The Hero Rises

by Random Equinox

When time has run out and the Reapers come to consume all in their path, then a hero must rise to lay old conflicts to rest, rally allies and enemies alike and challenge fate for the sake of the galaxy itself. A novelization of Mass Effect 3.

6. Something Old, Something New

Chapter 6: Something Old, Something New

It started in a dark forest.

The trees were all bare. Somehow I knew they'd shed their leaves a long time ago. They stood there. Silent. Standing tall, with branches stretching every way like skeletons. It felt cold. A deep, aching cold that seeped all the way to my bones.

I found myself wearing my hardsuit, with my various weapons holstered on my back. But somehow, something seemed… off. Everything seemed heavier than usual. As I tried to figure out what was going on, I felt a gentle breeze. I saw it snatch up leaves from the ground, sending them flying and twirling through the air before letting them drop again. I watched the leaves land. They didn't move again.

An echo broke the quiet. Laughter. A child's laughter. I saw a flicker of movement in the distance. Ghostly white, barely visible against the fog that had crept in. Forcing myself into motion, I followed the sound of the laughter.

The child was running as well, zigzagging at random. A tree trunk blocked my sight. And the child was gone. No, there he was again. Farther ahead. I ran after him. Slowly, I closed the gap. I'd almost caught up to him. Then he ducked behind a bush and disappeared again. And reappeared again, once again beyond my reach.

This chase went on for an agonizing period of time. I kept getting close, so close I could almost reach out and touch the child. But then something would happen, I would lose him and I'd have to find and run after him all over again. The laughter kept echoing through the air. Mocking me.

Then I found him. A young boy with brown hair, wearing a grey-white hooded sweatshirt. With a start, I recognized him as the boy who was hiding in the ducts of that building in Vancouver. The boy who made it to the shuttle that was… how did he survive. How did he get here? Did it matter? The point was that he was here. Now. Kneeling in a heap of dead and withered leaves. I slowed to a halt. Reached out.

The harsh blare of a Reaper thundered through the trees. The boy jumped to his feet. Looked around. I did the same.

Everything around me turned red. Through the bloody haze, I glimpsed the boy flinch in fear, hands clapped over his ears.

The red light faded. The boy was running again. I followed again. It was so painful, how slow I moved. Like the air had thickened all around me. Like I was running through molasses. But the boy stopped and turned around. Waiting for me to catch up, laughing all the way. I reached out a hand again. The boy didn't take it. He just watched me, not saying a word. Not laughing.

His eyes filled with bleak resignation as the flames engulfed him and I let him die again.

---

I jerked awake, gasping for breath. My face was drenched with sweat. I was so disoriented, so preoccupied with that nightmare that mocked my ability to save the most innocent of civvies, that it took me a few minutes to realize where I was: the Normandy.

Specifically, my quarters on Deck One. I remembered coming back through the airlock, absently muttering greetings and returning salutes as I made my way to the elevator. Somehow I'd come up here and collapsed on my bed, still wearing my standard fatigues. I swung my legs over the side of the bed and leaned forward, burying my face in my hands. Desperately trying to forget what I'd just seen. It was just a dream, I tried to tell myself. It wasn't real.

Real or not, though, the result was the same: the boy died. A little kid. One who I'd seen twice in the span of an hour. I'd failed to save him both times. And now he was dead. All because I couldn't convince him to come out and follow me. Because I couldn't convince anyone with the power and clout to prepare for the invasion. Because I couldn't stop the Reapers.

A knocking sound interrupted my thoughts. Just as well, I suppose: I wasn't having any luck burying that nightmare. Stumbling to my feet, I headed for the door, detouring only to grab a towel from the bathroom and quickly wipe my face.

"Miranda," I said in surprise. "You're done meeting your contacts already?"

"That was almost five hours ago," she said gently.

"It was?"

"Four hours and forty-eight minutes, to be exact."

"Oh." Damn. Had I lost track of that much time? Really? "Um, welcome aboard. Again. Can I, uh, can I help you?"

"I bumped into Liara," she said. I thought I saw a frown mar her face for a second, but maybe I was imagining things. "She told me about the lack of assistance offered by the Council and the Prothean device—the long shot you mentioned earlier. She also said she forwarded the turian Councillor her latest evaluation on the Prothean device, confirming it can't be built without Council support. Naturally, the Councillor won't offer that support until his precious Primarch is safe."

"Figures," I groaned, suddenly realizing how stiff my neck was. I turned away and started stretching my neck, trying to work the kinks out.

"Are you all right?" Miranda asked, stepping into my quarters.

"I didn't get what you'd call a good night's sleep," I admitted. "That's all. Really."

Miranda wasn't buying it. "There's more to it than that, isn't there," she said softly, taking a step forward. "What's really bothering you?"

"When the Reapers hit… I could hear people screaming in the streets below me." I felt whatever remained of my composure slip and hastily tried to recover. Judging by the look in Miranda's eyes, I'd failed miserably. (1) "We left a lot of them behind." I didn't need to point out what would probably happen to all those unlucky souls."

"There's no way for you to save them all," Miranda said. "Just like there was no way to save every batarian in the Bahak system. But I know you're doing everything you can now. You'll get back there in time to help."

"I hope you're right."

"Please," Miranda sniffed. "Of course, I'm right. It's me, remember?"

While I was too tired to laugh, that act of slightly-over-the-top arrogance and self-assurance did elicit a tug at the corner of my lips. Maybe that was good enough.

"Normally I'd say 'Don't blame yourself,' but I have a feeling that would fall on deaf ears. So I'm just going to ask you not to be too hard on yourself. And remember that you're not in this alone."

"Thanks," I replied. "I—"

The sound of the elevator doors hissing open interrupted me. A woman clad in an Alliance uniform stepped out. "Commander Shepard?" she asked, her voice bearing a strong British accent. "I'm Specialist—" She broke off when she saw the two of us together. It didn't take a genius of Miranda's calibre to observe the way her eyes darted between us and guess what conclusion she'd come to. Particularly as Miranda was still wearing a hardsuit that looked more like a set of spray-on clothing. Note to self: find some civvie clothing that might be less distracting for the crew and convince her to wear it without insulting her in the process. "Oh," she finished awkwardly. "Oh… uh… I beg your pardon. I thought you were alone."

Miranda smiled politely. "I was just leaving," she said smoothly. She gave me a quick nod before departing.

I thought I saw the specialist's eyes widen slightly as Miranda passed. I'm pretty sure I saw her give Miranda a head-to-toe once-over. I know she straightened up and stood to attention, though she didn't raise her arm in a salute until the elevator doors closed. "Commander Shepard? I'm Comm Specialist Samantha Traynor, with Alliance R&D."

That sounded more plausible than 'Specialist Oh.'

"I know. R&D? Really? This is an Alliance warship, not a science vessel. Even if she did start off as a Cerberus ship. Or at least built by her. But now she's an Alliance warship. Got the colours to prove it and everything. And that's why I was here. I was part of the team retrofitting the Normandy after you turned her over to the Alliance. We were supposed to leave in a week. Get out of your hair, so to speak. But all that changed. There weren't many of us aboard when the Reapers hit and we couldn't very well hop out. Well, I suppose we could have. But—"

"Slow down, Specialist Traynor," I interrupted her. Not that I minded her ongoing babble—I'd been known to have one or two fits myself—but I felt I should intervene before she started begging me to put her out of her misery. "You're doing fine."

Traynor took a breath. "Thank you," she said, her voice much calmer. "I worked in a lab. I never thought I'd be serving on a ship."

It was pretty clear she felt she didn't belong here. Or, at least, she thought I thought she didn't belong here. The best way to clear up that misconception was to get her talking. Which meant I had to start asking questions. I know, I know: what a burden. "Why don't you tell me about the retrofits?" I prompted.

"The ship's in line with Alliance regs now," Traynor began, "and it has new top-of-the-line quantum entanglement communicators. You'll have instant, high-definition, real-time access to Arcturus—well, not any more. There's Earth—assuming anyone's still there to receive it and the Reapers haven't destroyed the buildings they were housed in. Well, you can definitely contact Admiral Hackett, the Citadel Council and at least some of the Citadel homeworlds."

That would explain how Hackett was able to reach me. In any war, comm buoys are one of the first things to go. Having instantaneous access to the people I was most likely to contact would definitely come in handy.

"In fact, Admiral Anderson had intended to use the Normandy as his mobile command centre."

"Right." I tried not to wince. The thought of leaving Anderson behind without any backup still rankled with me. "Well, that's no longer an option."

"Yes, I heard he chose to stay and fight," Traynor said hesitatingly, as if concerned that I might react badly if she said anything else. "In… in any event, I'm honoured to serve under you. Commander. Sir. For as long as you need me, that is. They only sent me here to oversee the retrofits. I was supposed to be gone in a week. Wait, I said that already, didn't I? I'm pretty sure—"

This time it was EDI who interrupted her. "Shepard, some of our systems require further testing and Specialist Traynor has been extremely effective during installation. I would prefer that she remain."

"Got it, EDI." I gave Traynor a quick smile. "Looks like you're staying."

Traynor looked more puzzled than relieved. "Wait… since when does a virtual intelligence make requests?"

Oops. Right. I should explain.

When I turned the Normandy over, I knew there was no way to disguise EDI's presence. Not when the Alliance would be going over her with a fine-tooth comb. So we told her to pretend she was a dumb VI. Now it wasn't uncommon for VIs to make requests, but that was usually to filter or rephrase a user's inquiry. What EDI had done went well beyond any standard VI. Guess the cat was now out of the bag. (2) Mind you, we couldn't keep it a secret forever. Better she find out now, I decided. "EDI's actually an AI. Fully self-aware."

The look on Traynor's face quickly morphed form shock to dawning comprehension. "Oh, I knew it! I knew Joker was lying!"

"Jeff—and Commander Shepard—requested that I pretend to be a simple VI to protect myself. I apologize for the deception."

"Thanks, EDI. And I apologize for all those times I talked about how… mmm… attractive… your voice was."

I think I saw Traynor blush. Which was quite the feat considering the chocolate skin tone of her skin. And put her appraisal of Miranda in an entirely new light. Curiouser and curiouser…

Traynor quickly—and conveniently—changed the subject. "Anyway, shall I give you a tour? Virtually, speaking, that is. I think you'll be impressed by the new upgrades." Pulling out a datapad, she selected a file and opened it. "In the CIC, you'll find the galaxy map, where you can set the Normandy's destination. You can move in from the galactic view to star clusters, individual star systems or even planets or objects within a system. And you can review any preliminary data collected on the contents of nearby systems, such as names, historical summaries or planetary statistics. You can also check messages at your private terminal."

Which might be more private now that TIMmy wasn't spying over my shoulder.

"The tech lab has been converted into a conference room, for any meetings or diplomatic conferences you might need to hold. The Armoury's been moved down to the shuttle bay on Deck Five, where you can modify your equipment between missions. The space previously allocated to the Armoury and the Communications Room has been turned into the War Room—a strategic command centre for mission-specific intel and war analysis. There's a vid-comm terminal just outside, fully equipped with the latest in encryption technology for any sensitive communication you might need to hold."

So that's what the big round room that I'd walked into after talking to Hackett was. The War Room. Something told me I'd be spending a fair bit of time there.

Finally, Liara has set up a lot of hardware down in the old XO office on Deck Three. I think she's claimed that room.

"And there you are. Everything else has remained the same. Still the same ship as before. She just flies Alliance colours now. Speaking of which: I believe Admiral Hackett would like to speak to you at the vid-comm."

---

Vid-Comm was just off the War Room, taking up part of the space allocated to the old Armoury. Hackett was indeed waiting for me—without any booze or cigarettes, unlike a certain creepy-eyed someone. His image crystallized almost immediately. "Commander, Udina updated me on your meeting with the Council. Sounds like they're running scared."

Straight to the point, just like I remembered. "I didn't expect a lot of help from them, sir. To be fair, though, we did present them with a lot of unknowns. They're feeling threatened and want immediate solutions, not theories." Just like any other politician, I didn't add.

"Theories are all we've got right now. What's your plan?"

"I'm trying to extract the turian Primarch from Menae for a war summit the Council proposed," I replied. "With any luck, the asari and salarians will have their own representatives there. I'll bypass the Council and appeal directly to their leadership."

"That's good," Hackett said encouragingly. "I like it. This is where we start laying the groundwork for our counterattack."

"Unfortunately, we don't have a whole lot to back it up right now," I frowned.

"Then build alliances," Hackett urged. "Gather everything and everybody you can for the cause."

"What about the Prothean device?" I wanted to know.

"Find me people who can help build it," he implored, emphasizing each word with a pointed finger. "And if you can't, I'll take ships, soldiers, supplies… whatever you can get. I can't emphasize enough how important it is for us to keep hitting the Reapers across every theatre of war they open. Buy us time to figure out the device."

"And when you have figured it out? And the construction is complete?"

"Assuming it ever is, we pool all our resources. Think of it as a giant armada for delivering the device when the Reapers are most vulnerable. The stronger you can make that armada, the better its chances of punching through."

In other words, we'd be putting all our eggsin one basket. (3) Well, it's not like we had any other options. "That's gonna take a lot of time. What about Earth, sir?"

Hackett looked grave. "We'll just have to hope Anderson—and what's left of the Alliance forces there—can hold out until we've dealt with the enemy."

Yeah. I guess we would. "I understand."

"Good," Hackett nodded. "Then make it happen, Commander. I'll be expecting regular updates on your progress. Hackett out."

Then his image broke apart and disappeared. And I was left alone.

I entered the War Room and began poking around. There was lots of information. Too much. Too many numbers. Made my head hurt. We really needed someone to start analyzing the data and making it more coherent. Yet another thing to add to my list.

First things first: I had to make my rounds. Familiarize myself with the Normandy again. Meet the crew. Establish some kind of normal routine—for my own sanity, if nothing else. As I passed through the conference room, only to stop as I spotted something hiding underneath the table. It was a model ship. An Alliance shuttle, to be exact. Come to think of it, the display case in my room was empty. Maybe all the model ships I'd collected when I was preparing to fight the Collectors—and I must have had a really lousy night's sleep if I made that bad a pun—had been removed. Why one of them was here of all places was beyond me, but at least I could put it back. Adding ships to my display case could be another means of normalcy.

When I left the conference room, I bumped into two privates. Bethany Westmoreland and Sarah Campbell. Apparently, they'd been assigned to guard the War Room. Normally, we'd have a set of guards outside the War Room and another set outside the conference room. Since we didn't have enough personnel, the 'War Room' guards had been ordered to move to their current post. Made sense. They were eager young rookies, judging by the crispness of their salutes and the gleam in their eyes. Kids.

There was a security screen between the conference room doors and the entrance to the CIC. As I patiently waited for it to scan me for… stuff… the privates began talking. I soon gathered that they'd known each other since Basic. Chatting about current events was a natural way to pass the time. "I can't believe the Council won't help," Campbell groused.

"Come on, Sarah," Westmoreland said. "If Thessia was lost and Earth hadn't been touched yet, you can be damn sure we'd be guarding our own borders."

Sadly, I had to admit Westmoreland had a point. Now that I'd had some time to calm down after the Council's rejection, I had to admit that their response was understandable. It would be hard to help others if you couldn't help yourselves. The problem was that that their isolationist stance would doom them all in the long run. Councillor Sparatus was the only one who was willing to entertain the notion that the best way to help his people was to help my people. War makes for strange allies, I suppose.

Having entered the CIC, there was really only one place to go: the cockpit. As I trotted through the CIC, I noticed three things. First, every station was manned with someone in an Alliance uniform. Not Cerberus. Alliance. I really was back. I looked down at my uniform. Standard-issue crewman's outfit. Different than the one I wore back when I was hunting Saren, but a far cry from the science uniform I was forced to wear—because I didn't want to wear anything that had a Cerberus logo, a spacer outfit was way too grungy and prancing around in a tuxedo was just plain weird.

The second thing I noted was the CIC was a lot darker than when the Normandy was a Cerberus vessel. The paint was a stark metallic grey. The lighting was subdued, probably to save power for when we'd really need it—though not to the point that it impaired anyone's vision. I found myself approving. Cerberus may have built an amazing ship, but they did like their creature comforts. And while I wouldn't necessarily say no to any of that, it never quite felt right. This was a warship, not a luxury cruiser. You had to put the foot down somewhere. Now it finally looked the part.

The third thing was that there was an actual honest-to-gosh door separating the cockpit from the rest of the CIC. My mind went back to when the Collectors first attacked the Normandy SR-1. Their weapons had torn right through the hull, exposing the CIC and the cockpit to the vacuum of space. Joker had had to activate his personal emergency survival gear before he asphyxiated. If history were to repeat itself, at least he'd have another barrier to protect him.

Mind you, if history repeated itself, I'd be dead. Again. And this time, I don't think TIMmy would be so eager to write a blank check to bring me back.

"Hey Commander," Joker said over his shoulder, not bothering to look back. Either he assumed that I'd be the only one who would bother to visit him or EDI gave him a heads-up. Or both. He finished whatever he was doing before turning around. "You know, I had my doubts about the Council. But after years of ignoring your warnings, they're finally willing to step up and tell you they just can't help."

Snarky and sarcastic. Joker hadn't changed at all. Aside from the Alliance crewman's outfit he was wearing. And the SR-2 cap on his head that was now sporting Alliance colours. "They're doing everything they can," I tried. For that, I got a very skeptical look. I decided to quote part of what Bailey had said earlier. "'They're dealing with their own… problems with the war and everything. They apologize for the inconvenience and… blah, blah, blah, blah'."

Joker rolled his eyes. "Did they at least validate our parking?"

"I'm sure they'll consider that at the next committee meeting."

"Well, let me know if you want me to get them on the channel and then hang up on them. You know, like the last time you talked to the Illusive Man. I heard about what he did to his own guys. So glad we got out when we did. I knew he was nuts. Those eyes were just… creepy."

"Hopefully, we won't have to hang up on the Council," I replied. "Especially since one of them loaned Admiral Hackett a full-fledged flotilla in exchange for rescuing the turian Primarch. Speaking of which: are we ready to depart?"

"Just about," Joker replied. "The last of the supplies just arrived and I'm sealing all the hatches. We'll be ready to leave once we get clearance to depart."

"Good," I approved. "Oh, by the way: Specialist Traynor's figured out that EDI's an AI. Figure scuttlebutt will pass that news around the ship by the end of the shift."

"Well, I guess we'd have to 'fess up eventually," Joker sighed.

"The efficiency of crew interactions will be enhanced now that I no longer have to participate in such deceptions," EDI replied.

"Yeah, but it sure was fun while it lasted."

"I do not see how 'fun' has anything to do with it, Jeff."

"Yeah, well—"

I left Joker and EDI to bicker while I got back to meeting and greeting the crew. Well, the crew on Deck Two, anyway. Eventually, I found myself back at my private terminal. Which might actually be private, now that EDI wasn't obligated to report to TIMmy. I opened my e-mail and began sifting through all the crap. After I'd deleted out-of-date notifications regarding various upgrades and the countless reams of spam, I wound up with seven messages.

A couple were from Admiral Hackett. One was regarding an Alliance discovery of a new Cerberus lab on Sanctum. Hackett emphasized that getting the races to sign onto the Alliance superweapon plan and commit to taking back Earth was my top priority and under no circumstances was I to make a detour unless I honestly was in the neighbourhood. Having said that, he admitted that these missions would allow the Alliance to establish footholds and inroads in areas that they wouldn't be able to make through more conventional means. In other words, he was still giving me random assignments just like when I was hunting Saren. Only this time, the assignments would also contribute to the war effort. Which meant I'd have to prioritize. Like I didn't have enough to do already.

He'd sent me a few more messages about various random assignments in random areas that really could use my personal attention if I wasn't too busy. Most of them I ignored. For now. Perhaps the most important message was marked 'Reinstatement':

From: Steven Hackett

Commander Shepard,

This letter formally acknowledges your reinstatement into the Alliance Navy and your promotion to Staff Commander per Admiral David Anderson's recent verbal communication.

Say what now? I dug out my dog tags and looked at them. Well, I'll be damned: he was right. In all the rush, I hadn't noticed, but I had been promoted. When I had been stuck with the job of Spectre, I'd been a Lieutenant Commander. Staff Commander was one rank higher. Though Kaidan's rank of Major meant he was still technically my superior officer. Mind you, being a Spectre kinda bypassed that. Besides, Kaidan was in no position—physically or otherwise—to give me orders.

Under Emergency War Powers Reg. 903.5, you are hereby authorized to assume command of the Normandy SR-2. You are directed to begin interdiction operations against any and all enemies posing a threat to Earth, its colonies, and its allies.

Furthermore, you are granted diplomatic authority to establish treaties with non-human races as required to support your mission.

Sincerely,
Admiral Steven Hackett

The fate of the galaxy required me to play diplomat. We were so screwed. (4)

I quickly scrolled through the rest of my messages. Someone named Glyph had researched an upgrade based on some of the data I'd uncovered while looting the Mars Archives. I could look it over in Liara's office.

A reporter for the Alliance News Network had filed a story on the quarians, which EDI had apparently thought I'd like to read. I quickly skimmed it over. Reapers had hit everywhere—check. Everyone abandoning space stations, colonies and occasional homeworlds—check. Quarians would be no stranger to that sort of thing—check. What was interesting was the part about the Flotilla dropping off the galactic radar and had recalled all quarians out on their Pilgrimage. The conclusion smacked a little of propaganda, but it was interesting to note that it echoed the intel I had read in the Spectre office.

One of the contractors working on the Normandy's haptic interface had left her KEI-9 dog-mech behind. Rather than inconvenience me by flying all the way out to Terra Nova, she'd asked me to look after her. Apparently, KEI-9 liked exploring, sniffing chemical trails and 750-volt outlets.

Finally, an emergency flash traffic message to all Alliance military personnel had declared a galaxy-wide alert of Threat Condition Saber One to all human territories. The enemy—which was actually identified as the Reapers—had been confirmed in the Sol system and Earth was under attack. All Alliance military personnel still in the Sol system were directed to evacuate as soon as possible, and were discouraged from approaching Earth. If they were amongst the unlucky souls to be stuck on Earth, then they could resist in any way possible. Anyone outside the Sol system was to muster at pre-appointed staging areas and begin fighting at the earliest opportunity. And since we couldn't depend on regular and stable communications, everyone was authorized to take independent action in the absence of additional orders.

My last stop on Deck Two was at Traynor's station. "Commander," she said. "Come to check on your new recruit?"

"Just wanted to see how you were doing," I replied.

"Still trying to get my bearings," she admitted. "When I was working on the Normandy's upgrades, I left at the end of the day. I didn't even have a toothbrush or a change of clothing until I made some emergency purchases at the Citadel."

Gah. Citadel prices were exorbitant even before the shameless price gouging that would commence now that an actual war had broken out. Still, it was an emergency.

"Next time you need something, just ask," I told her. "Remember: we're all in this together."

"Oh, it-it-it's no trouble, Commander. I'm sure you have bigger problems. Larger concerns. With the Reapers. Which are definitely bigger than a measly toothbrush. And larger. Physically as well as—"

And here I was starting to think she'd gotten over her rambling. From what I could tell, it only came up when she was unsure of herself. In this case, unsure of whether or not she belonged here. "We can put in a requisition order, Traynor. A toothbrush isn't that big a deal."

"My toothbrush is a Cision Pro Mark 4," Traynor confessed. "It uses tiny mass effect fields to break up plaque and massage the gums." She paused before stage-whispering "It cost 6000 credits."

"Okay," I said slowly. "Yeah, you're on your own with that. But don't worry: that isn't grounds for booting you off the ship."

"Fair enough," Traynor replied. "And thank you: I appreciate you giving me the chance to stay. Was there anything else you needed?"

"I like to know my crew," I replied. "So if you're going to be serving on the Normandy, you'll have to get used to seeing me run around the ship and chatting with everyone. Though you're probably the first one to worry about a toothbrush. I'm kinda surprised, to be honest: like you said, we've got bigger problems right now."

"Oh, believe me, seeing the Reapers on Earth was terrifying. But I won't help anybody by bursting into tears here in the CIC, will I?" Traynor asked rhetorically. "Being here on the Normandy helps. If anyone in the galaxy can stop the Reapers, it's you."

Gah. Not another one depending on me. When would it ever stop?

"And if flagging your messages and managing strategic intel helps you in any way, then it's worth it."

I appreciated that. I really did. And Traynor seemed to have calmed down, now that her immediate future was assured. "How'd you end up in the military, anyway?" I asked.

"My family didn't have money for university," Traynor replied. "When the Alliance saw my aptitude scores, they offered me a full scholarship. I served my required years after graduation and decided to stay," Traynor continued. "I really liked the challenges of the lab." Her eyes widened. "Al-al-although I'm sure I'll grow to love front-line service as well. I didn't mean to imply otherwise."

"I didn't think so," I quickly said before she put her foot in her mouth. (5) "You worked in Alliance R&D?"

"Yes. You'd think quantum entanglement would make communication easy, but imagine incorporating multiple incoming sources, simultaneously decrypting them all and then networking them with extrapolations of time-lagged data and previous analyses to construct an up-to-date, real-time coherent situation GUI… it's an exciting challenge." She must've seen my eyes glazing over, because she added "Um, for me, anyway."

"Where are you from, originally?" I asked once my mind woke up from its coma.

"A colony in the Terminus Systems, actually. Though I studied on Earth at Oxford."

Oxford? As in Oxford University? Damn, those must have been really goodaptitude scores! Like, 95-plus percentile amazing scores! And she got stuck with me? Maybe the galaxy was throwing me a bone after all.

"My parents were from London. They loved Earth, but they wanted the freedom a colony life could offer. If they stayed in London, I imagine they'd be dead right now."

"Maybe, maybe not," I said. "Even with the Reapers and everything, there's still a lot of people back on Earth that are alive... and counting on us."

"Quite true, Commander," Traynor conceded.

"Well, I've occupied enough of your time," I said. "Carry on, Traynor."

Before I left Deck Two, I went to the galaxy map and set a course for the Trebia system, location of the turian homeworld and, more importantly, the moon where the Primarch was last seen. While the Normandy was en route, I could continue my little tour.

The first thing I noticed when I arrived on Deck Three was the Memorial Wall. Located between the Crew Quarters and the Port Observation Lounge, it displayed the 21 men and women who died when the first Normandy crashed on Alchera. That was a nice touch, I thought. A way to remember the fallen and acknowledge their sacrifice.

It wasn't until later that I discovered a holographic interface function that could display the names of all the men and women who were either KIA or MIA. (6) That would prove to be an increasingly depressing feature as the war dragged on.

I poked my head in the Crew Quarters, Life Support and the Port Observation Lounge. They looked the same, but something was missing. The Crew Quarters didn't have Rolston yakking Patel's ear off over his daughter. Thane wasn't recalling his various memories in Life Support—though I did find my model of the Destiny Ascension in Life Support, so it wasn't a complete waste of time.

As for the Port Observation Lounge, it didn't have Kasumi making random observations about the crew. Over on the left, the bookshelves had been removed, replaced by a poker table and chairs. For some reason, that section was sealed off behind glass walls and a glass door. Maybe it was soundproofed, so any noise associated with jackpots, card counting and other poker-related activities didn't disturb anyone else in the room. Though at least there was still a bar on the right.

My next stop was the XO's office, I had to slow down and take a look. Traynor wasn't kidding when she said Liara had moved her stuff in. There was still a bed in the back end of the room. But what caught my attention was the sheer amount of stuff crammed into the front.

A couple computer consoles were crammed into the near left corner, next to some enormous server computers—at least, I assumed that only servers would be that big. On the other side of the servers was some other apparatus. A thick cable snaked along the floor, just begging to trip some poor soul who wasn't paying attention.

The desk that Miranda used to work at was gone, along with the chairs and sofa. In its place were a couple more computer stations, planted in front of thirty-three wide-screen, high-definition monitors—all mounted on the wall, all currently synced to show a map of the galaxy.

Spotting a flicker of movement out of the corner of my eye, I turned around. A drone was slowly rising up in front of me. "Commander Shepard!" it greeted me. "It's a pleasure to see you again!"

"You're the drone from the Shadow Broker's ship," I recognized.

"Dr. T'Soni now refers to me as 'Glyph' instead of 'info drone' ninety-five percent of the time."

I remembered that she had been experimenting with different names to call the drone she'd inherited from the previous Shadow Broker. Nice to see she finally settled on one. More importantly, it was nice to see she had found a way to make it stop calling everyone it saw 'Shadow Broker.' Though the incessantly cheerful voice hadn't changed at all.

"If you have a moment, I'd like to draw your attention to a terminal in her office," Glyph told me. It drifted towards one of the terminals immediately to my left, which obligingly flickered to life. "It analyzes information packages. If you find any useful data, I can extrapolate applications and research the corresponding upgrades for you."

"Right, you mentioned that in your e-mail," I said. "What kind of data should I be looking for?"

"I'll inform you if you've found relevant data," Glyph replied. "When you do, return to this terminal to make your choices."

Translation: continue running around and snatch up everything that isn't nailed down. Glyph would do the hard work of sifting through the mess to uncover any nuggets of gold in all the dross.

"In the meantime, Dr. T'Soni would like to speak with you. Have a pleasant day!"

Speaking of Liara, she had just entered the room. Datapad in one hand, mug of something liquid in the other. Joker was talking to her over the comm. "—meeting with the Council didn't go too well, huh?" he asked.

"It was less than ideal," she admitted.

"Yeah, I'm shocked."

"At least the Council can't deny the Reapers exist," Liara said. "But I'm not sure how much comfort that is while they bicker over which portion of the galaxy to save."

"Wow, becoming the big info broker's turned you into a real cynic, Liara."

Joker had a point. There was a pointed frustration in her voice, one I could sympathize with.

"I like it."

"I'm flattered... I think. Hello, Shepard."

"Hi there." I looked around the room again, marveling at all the tech she'd squeezed in here. "Looks like you brought more than just that drone from your ship."

"A few things were necessary," she replied. "I'd be a very silent Shadow Broker without datafeeds."

"So you have access to your resources?"

Liara nodded slowly. "What I can get. We'll need it to research this Prothean device." She moved over to a chair, sat down and began typing. "Until we understand precisely what it does, it's far too dangerous to use."

"What do we know about the weapon?" I wanted to know.

"Very little," Liara admitted. We're fortunate enough data survived to piece together the blueprints."

So we didn't have all the pieces. I figured as much when she mentioned that missing Catalyst piece to the Council, but the thought that we didn't even had a complete set of instructions and had to fill in the blanks as best we could was more than a little alarming.

"Decoding them will require as many specialists as we can find."

"It's that high-tech?" I asked, my heart sinking slightly.

"I'd have killed for a glimpse of it during graduate school."

"Well, better late than never," I shrugged. "You have the blueprints, all this tech... even Glyph."

"Yes, it helped me sort through all the data that led me to the archives on Mars."

"It was a pleasure to be of assistance, Doctor," Glyph replied cheerfully.

"Glyph's interfaced with the datafeeds. Its analytical software should come in handy."

"How close were the Protheans to completing this weapon?"

"You mean 'will it work?' They wouldn't have poured their last resources into this device if they thought otherwise."

Well, they would have if it was a last-ditch Hail Mary. (7)

"But we really need to find out just what kind of weapon they left us."

"It'd be nice to know we're not kids playing around with a loaded gun," I agreed.

"Absolutely," Liara shivered. "The damage it could cause if it backfired is unthinkable." Finishing whatever she was working on, she got to her feet. "People were finally starting to listen, before the Reapers came. If we'd had a little more time, maybe Earth wouldn't..."

She trailed off. "I'm sorry," she apologized. "I understand if you don't want to talk about it."

It took me a moment to figure out what she was getting at: she was worried about my mental state and thought it might help if I talked about it, but didn't want to push it if I wasn't ready. "I've had the same thoughts myself. About how things might've gone differently if people started listening earlier. How we could have prepared. How what happened to Earth..." I broke off. Guess it was still a little raw. "I guess that's why I want to know if this Prothean weapon could work."

"I understand," Liara smiled.

Feeling a need to change the subject, I grabbed the first thing I could think of. "What's been happening with you as the Shadow Broker?"

"It's been... exciting," Liara replied. "The old Broker's ship? Impressive, but it was never meant to be space-worthy."

Yeah, it was designed to hide in the midst of a storm, relying on anonymity rather than mobility or firepower to protect it.

"Which meant the Illusive Man eventually tracked me down on Hagalaz."

Uh oh. "What happened?"

"I knew he was coming. Feron and I loaded as much of the ship's specialized hardware onto a shuttle as we could. We got away from Cerberus's ships after arranging an appropriate distraction."

"What kind of distraction?"

"Sending the Broker's ship on a suicide course into a Cerberus cruiser," Liara replied casually.

"Yeah, that would do it," I admitted, echoing her casual tone.

"I don't think the Illusive Man expected me to give up my resources in such a spectacular fashion," she added smugly.

"So the stuff you brought will compensate for the loss of the ship?" I asked.

"I saved what was crucial. The ship... well, I couldn't let the Illusive Man have it. My network of agents is intact, although the Reapers have taken a toll on their numbers. It's taking a while to reestablish contact."

"So where is Feron if the two of you escaped? Last I checked, he was still recuperating from all the torture the old Shadow Broker put him through while helping you with your work."

"He convinced me he was recovered enough to work," Liara said. "I was concerned, of course... but I do need more agents."

"Agent Feron didn't report any injuries during his last call to you, Doctor," Glyph reminded her.

"True," Liara conceded. "Given what he's survived, I should probably worry less."

"I should let you get back to work," I decided. "We'll talk later, Liara."

"Of course. And since I didn't mention it before... it's good to be back, Shepard."

"Good to have you back, I returned."

As Liara sat down, I poked at one of the terminals. "This terminal contains non-essential correspondence from your allied forces," Glyph told me. "Dr. T'Soni has granted you access."

One of the messages came from Feron. Curious to see how he was doing, I pulled it up:

I made contact with Tazzik yesterday. The look on his face was priceless. He's not happy you put me in charge of scouting the Terminus Systems, but he's doing a good job of keeping us alive. I've never seen so many pirates and mercs on edge. The black market's unreliable, and it's getting harder to make contact with suppliers.

You mentioned some kind of project the Alliance was working on. Based on my observations, they won't be able to rely on it as a source of materials for long if things get worse. Some of the other operatives think we should cut our losses now, but I just keep asking them 'When did the odds ever stop the Broker?'

Feron

PS: I hope you finally got our little friend Droney to stop saying 'Shadow' and 'Broker' out loud in the same sentence to anyone in sight.

I also found some personal notes from Liara regarding the Protheans, from her old days in academia to her excitement about going to the Therum ruins, to her initial impressions of me. They concluded with her thoughts on what data the old Shadow Broker had on the Protheans and their ties to the Collectors.

While it was fascinating to see a hint of Liara back in the day, I was curious about that upgrade Glyph had mentioned. Turns out it had nothing to do with my compulsive kleptomania after all: Feron had apparently shipped an armour mod-kit to the Normandy that was technically illegal in Citadel space. Its omni-gel convertor could boost either my shield strength or adding additional thermal clip compartments. Apparently, the power coil was very temperamental, so it could only make one mod before burning out. After some thought, I chose the ammo mod. Right now, I needed more firepower.

I looked around the room again. Hard to imagine Miranda used to work and live here—Miranda! I thought back to our earlier conversation and the slight shift in Miranda's voice when Liara came up. It suddenly occurred to me that the idea of Liara unilaterally moving into her old spot—innocently done considering I hadn't known about Miranda's arrival until a short time ago—might have ticked her off.

Leaving the room with Glyph's polite 'Please enjoy your day' filling my ears, I called out loud: "EDI, since Liara's in Miranda's old quarters, where did she wind up?"

"Miranda was assigned to the Starboard Observation Lounge."

Where Samara used to meditate. Well, she wasn't here anymore. I hurried over to see how she was doing. But she wasn't there. Guess she stepped out. That was okay: I still had the rest of the ship to explore. Sooner or later, I'd run into her.

I doubled back to Miranda's—Liara's—quarters. Ignoring Glyph's pleasant greetings, I stepped towards Liara. "I know you have a lot on your plate. Maybe Miranda can help. I know she could use your resources for another matter."

Liara looked at me curiously. "Oh?"

"Her sister's missing. Dropped off the radar despite all the precautions she set in place. She was running down leads on the Citadel when I found her. Maybe you could help."

"Of course."

With that done, I passed through the kitchen and mess hall, saying hello to the crew members who were on their meal break. The main battery was empty, because no Alliance soldier was as obsessed with calibrations as the last guy to work here. That left one more place to visit before I was done with Deck Three.

"Commander," Dr. Chakwas greeted me as I entered the sickbay.

"Everything okay down here, Doctor?" I asked.

"The Alliance team cleaned up and restocked, but it's still my old med bay," she replied. (8) "Feels like home."

"Welcome back."

"Thank you. Let's waste no time. If I may, I'd like to examine you."

She hadn't changed a bit. "Nothing wrong with me, is there?" I asked, as she activated her omni-tool.

"No, but we should keep any eye on all those cybernetic implants Cerberus grafted into you. Along with all the other modifications you applied to yourself. It's been over six months since your last physical, after all."

"Expensive stuff, bringing me back." As I recalled, it cost over four billion credits to turn me into a cybernetic ninja zombie.

"And worth every penny," Dr. Chakwas said firmly. (9) "Let's just make sure everything is okay."

"Guess a checkup never hurts," I relented. "Just no scalpel this time, doc."

"Alas, to my great disappointment, it is nothing invasive," she sighed. "I'm just going to run some diagnostics on your implants and take a few readings." She waved her omni-tool over me and looked at the results. "Good," she approved. "Your implants are showing little sign of rejection. Just keep up that positive outlook of yours, Commander, and your scars shouldn't return."

Right. She'd theorized that negative attitudes and aggressive actions would cause biochemical reactions that would react adversely with my implants. Because I was a nice, peaceful, compassionate guy, the scarring I'd woken up with in the Lazarus Cell healed quite quickly. Though for all I knew, the stress of the war would bring those scars back in a flash. Guess we'd just have to wait and see.

"That's it," she concluded, shutting down her omni-tool. "You're the picture of health."

I noticed she was wearing the same uniform she'd worn when the Normandy was a Cerberus vessel. That brought up the inevitable question. "Do you ever regret working with Cerberus?"

"We didn't work with them, we used them. If I were to feel anything, it would be guilt."

"'Guilt'?" I repeated.

"We took their money, took their best people, took their best ship. We used them to defeat the Collectors and now we are using their resources against them. So no, I don't regret it one bit."

Good. I felt the same way, but I couldn't just assume that everyone shared my mindset. If they did, there would be a lot more people and buildings burned to the ground. "So you were saying the med bay was restocked?"

"That's right," she nodded. "We should be good for a long time, even given the amount of fire you take each day."

"Hey!"

"I just call it like I see it, Commander."

"Doctor, this war's gonna be hard on everyone. With lines of communication as dicey as they are, it'll be hard to keep in touch with your family. You've never mentioned yours..."

"None to speak of, really," she shrugged. "I'm the last of a prestigious line of medical professionals. The Alliance is my spouse and you are all my children."

Dr. Chakwas always did have a poetic way of putting things. In my opinion, she could've been a writer or playwright had she not found her calling practicing medicine.

"I'm blessed with many close friends, but with each Alliance vessel taken, I lose one or two. We need to end this war."

That's my cue. "I'll see you around, Doctor."

"Take care, Shepard."

Before I left, I checked the AI core. The only thing in there other than servers was the lifeless body of the mech that masqueraded as Dr. Eva Core. Reminded me of the way Legion's platform lay there after I retrieved it from a dormant Reaper. Before I made the executive decision to power it back up. There were so many people that weren't there anymore. (10)

Life goes on, I guess. Though it doesn't make it any easier when you don't know where they are. Especially in the midst of all this uncertainty and strife, when it was so easy to assume the worst.

God, I hated this war.

---

The first thing I saw when I emerged from the elevator onto Deck Four was the drive core, visible through the windows. Still as huge and impressive as ever. Cerberus might have their flaws, but no one could say they didn't think big.

For some reason, I had the urge to visit the sub deck. As I went down the stairwell, I remembered how Jack used to hide there. She was gone, of course. Though it wound up being more than a trip down memory lane: I found the Shadow Broker ship and Sovereign down there. The model version, anyway.

"Meep."

What was that? Looking down, I saw something scurrying around. I tried to catch it. My first attempt failed, but I found another model ship—this time a turian cruiser.

"Meep."

My second attempt was more successful. It was my space hamster! "Hey there, buddy," I said softly. "How've you been?"

"Meep."

"I missed you."

"Meep."

"Are you hungry?"

"Meep."

"Come on. Let's go home."

I took Boo and the model ships I'd found so far back up to my room. After gently slipping him back in his cage, I hung up the ships. When I turned around, Boo was happily running on his wheel as if he'd never left. If only all problems could be so simple to solve.

Heading back down to Deck Four, I made a beeline to Engineering. It was kinda empty. Ken wasn't there yapping away about something. Gabby wasn't there to keep him in check. And Tali wasn't there either.

But I was very surprised to see who was there. "Commander. Welcome back to the Normandy... or maybe you should be saying that to me."

"Lieutenant Adams," I greeted him with a salute and a smile. "I haven't seen you since... well, since the first Normandy went down over Alchera. What are you doing here?"

"I was put in charge of the drive core retrofits," he replied. "My experience on the Normandy SR-1 made me an obvious choice."

We walked towards the drive core room and stared at the giant sphere glowing and pulsing away. "So what do you think of our SR-2?"

"She's incredible," Adams breathed. "If there's one nice thing I can say about Cerberus, it's that they know how to build a ship."

Tali had said the same thing.

"And about that—Cerberus, I mean—I owe you an apology."

"How so?" I asked.

"Back when you first got this ship, Dr. Chakwas contacted me," he explained. "Asked me to help with your mission against the Collectors. I refused. I didn't have your back and I'm sorry for that."

Well, this was a far cry from another Lieutenant I used to know. Even if he got himself promoted and kinda redeemed himself by putting himself in harm's way and getting beaten into a coma. "Apology accepted. Do you mind if I ask why you didn't join us?"

"I saw what happened to you when the Normandy went down. I didn't trust that it was really you and I certainly didn't trust Cerberus. Also, as an officer of the Alliance, I just don't leave my post, you know?"

"That's the way it should be," I approved.

Adams didn't change his posture, but his eyes belied the relief he felt. "Thank you, Commander. Glad to be aboard."

We walked back into Engineering. "So you were assigned here because of your SR-1 experiences. What do you think? Does the new Normandy stack up to the old one?"

"Stack up?" Adams laughed. "It blows the old ship away. The Tantalus drive core has been completely overhauled. The SR-2 might be nearly twice the size, but the new drive core is three times bigger. This ship can fly!"

Then he allowed a frown to mar his face. "That said, Cerberus clearly isn't too high on safety. If pushed past her limits, this core would vent into Engineering."

I think Ken and Gabby said something about that once. I certainly would agree that Cerberus safety regs were appallingly low and their attitude towards such elementary precautions were disturbingly cavalier. Adams seemed to take it all in stride. "Guess it gives my team incentive to keep her well-balanced during a firefight."

"Do your job or get vaporized," I snarked.

"Pretty much," Adams shrugged. "I noticed you upgraded the kinetic barriers with cyclonic technology," he added. "Should help reduce the draw when under missile fire."

"That was Tali, actually," I said. "Hopefully that means fewer vaporized engineers."

"I'm not surprised," he smiled. "She always was a smart one. I also saw the IES stealth system is significantly improved. It can handle a higher blue shift of our emissions."

Wow. That took me back. I'd asked him about how our stealth systems worked when we were hunting Saren. Basically, the stealth system shunted the heat generated by routine ship operations into lithium heat sinks in the hull. Going in and out of FTL cause a 'blue-shift' in those emissions that the sinks couldn't store. What Adams was saying, though… "How high?"

"We should be able to drop out of FTL without triggering every sensor in range. Very handy for stealth reconnaissance."

Translation: we didn't have to drop out of FTL in some isolated spot and slowly drift to our target. Very handy indeed.

"All in all, the Normandy is a marvel of engineering."

Adams was a pretty laid-back guy, but hearing him wax about the Normandy was like watching a kid in a candy store. I was curious to see how he'd handle the bombshell I was about to drop on him. "And EDI?" I asked.

"We had a good talk during the retrofit. A little strange at first, talking shop with an AI."

So much for the bombshell. "AI? I thought EDI posed as a VI to keep guys like you from unplugging her. No offense."

"None taken," he assured him. "Besides, I saw through her. Have you seen her hardware? Processing power is off the charts. And then there were the problems that kept fixing themselves. If I hadn't had her pegged, I would've sworn I was losing it."

"You never expressed any skepticism, Lieutenant Adams," EDI said.

Adams looked up. "I figured I'd better play it safe with the Cerberus AI, EDI. No offense."

"None taken," EDI replied, echoing his earlier response. "As long as you keep your fingers out of my cognizance processors."

That got another chuckle out of him. "In the beginning, I tried disconnecting her from key processes without giving myself away," he explained. "Easier said than done. But Joker seemed to trust her, and in time I saw her advantages. Even grew to like her."

Well that made things easier. "Is your family okay?"

"My parents are serving on Viridian Zenith, an Alliance agricultural vessel. My sister is a navigator on the SSV Benjamin Davis. Happy to report that both vessels are safely under Hackett's command."

No pressure on Admiral Hackett, of course. "Carry on, Adams."

"Aye, aye, sir."

---

"EDI," I said as I exited Engineering. "Can you pull up the crew manifest and download it to my omni-tool?"

"Done."

It didn't take me long to find what I needed. It wasn't like I was going through the entire manifest, after all. Of course, how I dealt with that would be another story entirely. But I could put that off for now. My next stop was the Starboard Cargo Area—Zaeed's old stomping grounds. Now instead of weapons and trophies from various bounties, there was a wall filled with pictures. Actual, hard-copy pictures. "How's your new assignment working out, Emily?" I asked.

Emily turned around. "This is amazing!" she gushed. "A real AI? An asari who worked with you when you first became a Spectre—who also happens to be Matriarch Benezia's daughter? And a communicator that can still reach Earth without any lag or delay? The first two would've been enough, but the last one? Blows. my. mind. Do you have any idea how valuable that is?"

Given how standard military invasion doctrine required the immediate seizure of any communications equipment you could control and the destruction of anything you couldn't, I did appreciate the significance of our QECs. "So what's your plan?" I asked.

"There are going to be a lot of things happening during this war, and you'll undoubtedly be involved in a lot of them. Also, anything coming from Earth is the lead story. I know there's a lot you have to keep under wraps, but…"

"Maybe I can pass on a few non-classified reports and progress updates," I allowed.

"Really?" she beamed. "You have no idea what that would mean to my viewers. They depend on reporters like me to keep them informed. To give them some sense of what's going on out there and help them understand what's happening."

"I do have an ulterior motive," I confessed. "I need you to tell people what's really happening on Earth. We need long recruiting lines on every planet after you air a story."

"Then that's what you'll get," Emily promised.

---

My last stop was Deck Five: the Shuttle Bay. When the elevator doors opened, I was almost blinded by a strobing beam of light. I soon discovered that it came from the KEI-9 dog mech I'd been e-mailed about. It waddled by me, too engrossed in whatever it was sniffing. Scanning. You know.

Spotting an Armour Locker, I accessed its controls and began fiddling with my hardsuit. The changes were mostly cosmetic, as I hadn't found or bought any components that could make any significant difference. But changing the default colours to the blue-and-black pattern I preferred was strangely comforting. Plus it actually matched the Alliance colours that the Normandy was now sporting. Familiar surroundings and all that.

I'd like to think it was a testament to my sneakiness that the Alliance officer working nearby didn't notice me until I stepped away from the console. Turning around, he stood to attention and saluted me. "Lieutenant Steve Cortez," he introduced himself. "Shuttle pilot. I've got news about our supply chains, Commander."

"Nice to meet you, Lieutenant," I replied. I returned his salute before shaking his hand in a more casual manner. "Guess you have things well in hand here."

"Sorry to just jump in, Commander. There's so much to be done, I get caught up in the task at hand."

"He's always like that," James called out. I hadn't noticed him earlier. "You need to chill out, Esteban."

"So you do care, Mr. Vega," Cortez retorted, "or is that the cerveza talking again?" (11)

James just gave a cheeky grin. I shook my head and smiled before getting back to business. "So what's happening with our supply chains, Lieutenant?"

"Alliance procurement chains are in chaos, but the Citadel's economy is still running," he replied. "I can network to Citadel retailers. You can view their inventories and make purchases right from this console." He pointed to the appropriate console on his right. "It does cost more to coordinate delivery to the Normandy, though, so it's cheaper to buy supplies when you're there."

Great. I'd have to lug all that extra weight. Good thing I was used to that sort of thing. That prompted another question: "You said you were my shuttle pilot. Why are you setting up procurement chains?"

"Originally, I wasn't assigned as Normandy's pilot—not much need for one on a dry-docked ship."

Besides, Normandy already had a pilot, as I'm sure Joker would attest to.

"I was overseeing the retrofit of the cargo hold. I'm quite familiar with the operation and maintenance of the UT-47 Kodiak and the M-44 Hammerhead. With my experience, it made sense for me to take over as shuttle pilot when we left Earth. Especially given Mr. Vega's love of midair collisions."

That last part was hollered out across the shuttle bay. "To save the day, pendejo!" James hollered back.

"I'm also responsible for logistics, making sure the Armoury and shuttle are properly stocked and maintained. In fact, I would have flown you down to the Mars Archives if I wasn't up on Deck Three helping to organize crew assignments. Leaving Earth like we did kinda caused a little chaos."

"To say the least," I agreed. "So let me get this straight: you fly shuttles, set up supply chains and manage the armoury?"

"I actually share that last part with our illustrious Mr. Vega," Cortez admitted. "Though I believe the only weapon he really cares to maintain is himself."

Again, he made sure a certain Lieutenant—who was busy doing chin-ups—could hear him. "You know you love the show, Esteban," came the reply. I got the feeling the two knew each other, judging by the good-natured teasing tone in their voices as they traded jibes.

Cortez shook his head. "The first retrofit we did was to move the Armoury down from Deck Two. I'm not sure what Cerberus engineers were thinking."

"I'm not entirely positive myself, but I could make a guess," I replied. "Originally, it was right across the corridor from our Tech Lab, where we could research components and new weapons. It was easier to move any newly developed weapons there than to deliver them three decks down. Besides, I don't think Cerberus liked the idea of cutting-edge tech lying around where anyone could swipe them on the way out the airlock."

"Thank God we do things differently," Cortez declared. "Now you just get off the elevator, pick your gear and head right into the shuttle."

"Just like the original Normandy," I remembered.

"Welcome back to the Alliance, Commander," Cortez nodded in satisfaction.

"Speaking of which, how long have you been with the Alliance?" I asked.

"About ten years. I enlisted with the First Fleet, serving on the SSV Hawking. Flying F-61 Tridents, mostly. I love the Trident—she practically dances in low atmo. I spent as much time tinkering on my bird as flying her. Got a bit of a reputation, I guess."

"So you can fly fighters and fix them too," I observed.

"Yeah, and I've got a knack for procurement too. They were grooming me for CAG, but my skill set made me more valuable commanding a flight deck. (12) About five months ago, I was assigned to the Normandy retrofit team to oversee all cargo bay modifications."

"You also mentioned operating and maintaining the Hammerhead, but I don't see it here."

Cortez shook his head in equal parts amazement and dismay. "It was sent to the tech labs on Earth for a retrofit. To afford mobility with such a small eezo core, its design sacrificed armour plating."

Yes, I remembered that. The only thing protecting it—and the poor schmucks inside—was a shield package so weak a krogan could spit through it.

"The lab engineers were trying to improve that. But after the Reapers hit… well, those labs are probably just a pile of rubble."

Probably for the best. Not for the men and women inside, of course. But the Hammerhead… truth be told, I never used it all that much. Flying to and from hot zones would probably be better than driving around. Speaking of flying… "Is it just me, or is the Kodiak a little different?"

"Good eyes, Commander," Cortez approved. "This is the UT-47A Kodiak. It's got an upgraded eezo core and prototype stealth technology based on the Normandy design. For quick drops, I can get you in and out virtually undetected. (13) She flies like a brick, so that's why you need a good pilot."

Sneaky, yet lacking any grace whatsoever. Interesting contradiction there. "You were stationed on Earth during the Normandy retrofits," I said. "Do you have family there?"

"I'm an only child. Lost my parents years ago. I had a husband, back when I was stationed at Ferris Fields. The Collectors took out the whole colony." Cortez paused before quietly adding "I'd rather not talk about it."

"Fair enough," I acknowledged. "Keep up the hard work, but don't kill yourself, all right?"

"Yes, Commander."

After Cortez got back to work, I resumed my exploration of the shuttle bay. I soon found out that the people in charge of the retrofits were very, very messy. How else could you explain the fact that my model ship collection had been looted from my cabin, only to be scattered throughout the ship? I mean, what kind of disorganized, bored and possibly deranged mind would do that? Case in point: I found my geth cruiser, Alliance cruiser, freighter, quarian vessel and Normandy SR-1 models within a minute.

My random wandering was interrupted when I ran across KEI-9. "Hey there!" I greeted it.

KEI-9 just stood there. Guess I didn't have any chemical trails or stray voltage to interest it. So I went to talk to James instead. He'd moved to pull-ups when I approached him. "Hey, Shepard," he said between grunts. "So I never got your take on the Council meeting."

"Liara was pretty much on the ball," I replied. "Same as usual. Noncommittal."

"Bet they still wanted you to help them out, no?"

"Yeah. We're gonna rescue the turian Primarch from Menae—Palaven's moon. Practically had to twist the councillor's arm to free up some turian resources in exchange."

"Sounds like fun," James offered. "Never been to the turian homeworld. Moon's probably the next best thing." He did a few more pull-ups and grunts before asking "You down here for a reason?"

"Just came down to talk," I said.

"Great." A few more grunts. "Not sure what there is to talk about. You already know my service record."

"I don't, actually. I didn't have access to personnel records when we met."

James winced. "Right… forgot about that. Well…" He dropped back down and stretched a few muscles. "Think you can dance and talk at the same time?"

I knew I'd been locked up for a while, but I was pretty sure James wasn't asking to do any waltzes or square dancing. "I think I can handle it," I replied, moving to a clear area in the centre of the shuttle bay.

"Okay, Loco," James said, moving to join me. "Let's dance."

The two of us raised our fists and began 'dancing' around, looking for an opening. "Don't push your luck, Vega," I warned. "With age comes wisdom… and rank."

Without giving any warning, I threw two quick jabs, both of which James blocked. He gave a short bark of laughter in response. "You sound like my old CO."

It was his turn to attack. I shuffled back a few steps, raising my arms to deflect his punches. "Oh yeah?" Another punch from yours truly. "And who was that?"

"Captain Toni. He was a hard-assed son of a bitch, but a good leader."

As he reminisced, he let his arms drop. Aha! Lunging forward, I landed two solid punches. Maybe too solid, judging by the blood that began trickling down his nose. James shook his head to clear the cobwebs. "Nice," he complimented me before throwing a couple punches back.

I managed to shrug them off. "What do you mean 'was'?" I asked.

"Died—with most of my squad—protecting a civilian colony from a Collector attack."

His next two punches were sloppy, compared to his previous attacks. "And the colony?" I asked.

"It was either them…" I dodged a punch. "…or the intel we had on the Collectors…" Another punch, with an angry grunt. "…intel we could've used to destroy them." Another sloppy punch. "I chose the intel."

I hopped back as James swung wildly—and missed. "Sorry," I said quietly. "That's a tough call."

We went back to circling each other. "The best part was we didn't really need the intel in the end… because you were out saving the galaxy by taking down the entire Collector homeworld."

James began throwing punches. I weaved, dodged, blocked and generally let him vent his frustration. "You didn't know. You can't blame yourself, Vega."

"Who says I'm blaming myself?"

We exchanged a few more blows. "Just a guess," I replied.

"What?" James snorted. "You a shrink too?"

I shook my head and began throwing punches. Now it was James's turn to block. "No. But your 'dancing's' been getting worse ever since you began talking about that mission. And that stunt back on Mars was reckless. You're lucky to be alive."

"So?" James challenged.

"So… maybe you don't care if you live or die."

James's eyes flashed in anger. "Or maybe I'm just willing to do whatever the fuck it takes to end this goddamn war!"

With a roar, he charged forward. This time, he overextended himself. It was easy to grab him, position myself and throw him over my shoulder and onto the ground. "Maybe you are," I said, speaking down to him. "But if you're half as good as I think you are… we need you alive. Not trying your best to kill yourself. Honour the dead, James, but fight for all the men, women and children out there who are still alive. Understood?"

James picked himself up, but he didn't put up his fists. We both knew that this scuffle was over. "Yes sir," he said. "Thanks for the pep talk."

"Anytime," I replied.

"Hey," James added. He leaned over and tossed me a towel. "Thanks for the dance, Loco."

Spanish for 'crazy,' if I remembered correctly. I began wiping the sweat off. "Loco, huh?"

"I can think of worse things to call you," he grinned.

"As long as you remember who's in charge, you can call me whatever you want," I offered.

"Oh, I won't forget."

We moved over to the side and began a few cool-down stretches. Better to do that than to risk pulling something. "Anything else you wanna tell me about that mission you had against the Collectors?"

"Not much more to say," James said. "Things went FUBAR and I was one of the few to make it out. (14) If you want the rest of the story, you're gonna have to get me really drunk or…"

He trailed off. "Or what?"

"That's about it," he replied, shaking his head. "Sorry, Commander. Just not interested in talking about that."

Clearly it was still a sore point for him. I decided not to press it for the moment. "Fair enough. Let's talk about you and your nicknames. What's up with that?"

"It's just my way of remembering people," James explained. "Some people just don't match their names, you know? So I just give 'em a new one."

"And I'm a 'Loco,' huh?"

"Yeah, I mean… I'm pretty crazy, but the shit you've done? Makes me look sane."

Very true. Very, painfully, acutely true.

"You've got family back on Earth?" I asked.

"Yeah," he nodded. "An uncle. Retired military. Got a few cousins I haven't heard from in a while."

He seemed to smile when he talked about his uncle. "You and your uncle close?" I guessed.

"Yeah," he said again. "He's the reason I joined the marines. 'Bout the only good thing in my life after my mom died."

"No dad, huh?"

"He's there… somewhere," he shrugged. "But I'm not sure I'd call him family. Not anymore."

Ooh. Another guy with parental issues. No wonder he latched onto his uncle. No wonder he joined the Alliance. Needed to fill that gaping hole and find some stability and purpose in his life.

"I would like to find out how my uncle's doing, though."

"You had a hard time leaving Earth," I recalled.

"Hell yeah. But I get it now. It's not where I'd be most useful. Not yet, anyway."

That was good to hear. I mean, I figured he'd come to that conclusion himself once he'd calmed down, but it was good to hear him say it himself. "We'll get back there," I reassured him.

"I know. And I'll do whatever it takes to get us there, Commander."

"Good. Just… maybe no more shuttle crashes, okay?"

"No promises now that I've gotten the taste for it," he grinned. "Besides, I like to keep Esteban on his toes!"

The last sentence was hollered out loud so Cortez could hear it. James wound up getting the finger in response. "I take it you and Lieutenant Cortez know each other," I said, jabbing a thumb over my shoulder.

"Yeah, Esteban did a stint on Fehl Prime where me and my squad were stationed," James replied. "I caught up with him back on Earth a few months back. He's a good guy. Just don't tell him I said so: it'll go to his head."

"Roger that," I laughed. "I'll talk to you later, James."

"You bet."

---

Now that I'd finished my first set of rounds on the Normandy SR-2 as an Alliance officer, it was time to do something I hadn't done in a long time: get some coffee.

Don't get me wrong, I've never really been a regular coffee drinker. Most of the time, I drank coffee just to be social. But I was in that zone where I wasn't awake enough to be 100% functional, but far from the point where lying down and closing my eyes would actually result in some rest. Besides, it was just one cup of coffee, right?

When I stepped out of the elevator, though, I realized there was one person I hadn't seen yet. So I detoured to the Starboard Observation Lounge. This time, Miranda was there. "Didn't see you earlier," I greeted her.

"Not everyone just sticks around in the same place and waits for you to bother them, Shepard," she teased.

"So I gathered." I gave her a quick kiss. I'd like to think it wasn't to soften her up for what I had to tell her. "Sorry about you having to find another place to stay," I said. "When I invited you to join us, I didn't realize Liara had moved in."

"That was a surprise," Miranda admitted, her face marred by a momentary frown. "I suppose it was understandable. She didn't know I was coming. Besides, my off—my former office, I should say—was designed to handle high volumes of incoming and outgoing data traffic, which makes it ideal for an information broker."

That was as good a segue as any. "Speaking of surprises, this is an Alliance vessel now."

"Yes, I did see the new paint scheme. I suppose it was understandable that the Alliance would want to put their stamp on things."

"Including some retrofits." I quickly filled her in on everything that was added, removed or simply moved around. "The thing is... since the Normandy's been reclaimed by the Alliance... even though the Normandy's CO is a Spectre..."

Miranda managed to figure out what I was hemming and hawing my way towards: "You believe the executive officer should be an Alliance officer rather than a civilian and ex-Cerberus agent."

"I would have stopped at 'civilian' myself," I replied.

To say she wasn't thrilled would be an understatement. Her expression flickered with comprehension and pain. I couldn't blame her. She had filled the role of XO when the Normandy was a Cerberus vessel, and had done an outstanding job. To have that taken away from her simply because of her past, no matter what the rationale, could be somewhat insulting. Something told me I should start talking—fast. "As a result, if we're going on missions, someone will be able to stay behind and assume command. Assuming you'll be available, of course."

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Well, I didn't want to assume—"

"You didn't want to assume I'd have nothing better to do? You don't have to baby me, Shepard. I'm not that fragile."

I knew that, of course, just as I didn't mean to insult her. But I had a feeling I had done just that. Good job, Shep. Now you really had to hurry up and lay out the rest of your plan before your soon-to-be-ex-girlfriend throttles you, beats you to a pulp or biotically crush you into a one-by-one-by-one cube.

"I want you in the War Room."

"The War Room?"

Huh. Apparently I'd decided to skip to the end and completely bypass everything in between. Still, Miranda's anger and disappointment was now diluted with curiosity, so I guess that worked out. "Eventually, yes. Right now, I want everyone to get used to you as someone who helped save the galaxy last year and is committed to saving it again, against the Reapers and Cerberus. The more people see you crunching numbers—either because you're looking for Oriana or analyzing intel alongside Liara—and shedding blood—figuratively, I hope—the easier it'll be to quash any lingering doubts of you as some Cerberus mole.

"That'll make the transition to working in the War Room much easier. All the data from the various races—their military assets, galactic readiness, that sort of thing—will be forwarded there. I need someone who can analyze all of that and figure out the best way to make use of it all. I need the best strategist out there. I need you."

Miranda seemed more mollified now. Good. Because I had one more task in mind. "There's one more thing that I need your help with."

"Go on."

"Not here. Unless... EDI, are there any areas in the Normandy that can act as a SCIF?" (15)

"Three—the War Room, the executive officer's quarters... and your quarters."

"Meet me in my quarters in one hour. Make sure no one sees you."

"Understood, Shepard."

---

I got my coffee and returned to my quarters. It took a while for the caffeine to kick in. Even then, it's anyone's guess as to whether it actually woke me up or gave me a major case of the jitters. Still, I didn't have the urge to doze off, so I guess that's something.

Since I had some free time, I went through my e-mail again. Had to delete some more spam. More proof that the more things changed, the more they stayed the same.

It wasn't all useless: I came across a number of intelligence reports regarding sightings of unidentified ships—read, Reapers—around the galaxy. A brief 'anomaly' near Tarith, which explained the Reaperfied Harvesters. Lots of reports around the batarian homeworld of Khar'shan, which explained all the Cannibals. And a recent reporting near the turian colony of Taetrus. I didn't wanna know what the Reapers were up to there, though I had a feeling I would find out.

There was this one e-mail, though. According to the timestamp, it had only been sent a half hour ago. No sender. No subject line. All it had was a bunch of columns. The left column had star clusters, the centre column held star systems and the right column was filled with planets or approximate locations. What was really interesting was a single word at the end: Orion.

One of the Alliance's best kept secrets, Orion supposedly worked for them a long time ago. At least, until he up and vanished. No one knew where he'd gone, his real name, what he looked like. Hell, there was even some debate as to whether he was male or female, or even if he was human. He'd been labelled as a cyber-terrorist, mostly because he was a master at fiddling with computers than anything else—the guy hadn't been seen in decades, after all. He'd pretty much dropped off the radar.

Until recently. His named popped up when I was trying to help Garrus out on Omega. We'd stumbled into a whole mess of spy-versus-spy hijinks, including an old friend of mine. Bryce Larkin—Alliance super-spy and God's gift to women—hadn't said as much, but I'd gotten the impression that Orion had sent him my way.

And now Orion was helping me again. Weird, right?

Before I could ponder that mystery, the door chime rang. Startled, I brought up the feeds from the vid-cams outside my cabin. It was Miranda. Huh. Was it an hour already? I unlocked the door and let her in.

Miranda had apparently decided that her usual garb didn't fit the dress code appropriate to, as I'd pointed out earlier, an Alliance warship. So she'd found a change of clothes.

She wore blue pants—not quite royal blue, maybe a dull medium variant—tucked into knee-high navy blue boots with medium royal blue plates artfully attached in certain areas. I noticed that first because, well, Miranda's got great legs. She wore a blouse—shirt? Top?—that was mostly navy blue, with some grey and medium blue trim and a prominent blue pattern running down the front. It was quite... structured, reminiscent of armour, while still fitting perfectly. It didn't cling to her... curves, but it didn't try to hide them either. All in all, Miranda's new outfit took several cues from a classic Alliance uniform, while being distinct enough to make it clear she wasn't Alliance.

"What do you think?" Miranda asked.

"Gah."

"Monosyllabic gesture of approval. Not surprising: there was a 96.59% chance that you would respond in that manner."

"Buh."

"I'm hoping you won't be so... limited when describing whatever it was you wanted to talk about in your quarters? It would cut down on any confusion."

"Right," I managed. "Uh, just one moment."

I reached over and pressed a button. A series of hisses and thunks filled the air as the room pressurized and sealed itself off. The lights flickered, ever so slightly. On the monitor in front of me, a message read: S.C.I.F. Mode Engaged.

"What I'm about to discuss is for your eyes only," I said, getting down to business. "You can keep me apprised if you want, but otherwise you can't talk about it to anyone. The fewer people who know about it, the better."

"I'm familiar with the concept of compartmentalizing information, Shepard," Miranda told me, a flicker of realization appearing in her eyes. "But I see now why you wanted to have this conversation up here. The War Room might be empty right now, but it will no doubt have a lot of traffic in the future. Too much to keep things secret, even if access was restricted. Liara's office would be better, but that would still mean Liara and her info drone—"

"Glyph."

"What?"

"Glyph. That's the name Liara settled on."

"I see. That would mean Liara and Glyph would have to be 'read in' to this... project."

"Exactly. I don't have a problem with that. If you feel you need to bring them in, that's your prerogative. But for now, it's just you."

"And you," Miranda pointed out.

"And EDI—she helped set it up."

"What is 'it,' exactly?"

I took a moment to gather my thoughts and make sure they were in order. It was kind of like giving a public speech—the last thing you wanted to do was ramble and explain things in such a roundabout fashion that you confused the shit out of your audience. Once I was sure I had it down pat, I began. "Hackett's told me that the Alliance is going to start construction on the Prothean weapon. Hopefully, by the time it's finished, we'll have figured out how the damn thing works."

"That would help," Miranda agreed mildly.

"At some point, though, we'll have to retake Earth. That's my main focus—when I'm not finding men, women, tech and other resources to help build the weapon—I have to gather ships and soldiers from as many species as possible and merge them into one big armada."

"Which we would point towards Earth."

"Right. There's just one problem: intel on the Sol System's getting increasingly sketchy and unreliable. Comm buoys, satellites, sensor arrays—they're all being targeted and destroyed. By the time we're ready to make our move, they might be gone entirely. We'd be going in blind."

"Unless..." Miranda prompted.

"Unless we had an ace up our sleeve," I replied. (16) "Another way to gather intel that was a bit more surreptitious. And we do. I'd been thinking about it while I was being court-martialled on Earth. EDI helped me set it up before we left the Sol System. That's what I want you to take charge of. I want you to pull any data you can pull from it for analysis. Monitor the Reapers' movements. Their fleet composition. That sort of thing. Give us something to work with so we can plan our offensive."

Miranda's eyes practically twinkled. She might have been effectively deposed from her former position as second-in-command, but she still had plenty to do. She got to work on finding her sister, assist Liara with all her Shadow Broker stuff, look forward to monitoring the galactic situation and assessing the various military assets that would hopefully be at our disposal in the War Room and personally analyze any data from a covert intelligence source. And, on occasion, she'd get to join me on missions, where she'd no doubt pick off any hostiles who were trying to get the drop on me. I'd return the favour, of course.

"Tell me more," Miranda said.

"Gladly," I nodded.

"I don't suppose this 'ace' has a name?"

"Yeah, it does. I call it... Delta Source."

---

(1): Naturally, Shepard avoids the obvious answer that she simply knew him better than most.

(2): A human colloquialism meaning to reveal facts or secrets that were previously hidden.

(3): Another human colloquialism meaning to make everything dependent on one thing or to put all one's resources in one place or plan of action.

(4): Shepard later acknowledged that this newfound diplomatic authority legitimized his efforts to unite the galaxy's races and forces behind the Alliance's plan to take back Earth and defeat the Reapers using the weapon plans I recovered from the Mars Archives. It took further convincing before he would admit that he had been a diplomat long before the Reaper War began.

(5): This human saying means to say something that you immediately regret, either because you embarrassed yourself or because it offended another party.

(6): Alliance acronyms for 'Killed in Action' or 'Missing in Action,' respectively.

(7): The term 'Hail Mary' originally had human religious references. Shepard is referring to a 'Hail Mary pass', a very long forward pass in the sport of American football that would generally be expected to fail and was only out of sheer desperation. The term was popularized after a notable playoff game in 1975, but subsequently became generalized to any last-ditch effort with a low prediction of success.

(8): Medical bay, or 'med bay' for short, was the proper term. Sickbay was also an acceptable term, but it wasn't used as frequently.

(9): A form of human currency that was largely out of circulation even before humanity joined the galactic community.

(10): I feel I should point out the fact that Shepard included the geth, and Legion specifically, in his definition of 'people.'

(11): A word for beer in the human language of Spanish.

(12): Commander, Air Group. An informal name for the senior officer of a carrier fleet, who is responsible for all embarked squadrons, their fighters and their personnel. Such a position would be unique to the Alliance, as they were the only race to deploy them at the time. In fact, it was the Alliance Navy who first introduced the concept, a revolutionary idea in military doctrine at the time.

(13): Unfortunately, Shepard would soon find out that the stealth technologies of the Normandy did not easily scale down to a shuttle. His squad was detected during more than one mission during the Reaper War.

(14): A human acronym for 'Fucked Up Beyond All Recognition.' The 'R' can also stand for repair, reason or redemption.

(15): An Alliance military, security and intelligence term for 'Sensitive Compartmented Information Facility,' describing an enclosed area used to study, process and analyze classified information. Typically, access to SCIFs would be restricted to individuals with the appropriate security clearance, though other individuals may be permitted access under certain conditions and restrictions.

(16): To have an advantage or some secret knowledge that other people did not know about.