Editorial Note: This personnel report focuses on Shepard's thoughts of his armoury officer, Jacob Taylor, and his efforts to help him with a rather personal mission.

Personnel Report—Jacob Taylor

Jacob's the only one who ever saluted me.

Okay, maybe there were one or two people who stood to attention. It's not like they had to—this wasn't an Alliance vessel, after all. But Jacob almost always saluted me, either at the start or an end of any conversation. Or both. You can imagine how often that came up in the local scuttlebutt. That and how he joined Cerberus in the first place.

I suppose that was why I really went to see him one day—to satisfy my curiosity. Jacob saluted me when I entered the armoury. "Something I can do for you, Commander?"

"I'd like to talk a bit, if you have the time," I replied.

For once, Jacob was game for a bit of chatting. "Sounds good. Have to say, you run this ship tight, and we're getting things done. We keep on track and maybe we'll figure this out."

"Maybe?" I grinned.

"I hope so," Jacob amended. "I'm not looking forward to the debrief if it all goes to hell. Is there something specific you wanted to know about or are you just checking in?"

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes at his formality. "I like to know my crew. Screw procedure. Tell me about yourself."

"Informal, huh?" Jacob noted. "Everything's in my file. Ex-Alliance, like you. No Reapers or anything, but I got swept under the rug, too. The more good you do, the less they want to admit that something needed doing."

"About that: I understand you made quite an impact after you left the Alliance. Why did you leave anyway?"

"The Alliance sidelined me after Eden Prime. Miranda and I stopped a batarian plan to release a biological agent on the Citadel. That's when I first met her. It took us out to the Nemean Abyss and back. Saved the Citadel and the Council, like you, but what's the saying? A good deed's like pissing yourself in dark pants? Warm feeling, but no one notices."

That was true. Which was why I liked dark pants.

"The whole thing was hushed up, like they're good at doing, but I know what I did and I'm proud of it. Cerberus treated that job like an audition, and here I am."

"Too bad something like that didn't get reported," I commiserated.

"The real work doesn't get publicized," he shrugged. "You know that. They say it's better that people don't know how fragile the system is or how close the bad guys can get. So they make things so they never happened. Like you and the Reapers."

"True, but it's still a bit odd that you wound up with Cerberus. You don't seem like a 'results at all costs' kind of guy," I noted.

"Way I see it, the Alliance is all politics," Jacob scowled. "Too busy worrying about public opinion to get the job done. Somebody has to take down the bad guys. If that somebody is Cerberus, and they don't lose sight of that, I'm on their side."

"Not everyone can stand behind his decisions and convictions," I said. "You make no apologies for doing what you had to. I admire that."

"I couldn't go back to the Alliance," Jacob replied, "not after the cover-up. They did the same to you. General public never knew you were dead or heard the real story of the Citadel."

They still don't.

He grinned. "Did youknow they used you on recruitment ads? You were the human ideal for like six months."

Oh boy. No wonder the universe is in such bad shape. (1)

"Then they replaced you with a composite image they invented. Guess you didn't focus test right. You were actually the Alliance poster boy and they still dumped you."

I gave him a slight smile. "We'll rub it in their faces when we save their hides. Again."

"Sounds good," Jacob nodded. "We'll add that to the list of reasons to make it out alive. Besides not wanting to die."

"Again," I added.

Jacob laughed. "Fair enough. I should get back to work. Good talking to you, Shepard."

That was probably one of the few times I had a chance to see Jacob relax and talk to me. He generally didn't like me coming down and 'forcing conversations.' Personally, I suspect he never got used to the idea of senior officers regularly dropping by and chatting with subordinates. (2)

I still made a point of dropping by anyway, just to be annoying. Which was why I noticed something was off one day. It had been shortly after the Horizon mission, so I thought he might have been shaken or something.

"Jacob?" I asked. I had to repeat myself a couple times before he heard me.

"Commander? Sorry, I'm a little unfocused."

"Everything all right?" I asked. "This have something to do with Horizon?"

"No, nothing like that. Personal matter," he waved me off. "It won't affect my duties."

I leaned back against one of the tables. "I always have time for my crew. What's on your mind?"

"As I said, it's a personal matter. I don't want to waste our time if it turns out to be a wild goose chase."

"But..." I prompted.

He walked over to the table and stood there for a moment, gripping the sides. "Well, I got pinged by a ghost the other night," he finally said. "Family."

"I'm listening."

"My private log got an update about the Hugo Gernsback, the ship my father served on. It sent an SOS last week, reporting a crash and requesting a rescue."

"And that's akin to getting a collect call from a ghost because..."

"Shepard, that ship went missing ten years ago," Jacob explained, running a hand over his head. "I hadn't talked to my father for three years before that. I've buried everything but a body. I'm not convinced it isn't just some automated distress signal ticking over. It's been too long."

He was clearly confused, but remained calm and composed. Remarkably so, I thought. I mean, if I found out that my dad was still alive, I'd be a mess. (3) "I'd think you'd be more excited that your father might be alive," I said.

"He wasn't around enough for me to have bad memories."

"You didn't get along with your father?" I guessed.

"He made no apologies, I'll give him that. You make a mistake, you own up to it, even if you keep making it. Whatever problems we had were a lifetime ago. It's an old, well-healed wound. I mean, as far as I know, he's still a ghost."

I waited for the inevitable 'but.'

"But if he's actually alive and needs help..."

It's as if I'm psychic or something. "Pretty big 'what if,'" I nodded.

"You could say that," he agreed. "I also want to note that it's not normal procedures for distress calls to be routed to the Normandy. This was passed to my personal log through Cerberus filters."

"Any signs that this was a Cerberus front?" I asked. "Who passed this to you?"

"I doubt the Illusive Man would let a direct operation stay cold this long," he frowned. "If there's a link, it's probably just about money. Cerberus needs diverse holdings to fund projects like, well, you. And whoever sent this my way covered their tracks. Someone could be fishing for favours. Or thought it would get under my skin. Who knows with that bunch?"

"Tell me about the Hugo Gernsback and what it was doing."

"Privately held frigate," Jacob replied. "I looked over the mission brief when it disappeared. Nothing stood out. Typical research and grab operation. Find an uncharted planet, stake a claim, and establish as large a presence as you can as fast as possible to shut out competitors." (4)

"I think we can spare the time," I decided. "Pass the coordinates to Joker."

"I appreciate that, Commander," Jacob smiled. "I don't expect more than dusty old bones, but it'll be good to close the record."

There really wasn't any need to bring the entire squad with us, so I just brought half. Jacob, because it was his dad who may or may not be alive. Me, because my curiosity knows no bounds. Miranda, to back up a fellow Cerberus member and make sure I wasn't a bad influence on him. Zaeed, because he needed to get off the ship. And Kasumi, who had been entertaining herself by bugging him for the past couple hours—which was the reason Zaeed needed to get off the ship.

I smiled when Zaeed and Kasumi gave me their reasons for coming along and looked down—she really was petite—at her. "Always good to have a little help."

Kasumi looked up at me and realized what I was doing. "One more short joke and I'll punch your lights out," she threatened.

"Kasumi, petty violence is beneath you," I scolded her. "Which is kinda saying something."

"Keep it up, Shep," she scowled. "I'm always going to be taller than you once you're lying unconscious on the ground."

"You're right," I admitted with a straight face. "That was a low blow. I'll try to rise above it."

Kasumi made a fist—a tiny one—and showed it to me. "Pow, Shep. Right to the kisser."

"Why couldn't she have bugged you?" Zaeed asked plaintively.

By that point, we'd reached the shuttle. We lifted off and flew down to the planet Aeia—officially designated as 2175 Aeia. Alliance probes had pegged this world as suitable for colonization due to the lush vegetation, fresh water and breathable air detected. Apparently, that was why the Hugo Gernsback had been dispatched here in the first place.

The shuttle touched down on a beach, about a hundred metres from the wreckage of the Hugo Gernsback. "I have run a scan of the ship," EDI reported, as we disembarked. "I detect no life signs, but there may be useful technology or information still inside."

"Good to know," I replied. "The shuttle's heading back to the Normandy on autopilot. Tell Garrus to get the rest of the squad ready in case we need them to fly back down and back us up."

"Understood, Shepard."

"It's mostly intact," Jacob noted. "So the crew could have survived impact..."

"Don't get your hopes up, kid," Zaeed snorted. "It's been years since the crash, remember?"

As we got closer, we saw that there were a lot of holes and gaps. Not all of them were from the crash, based on the lack of scorch marks and the wires hanging out.

"Looks like it was stripped after the crash," Jacob observed. "They'd have tried to get a beacon up as soon as possible."

There was a VI nearby, standing motionless. Probably attached to the distress beacon. Before I checked it out, I wanted to search the wreckage. We managed to scavenge a few items here and there. The interesting things were all the log entries made by the survivors. Most of it had been degraded beyond repair, but we did manage to retrieve a few fragments:

"...along with this anymore. We've done horrible things to the crew. The condition they're in, they don't understand what we're doing to them. Distract them for two seconds and they forget what you did before the bruises show. It's got to stop. I'm talking to the others as soon as—"

That didn't sound good. Sounded like there was some kind of abuse after the crash

"...always said no. She even threatened a report if I didn't stop sending messages. But now she's no innocent. They all are. And that look she gives when she smiles..."

That didn't sound good either. I double-checked my weapons to make sure they were loaded.

"...crash you can't expect the luxury of due process, but this isn't a military ship. Just bumping the command line up a notch doesn't work. Captain Fairchild knew this crew. His replacement doesn't command the same level of respect. I hope the man has it in him, but I doubt—"

So there was some kind of breakdown in authority? Or maybe the chain of command put people in charge who weren't ready?

"What... what was her name. Sarah? S-Suzanne? My god, I can't remember... I can't remember her face! We need to get out... so I can remember, can think straight. They have to hurry."

This was definitely creepier than the standard search and rescue.

I left the wreckage and wandered over to the VI. Because I'd looted everything I could. Not because these recordings were freaking me out. Really.

Yeah, I didn't buy that either.

"Repeat. Toxicology Alert," the VI recited. "Danger of rapid neural decay. Local flora chemically incompatible with human physiology."

And now the puzzle was starting to fit together.

I did a quick diagnostic on the beacon. "From the look of it, this thing's been here awhile," I reported. "Why would they wait years to signal?"

The VI thought I was talking to it, so it immediately responded. "Pause in beacon protocol eight years, 237 days, seven hours. Pause is recorded as RECORD DELETED by Acting Captain Ronald Taylor."

"That's not right," Jacob muttered. "My father was first officer."

"Ronald Taylor was promoted under emergency command protocols," the VI explained. "Other flagged issues: Unsafe deceleration. Local food and neural decay. Beacon activation protocols."

"What happened to the original captain?" I asked. "Where are the survivors?"

"Captain Harris Fairchild reported killed following unscheduled suborbital descent," the VI responded. "First Officer Ronald Taylor promoted in field to acting captain."

"But where is he now?" Jacob burst out in frustration.

"The location of the remaining crew of the Hugo Gernsback is unknown," the VI replied. "This beacon has been left unattended for several maintenance cycles."

"I assume 'unsafe deceleration' refers to the crash?" I said. "Give me the details."

"Following an unspecified impact and sublight drive failure, the Hugo Gernsback made an unscheduled descent at 465% of theoretical recommended sub-orbital velocity. The Hugo Gernsback then decelerated at 782% of theoretical recommended approach velocity, sustaining significant damage to investment and crew."

My next question wasn't really relevant, but I couldn't help asking anyway: "Why are you comparing the crash to theoretical speeds?"

"The Hugo Gernsback was constructed off-world. It is not rated for suborbital descent, and doing so exceeded operational parameters."

Ah, VIs and their literal programming. Sometimes you gotta love 'em. "You mentioned something about the local food impairing brain functions," I prompted. "What are the effects?"

"Impairment of mental function due to chemical imbalance begins within seven days of ingesting local flora, regardless of decontamination or preparation. Impact on higher cognitive abilities and long-term memory is cumulative, but significant within a standard month. It is not known if neural decay is permanent. Data collection was not completed."

This was getting worse and worse. It sounded like some of the crew ate the local vegetation and started losing their faculties—and other crew members did nothing to stop it. Including Jacob's dad, who'd been forced to assume command whether he was ready for the responsibility or not. Did that have anything to do with the beacon? "Why wasn't the beacon activated before now?" I asked.

"The emergency beacon became functional after 358 days, 12 hours, following the unscheduled suborbital descent of the Hugo Gernsback. Activation was triggered remotely after eight years, 237 days, seven hours, on the authority of acting captain Ronald Taylor. Pause in beacon protocol is recorded as: RECORD DELETED."

"So the beacon was fixed after a year," I summarized.

"But my father didn't signal for almost nine," Jacob finished. "Maybe that neural decay affected him."

"Perhaps," Miranda frowned, "Avoiding it for a decade does seem... unlikely."

"After this long, he's probably chewing the walls," Zaeed agreed.

"Come on," I said. "Let's get going."

The path led us to a ton of barrels arranged in rows. Almost like someone was trying to set up cover against enemies. We all pulled out our weapons and slowly approached.

The first person to pop out wasn't a threat, though. She was dressed in the clothes of a typical crewmate on a freighter, though they were pretty dirty. "You came?" she exclaimed. "From the sky? The leader said someone would come! He delayed for so long, but he still has power!"

The hell?

"Some have lost faith," she babbled on. "The hunters! They will have seen your star. They will not let you help him."

"What are you talking about?" I asked. "You're not making sense." I belatedly realized that it's hard to make sense after your brain turns to mush.

The woman didn't seem to notice, concentrating on something else all together. "I—I, uh... I don't remember how to say it. He's our leader, and we serve so... we can go home," she stumbled, carefully saying her words like she was trying to remember them. Which she probably was. "But some want to fight him. They were—they were cast out."

I didn't really like what I was hearing. True, her cognitive abilities had clearly been impaired, but her words brought things to a whole new level of disturbing. I also didn't like the guys I saw ten or twenty metres behind her—mostly because they were clearly trying to be sneaky.

"He exiled them, so they hunt his machines and those who help him," she continued, oblivious to the approaching threat. "They don't believe that rescue will—"

"Watch out," I barked, as one of the sneaky guys lifted a pistol. I dove at her and knocked her over. The others quickly scattered for cover.

"Hunters!" the woman whimpered. "They won't stop until the leader is dead!"

"Kill them!" one of the 'hunters' snarled. "Agents of the liar! He will not escape!"

It's kind of sad that talking coherently was a higher cognitive function, but aiming and shooting wasn't. Case in point: the nutjobs were firing away and we were firing back. (5) Apparently knowing how to carry and operate portable shield generators was also a lower cognitive function, judging by the flare of light as my shots ricocheted away harmlessly.

We let Miranda and Kasumi start disabling their shields one by one so the rest of us could do our thing. Upon reflection, it's funny that my strongest memories from that fight were not the flow of battle or the surge of adrenaline, but the new weapons TIMmy had given us. We had used them on Horizon, but I never really noticed the differences until now. Like the way Jacob's geth shotgun sent ripples of white-blue light across the battlefield and exploded in a blaze of sparks as the arcs between the rounds flash-converted the air to plasma. Or the way Zaeed's Mattock semi-automatic rifle sounded less like a "ratatatata" and more like a "THUD-THUD-THUD." Or the way my Phalanx heavy pistol shone a cerulean laser sight to pinpoint just where my bullet would land—with explosive results that almost reminded me of my beloved sniper rifle.

Regardless of what I remembered, it didn't change the fact that our enemies weren't all that bright. Tactically, that is. Oh they outnumbered us, and they were aggressive, but they didn't really have a plan beyond shoot, duck when someone shot back, and charge. Which might explain how we got out of this encounter relatively unscathed.

"So, that's 'neural decay,' huh?" Kasumi asked after the battle was over. "They just seemed regular old crazy to me."

"My father wouldn't let this go on," Jacob insisted "Something is very wrong."

I only agreed with half of what he said, but didn't say anything. Instead, I checked on the woman we first met. She was still on her hands and knees, trembling. "You killed them, but there are more every day," she whimpered. "They want to fight, but I just want to go home."

"She's lost it," Jacob said impatiently. "We need to find someone who can make sense of this."

We tried to get her up, but she resisted. Vehemently. In the end, we were forced to concede that she wasn't in any shape to move and left her behind. Following a well-worn path, we headed around a large outcrop and up a hill. About halfway up, we bumped into the remains of a mech. LOKI light mech, from the looks of things. I kneeled over to scavenge what I could, which wasn't much. The thing was in rough shape.

"Stripped for parts," Jacob muttered. "Tech's wearing out. Those hunters must be laying on the pressure."

"I would," Zaeed grunted.

We didn't say anything until we reached the top of the hill. There was a small arch of rock, beyond which lay a lot of tents and other structures.

"Is that a settlement?" Jacob asked. "They'd be friendlier than the beach group," he added impatiently. "I need answers."

"We'll get them," I told him. "Just be patient for a little while longer."

As we got closer, the inhabitants noticed us.

"They're clearly docile, but in the same uniform remnants as those who attacked us," Miranda observed.

I nodded absently. She was right, but that wasn't what bothered me. "Where are all the men? Could the flora affect genders differently? Make males more violent?"

"That would make sense," Kasumi admitted. "But the woman on the beach said the 'exiled ones' came back as hunters."

"It doesn't matter right now," Jacob interrupted. "One of these people must know what my father has to do with this!" At some point, he'd apparently come to the same conclusion I did: that Daddy's hands were a little dirty.

"You have his face!" one of the women gasped, jumping back. "He promised to call the sky, but he sends nothing."

"He forced us to eat, to... decay," another woman added, pointing an accusing finger at Jacob. "You are cursed with his face!"

"Maybe you should have shaved today, Jacob," I said dryly. "That's not the best reaction to the family resemblance."

The look on Jacob's face revealed his confusion and horror. "Why would my father force his crew to eat toxic food? Why didn't he stop whatever was going on here?"

Sadly, it didn't get any better. The more we looked around, the more things looked really messed up. Especially for Jacob.

"Look at these spoiled food stores," he cried out, kicking over a crate whose contents were obviously moldy. "They've been eating only that toxic local food for who knows how long. Like that wasn't obvious enough."

Kasumi tried talking to some of the women, but she didn't get much out of them. "I can't talk to you," one of them said. "I... don't want punishing."

"He keeps us," one of them said happily. "Protects us. And we please him like he demands."

"Does that please him?" Jacob sputtered, pointing at a very crude statue. It looked like a scarecrow made of engine parts. "Somebody had to push them to make that. That... that's borderline worship."

"He did this to his own crew?" Kasumi whispered in disbelief. "Keeping the women for... making them... kicking out anyone who disagreed with him? Who the hell are we dealing with here?"

"Any CO who'd do this to his own crew is asking for a knife in his spine," Zaeed spat.

Our tour got rudely interrupted by a pack of LOKI light mechs. "Your captain demands obedience," one of them stated politely. "Weapons are forbidden." It then contradicted itself by lifting its forbidden weapon and shooting at us.

I immediately sent some plasma to melt the armour of the closest mech. Miranda did something similar with her biotics. Jacob lifted a bunch of them up in the air, where Kasumi promptly detonated an EMP, frying most of them. The remaining mechs were quickly eliminated.

"Patrols like that are a little much against this bunch," Miranda said afterward.

"Probably more for any guys that went feral," I guessed.

"Well that would make them hate him all right," Jacob said grimly.

"Please. Here. You can end it!"

It was one of the women, the closest on to the mech attack. She shuffled over to Jacob and peered at him. "You... have his face... but you fight his... machines. You might stop this."

She handed over a datapad. "This... I forget how to... read, but this... was the start. What he promised, and what they did to us. We need the sky. Take us back to the sky."

Jacob read over the datapad's contents. "Well?" I prompted after a couple minutes. "What does it say?"

"It's a crew logbook," Jacob replied. "Some of them thought the beacon repair was taking too long. They were afraid they'd run out of supplies and lose their minds to the decay. My father restricted the ship food for himself and the other officers so they wouldn't be affected. Everybody else had to eat the toxic food and hope for treatment later."

He shook his head in shock. "The rest is a casualty list. A few mutinied over the decision. My father and the officers turned the mechs on them."

This revelation matched everything else I'd seen and heard so far. "He wasn't command material and it got to him," I summarized. "Couldn't keep the crew in line without violence or forcing them to eat the local grub."

"It didn't stop there," Jacob said. "More incidents, harsh punishments. It's like they're cattle. Or toys. In a year, all the male crew members are flagged as 'exiled' or dead. The officers separated out the women. Assigned them to each other like pets.

"And after the beacon is fixed, the officers appear in the casualties too. After!" Jacob threw the datapad on the ground in anger. "My father took control and didn't stop it!"

"Anything in there about whether the effects of the toxic food can be treated?" I asked.

"Nothing," Jacob shook his head, leaning over to pick the datapad back up. "But I guess the food restrictions sound like the right call. If everyone got it, who'd be left to fix the beacon? You'd never get out. But they did fix it. And the signal wasn't sent until now. I'm starting to see why."

"Does it say why he separated the men and the women?" I tried. "Or is it as bad as it seems?"

Jacob looked at the datapad again. "No, it turns to gibberish. Maybe the men got violent early on, but from the state of this place, I'd say the hunter thing is recent. What he allowed here, Shepard... I don't see any justification."

"Where are the officers, anyway?" I mused, looking around. "We haven't seen any of them. Did he... did he kill them?"

"There were five after the crash," Jacob reported, "Medical, engineering, bridge staff. Should've had no problem fixing the beacon and keeping people safe. According to these logs, though, they were all killed within the same week—about a month after the beacon was repaired."

Awfully convenient, I thought, though I didn't say anything. "Do you see an explanation for this?" I asked instead. "He's your father."

"Is he?" Jacob looked at me in despair. "None of this fits. Maybe the initial decision, but the rest? Abuse of power doesn't get any clearer than this. I need to find this man."

The camp that the women were in was surrounded on virtually all sides by rocky cliffs. The lone exception was a large stack of crates that sealed off a path. Too heavy to lift, to thick to shoot. I was about to try carving my way through with the Collector particle beam weapon when I saw a mech lying on the side.

"Miranda, Kasumi; anyone know how to hotwire a mech?"

"I'm familiar with some of the basic architecture," Miranda replied.

"And messing around with systems is my specialty," Kasumi chimed in. "What're you thinking, Shep?"

"I want this thing to go boom," I replied, tilting my head towards the crates.

They got the idea. Between the three of us, we managed to bypass enough systems and jury-rig something. We scampered for cover just before the mech blew itself—and the crates—sky high.

As the dust settled, a voice echoed over the comm system. Judging by the readings, the speaker was broadcasting over all frequencies. "This is Captain Ronald Taylor. Thank god you're here! My crew went insane. I only just got free!"

"Goddamnit, it's really him," Jacob swore. "'Just got free?' He's covering his ass!"

"Look over here," Miranda called out. She was kneeling by a bunch of corpses, the bottommost looking like beef jerky. "The old corpse has been posed, like a warning. The new ones were left where they fell."

"Guess the hunters started fighting back," Zaeed growled.

"Watch out!" Kasumi warned.

The path led up a steep incline. It wasn't the exercise that got me sweating. It was the mechs that appeared at the top—thus having the advantage of a superior vantage point—shooting down at the five of us—who didn't have any cover worth mentioning. We had no choice but to charge up the hill and hope for the best.

Thankfully, there were only two of them, so we were able to blast through their armour, lift them up in the air and blow them to kingdom come. It was pretty close, though. Most of us lost our shields during that short, but admittedly stupid, manoeuvre.

"Careful," Taylor said as more LOKI mechs started marching towards us from the left and the right. (6) "I automated my defences after the crew turned violent. They keep attacking! I had no choice."

"He had plenty of choices," Jacob snapped, venting his frustration by rapidly firing off shots at one of the mechs. "Little late to blame his victims."

"Very true, Jacob," I shouted back, raising my voice over the din of all the gunfire. "But that doesn't mean you can forget about conserving ammo."

He looked at me blankly, lifted his shotgun to fire again, then realized what I was talking about when his gun reported that he had to eject his thermal clip and pop in a new one. While he was doing that, I melted the armour off another mech. As Miranda overloaded its systems, I opened a private channel to her. "Miranda, let's set up teams. Jacob's with you. Keep him focused and under control so he can have a 'chat' with his dad."

Without getting the rest of us killed, I silently added. Granted, that was a tall order, but she knew Jacob better than I did. Of course, that meant it was up to me to keep an eye on the ever-shifting battlefield and direct the squad. Choices, choices...

Speaking of the battlefield, it seemed like there were far more mechs coming from the left hand side. Which made sense—based on the terrain, it looked like that was where Taylor's camp was. Six more mechs to deal with, plus a couple stragglers. I fired some plasma fire off. By a stroke of luck, it melted the armour off of two mechs. Jacob immediately surrounded one of them in a biotic field and lifted it up in the air, where Miranda could detonate the field. Meanwhile, Kasumi shorted out the other mech, causing it to quiver on the spot and explode. Between the two explosions, most of the mechs were either destroyed or severely damaged. Easy pickings for the rest of us. By the time the last couple mechs arrived, we were recharged, reloaded and ready for them.

It appeared that there were no more mechs or other bad guys in the vicinity, so we scrounged around for loot. One of the more interesting finds was an old heavy pistol whose configuration was worth replicating. As my omni-tool scanned it, Taylor called out over the PA again: "I had to keep them busy, distracted, but it's getting dangerous. Thank god you've come!"

"He had his fun and now he wants out," Jacob laughed bitterly. "Son of a bitch."

Once everyone had grabbed a few thermal clips or whatever, we continued down the path. It led us to the entrance of another settlement, based on the improvised canvas roof and walls of crates we saw in the distance.

And the presence of more LOKI guards, of course. At least there was cover for us to hide behind. Not to mention that they only came out two or three at a time. I used the scope on my sniper rifle to get a lock on them so Miranda and I could destroy their armour at long range. Once that was done, they were easy pickings—as long as we kept them as far away as possible. Last thing we needed was to get shot at point blank range because the mechs were too oblivious to their impending doom. Boy would that be embarrassing.

Once the mechs were down, we entered the settlement. Beyond the entrance lay several hull plates arranged like walls. An inner sanctum, I guess.

"Be careful," Taylor warned us. "You're about to run into my guards. It took years to train them and they won't understand if I tell them to stand down. I'm afraid you'll have to fight them to rescue me."

As you might expect, that set Jacob off again. "Throwing people away. This... thing is not my father!"

"Let's take it slow and steady," I told him, grabbing some spare parts and power cells on autopilot. "We'll deal with anything that shoots at us, then we can have a nice little talk with him, alright?"

Sure enough, Taylor had some trigger-happy guards for us to play with. We started merrily playing hide and seek with them. Disable any shields that we could see. Fire off plasma or concussive rounds at anyone we could see—or if we couldn't, get someone to lift them out of cover. It seemed easy enough at first.

Then a freaking YMIR heavy mech stood up and turned towards us.

Aw, crap.

We hastily beat a 'tactical withdrawal.' I thought we'd have to run all the way back to the Hugo Gernsback, ducking rapid mass accelerator fire and rockets the whole way. So imagine my surprise when it stopped just short of the entrance to Taylor's camp.

"Maybe it was programmed to stay within a certain area," Miranda speculated. "As a last line of defence."

"Let's try that," I suggested. "We have to start whittling down its shields. Miranda, Kasumi; I want one of you to sneak forward and launch an EMP at the sucker. Don't waste time admiring the view: fire the pulse and run like hell."

After a bit of quibbling, Miranda and Kasumi settled on a way to select the first 'volunteer.' (7) Miranda wound up going first. She slowly advanced, her every step betraying her trepidation, and disappeared out of sight. A few seconds later, she came sprinting back.

We waited.

No giant mech came stomping around the corner.

Kasumi was next. Her experience was exactly the same.

"OK, as long as we don't do something stupid, this might not be so bad," Zaeed marvelled.

He was right. We just took our time taking apart the YMIR's shields one hit at a time. Same with its armour. And then with its systems. It seemed anticlimactic, but it was the safest and easiest YMIR encounter I'd had thus far.

There were only two more guards left. I had Miranda, Jacob and Zaeed keep them busy while Kasumi and I cloaked, snuck up on them and knocked them out with fisticuffs. I was starting to think that I didn't mind close quarters combat after all—as long as I could sneak up on them, the fight remained one-sided and it didn't last very long. Which meant that I was either a coward or really, really smart

Once we were sure that there were no more guards or mechs to surprise us, we did a quick sweep for thermal clips, medi-gel, salvage, power cells. You know, the usual.

"Enough with the toys," Jacob said impatiently. "I need to look my father in the eye and hear him justify this."

There really wasn't any reason to stop him, I decided. So we all went to meet him. He was waiting by a small alcove that overlooked the water.

To look at him, you wouldn't think he was that different from the other men and women we'd met. His clothes were similar to that of the crew. He didn't have any robes or jewels or anything.

"You're here! I knew a real squad would blow through just fine. Sorry if the mechs scuffed your pads."

But the fact that he could speak whole sentences kinda spoke volumes.

I walked past him and looked out onto the ocean. Nice view. No wonder he picked it for his private abode. The others stayed where they were, forcing Taylor to turn his head from side to side.

"I'll get you something nice when we get back to Alliance space," he tried. "I've got to have some back-pay coming."

"What about your crew, Acting Captain?" Jacob asked hostilely.

"Total loss," he replied, shaking his head in mock regret. "The toxic food turned them wild. They propped me up here in some kind of ritual behaviour. Waiting for a chance to signal has been hell."

I couldn't help marvel at this guy's stupidity. Sure he didn't have the chance to set up a cover story, but was a flat-out obvious lie the only thing he could think of? I mean, with all the evidence out there, his flimsy excuse of a story was so transparent, any idiot could see through it.

"That's the best you can do?" Jacob scoffed.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Taylor turn towards me. "You let all your people talk back like that... uh... who are you, exactly?"

"Commander Shepard of the Normandy," I introduced myself. Pointing behind Taylor, I added "I believe you are acquainted with Mr. Taylor."

"Taylor?" He whirled back, finally took a good look at his son and paled. "Jacob? No, not my Jacob."

"Why not me?" Jacob snapped. "Would ten years of this look better to anyone else in the galaxy?"

"You have to understand," Taylor sighed. "This isn't me. The realities of command, they change you. I wasn't ready for that."

Now he settled for honesty.

"I made sure you were taught right. Before I left. I had hoped to leave it at that."

"I'm not unreasonable, Captain," I said. "But ten years? What happened?"

"Goddamnit!" Jacob added. "Why did you do this to your crew?"

Maybe it was a relief to finally tell the truth. Or to talk to someone who could actually understand what was being said without drooling. Or both. Either way, Taylor started to spill his guts. As he talked, I noticed several hunters approach us. I silently ordered the rest of the squad to hold them off while Jacob and I focused on Taylor.

"There was resistance to the plan," Taylor explained. "Mutiny. We had to take a hard line to keep order. And things settled down. As the decay set in, we made sure the crew were comfortable. Some even seemed happier. Ignorance is bliss, right? And they were grateful for guidance, like an instinct. Pure authority was... easy. At first.

"Months in, the effect lowered inhibitions. They got territorial. Rank, protocol—they couldn't understand. We had to establish dominance. After a while, the perks seemed... normal."

"That's it?" Jacob demanded. "You created a harem and played king? Ten years in a juvenile fantasy?"

"I can't point to where it all went wrong," Taylor replied. "But when the beacon was ready, revealing what happened didn't seem like a good idea."

Gee. I wonder why. "What happened to the other officers?" I asked.

"Anders found his conscience a little late to step back."

Presumably that was the guy whose recording back on the Hugo Gernsback said enough was enough.

"He had an accident. Things got... tense. End of the day, I was the one with the mechs. I got a little basic in setting examples, but I was kind to my people once things settled down. Seemed like I'd earned some peace."

"You fought over people like they were toys," Jacob accused. "Things."

I noticed Taylor didn't offer any arguments. "The stores from the ship couldn't last forever," I said. "You had to know this would end one day."

"Dining for one can really stretch things out," Taylor shrugged. "Besides, I can think of retirement plans that are a lot worse than stripping down and joining the droolers."

Could this guy try any harder to destroy any respect we might have had for him? Not that there was any, mind you, but still.

"That was before the hunters, of course. Dumb or not, I'd feel it if they got their hands on me now. They want blood. I'd prefer to keep it."

"It's all about you," Jacob shook his head. "Everything."

"What triggered them to change and threaten you?" I asked curiously.

"Beats me, though I've noticed that this planet has some strange cycles to it," Taylor said, looking around him. "I've seen some plants around I never saw when we first crashed here. Odd weather, too. Maybe some just adapted a little too well."

I guess Jacob was so outraged; he was just spoiling for a fight—not that I could blame him—because he butted in once again. "And if you treat them like animals—big shock—they adapt to that and become animals as well."

I tilted my head towards Jacob. "You didn't feel any responsibility to get out of here for the sake of family?"

"I gave him a good start. He was a smart kid and was better off not following me. We figured that out a long time before I took jobs in deep space. And after things escalated here, it seemed best to just disappear off the galactic map."

"Until you needed someone to save your ass," Jacob reminded him scornfully.

"We can help these people, Jacob," I reassured him. "The Alliance can have ships here in days and pull everyone out."

Jacob abruptly pulled out his pistol and pointed it at his father. "He's not worth the fuel to haul him out, or the air he's breathing."

"Jacob!" Miranda snapped.

"Don't worry, Miranda," Jacob said bitterly. "He's damned lucky I don't even think he's worth pulling the trigger.

"I don't know who you are, Mr. Taylor," he concluded, slowly lowering his weapon. "Because you're not any father I remember."

"We'll secure him for an Alliance court," I decided. "For every year here, he'll have ten to think about it." (8)

"Give him all the time in the galaxy," Jacob replied, glaring at his... well, the man who used to be his father. "The man who did this doesn't know right from wrong."

"I'm sorry, Jacob," Taylor apologized quietly. "I did the best I could."

Jacob was already stomping away. "I'm ten years past believing that," he snapped back over his shoulder.

I spent some time deciding what to do. We couldn't afford the time to round up everybody and hand them over to the Alliance. It would devastate the crew if we left them behind on the planet but took Taylor with us, even if he was in our custody. And I didn't want to leave everyone behind and hope that no one else showed up before the Alliance could get here.

In the end, it turned out that there were several Alliance ships within a day's journey of the planet. So we tied Taylor up in his little camp and welded some plates together to trap him inside so he couldn't escape—and the crew couldn't deny him due process in their well-deserved lust for vengeance. After assuring everyone that help was on the way, we returned to the Normandy. On the way, I tapped into the shuttle's comm systems and piped an old song through the speakers.

"Sometimes in our lives we all have pain.
We all have sorrow.
But if we are wise,
We know that there's always tomorrow

"Lean on me, when you're not strong,
And I'll be your friend.
I'll help you carry on.
For it won't be long
'Til I'm gonna need
Somebody to lean on." (9)

What can I say? It seemed fitting, somehow.

"Alliance ships are inbound to secure Captain Taylor and his crew, Commander," Joker reported a half hour later, just as I was dropping by the armoury to see how Jacob was doing. "We'll be long gone by the time they get here."

Good. I wasn't sure how widespread my status of persona non grata was, but I didn't want some dimwit to arrest me as well as Taylor. "Don't even give them the taillights," I told him.

"Roger that."

I looked around. Jacob was nowhere in sight. Which was weird—he was almost always here, unless he was grabbing a meal from the mess hall. Or sleeping. "EDI, where's Jacob?"

"Mr. Taylor is having an unscheduled conference with the Illusive Man in the comm room," EDI replied.

Guess Taylor had decided to figure out how he'd gotten the delightful news of his father's status—and all the unwanted surprises that came with it. "Thanks," I said automatically, before realizing I was thanking an AI. Weird.

Almost as weird as walking into the comm room and seeing Jacob, surrounded by an orange columnar grid, seemingly talking to himself. Guess that's how I looked like chatting with TIMmy.

"What do you mean, it wasn't you?" Jacob was asking.

I entered the holographic column in time to hear TIMmy's reply: "Jacob, if I had leaked the information about the Gernsback, I would be smiling at your resolution of the situation. I am not smiling."

For once, I found myself inclined to believe him. TIMmy didn't have anything to gain by lying. But for the sake of solidarity, I decided to chime in with Jacob. "Nothing goes through this ship—my ship—without a report to you," I reminded him.

"I had no more reason to believe Jacob's father was alive than he did," TIMmy said, lowering his ever-present cigarette. "But I'm happy to know the situation is behind you."

Jacob waved his answer aside impatiently. "Fine. You didn't forward it. So who did?"

"I did."

Miranda entered the holographic column. A few things started clicking together. "That would explain how it got through Cerberus filters," I realized.

"Quite." Miranda turned to Jacob. "There was a time when it mattered to you. Sending this along seemed like keeping an old promise. I keep my promises."

TIMmy's eyes narrowed. "Miranda, we'll discuss your liberal interpretation of security protocol another time. In private. Shepard, Jacob," he concluded before cutting off the communications link.

As the light grid lowered into the ground, Miranda looked at Jacob with something that looked like... I dunno. Sadness? Regret? Whatever it was, she quickly turned and left the room before either of us could say anything.

"You had no idea Miranda was behind this?" I asked Jacob.

"No," he shook his head. "She's got a good memory. Selective, but good. I haven't thought about those days in a long time. Can't figure which promise she meant, though. Not sure I really want to know. She... requires a better man than I."

He said that last sentence so softly, barely moving his lips. I don't think he meant for me to hear it. I'm not even sure he meant to say it. So I quickly changed the topic: "You good with this, Jacob?"

"It's all bull, Shepard," he replied bitterly. "Captain Taylor can rot in prison—it doesn't change who I am or what I know. I've already mourned the man he used to be. I guess he was a good enough father that even he can't screw up what he taught me."

It really said something about Jacob that he could find a silver lining in the midst of this twisted mess. I figured it was best to end this conversation on that note. "At least there's that. Come on," I said. "We've got work to do."

"Aye, Commander," Jacob nodded. He paused a moment before adding "Hey, Shepard? Thanks for the help."

"Anytime, Jacob."

We shook hands before going our separate ways.

That was probably the second time since we'd met that he didn't salute me.

I bumped into Kasumi during my daily rounds, just as I was stepping off the elevator onto Deck Three. Kind of unusual, that: usually I'm the only one going on or off the elevator. I asked where she was going.

"Upstairs. I figured Jacob could use some cheering up."

That was a good idea. The only reason I hadn't done that myself was because it hadn't been that long since we'd chatted with TIMmy. I gave her a quick summary of our conversation.

"Good for her," Kasumi approved. "Guess it's true what they say: you really can tell a lot about someone by the quality of his friends. Jacob deserves better than a father like that. I probably would have wanted to shoot him too," she concluded rather viciously.

"Well, why don't you go up and tell him that?" I suggested.

"I'd be happy to," Kasumi grinned, "as soon as you get your fat ass out of the way."

She's a cruel and vicious liar. My ass is not fat.

After I said my goodbyes to Kasumi, I started wandering around Deck Three. Most of my conversations were the typical chit-chat that didn't last more than a few minutes. The only exception was when I came to Miranda's office.

"Hey, Miranda," I said, giving my usual greeting. "Got a minute?"

For once, she did. "I expect you have some questions regarding why I forwarded the information to Jacob."

"You could say that," I nodded.

"Did Jacob ever tell you how we first met?" she started.

"Yeah. The two of you teamed up to stop an act of bioterrorism by the batarians against the Council," I replied.

"That's it?" she pressed.

"There's more?"

Miranda sighed. "Understandable, I suppose. After we successfully thwarted the attack, I surprised Jacob in his quarters with a bottle of champagne."

Oh.

"One thing led to another..."

Ah. "That does shed some light on something. He may have dropped a hint that the two of you had something going at one point," I clarified in answer to her querying look.

She winced. "I was afraid of that. At the time, I considered it nothing more than an enjoyable, albeit impulsive, reward for a job well done. A one-night stand, as it were."

Hoo boy. Now it was my turn to wince. "Jacob took it more seriously, didn't he?"

"That would be putting it mildly," she confirmed. "We tried to... to date once he joined Cerberus, but the chemistry simply wasn't there. In the end, I concluded that it would be best if our relationship stayed strictly professional."

"And he was okay with that?" I asked.

"He wasn't," Miranda sighed, "but he was willing to put his personal feelings aside for the sake of the greater good. Even though it was painfully clear to me that he hadn't gotten over it, he never let it affect his performance. I always admired that about him."

"So what you did was your way of... apologizing for inadvertently leading him on?"

"That, too—he expressed a desire to find some closure regarding his father before we broke up, and I had promised to do what I could to help him. Though if I had known—"

"You can't blame yourself," I interrupted.

Her eyes blazed. "I screwed up, Shepard. I should have checked things out first. Instead, I gave Jacob incomplete intel that led to the horrifying discovery we all made down there. You saw how devastated he was. He might never recover."

"Or you might have given him the closure he desired, no matter how bittersweet it might be," I countered. "Sure it sucks, but now he can move on."

"I hope you're right," Miranda said. "He deserves that much, after everything he's been through."

By the time I saw Jacob, he seemed to have put things behind him. Either Kasumi's visit cheered him up or Miranda was right about his discipline in separating work and personal business. Or both. After a brief chat where he claimed he was fine, I went back to my quarters.

I happened to be checking my e-mail as we headed for the nearest mass relay. Just before I shut my browser, I got a new message. After reading it, I forwarded it to Jacob. Figured it was something he oughta receive:

From: Leslie
I am Leslie. I was on Aeia. The food made me sick. The doctors are helping me now.

One doctor knows Jacob. He says he can you tell this. He could write this for me, but I want to do it. I need to use my words.

My words are coming back. I can talk well. Reading is hard but I am getting better. I have to get better. Taylor wanted me like this. He wanted my words gone. I have to show him that he lost. I am not weak. He did things to me, and he can't now. He can't take away my words. He can't make me not me anymore. Because you and Jacob stopped him.

Thank you,
Leslie

(1): Once again, Shepard's modesty and self-deprecation masks the positive influence he had on other people, regardless of efforts to manipulate that.

(2): A common, if unfortunate, side-effect from respecting the chain of command, often seen between senior and junior officers or officers and non-commissioned officers.

(3): Shepard's father was presumed dead after an experiment gone awry in 2167, when Shepard was eleven years old.

(4): While admittedly crass, this general doctrine—if not the mercantile undertones—was how the Alliance spread so quickly throughout the Attican Traverse.

(5): Presumably Shepard is referring to himself when it came to his cognitive abilities.

(6): Shepard uses the surname to refer to Jacob Taylor's father, thus distinguishing the father from his son.

(7): Based on reports by the other squadmates, this decision making process was similar to the time-honoured tradition of 'Rock-Paper-Scissors.'

(8): If anything, Shepard was understating the duration of the multiple sentences Taylor would receive.

(9): 'Lean on Me' by Bill Withers, released in 1972.