the ambassador sneered. 'Fortunately, the admiral and I had much to discuss, so the wait wasn't too bothersome.' He motioned to his desk, where three chairs waited for them. 'This meeting should be short. The reopening of our consideration for the Spectres has come about suddenly, I know, but such is the way with politics. The offer is open and I want to jump on it before any conditions are added, or the circumstances change.'

Anderson furrowed his brow as the three men prepared to seat themselves. 'Why would they change now?'

Udina paused as he lowered himself into his chair. His right leg began to twitch with the strain, and the obvious pain made his lips curl subtly.

He looked up into Anderson's eyes and the captain wondered at what he saw in them. Guilt? Apprehension? It was lost when Udina moved once again.

'As I said, such is the way with politics. I don't expect an old soldier like you to understand, or even care.'

Anderson hid his irritation as he took his seat and Udina cleared his throat.

'Gentlemen, as you know, the Council has once again allowed us to join the ranks of Special Tactics and Reconnaissance. I know my request has not left you much time to draw up a list of suitable candidates but I'm sure there will only be a few names in your minds regardless.' He looked at the officers in turn. 'Admiral Hackett, you are one of the Alliance's most respected men. I'm sure whoever you put forward will have the backing of the navy brass. Captain Anderson, I've asked for you because of your experience in these…matters.'

No further clarification was needed and Anderson preferred it that way. His own selection for the Spectres many years ago had been a disaster for many reasons, reasons he rarely dwelled upon any more.

Udina winced briefly before pressing on. 'We are the men who will make history here today, but we are not the only ones. One more will take the final step, the last challenge before our race is finally considered for Council membership. With your help, I will select one soldier and raise them above the rest to become the very symbol of humanity in a wider galaxy.'

Hackett lifted up a datapad and handed it to Anderson first, bringing a mild scowl from the ambassador.

'I've already given the matter a great deal of thought,' said Hackett. 'These are the men and women I believe hold the most potential. Some of them I've known personally for years, while others are names I've become very familiar with by reputation alone. I have no doubt you'll recognise most of them, Captain. All are qualified in terms of combat experience and have had past dealings with aliens in some capacity.'

Anderson squinted, his eyes crescents of white in his reddish-brown skin. 'I recognise a lot of these names from the Skyllian Blitz. Alicia Torres, Jon Delgarno, even Francis Matthews. I'm surprised he's still alive with what he pulled off in the Traverse last year.'

Hackett bobbed his head, clearly happy to see Anderson hadn't lost touch with his N7 roots in his autumn years.

'Every one of these soldiers would make a fine Spectre. We just need to narrow the list down.'

Anderson grunted in amusement, his eyes still fixed on the datapad. 'Alexei Dukov? Now there's a name I haven't heard in a while. I thought he'd have retired by now.'

'No, he's very much in active service,' Hackett replied, the corner of his mouth upturned in a sly grin. Neither man noticed Udina's sudden stiffness. 'A lot of people would say the same about you, you know.'

'My name isn't on this list,' Anderson shot back with a smile of his own. 'Still, I think we should rule out anyone over the age of thirty-two. We want someone in their physical and mental prime, someone with the energy of youth.'

'Agreed,' Hackett conceded.

Udina coughed impatiently and the two officers looked at him, suddenly aware of his presence once again.

Anderson held back a smile as he made a few additions of his own and handed the datapad over to the ambassador.

'Yes,' Udina said loudly, 'we need someone who won't be over the hill in a few years' time. This is an investment on the part of humanity and we need to make good on that investment.' He raised his other hand to his chin as he contemplated the list. 'These names you mentioned before, what can you tell me about them?'

Hackett spoke from memory, his recollection perfect. 'Lieutenant Alicia Torres, formerly of the Two-Twelve on Eden Prime, now N7 and taking part in active operations throughout the galaxy. She's a strong leader and an excellent soldier.'

'I know all about her,' Anderson said. His head lowered and sadness entered his voice. 'I also know that she's beginning to show signs of extreme post traumatic stress, something to do with a slaver raid that went bad three years ago. Ordinarily I wouldn't mention it but the unit's psychological counsellor has recently recommended her be stood down so she can receive more focused treatment. War can get the better of the strongest minds and Torres has seen more of war than most.'

'Very well,' said Udina. He turned his gaze back to the list. 'Commander Wesley Griffin. He sounds like an idea candidate.'

'Griffin?' Anderson exclaimed before turning to Hackett. 'With respect, Sir, if I'd noticed you'd put that bigot on the list I would've deleted it right away. We might as well put Charles Saraceno himself on there.'

Udina raised his eyebrows. 'What do you mean?'

Hackett spoke first. 'He means Commander Griffin holds some views that might well be construed as counter-productive in a multilateral environment. He's an Earth-First type, but his record speaks for itself, as you can see. Griffin might be called racist by some, but he's still a soldier and he'll take orders without question. At least with Griffin, you can be confident he'll take our orders first over the Council's, and his appointment will quieten down a lot of the dissenters in the senior Alliance ranks.'

Leaning back in his chair, Udina visibly contemplated the advantages of having such a man in a Spectre position. It was not meant to be a diplomatic one, after all. The role was not that of an emissary and by its nature the work would be morally muddy, with decisions having to be made without the luxury of conscience.

Suddenly, Udina's eyes settled on the last name on the list and his brows knotted.

'Well, what about Shepard?'

'Commander Shepard?' Hackett asked, his expression troubled.

Anderson nodded. 'I've known Shepard for some time now, since his N7 training. Served in the marines, then transferred to the Infiltrator Corps after a spell in Force Recon. I've never seen a better agent and his instincts are right on the money. He can lead men well enough and he's always well-liked on the ships he serves on. Most importantly, he's worked with aliens before.'

'Yes,' Udina murmured. 'Says here he grew up in the colonies.'

'He knows how tough life can be out there,' Anderson cut in, the facts flowing from him without thought. 'His parents were killed when slavers attacked Mindoir.'

Hackett could not contain his doubt any longer and spoke his concern. 'He got most of his unit killed on Torfan.'

'He gets the job done,' Anderson replied confidently. 'No matter the cost.'

Udina set the datapad on his desk and rested a hand on it. The skin of his fingers blanched slightly as he pressed into it, deep in thought.

'Is that the kind of person we want protecting the galaxy?'

Anderson' response was immediate and certain. 'That's the only kind of person who can protect the galaxy.'

The ambassador's eyes shifted to Hackett, who nodded silently. The moments stretched out in solemn watchfulness of this moment and every man could feel an odd sense of destiny, of fate weaving a path around their words and actions.

Finally, Udina firmed his lips and rose to his feet. 'I'll make the call.'

~~~ME-I~~~

The turian boy's eyes opened slowly to the sound of shuffling feet, widening at the rough pulling of a hand on his shoulder.

Yawning, he noted with weary misery that the sun had not yet touched the sky outside his bedroom window.

'Leave me alone, Nihlus,' he whined plaintively, forcing his eyes shut once again. 'You know father gets angry when you sneak around at night and I don't want to get a share of your beating again.'

The voice that answered was much deeper than his, yet a touch lighter than an adult.

'Come on, little brother, I'm not asking you to get up. I just want to talk for a moment.'

Arlen stirred in a feeble attempt to shake off Nihlus' grip. 'Can't it wait until after sun-up at least? I'm exhausted!'

'It'll only take a minute. I promise.'

Nihlus' voice was serious enough to rouse Arlen's curiosity, and with a mild curse the little boy rose, grumbling, into a sitting position. He yawned deeply.

'If you're in trouble again, there's nothing I can do, especially not after the last time I covered for you.'

'And I gave you half my week's rations to compensate,' Nihlus pointed out. He grasped his younger brother by the shoulder again. 'Come on, it won't take long. Besides, it's important.'

Arlen raised a hand to his brow. His skull throbbed ceaselessly with fatigue, his blood a curse as it forced its way round his body. His muscles still felt tight after the previous day's exercises and the precious hours of sleep were his only escape.

Shaking his head, he answered with slurred words. 'What's so important that it can't wait till morning?'

'I won't be here in the morning.'

Arlen looked at the older boy, his pain momentarily forgotten. 'What do you mean you won't be here? Father will kill you if you stay out past dawn again!'

'No, Arlen,' Nihlus said quietly.

He breathed deeply, a dark shape in the moonlight. His white face paint was all Arlen could see of him and it shifted subtly when he spoke.

'I mean I won't be coming back.'

His voice petered out, giving way to the usual sounds of the Edessa night. Insects chirped outside, joined by the occasional whir of a distant shuttle but it all simply melted away into nothing as Arlen watched his brother, searching for signs of jest or deceit. It was impossible to read Nihlus in the daylight, much less the darkness.

'Where are you going?' Arlen asked, his voice shaking.

Nihlus hesitated and through the darkness, Arlen could just about see his pained expression.

'I can't tell you. Just trust me, it'll be better this way. For everyone.'

'How can this be better?' Arlen argued, though his own resignation betrayed him. He had known for a long time this day would come and a small part of him had accepted it, no matter how much he wanted to fight it. 'How can you leaving make this any better? If it wasn't for you, I…'

'No,' Nihlus interrupted, his grip on Arlen's shoulder tightening. 'Don't say it. I've never made things easier for you here. You know that.'

Arlen's small hand reached up and gently took hold of Nihlus' arm. For a moment it looked like his heart would break as his little brother, the one whom Nihlus had raised and cared for far longer than their father ever had, pleaded with him.

'You're my brother, Nihlus. Please, I…I can't do this without you.'

Arlen's head was pressed down into his chest, ashamed of showing his face. Their forms wove into one another in the gloom as Nihlus softly took his sibling's hand and placed it down on the bed.

'You're a stronger turian than I am,' he whispered. 'Make us all proud, all right?'

Seconds later, he was gone and Arlen was left sitting upright, shivering with fear and sadness. He battled against tears but his young voice soon broke into a quiet sob. It was a pitiful sound and he hated it with all the steady force a nine year old boy could manage.

Cringing, he crushed his grief and steadied himself with muttered curses.

He was alone now, and he would have to be strong.

~~~ME-I~~~

Light seeped into Arlen's eyes, appearing as a murky grey line that widened into a grim picture.

He was lying on his side, on cold stone tarnished with green and brown. It looked the same as the cell in which he was tortured, with the exception of a single bed against the wall. Even from a distance he could tell the mattress was filthy but it hardly mattered when he lay on the hard ground, without the strength to climb onto it.

The pain riddling his body was a distant thing while he remained still, but movement made it all return and so he did not move. He felt a desolate, overpowering emptiness in his heart but could not place the cause. Had he been dreaming? Had he even passed out?

He turned the questions over in his mind, probing what remained of his thoughts for answers. It was all he could do to avoid slipping into despair.

A metallic groan cut the air at his back, a sound Arlen recognised well now. The door swung open and Krassus stepped inside, flanked by two guards. The general was expressionless as he looked down at Arlen and his voice was bereft of triumph or satisfaction as it echoed deeply through the cell.

'Varn told me you didn't break. He was impressed by your resolve.' Silence was his only response, and he let it pass before continuing. 'You know now why we fight. You know about your father. You can't deny some part of you realises that you shouldn't be fighting against us, not with the real battle still to come.'

Still Arlen did not speak, choosing instead to remain motionless on the ground, staring at the far wall with dull eyes.

'We will be leaving this place soon, and you will come with us. It's clear we can't stay here any longer. If you found us then the other Citadel authorities can't be far behind. We only have one more job to do before we go.'

Arlen finally replied and his throat burned with the effort.

'What do you mean?'

Krassus placed his hands dutifully behind his back and paced the cell.

'We have one last sample of the Jamestown Virus, as you call it, with fully-integrated Fusion Directives. Until the raw virus is overcome by our target's antivirus suites, we will have full and total control of any system we choose to infect. The Fusion Directives are set to respond to my command alone.'

'Your command?'

'Yes.'

Krassus stepped around Arlen, so he could look down into his eyes and again the younger man was struck by the resolve he saw in that fierce glare.

'My words will be heeded instantly by the virus, becoming the machine's law. It's quite something, to have such power at your call. This will be the first true test of a fully-developed weapon, a virus with true intelligence, able to adapt and survive against any countermeasure long enough to achieve its aim. And it's completely subservient to its master.'

The old man sounded awed by his own words and Arlen lifted his head.

'Is that what you used on the Citadel?'

'At its most basic level, yes. What you saw on the Citadel was a fledgling virus, a brand new construct. It hadn't developed nearly enough to find a way onto the Jamestown on its own. It needed help.'

'So Coleran Vastra posed as an engineer at Jump Zero and infected the ship with another virus, something that simply opened up the ship to intrusion as it passed through the relay.'

Krassus nodded solemnly and his response held a note of quiet sadness. 'I took no pleasure in the attack. I lost a good man that day and I took one step closer to becoming a monster. Certainly, if I am ever caught, what's left of my reputation as a general will be in ruins. But such are the sacrifices we must make.'

'Don't try and sell yourself as a martyr,' Arlen spat from his broken lips. Though his voice was weak, the contempt still edged through with surprising force. 'I'm not blind. You were a good soldier once, someone who led his men with courage and competence even when my…my father…'

He faltered but something inside him kept the words coming. 'You were a man to be respected, even when you abandoned the legions. I understand your reasons for the Exodus but the second you chose to take innocent lives, that very moment you attacked the Jamestown…'

He trailed off, though this time not through lack of words but to stare intently at Krassus, to show the old general he believed in what he was saying.

'That very moment,' he said quietly, 'you stopped being a soldier and became a terrorist. Whatever honour you had, it's long gone now. I'd no more follow you than my own father.'

Krassus stood for a long time, digesting Arlen's judgement. Arlen expected him to scoff, to chuckle knowingly and shake his head, to at least do something but he did not. He just held the young man's eyes, his thoughts unreadable.

'And here I thought your instincts were lacking,' he said quietly, deep in thought. 'I thought your devotion to your ideals was weak, but I see now I was mistaken.' He kneeled next to Arlen, so that his voice was a bass hum in his chest. 'You don't hunt me because C-Sec or the Council ask it of you. You hunt me because not doing so will shame your father's spirit. Even knowing the truth about him, you still love the old bastard, don't you?'

Arlen ached to shout his denial in Krassus' face but he couldn't summon the will to do so.

He didn't know how Krassus had seen it, had seen through his hate-lined words but it was true. Renius was still the man who made Arlen what he was, no matter his own past. Arlen still felt that moment of awe, when he had seen his father hold his mother so gently, that single instant where Renius was simply a turian and not a thing of pain and discipline.

Deep within his heart, Arlen knew he still wanted to make his father proud, no matter what.

Krassus stood, satisfied by Arlen's silence. 'Sleep while you can. In only a few hours you'll be bound and moved to a shuttle, ready for off-world transportation.'

He strode to the open door and stood for a moment, framed by the dim glow beyond.

'When we next meet, the galaxy will be changed forever.'

He turned to exit but hesitated, and after a brief moment of consideration he spoke to one of the guards.

'Help him onto the bed. The boy deserves to be comfortable, at the very least.'

The guard snapped off a salute while the other followed Krassus out of the cell. Arlen felt hands grasp him gently under the armpits but did not react. He allowed himself to be dragged across the ground and heaved onto the bed, and the guard locked the door with a heavy clang on the way out.

The bed was hard and stank of musty, stagnant water. In the sudden stillness, Arlen felt his thoughts return.

Now that Krassus had gone, the defensive walls his mind had raised crumbled and he was assaulted once more by the overwhelming reality of his situation.

His body was a wilting lump of meat, something that could barely move and responded only with pain when it did. More than anything, Varn's earlier words infected his senses, sending them spiralling with conflicting emotions.

At last, he identified the numb hole in his chest, and he could not stop his voice from croaking out in misery.

'Nihlus,' he whispered, 'why didn't you tell me about father?'

The words came back to him, a sibilant hiss against the hard stone walls.

'You were right all this time.'

A low moan sounded as a strong breeze was pushed beneath the cell door, a mournful sound that added its own grief to the air. Arlen stirred, shivering in the sudden draught.

'I'm sorry…'

~~~ME-I~~~

Lina sought out Milo as soon as she re-entered the command centre. She'd known to look for his face immediately on her return and was somewhat amused by the way his expression shifted so obviously, from surprise to curiosity, then finally shock as he saw Lorica was walking beside her.

No one else noticed them, seeing only two important personnel on their way back from some meeting or other. Their ignorance was something Lina envied as she wove her way through them in Milo's direction.

Without warning she stretched out her arm, gently barring Lorica's path.

'I'll speak to him first,' she said sternly. 'You get back to your desk and act normal. The traitor might be nearby, watching and listening to everything we say but my conferring alone with Milo shouldn't be too unusual. We've had to spend a lot of time together over the past week.'

She glanced at Lorica and was not surprised to see a flash of jealousy in her clear eyes. Still, it was quickly smothered and Lorica gave a guilty half-smile as she lowered her head.

'Of course, that makes sense. I think it's safe to say we shouldn't be making any unexpected moves until we figure out who this traitor is.'

'My thoughts exactly.' Lina began to turn away but halted as a sudden impulse struck her. Her hand reached up to fumble awkwardly with her hood as she looked at Lorica.

'There was nothing going on, you know,' she said earnestly. 'Between Milo and I, I mean.'

Once more came the rare gratitude for the exo-suit that hid her true feelings so well. Even as the words left her lips Lina felt a twinge of guilt at their inaccuracy as the feel of Milo's hand on her shoulder entered her thoughts, the sight of his cocky little smile in her eyes.

The human and she had been through some of the toughest hours of their lives together and a bond had grown between them, no matter how small. For just a moment Lina wished she had him to herself, just to see what would come of it.

Lorica made her way back to her desk and Lina approached Milo. He looked up at her expectantly.

'I can't help but notice she's not in cuffs.'

'I couldn't find a place to carry them. No pockets,' Lina joked meekly, shrugging.

It was a lame remark and she hated herself for it, but once again Milo's very presence had quickened her blood, making her nervous.

He smiled at her warmly. 'I think that's the first time I've heard you make a joke. Does that mean we're friends now?'

'D-don't be stupid, Milo!' Lina gasped, suddenly afraid he'd read her thoughts. 'I'm just tired, that's all! Come on, I'll tell you what happened with Lorica but not here.'

'Same place as before?' he asked, referring to the corridor in which they'd discussed his earlier discovery.

'No,' Lina replied, shaking her head. 'We need to leave the command centre. I don't trust this place anymore, not now.' He raised an eyebrow and was about to speak when Lina held up a hand, stopping him. 'I'll explain when we're alone. I know a good place to go. Follow me.'

'Okay.' He rose from his desk, wincing as he pressed a hand into his lower back. 'I needed to stretch my legs anyway.'

Together they wound back through the command centre and Lina fought not to be too obvious as she looked around. A quick glance in Milo's direction showed he too was suffering the same temptation. They were both aware that they were being watched and it made their movements stiff and unwieldy.

As they reached the central ramp, Lina risked a look at Lorica. The asari had settled herself back in with professional ease and was casually scanning through reports on her terminal.

Lina's stomach lurched as she caught Milo smiling in Lorica's direction.

Of course he's smiling, the quarian told herself as a pang of self-doubt made her chest feel hollow. Lorica was an asari, graceful and beautiful, while Lina would be lucky if she could kiss anyone without collapsing from illness.

In that instant, she felt clarity return and her poise straightened.

Keelah, how selfish she was being! The entire galaxy was going to hell and here she was, pining for a human co-worker, daydreaming about him casting aside his girlfriend for her sake. The very idea that she could harbour such a fantasy was repugnant to her, and the dislike fuelled her determination.

She didn't need anyone, after all. She was Lina'Xen, former daughter to an admiral, former slave, the first quarian in C-Sec since the exile of her people. Her defiance was like fire in her veins, quickening her pace.

They had almost reached the main entrance and Lina froze as a warm hand touched her arm.

'Steady there,' Milo chuckled, 'you'll end up leaving me behind at this rate.'

'I'm sorry,' Lina mumbled in embarrassment. 'I just have a lot on my mind.'

'Ain't that the truth.'

'No, it's more than…all this,' she said.

Slowly, Lina reached up and took Milo's hand off her arm. He was looking at her again, with those eyes that sparkled with mischief.

The checkpoint airlock hissed and closed behind them while the counterpart doors to their front rumbled open.

Milo held Lina's pale gaze. 'What's wrong?'

With a start, she realised she was still holding his hand and released it immediately.

'I don't really want to talk about it, well, what I mean is it's not really something I feel comfortable discussing.'

She started walking again, setting an easy pace for them both.

Milo looked at her, confused. 'So...you can discuss the most intimate details of a galaxy-wide conspiracy with me but not this? Man, this must be huge!'

He reached up to dramatically scratch his head. 'Uh…let me guess, the Council are really the ones behind all this and they're gonna blow up the Citadel, using Citadel Tower to get to safety. Which is actually a starship in disguise, by the way. Am I even close?'

'Damn it, shut up!' Lina muttered, trying unsuccessfully to force authority into her voice. 'I told you already, this has nothing to do with what's going on.'

Their path took them through the back of C-Sec headquarters. The noise and activity of the atrium quickly disappeared as they entered the office area, the main corridor taking them through the middle of where most C-Sec officers in the district did their paperwork.

The offices on ground level were open to the public, but as Lina tilted her head up she saw hundreds more hidden behind walls of shining glass. Dark shadows moved like liquid behind them, simple officers and agents going about their daily business.

'So I'm not even half-right?' Milo asked.

As they reached the end of the corridor it gave way to a set of stairs. Lina knew they led down to an access elevator for the wards and she stopped to answer him, unable to contain her response.

'As much as I admire your investigative skills, this is serious. I…I was just thinking, that's all. About Lorica and, well, about you. I just…'

She paused as Milo frowned suddenly, and she realised he was looking beyond her, back the way they came.

Without warning, he grabbed her arm and gently coaxed her in the direction of the stairs.

'We're being followed,' he murmured. 'We need to get moving.'

Lina managed to steal a glance over her shoulder.

He was right, there was someone not far behind them, a black shape that was lost to her as she descended the stairs.

'Are you sure they're following us?' she hissed.

'Positive,' he replied with certainty. 'I spotted him coming out of the checkpoint after us and back in the main hall. When I saw him round the corner just then I knew he was up to something.'

'Who was it?'

Their feet slid as they entered the elevator and the door closed as Milo keyed the controls. His movements were agile, almost birdlike as he watched for their pursuer until the moment the door shut.

'I don't know,' he finally replied, 'but I'm sure he was turian.'

'A turian?' Lina repeated softly.

All thoughts of her feelings for Milo, all the anxiety had disappeared in a flash. Their traitor was following them, likely to kill them. Her heart began to beat faster and she took hold of her hood, massaging the fabric rhythmically.

White lights slipped past them, making the air pulse to match her movements. By comparison, Milo seemed calm, though Lina could tell his frown concealed racing thoughts. He was a thinker, like her, and the ideas would be circulating in his mind, as much a defence mechanism as anything.

'We need to lose him,' Lina said, breaking the steady drone of the elevator.

Milo looked at her and for a moment she saw the fear that he tried so hard to conceal. The sight of it made her want to hold him but she knew they needed more from her.

She spoke quickly, wringing out the last of her confidence into a few words.

'Or we can try and catch this traitor once and for all.'

Milo's frown deepened and he opened his mouth to object. Unthinking, Lina placed a hand on his chest, the touch cutting him off instantly.

'I spent some time in the wards. I know where we can go to set up an ambush. We're not armed but we have our omni-tools. We just need the element of surprise.'

Milo spoke then, and Lina was not surprised to hear his voice quiver.

'I'm not sure if I can do this, Lina.'

The words brought back memories of a young turian to Lina, one paralysed with fear as he tried to defuse a bomb so long ago. She remembered what she had said to Arlen back then but now it did not seem enough.

Holding Milo's eyes with hers, she reached up to hold his cheek, for a moment uncaring of Lorica or her own doubts.

'We…I need you,' she said, softly. 'Please. This could be our only chance to end it all here and now.'

Milo smiled but it was without his usual, swaggering charm. He looked nervous, and yet he still melted under the gentle sound of the quarian's voice and the touch of her suited hand on his skin.

With a deep breath, he answered. 'Well, when you put it like that…'

~~~ME-I~~~

Krassus' stride was buoyant as he entered the Forgotten Legion's ops room. A century of eighty men worked feverishly at a square of terminals in the centre of the room, their mandibles and armour fringed with the orange glow of their screens.

The consoles had been set up so they could be dismantled with ease and cables snaked across the floor in thick, dark coils. The light of the evening was warm as it shone through the large windows running the length of the room and the jungle could be seen beyond, their position on the penultimate floor of the compound affording the men a stunning vista of green-matted mountainsides.

Krassus strode into the middle of his men and they paused in their work, every man turning to him obediently.

'Today,' he announced clearly, 'today, we make history. Thirty years ago began a war between our people and a race that we had never faced before, one that had barely begun to master space travel. That conflict was started by an arrogant fool, a man who threw away the lives of many of our friends and brothers.'

He looked down to see them all staring back at him, drinking in his words.

'Thanks to the Iron General, Renius Kryik, we suffered. We were branded monsters by the galactic community. We are held up in textbooks as men who attacked without provocation, as men who slaughtered and murdered without care or mercy. We are the generation who have come to be reviled as perpetrators of a lasting distrust between two entire species.'

His voice held every soldier in the room, and Krassus' lips hovered for a moment as he saw Varn enter. The two old turians shared a private, unspoken moment and the general's voice quietened.

'Then our own Primarchs deserted us. They abandoned tradition, they stopped defending us when the accusations came, they even went so far as to pay the families of our former enemies for their deaths! They punished us for carrying out our orders by taking money out of our own pockets! Where was the compensation for our blood?' he demanded and many of the men murmured their agreement. 'How many of our mothers and wives were compensated for their dead sons and husbands? And when we asked these questions of the Hierarchy, where were the answers?'

'Up the Council's backside!' someone chirped out, provoking a ripple of laughter.

Krassus joined them, his chuckling a harsh click in his throat.

'Yes. The Council does not care about us. They do not care about the turian race. We safeguard their Citadel, we patrol the Krogan DMZ, we fight battles on their behalf and for what?' His voice rose into a shout. 'For what? So others can become rich on our spoils? So others can sleep soundly thanks to the security only we can provide?'

'No!' was the resounding answer.

'No,' Krassus repeated. 'Ten years ago we said no more, and cast aside the lies of the Hierarchy, the shackles of the Council! We decided to fight for what it truly means to be turian!'

A low cheer went up from the men and Krassus turned on the spot, pointing at them in turn.

'Erax, you decided. You came to us seven years ago. Your father was one of the Seventh at the time of the Exodus. He refused to join us but you, you keep your family strong in his place!'

The man in question held up his chin proudly as Krassus moved on.

'You, Revenus, I remember when you were a snot-nosed legionary with the Tenth. You came with us at the very beginning while those cowards stayed behind to fester in colonial garrisons for the rest of their careers!'

A dark-hued turian spoke up, honoured by the general's acknowledgement. 'Yes, Sir!'

Smiling, Krassus continued to glance about him and his tone softened. 'As I look around at the men assembled here today, the first century of the Legion, our most experienced warriors…' He broke off and the smile faded from his lips. '…I am reminded of those who perished to bring us this far.'

On impulse, the soldiers around him rose from their seats and stood to attention. In the silence, Krassus' voice rang like a funeral bell.

'Legionaries Tertius, Deven, Faustus, Pavari, Cavica. Centurions Macro and Nantia. Prefect Vastra. We will honour their spirits.'

The ops room rumbled as the century repeated the solemn chant that was as old as the legions themselves. 'Until our final days.'

Lifting his head, Krassus' eyes burned and he turned to face a large monitor at the far end of the room. Varn approached and joined him at his side as the screen flickered to life.

'Now, my soldiers. My brothers. Now we take our revenge.'

~~~ME-I~~~

The dreadnought Ascension was one of the largest ships in the turian fleet. It dwarfed the carriers and frigates around it, a pale spike against the blackness of space as it drifted slowly in formation with the other ships.

It was the pride of the Fifth Battle Group, a sentinel that could ensure obedience to the Turian Empire by sheer dominance alone.

Deep within its bulkheads, General Adrien Victus winced to himself as yet another long, flat corridor presented itself for his inspection.

He hated having to tour dreadnoughts. It had been two hours already and his feet had become two aching stumps inside his armoured boots.

Victus' brown eyes, set deeply into a white-painted face of dark grey, scoured the ship's interior, constantly looking for any imperfection but he knew with tired resignation there would be nothing amiss. The Ascension's crew had had a long time to prepare for this formal inspection and the captain would have left nothing to chance. The lines of the flat were straight and narrow, with nothing to disturb them.

Victus sighed inwardly. He was bored and it was becoming increasingly difficult to hide it.

The general turned back to Captain Antulia, who stood rigidly at his shoulder. His carapace was supposed to be white, but with Victus' mounting scrutiny of his ship it had flushed almost to the colour of his muddy brown paint, the tension proving almost too much for him to bear.

Victus considered pricking the man's nerves a little, if only to relieve his boredom. Perhaps a test of his tactical knowledge or his understanding of the dreadnought's systems.

Frowning softly to himself, Victus dismissed the idea as quickly as it came. He hated the pettiness of some senior officers and never understood the way they revelled in picking out the smallest flaws with their subordinates.

He was a soldier, without the patience for such trifling things and he would endure the inspection like any other hardship rather than take out his frustration on others.

Antulia cleared his throat, his features taut at the sudden shift in Victus' expression. 'Is something wrong, Sir?'

Victus blinked and tried not to sound as if he'd just woken up. 'No, Captain, nothing out of place yet that I can see. This is a fine ship. You must be very proud of her.'

'I am, Sir,' Antulia replied, his chest swelling. 'We're the flagship of the Fifth, Palaven's finest. It's fortunate you arrived when you did, General. We'll be coming up on the CIC soon and we're due to test fire the main gun in a co-ordinated battle simulation with the rest of the group.'

'This was scheduled beforehand?' Victus asked, unable to stop himself testing the captain's façade a little. 'And not purely for my benefit, I trust?'

Antulia seemed to sway on his feet for a moment but recovered well, even going so far as to smile.

'With respect, Sir, I don't know a captain worth his salt who wouldn't want to demonstrate the firepower of his ship with an officer of your stature aboard. I just hope the transparency of the gesture won't affect our aim.'

'An honest answer,' Victus said, matching Antulia's smile with a subtle one of his own. He'd underestimated the man. 'It's difficult to find a sense of humour in the upper ranks these days. If a soldier needs anything, it's a sense of humour.'

He led the way, stopping occasionally to talk to the crew or remark on a particular piece of equipment. He now knew the exercise Antulia mentioned was to be the climax of his tour and he looked forward to it if only because it signified an end to the tedious ceremony.

The Ascension's Combat Information Centre was enormous, with just over a hundred crew swarming around a central podium that stood raised above their heads. It was a staple of turian design and Victus immediately felt comfortable as he stepped up its ramp.

The room was lit only by the instrumentation at work, forming a thick gloom of murky orange and red but the place crackled with anticipation. The men and women below him knew he was watching and poured all of their effort into the smallest task, their determination palpable.

'All right, Captain,' he said without turning his head. 'Show me what your ship can do.'

'Aye, Sir,' Antulia acknowledged and nodded to his Operations Officer, who snapped a string of orders to the nearby crew.

Victus felt his stomach flutter as the ship's momentum dampeners released and the Ascension made her implacable way forward.

A shout caught his ear as a sergeant neared the Ops Officer, eager to catch his attention. 'Sir, we have a high-priority signal coming from the Undaunted. Shall I allow the connection?'

Victus felt Antulia stir at his side, his eagerness to intervene obvious but the captain knew his subordinate officers could handle such matters. It was Antulia's job to oversee their decisions, not make them.

The Ops Officer nodded and grumbled just loud enough for Victus to overhear.

'Patch them through, though I swear by the spirits, if they're reporting an engine failure now of all times I'll have their EO's hide.'

The sergeant saluted and returned to his post, where a junior crewman could be heard murmuring into the comm relay. The sergeant approached and tapped him on the shoulder.

Antulia coughed lightly. 'The Undaunted has been having problems with her drive core over the past few weeks. I was assured that everything would go smoothly for the simulation.'

Victus held back a grin. He understood the captain's embarrassment but he could hardly be blamed for the development.

'Ships are machines,' he said, simply, 'and machines have a habit of breaking when it's most inconvenient. Don't trouble yourself, Captain.'

Antulia gave an appreciative nod but the motion was cut short as his ear picked up a note of alarm in someone's voice. His and Victus' heads turned as one, fixing on the comm sergeant.

'What do you mean it's not coming from the Undaunted?' the man barked.

The crewman beside him shook his head in confusion. 'The signal bears their signature and the correct authorisation codes but the source of the transmission is much farther away. It's not even coming from the battle group!'

'Shut it off!' the sergeant yelled out. 'Shut it off now!'

Victus opened his mouth to speak but he was interrupted by the crewman's panicked reply.

'It...it's not working!' The young turian stabbed at his haptic controls with increasing desperation. 'I-I don't believe this. The entire comm relay has been locked out!'

A chorus of shouts went up as one by one, every man in the CIC protested, their own instruments defying their inputs. A wave of anxiety hit Victus and his eyes snapped to Antulia.

'What's going on here, Captain?'

'I-I don't know,' Antuila stammered, his own gaze flickering from station to station in a manic effort to make sense of it all. 'Everyone is reporting the same thing. Their controls are unresponsive.'

Thinking quickly, the captain singled out a nearby crewman. 'You! Get down to engineering, I want to know what the situation is down there, now!'

The man saluted and set off at a run. Victus turned to Antulia with a questioning glance.

'I trust this isn't part of the exercise?'

Antulia did not smile and that was answer enough for Victus, but the captain replied nonetheless, his voice heavy with concern.

'I'm sure this is just a temporary malfunction, Sir.'

Antulia breathed deeply as he looked back out upon his scrambling crew.

'A temporary malfunction...'