Chapter 40: Sanity Check

Dr. Chakwas insisted that I go straight to sickbay once we docked. No ifs, and or buts. Apparently she was concerned that crashing on a shipwreck in the middle of an endless ocean, fighting off hordes of Reaperfied monsters, travelling to the bottom of the ocean in a rickety mech that hadn't seen any maintenance in decades, rocketing back up to the surface in said mech, and having a telepathic chat with an alien could have done a number on me.

Miranda agreed wholeheartedly. So did Garrus. And, well, everyone. I could have protested but, if I was totally honest with myself, I wasn't feeling my best. Besides, the copious amounts of blood streaming from my nose and eardrums would've belied any arguments I might've made.

After running a more extensive battery of tests than usual, Dr. Chakwas told me that I was okay, but she would like me to stay overnight for observation. Well, her exact words were a little more tart, but they basically boiled down to: "You're such an idiot. Don't ask me how, but you might live to see another day. Which you don't deserve because you're such an idiot. You're staying overnight and I'll run more tests in the morning. Did I mention you're an idiot?"

Just in case I had any bright ideas of ignoring my Chief Medical Officer's advice, EDI sealed the doors. Only Dr. Chakwas, Adams, Miranda or Garrus had the authority to override the lockdown—and all of them made it clear that that wouldn't be happening until the next day. Maybe. So with all that free time on my hands, I began working on my AAR.

The seclusion wound up being a blessing, because the report took longer to write than usual. Mostly because I kept reading and re-reading, sifting through my memories and double-checking to see if I missed anything. (1) Because let's face it: this was anything but a typical mission. Even by my ridiculous standards.

In the end, Dr. Chakwas reluctantly admitted that I could be discharged. After one last spell-check, I filed my AAR. Hackett sent word that he wanted to talk almost immediately. "Commander, I've finished reading your report," he said without preamble in the Comm Room.

"The Alliance wanted more intelligence on the Reapers," I replied. "I'd say we got it."

"Our people will be studying it for years to come," Hackett agreed. "The ramifications of your encounter, coupled with the archaeological findings gathered by Task Force Aurora, have forced us to review so many historical events in an entirely new light. I sent your report to a few historians, archaeologists and scientists… and you wouldn't believe how many replies I got. To say they're excited would be an understatement. They're already calling it the Leviathan Codex."

"Isn't that a little… over the top? Sir?"

"It may be premature," Hackett conceded with a slight smile, "but there's no denying that the existence and influence of the Leviathans rewrites galactic history as we know it."

"Well, whatever else it means, it tells me the Reapers are not mysterious gods that existed from the dawn of time," I said. "They had an origin, a beginning… and maybe now we'll provide them with an end."

"That's one way to look at it. For my money, it's the only way. We've taken away some of the mystery behind the Reapers–and that kind of thing can go a long way to getting us through these dark times. Now we just need to finish the job."

I stood to attention. "Yes, sir."

"This is a big step in the right direction, Shepard. Good work."

"Thank you, sir."

"Hackett out."

I was going to resume my normal schedule of wandering around the ship and harassing the crew. Miranda, however, had other ideas. She allowed me to make one round of the ship. Just to reassure everyone that I was still alive and kicking. And to indulge my insatiable curiosity in wondering what everyone thought of this crazy mission.

EDI pointed out that the Reapers failed to completely wipe out their creators, suggesting they weren't perfect or unbeatable. Liara couldn't fathom what it was like talking to something as huge and alien as Leviathan, and hoped it would help us fight the Reapers. And Garrus… well, see for yourself:

"Shepard, I looked over your mission report. Gotta say, it feels like we've been after these Reapers forever. From Sovereign to Leviathan… they've been a pain in the ass the whole time. But at least we're starting to see the big picture. Never really thought we'd get any answers. It doesn't change much, but it does make this war feel a whole lot bigger."

He had a point. Even if Leviathan wasn't technically a Reaper, the message was the same: we weren't in uncharted waters anymore. There were still a lot of unknowns, mind you, but having one or two fewer mysteries to contend with was a big thing in and of itself.

Kaidan was relieved to be back on the Normandy but couldn't help but wonder what other amazing discoveries were waiting to be made, whether over the next horizon or right under our noses.

Javik, as usual, had his own spin on things: "I have studied your human religions, Commander—your 'Devil' and his fall. Leviathan and its kind deserve the same fate. They once unleashed a plague that has haunted all of our history to this day. I say their own hell is the abyss you found them in… one I hope they never escape from."

For once, I wholeheartedly agreed with him. Leviathan's ancestors, in their callousness and arrogance, had unleashed the Reapers on the galaxy, dooming countless species over countless cycles to extinction. And they had done nothing in all that time to mitigate or stop the suffering. Maybe they deserved to live the rest of their existence submerged on Despoina, watching impotently as the rest of the galaxy lived their lives without them. Assuming we survived this war, of course.

Tali prayed that Leviathan would stay on our side—something I also agreed with. Cortez admitted he was worried about sending me down all alone in the Triton, then joked that he shouldn't have worried given my history. James hoped Leviathan joining the war meant we were one step closer to victory before reminding me that Ann lived through this ordeal to see her father's work realized.

Once I'd checked in on everyone, though, Miranda insisted that I take a nice hot shower, followed by a nice hot meal, followed by a nice hot round of hugging, kissing and all-around touchy-feely. Naturally she was there for all three.

It seemed odd to wander throughout the galaxy again after the biggest Sasquatch hunt ever, but that's exactly what I did. (2) Just about all the major players—and most of the minor ones—were now on board with the Alliance's plan to retake Earth and build the Crucible. There were no new leads on the origins of the Reapers to pursue. And there were no fires I had to put out. Well, no fires beyond the usual Reaper armada or bands of roving Cerberus puppets. And while I was hoping to see one or two people on the Citadel, I still had a few days before everyone arrived. So that left me with a little time to kill.

Besides, Adams, Miranda and EDI had all been on my case about the backlog of maintenance that had to be done. A man can only take that kind of persistent nagging for so long before caving in—if the threat of equipment seizing up or crucial systems like life support crashing doesn't motivate you first.

We spent a day or so traipsing from system to system, scrounging for fuel, picking up salvage, gathering various trinkets and doodads and making sure the Normandy wouldn't fall apart. There were other developments as well, one of which was critically important to a certain quadrapedal race. Miranda summarized everything that evening.

"After we left Rannoch, the Normandy received an emergency request from the elcor ambassador. The Reapers had invaded their homeworld, Dekuuna, and the ambassador was unable to find any other race willing to evacuate their people."

"I'd forgotten about that," I admitted. "As I recall, we were trying to figure out how to get enough ships over there to effect an evac without the Reapers detecting them. Admiral Hackett asked me to send a letter to the salarians for some reason. Did anything come of that?"

"Your letter was included in various formal requests from the Alliance and the Courts of Dekuuna—the elcor government, in case you forgot—to the Salarian Union. They have slowed down production of their dreadnoughts over the last few years, building fewer ships than legally permitted under the Treaty of Farixen. Military observers speculated that this was an expansion of previous operational doctrine demanding the most bleeding-edge technology in their vessels. Alliance Intelligence discovered the answer: the STG had acquired schematics of the Normandy's stealth systems and the algorithms behind the Reaper IFF signal. After months of research and reverse-engineering, the salarians produced something that had been previously thought impossible: dreadnoughts with stealth capabilities."

That wasn't as surprising as it might have been. "And?"

"The diplomatic pressure exerted by humanity and the elcor, along with the agendas of certain ambitious dalatrasses hoping to further undermine Dalatrass Linron, finally authorized the release of the Salarian First Fleet. Chosen for their collective experience and the fact that they were the first to receive the so-called 'stealth dreadnoughts', their mission was to sneak through enemy lines and evacuate as many elcor soldiers and civilians as possible. While Dekuuna itself was overrun, the First Fleet was able to rescue everyone who had fled to the nearby moon of Oltan.

"In gratitude, the elcor have formally committed their flotilla to our cause. There are a smattering of cruisers and carriers, but the key element lies in the sheer number of troop transports they have—and the compliment of infantry they carry."

No small thing, that last part. It was easy to think of the elcor as big, lumbering aliens who prefaced every dull, monotone statement with clarifications to their emotional state, but few people realized how much firepower they could carry. Elcor soldiers routinely carried shoulder-mounted heavy weapons like rocket launchers, chain-guns and more exotic tools of death as if it was nothing. Every. single. one. That's a hell of a lot of firepower to bring to bear. And if my recent experiences were any indication, we'd need all the fire support we could get.

"The SSV Leipzig has successfully returned to the First Fleet after gathering intelligence on Reaper activity in the Hades Nexus cluster. She is recognized as the first Alliance frigate to field-test the Thanix cannon."

Normally I would contest that, but the Normandy was flying Cerberus colours when we installed and tested the Thanix cannons in battle. I still remember when they carved right through that Collector ship and blew it up. Good times.

"The Fifth Fleet also gained a new ship. Your mother had a part to play in that, by the way."

That was an unexpected twist. "Mom? What did she do?"

"Well, it actually starts three years ago during the Battle of the Citadel. The SSV Hong Kong was amongst the ships that were destroyed. Specifically, the captain sacrificed the ship and her crew to protect one of the Fifth Fleet's dreadnoughts. The frame was later salvaged, melted down and incorporated into the framework of a new frigate, which just finished her shakedown cruise last week. Originally, she was named the SSV Sao Paulo… until your mother obtained special dispensation to rename her the SSV Hong Kong."

"Nice!" I beamed. What a great way to honour the original ship! And—

"I'd imagine your commanding two ships bearing the name of Normandy gives you a unique perspective on that move."

It's like she read my mind.

"On a related note, I understand you helped Lieutenant Cortez through a difficult period?"

"Um, yeah. His husband was amongst the abductees taken by the Collectors at Ferris Fields. James and I were helping him come to terms with that."

"I see," Miranda nodded. "James was rather circumspect on the details and I didn't want to pry. At any rate, it seems Lt. Cortez bumped into an old friend after leaving the refugee memorial that was set up on the Citadel. She and several mutual friends are ex-Alliance pilots who left the service to establish colonies on the frontier… until the Reapers drove them out. They didn't need much convincing to volunteer their services against the Reapers. (3)

"Speaking of Admiral Hackett, he sends his thanks for the shipment of synthetic diamond we retrieved from Bres. The military-grade heat sinks that can be made from those supplies are sorely needed for our soldiers' thermal clips and our ships' weapons."

"And for any computers or equipments that can't afford to overheat," I added. "Like those at the Crucible Project. Which reminds me: what happened to Dr. Bryson? Has she arrived yet?"

"No, she was only discharged from Huerta Memorial yesterday with a clean bill of health. Assuming there were no delays, she is scheduled to depart from the Citadel in two hours, thirty-nine minutes."

That was a relief. It was good to hear that Ann had recovered from her harrowing ordeal—physically, anyway. Maybe the knowledge that her father's work had been completed would allow her to move on with her grief. I hoped so: her knowledge and expertise might help unlock further secrets that could facilitate the Crucible's construction. "Anything else?" I asked.

"Well, on a related note, there is the newly formed Leviathan Enthrallment Team."

"Um… that doesn't sound good," I said slowly.

"Its purpose is… dubious, to say the least," she admitted. "It's a mixed-species team of special-operations soldiers who have volunteered to locate and covertly deliver Leviathan artifacts behind enemy lines, with the aim of turning Reaper forces into thralls of the Leviathans. In the short term, this could cause enough chaos and disruption to slow the Reapers' progress. In the long term, this could create an army of Reaper creatures purposed to fight against their own kind."

"Assuming they'll go where we want them," I pointed out. "Remember, we're not controlling them: Leviathan is. I doubt they're going to follow our playbook. And who's to say they won't turn on us? Or that the artifacts won't control this Leviathan Enthrallment Team?"

"Those are valid concerns. I would also add that there are a limited number of artifacts available for deployment and that the Alliance is reluctant to use them so openly for fear that the Reapers may develop a countermeasure."

I shook my head. "That's great, but I still think this is a disaster waiting to happen. It's great to track down all these artifacts and destroy them, or at the very least lock them away, but to try and use them?"

"The decision has already been made. For what it's worth, the team is still in the early stages of positively identifying the locations of the artifacts. At least three of them are already well-situated within Reaper-controlled territory. Admiral Hackett seems inclined to assess what kind of impact those three artifacts can have before committing to any further action."

"Good," I nodded, silently deciding to send another message to Hackett at the earliest opportunity to advise him against this hare-brained scheme. "Tell me we have some better news."

"A few things from the asari. The Armali Sniper Unit and the Serrice Guard has recently been reassigned to the allied war effort. Admiral Hackett—"

"Did you say 'sniper unit'?" I interrupted.

Miranda sighed and shook her head. "I had a feeling that would catch your attention. The Armali Sniper Unit is an elite team of asari commandoes who favour long-range engagement with conventional weapons over biotics. After discovering weapons such as the M-98 Widow anti-materiel rifle, some of the commandoes chose to augment themselves with cybernetic implants so they could operate them safely and accurately."

Ah, yes. The Widow. One shot, one kill. Aside from big, bad monsters like the YMIR mech and the Praetorian. How I missed the good ol' days when I was running around the galaxy gathering misfits for a suicide mission.

"As for the Serrice Guard, they are renowned for their efforts to stop Blood Pack mercenaries from enslaving asari colonies in the Terminus Systems. Specifically, they engaged in a ship-to-ship fight that caused both vessels to crash. The remaining five survivors began a campaign of guerilla warfare against the Blood Pack, killing over a hundred mercenaries with traps, ambushes and night-time assaults. After nine days, the Blood Pack surrendered."

"Not bad," I whistled.

"The asari reaction was more… enthusiastic, much to their chagrin. It seems the Serrice Guard became celebrities upon their return to Thessia. After the typical after-action reports, they were guests of honour at numerous ceremonies, parades and events…"

Sounds familiar.

"…had numerous streets, buildings and cities named after them, both individually and as a unit…"

Yep, that's about right. The only thing missing was…

"…and they had a commemorative statue built in their honour."

Oh for crying out loud! "I feel their pain," I winced.

"I figured you would."

"Anything else?"

"Unfortunately, yes. Up until now, the Reapers' assault on Thessia has been delayed by hit-and-run attacks—in accordance with typical asari strategy. Unfortunately, the Reapers possess sufficient numbers to absorb those losses. After initially pausing to fend off these strikes, they began ignoring them and proceeded with orbital bombardment. This forced the asari to adopt a more conventional defensive posture, something that they are ill-suited for. Projections indicate that the Reapers will overwhelm Thessia's orbital defences and begin landing ground troops within a matter of days."

"Oy," I winced. "That's not good."

"No. No, it isn't."

Maybe it was just me, but Miranda sounded distracted. I took a closer look. Nope, it wasn't just me. "Something wrong?"

"I need access to Alliance resources. Not for the Crucible or the plan to retake Earth."

"Oriana?" I guessed. "You haven't said anything about how your search has been going."

"Not well. Even with Liara's contacts, I've only been able to make so much headway. Without direct access to those resources, my last real lead will have hit a dead end."

"Okay," I nodded.

"Thank you, Shepard. It means a lot."

"Family's important. Trust me, I know. Tell me what you need and I'll set it up.?"

"Before you do that… I need to tell you something. Confess, really. It's been eating away at me. I didn't know how to tell you… you've had so much to worry about... and…"

I took her into my arms and held her for a while. "Whatever it is, you can tell me," I mumbled into her shoulder.

Miranda took a deep breath. "When I headed the Lazarus Project to rebuild you, I wanted to implant a control chip in you as a safeguard. But the Illusive Man stopped me. He wanted Commander Shepard, not a drone that just obeyed orders. Installing the chip might have ruined you."

"Yeah, I remember that. And I guess I could see why you felt that way at the time. I was a complete unknown."

"You have no idea. I've never had to deal with that many black boxes on a project. I felt blind."

"Is that what you wanted to tell me? Because I already knew about the control chip."

"No, it's… I fought against my father and his need to run every aspect of my life. He wanted total control over me, right down to every sequence of my bloody DNA. I couldn't stand by and let it happen to my sister. I risked my life to get her away from all that. Yet I didn't give a second thought to destroying your free will when I had the power."

"This is what's been bothering you?"

"It's crazy, I know."

"No, it's not," I shook my head. "Well… maybe a little."

"Miranda, I get why you feel that way. But I think you're forgetting something. I lost two years of my life after the Collectors first ambushed me. You gave me back the rest of it. You could have changed me in a thousand different ways. You could have snuck in a backdoor or just flat-out ignored the Illusive Man. But you didn't. I don't know how, but you brought me back. Not just my body, but my soul. Everything I've done since—rescuing your sister, stopping the Collectors, any accomplishments I might've made during this damn war—was because of your efforts."

She smiled wanly. "Thanks. But with so much being uncertain, I just wanted you to know I always regretted wanting that chip."

"Miranda," I sighed, "we're both under so much pressure to be perfect. Maybe we should give ourselves a break."

"We can't give ourselves a break," she argued. "There's too much at stake."

"That's what I've been telling myself." I walked over to the bed and sat down. "But you know something? Maybe I was wrong. Maybe we were both wrong. We won't be in any shape to do anything if we're burned out."

"But—"

"C'mere," I interrupted. "Relax."

"Oh?" Miranda took a deep breath, gave me a sultry smile and walked—no, sauntered—over. A playful lilt entered her voice. "Are you trying to give me orders, Commander?"

Two could play that game. "Are you trying to maintain control, Miss Lawson?"

"Trying… but failing." She stopped in front of me and stared into my eyes.

"Good," I said softly, as she bent over me. "I'm almost out of moves."

"I'm not," were the last words she said that night.

A few days later, we docked at the Citadel. I had a number of people to meet—and a few people from the Normandy who wanted to spend some one-on-one time with me—and this was the best time to meet.

Even with the priority status I enjoyed, there was a lot of traffic to navigate through. So it was mid-afternoon by the time I disembarked from the Normandy. Not a lot of time left, but I could still squeeze in one or two things. First stop was Huerta Memorial Hospital. An asari consultant had been trying to get more asari civvies to volunteer at Citadel refugee clinics and hospitals. Thanks to some not-so-random searching in the Silean Nebula, I had just the ticket to make that happen: the Rings of Alune. Apparently finding this relic, named after some asari physician, was a miracle. (4)

Once I extricated myself from a profusely thankful consultant, I looked for Jacob. He was picking up some equipment at the hospital for the Crucible project. Turned out all I had to do was look for the guy waving at me from the reception area.

"Hey, Shepard," he greeted me when I joined him. "I'm glad to see you. I know things are crazy right now."

"Exactly," I nodded. "So you have to take the moments when you can. Now how're you doing? In your e-mail said you were picking up some gear for the Crucible. What's it like over there?"

"That project is crazy," he gushed, "freaking huge. "And all these brilliant minds are working night and day trying to figure it out. I wish you could see them: heads down, piecing it together. It's something to see. We'll get this Crucible built, Shepard—and then we'll win this thing. I feel it. Do you feel it?"

I didn't have the heart to dampen Jacob's enthusiasm. Besides, there were a few times when I felt slightly optimistic about our chances, so I could see where he was coming from. "Yeah, sure. I feel it. And I'm counting on you and everyone there. Get it done."

"Believe it," he nodded.

"So what's going on with you? You still like what you're doing?"

"Things are good. I'm good."

Was he always this bad at small talk, I wondered. "Still not tempted to come back to the Normandy?" I tried.

He shook his head and smiled. "Always tempted, Shepard… but no."

"Too busy working on the Crucible?"

That prompted a laugh. "Don't get me wrong: I'm smart—but not that smart. Hackett keeps me busy, though."

"How's he doing? I talked to him the other day after filing my AAR. He seemed okay, but you never know, right?"

"He's holding up," Jacob reassured me. "If they make old guys any tougher than that, I'd like to see it."

"Me too."

While it was nice that Jacob was starting to loosen up, we were getting a little sidetracked. I had a feeling I knew the real reason why Jacob was happy where he was. "How's Brynn doing? It was good to meet her, even if the circumstances weren't ideal."

"She's great, actually. It's good to see her work without the distraction of having to worry about the colony."

"And you and her?"

"We're…" he trailed off. A mixture of emotions flickered across his face. "We're having a baby, Shepard."

"Wow," I managed. "That's… that's great. Congratulations!"

"Thanks," he beamed. "Wasn't exactly planned, but… I'm looking forward to it. I'm going to be a better father than mine was. Do the whole thing right. It's… uh…"

"One more thing to fight for," I said when it looked like Jacob was at a loss for words.

We shook hands. "You got that right," he nodded. "Brynn wants to name it after you."

"Really."

"Yeah. 'Shepard'."

"That's… nice," I tried. "Not sure that works for a first name, though, but that's nice."

"Yeah, I'm gonna talk her out of it. No offense, but I heard about some of the things you had to deal with after Elysium. People naming buildings and streets and kids after you. Figured you didn't need any more of that."

"None taken," I chuckled. "It's not as bad as building a statue in my honour, anyway."

"Good."

"Anyway, I should let you go. I'm glad we had time to talk."

"Me too. Like you said, we gotta take the moments when we can. And Shepard, thanks again for getting my people out alive."

"Take care, Jacob."

"You too, Shepard. I might not be fighting on the Normandy anymore, but I'm still thinking about you out there. Stay safe."

My next stop was the Embassies to meet Javik. Yeah, that's right. Javik. He—like Jacob and several other people—had sent me an e-mail a while back. It seemed this was his first time visiting the Citadel, since it had been captured by the Reapers before he was born. Now you'd think he wanted to sightsee, but that wasn't the case. He just wanted to see how galactic control could possibly be shared amongst multiple races instead of being managed through one central authority. Also, Traynor had to walk him through sending an e-mail. He thought she was joking when she told him to type out the e-mail. As in assembling individual letters together to form words.

He eventually got around to sending the message through the 'outdated and clumsy' intraship e-mail and we arranged a time to meet. I found him standing by one of the windows, watching the skycars whiz by. "Hell of a view, isn't it?"

"During our war, this place became a myth to my people," Javik said quietly. "A dream glimpsed only in the memory shards. The Citadel was both the heart of our civilization and its demise."

"That's right," I remembered. Once they had the Citadel, they had access to the entire mass relay network and virtually every scrap of information stored there… including census data on the location and population of every Prothean world and colony. "The Reapers hit here first, didn't they?"

"No one I knew had ever seen the Citadel," Javik continued, too caught up in his own memories to hear my reply. "To be here now… I don't know what to think."

I think this was the first time I'd ever seen him so… awestruck. So humble. I had to stifle the urge to point that out. Somehow, I had the feeling he'd take it the wrong way. "It might not seem like much, but a Prothean is standing on the Citadel. Alive despite everything the Reapers did. That's a victory in itself."

"Perhaps."

"You said the Citadel became a myth amongst your people," I prompted after a few minutes passed.

"When things were at their darkest, we used to tell stories. Imagining the wonders of this place. The seat of our empire… the power to sway worlds. The galaxy belonged to us."

As interesting as this was, I sensed a shift in the conversation. Javik was slipping back into nostalgia, with all the imperialistic arrogance that went with it. I much preferred the Javik I just talked to. "Nowadays, a lot of races have embassies here."

"It's true, then? You share power with the rest?"

"Pretty much. The asari, salarians and turians have more influence, since they have representatives on the Citadel Council. Humanity only moved up from an associate member to having a seat at the big table a few years ago, so we're still regarded as the new kids on the block. It's not perfect, I'll admit, but it's kept the peace. Most of the time."

I glimpsed some motion from the corner of my eye. A hanar was floating towards us. "Pardon me," he said. "This one has been listening. This one suspects you are a Prothean."

Uh oh.

Javik walked towards him, reached out and touched him with his finger. He closed his eyes. The hanar quivered with excitement.

"A hanar," Javik said. "I remember your kind when you were still minnows in the ocean."

"This one is unworthy!" the hanar rejoiced. "This one has seen the face of an Enkindler! This one has been touched by an Enkindler!"

"Hoo boy," I muttered. "They consider your kind to be their gods," I explained, seeing the mild confusion on Javik's face.

He rolled his four eyes. "A pity we did not teach them to speak better."

Unfortunately, our conversation had drawn some attention. A couple civvies began drifting our way. "You're really a Prothean?" an asari asked.

"I am," Javik nodded.

"You fought the Reapers in your time?"

"I did."

"But… if you lost the last war, what hope do we have?"

Aw, crap. The civvies were having doubts, which was understandable given how the war had been going. And they were asking Javik to boost their morale. We were doomed.

"For many, there may be no hope."

It didn't take a genius to tell that was not what they were looking for.

"The Reapers killed trillions in my cycle. The odds of being among the living are remote."

I quickly turned him around to face the window again. "Um… I don't think that's going to work," I hissed. "They need someone to give them hope, in case you hadn't noticed."

"Then give it to them," he hissed back.

"I would, but I'm not the Prothean they're looking to."

With a sigh, Javik turned around again. "And yet, despite those odds, you are still alive. That alone is a miracle and you still have the power to fight. My people knew your kind when you were young. Turian, asari, hanar, human—there was potential in all of you.

"Now you must seize that potential and become the weapon you were meant to be—the weapon that tells the Reapers we are not machines. We are not prey to be harvested. We are not dead.

"We are alive. And we will fight back!"

Javik finished his speech with a flourish, fire in his eyes and more passion in his voice than I'd heard in a while. That's not to say he gave the greatest speech in the galaxy but, all things considered, he did pretty well for his first time.

The asari was the first to respond. "Thank you. That meant a lot."

All she got was a simple nod. Javik was back to being his usual taciturn self.

"Commander Shepard."

Nuts, I'd been ID'd.

"It must be an honour to have a Prothean fighting alongside you," the asari said.

"He's starting to learn his way around," I replied. "Javik is one of the best soldiers I've ever seen."

"The Commander is a capable warrior as well."

Did Javik just pay me a compliment?

"For a human."

Maybe not.

"Who once lived in caves."

Well, at least he made an effort.

The civvies began to disperse. Javik looked relieved. "Thank you, Commander. I have enjoyed my time here, walking among the… young. I will see you back on the Normandy."

Guess he was tired of entertaining the kids. Or he didn't want to be the guy everyone was staring or pointing at. Or maybe he just needed to think about everything he'd seen and said.

Samara was next on my list. It seemed she had returned to the Citadel from Lesuss to prepare herself for the fight. I hadn't extended an invite for her to join the Normandy, but even if I had, she would've turned it down. Apparently the Code required her to go where she was most needed, which in this case meant heading to the front. So we agreed to meet at the Embassies.

Like Javik, I found her staring out a window. "I hoped you'd come," she said over her shoulder. "I won't remain here much longer."

"You said you wanted to talk."

"I did. I suppose I wanted to say goodbye. Falere is safe and Rila is at rest. I felt the need to speak to you before heading to battle."

"Okay."

"I want you to know there is no one else I'd rather see leading us in our last hours."

If that came from any number of people I knew—politicians, sycophants and the like—I'd be more than a little skeptical. But this was Samara we were talking about. For all her faults, she'd never been known for hyperbole and idle flattery. So I could only conclude she was being sincere. "We'll make the galaxy proud. The largest fleet in history is already on our side."

"It is impressive. Most would have deemed such an alliance impossible. But Shepard… be sure to assess your force's strengths and weaknesses before setting out."

"That's probably a good call," I agreed. "You know, I never asked if your Code has anything useful on fighting Reapers."

"Treat them as any other enemy: show no quarter, mercy or weakness. The only difference is the scale of our foe. The Code is too strict to account for such… small discrepancies."

I blinked. It was entirely possible that Samara had just voiced a criticism of the Code that she had unswervingly followed as holy doctrine for centuries. "Is that how you see it too?" I wanted to know.

"An odd question, coming from the Spectre who killed his third Reaper on Rannoch. I say again: with your guidance and leadership, I have faith that we will emerge triumphant."

"Right. Out of curiosity, what are the other justicars doing for the war?"

Samara turned to look out the window again. "Most have made it home. They will attempt to hold Thessia."

Oh. Thessia. Miranda's warnings about the strategic situation of the asari homeworld echoed in my head. "Um… about that… I'd heard—"

Apparently Samara had heard the same things. "With the odds we face, it's possible our order will no longer exist after this war."

"There's that few of you?" I winced.

"Our numbers were never great," she admitted. "We must prepare to sacrifice ourselves if that is what's required."

"Are you heading to Thessia as well?"

She shook her head. "It is unlikely I would make it to Thessia at all, much less arrive in time to make any difference. I can do more on the front than I could on the homeworld. Your Admiral Hackett has already provided a list of worlds that could benefit from a lone justicar's assistance."

"So you could become the last justicar."

"It is possible."

"Do you ever regret your decision to become one?" I asked. "I mean, was it worth it if that's how it all ends?"

"The justicars were formed to bring order to a world that laughs at the notion. The role is solitary. Its demands are lonely and uncompromising, often to the point of pain. Following the Code left me with no regrets… until I saw my daughters again on Lesuss. Take that for what you will."

In other words, being a justicar let her run away from her problems and gave her some measure of peace until she remembered she'd locked up two of her daughters. "Speaking of Falere, will she be all right in the monastery? Well, what's left of it?"

"We spoke for some time after you departed. It won't be easy, but if there is a way to survive, Falere will find it. It was… good to see her again. I should not have waited so long."

I resisted the urge to check Samara's temperature.

"Perhaps it's unseemly for a justicar to dwell so much on her family, but I do not care. If there is a way for me to survive this war and see my daughter again, I will find it."

Must… resist… "I'm just happy things worked out."

"I was fortunate that Falere saw things—a great number of things—so clearly. Indeed, I came to realize a great many things during my reunion with her. None of which would have happened without your intervention. Thank you."

"You're welcome." I wracked my brain, trying to think of something else to say or ask. But I came up empty. "Good luck out there, Samara," I finally said.

"You as well. I don't know if you believe in such things, but may the Goddess be with you, Shepard. We'll be both be tested in fire soon enough."

"No doubt."

After Samara and I parted ways, I found the elcor ambassador. He thanked me again for helping evacuate his people. At least, those that had survived the initial onslaught. For all our efforts, there were far too many elcor—especially civvies—who didn't make it out.

I checked my chronometer. Time to meet Kaidan for dinner.

He'd offered to buy me dinner at Apollo's. It was a small restaurant in one of the courtyards overlooking the Presidium. Despite the casual modern aesthetic, it was clear that it was a high-end restaurant. It was located on the Presidium, after all.

Kaidan was already there perusing the menu when I got there. He shook his head as I sat down. "Surprised this place can still get supplies for a menu like this."

I picked up my own menu. One look was all it took to see what he was talking about. "Maybe it's better if we don't ask how… or where."

"Wouldn't want to be read in on that little secret," he agreed. "I'm glad we're taking the time to do this. I could use a sanity check."

"Things have been pretty crazy."

Kaidan shook his head. "It's more than that. You know, my life flashed in front of my eyes on Mars and… there weren't enough moments like this, with people I care about. I guess I wanted to change that, one step at a time."

"How're you feeling these days?" I wanted to know.

"Feeling up to whatever the Reapers throw at me… and grateful that I convinced you to sit down for half a second and relax."

"Yeah, I think it's a good time for us to have a heart-to-heart. What looks good?"

"Most of the dishes here are good, but I'm thinking of a nice steak sandwich tonight. Wouldn't mind a shot of whiskey and a good ol' Canadian lager, either. Think they have it?"

I quickly scanned the drinks section. "More likely to have batarian shard wine, from the looks of it."

"Figures," he sighed. "You know, at my parents' place in Vancouver, I drank more than a few beers on their balcony looking over English Bay. Beautiful view."

"At least you have that memory to cherish," I said wistfully. "My last view of English Bay was filled with burning buildings and Reapers."

"Yeah, I can see how that would sour things," Kaidan nodded. "I'll tell you what, though: I feel good about our chances."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Don't have any hard data to back that up, but it lets me sleep better at night."

"You not sleeping, Kaidan?" I asked worriedly.

"Maybe a little restless," he admitted.

"I get that," I groaned, thinking back on all those nightmares I'd been having.

Kaidan interrupted my introspection with a kick to the leg. "Look, we didn't come here to talk about work."

"Easier said than done," I laughed ruefully.

"Let me tell you something that I've been thinking about."

"Okay. Shoot."

"I'm not the kind of guy who's the life of the party, who has a lot of friends."

"Really?"

"No, it's true. I mean, some people even find my views and opinions annoying."

"Really?"

"No, seriously, I… well, now you're messing with me."

"Maybe a little," I shrugged.

"Okay, look. I just want you to know that I consider you a friend. Okay? A good one. I… I guess I just wanted you to know that I admire you as a commander and I value your friendship. Now I know I did a lousy job of showing it, but I… I'm trying, you know? And I'm glad to be part of the crew and…" He trailed off and rubbed his eyes. "Damn, this was way less awkward in my mind."

"It's all right," I finally relented. "I value your friendship too. Sure, I was, well, disappointed when you reacted on Horizon the way you did. Mars, too. But I'm glad we've patched things up."

I meant that too. Yeah, I was lowballing it when I said I was 'disappointed.' And to say we'd 'patched things up' was an oversimplification. But we were making progress,just like we were making progress against the Reapers. The important thing was that we were working and fighting alongside each other. Learning to trust each other once more.

"All right," I declared. "Time to figure out what to order and enjoy this… what did you call it? A sanity check?"

"Mmm," Kaidan nodded. "Sanity check."

Kaidan wound up getting his steak sandwich after all, though he had to settle for a pale ale from Bekenstein. I got the jambalaya penne with a honey lager from Eden Prime. The food was good. Overpriced, but still good. After we left, Kaidan admitted he was tempted to pick another restaurant. Seemed a lot of diplomats insisted on wining and dining him after he became a Spectre, and they all picked Apollo's. In the end, he decided to suck it up since he knew I probably hadn't eaten here before.

On the way back, I spotted a guy from the Alliance Engineering Corps that Orion had told me about. Seemed he was looking for a Prothean artifact known as the Obelisk of Karza, as its inscriptions were full of technical terms and measurements that could help decrypt the blueprints for the Crucible. He was very grateful to hear he could pick it up from Bay D24.

With that done, I just had one more stop to make. Joker wanted to show EDI the sights while we were docked at the Citadel. Well, not really: he just wanted to take her to Purgatory. He subtly—for him, anyway—requested that I tag along to 'make it less weird.'

Purgatory hadn't changed that much since the last time. More people, sure, but that was about it. I spotted EDI on the dance floor, doing more watching than dancing. "What're you up to?" I asked.

"I am analyzing the dance patterns of the other customers. Once I have compiled a data set of sufficient size, I can begin generating behavioural subroutines based on statistically significant means."

"You're trying to design your own dance movements based on averages and patterns and trends?"

"Yes."

"Ooookaaay." Time to change the subject. "Hey, I'm curious: what material is your face made from?"

"The surface is a flexible bio-mimetic nano-material over a metallic skull. The skin uses shear-thickening technology to help protect the central processing unit in the head. If the skin is struck or shot, it solidifies to absorb the impact. It is also capable of limited self-repair."

"And what about the hair?"

"It is of similar construction. For defence, I have set it to cohere into a solid piece. For infiltration purposes, it can be parted into individual strands. If it has recently been exposed to water, however, I generally can't do a thing with it."

"Sounds like the hair of most organics," I laughed.

"Perhaps."

EDI's eyes had wandered back to the other dancers. "How about I let you continue gathering data?"

"Thank you, Shepard."

A little more wandering led me to EDI's date. "Look at this!" Joker hollered. "All it took was a Cerberus attack on the Citadel to get folks around here to pay attention to the war."

"How is this any different than normal?" I wanted to know.

"Can't you see the desperation? This isn't happy dancing. This is 'forget my problems' dancing. Look at the arms. Like that guy." Joker pointed to a human who was definitely waving his arms wildly. And shaking his shoulder-length hair back and forth in what might be charitably described as a steady rhythm. "If a guy waves his arms—and hair—like that, he's worrying about a lot more than looking stupid on the dance floor."

"That's surprisingly observant."

A bitter smile flashed over Joker's face. "I've had time to watch a lot of dancing from the sidelines. Speaking of which…"

"Dancing?"

"Watching from the sidelines. What do you think about me and EDI?"

Just looking at him, it was clear what kind of answer he was expecting. No doubt he was steeling himself for something like "What the hell is wrong with you? She's a machine! Why in the name of all that is good and holy would you even consider something like that? Are you really that desperate?" All with a shocked and disgusted look reserved for perverts and pedophiles. Or maybe he just expected me to collapse on the floor and roll around laughing.

Instead, I looked him in the eye and said. "It's about damn time."

Joker's jaw dropped so quickly, I thought I heard it crack. Which would be bad for him. "What? But... it's me. And EDI. Together."

"Yeah. Why not?"

"Because I could break a bone just from some light over-the-clothes action?"

"That's always a risk. Just like being rejected. But then, so are the Reapers."

"Yeah, I wasn't planning on dating Harbinger," he deadpanned.

I rolled my eyes. "You know what I mean. Look, if we all end up dead this time tomorrow, what would you regret?"

His voice cracked as he replied. "Getting a shattered pelvis. And a broken heart." He shook his head angrily. "It's such a stupid idea."

"Is it?" I challenged. "If you could be out there right now on the dance floor, would you be waving your arms?"

...

"Yeah."

"Sounds like you've got bigger things to worry about than looking stupid."

"Yeah. Guess I do."

"So..." I prompted.

He took a deep breath and pushed himself away from the bar. "All right. Here goes. Now, if you'll excuse me. I'm gonna, well, you know—"

"EDI's over there," I pointed, putting him out of his misery.

"Right."

Alone with my thoughts, I ordered a beer and drank it while everybody drowned their sorrows or burned off their nervous energy. When I was done, I looked for Joker and EDI. One was carefully getting his groove on while the other was still gathering data, but they were doing so together. I caught Joker's eye.

"Haven't broken anything yet," he hollered. "That's a start!"

I gave him a thumbs up. (5)

The next day, I met Liara at another courtyard on the Presidium. It was her idea. Seemed she needed an excuse to tear herself away from her work.

We spent at least ten minutes there. Just… staring out into the distance. "You sure you don't want to do something a little more exciting?"

She shook her head. "I love this part of the Presidium," she gushed. "It reminds me of where I grew up."

"Really? Where's that?"

"Armali, back on Thessia."

"As in Armali Council?" (6)

"That's the one. My mother and I lived beside a park. I spent hours there."

"Doing what?"

She laughed quietly. "Reading, exploring… getting in trouble digging for ruins in the grass."

Now it was my turn to laugh. "You're kidding."

"I was very young!" she said defensively.

"Yeah, that's actually pretty cute," I grinned.

"No one else thought it was funny. Oh, the lecture my mother gave me! But she did buy me my first history book the next day." She leaned against the rail, a wistful look on her face. "I miss her, Shepard."

Not surprising. I only had a few hours' experience with her as the indoctrinated asari who showed way too much cleavage. Liara had decades—hell, over a century—to remember her as someone else entirely. "What was she like?"

"She was confident and kind. She loved to wear yellow. I thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world."

"You'll be okay, Liara," I said gently.

"Maybe you're right." She took a deep breath. "Thank you, Shepard. I feel better."

Oh good. You never really know what to say in situations like this. There are the hollow-sounding and overused platitudes, of course, but there's a reason why they're hollow and overused. The important thing, though, was the intent behind the words. If Liara picked up on that, and it made her feel even a little bit better, then that was all that really mattered.

She turned her gaze out towards the Presidium. "I wish we could spend more time together like this. No wars, no fights. Just… friends."

"It'd be nice. And who knows? Maybe you'll settle down after this."

Liara raised an eyebrow. "You don't really see me going into civilian life, do you? After everything we've been through."

I shook my head. "No, but I guess that's one more reason we should keep in touch."

"Someone to share a few secrets with now and then?" she suggested with a smile.

"You got it," I smiled back.

We stayed there for another hour or so, enjoying the peace and tranquility. It was nice, not having to be anywhere or do anything. But eventually we had to leave. Liara had more intel to process. And I had more friends to meet.

I spotted one of them a few blocks away. "Of course," Tali was saying as I approached. "We can have ships at the colony in thirty-six hours. Do you need medical support?"

"No," the turian replied. "Evacuating the colony is more than enough. Thank you, Ambassador."

He shook hands with her before leaving. "'Ambassador'?" I repeated.

"I'm coordinating actions for the Flotilla while we're here," Tali explained. "Evacuating colonies, bolstering turian defence lines…"

She trailed off. "Tali?" I prompted.

"Huh. I think it was right here. Three years ago to the day."

"What?"

"This was where Saren's assassins fired at me. I'd just gotten to the Citadel. I didn't think I needed my barriers up. My mistake."

"After finding the recording that proved he was working with the geth—and the Reapers?"

"Right. I went to Illium and tried to inform the authorities, but Saren's mercenaries attacked me. I barely escaped. I stowed away on a turian freighter and came out here. At the time, I thought I was safe."

"You never told me about this," I frowned. "Not in that much detail, anyway. How bad was it?"

"Got me in the arm. They used polonium rounds. I was running a fever in minutes. It was the first time I'd been really hurt on my Pilgrimage. I ran to the Council Embassy, asked for protection, offered the data on Saren. The turian clerk on duty called me 'suit-rat.' He threatened to have me tossed off the station if I didn't leave."

Sadly, that was typical behaviour back then. Still was, come to think of it. "I wish that clerk could see you now."

"He just did. That was him, back there. I don't think he remembers me."

I whirled around and looked back. Off in the distance, I could still see the turian. "And you're assisting him in spite of that."

"This war is too big for old grudges," she replied. "You showed me that. We're at peace with the geth and have begun reclaiming our homeworld because enough people—on both sides—were willing to put our past behind us. I can't waste my time on a turian who made me angry. Besides, it all worked out. I made it to the Wards and got patched up. You found me. Happy ending."

"And now the turians will get the aid they desperately need."

She shook her head in self-recrimination. "I nearly reminded him who I was. Made him apologize, rubbed his nose in it. Maybe he and I both needed to grow up a little."

"The difference is that you helped when it counted," I told her.

"Thanks, Shepard. So did you."

"Anything else on your agenda?" I asked.

"Just wandering around. I never get tired of looking at this place. Maybe because I never thought they'd let a quarian up here. Everything looks so peaceful. You can almost forget about the war. I know none of that's real, but…"

"But it's nice to relax and forget your troubles, just for a little while," I agreed.

My next stop was one of the holding areas in the Docks. I was originally here to find one of the refugees, but that was before I saw James. He was sitting down with his shirt off while a batarian worked on his back. Judging by the tools nearby, it looked like he was getting a tattoo. Another one, I should say.

"Commander," James greeted me. What brings you down here?"

"I was about to ask you that."

"Well, after our little chat—ah!" He winced as the batarian accidentally hit a sore spot. "I made up my mind," he continued. "I'm gonna join the N7 program."

It seemed like a while ago that he came to my quarters and asked for my opinion about the N7 program, what it meant and whether he deserved the invite that was extended before the Reapers invaded. "And you're celebrating by getting another tattoo?"

He chuckled. "Sort of. See… there's no official channels to go through right now. So, I guess this is my way of making it official. Technically, I'm just an N7 recruit. Haven't even gone through the N1 stuff. But, you know, I figure with you as my training officer, how could I fail? Right?"

"I'm flattered, but I wouldn't exactly say I'm training you. It's not like I have a syllabus to follow or anything."

"Not officially, no, but what the hell is in this goddamn war? I'm just saying… whether you like it or not, you're my direct superior, and you're N7. So I take my lead from you. And, you know, I'll take whatever advice you've got."

"Really?"

"Sure," he said cheekily. "The good advice, anyway."

"Well, they wouldn't ask you if they didn't think you could handle it."

"Here's hoping."

"But that just means the real work starts now," I warned him.

James sobered up and looked me in the eye. "I know it seems like I don't take things seriously, but when I commit to something… I fully commit."

I gestured at whatever it was that the batarian was tattooing on his back. "Clearly."

"Hey. I won't let you down."

"The only person you need to prove yourself to is the one standing in the mirror every morning," I said.

"Good point."

Speaking of points to bring up… "That's probably gonna sting for a few days. You gonna be ready for duty?"

"Well," he winced, "I'm not looking forward to slapping my armour back on... but I'm always ready."

"Glad to hear it."

"Ow!" James glared at the batarian. "Careful!"

Waving goodbye, I left James to the tender mercies of the batarian tattoo artist. Time to find that refugee.

I should explain.

You see, during my last galactic wandering, I found a Prothean sphere on the tiny, lonely planet of Gei Hinnom. The data from that sphere could come in handy as far as the Crucible project was concerned. Now I could hand it over directly to the Alliance. Or I could give it to a refugee whose conversation I'd overheard during my last visit. I figured he could contact the Alliance and say I asked them to pay him for it. The reward wouldn't be substantial, but it would be enough to buy food for his family—and some of the other families who sought refuge on the Citadel.

Sadly, not all families would have a happy ending. That point was driven home when I saw a certain teenage refugee chatting with the turian guard who'd befriended her. Though the turian was doing most of the chatting initially. "Hey there!" he greeted her.

"Hey."

"Looking mighty low today," he frowned. "You okay? Anyone been bothering you?"

"No, it's not that," she said quietly. "I'm fine."

"Ah. I see. So… um, any news?"

She shook her head. No. They just… their shuttle must be real slow, that's all. Do you think they're okay? They promised they'll come get me, no matter what they had to do. But—" she broke off as a sob bubbled out. "But it's been so long."

"I don't know, kid," the turian said quietly. "I'm sure they'd be happy, knowing you're safe."

"It's just… I miss them. I miss them so much."

"I miss my parents too," he said quietly. "Tell you what: I'm almost finished work. Soon as my shift is over, why don't we grab something to eat? You can tell me about your parents and I'll tell you about mine."

That was hard to watch. No matter how desperately that kid clung to her last shreds of hope, it was clear that she was starting to realize that her parents might not be coming. That her family might never be reunited. Just like countless other families out there, scattered and broken up because of the Reapers and the damn war they brought with them. At least she had that turian to look out for her.

On that depressing note, I headed over to Purgatory. Well, after making a brief detour. There was this elcor who had been looking for some holy book known as the Code of the Ancients. Thanks to the First Fleet, the original copy of the book made it off Dekuuna. Just the kind of miracle the elcor needed to lift their spirits in this time of turmoil.

Speaking of spirits, I was hoping to see a few more people partying it up or downing some drinks—ah, there we go! Cortez was waving to me from the bar. I weaved my way through the crowd to join him. "Shepard, you made it!" he shouted over the din. "Come have a drink with me."

I plastered a smile on my face. Well, maybe not plastered—I really could use a drink right now.

"You're looking happy," I observed. He really did, too. Maybe it was the drinks he'd imbibed, but the smile on his face, the light in his eye, even his body posture all seemed… lighter.

"You had it right. Yesterday can't change. Tomorrow we might all be dead. Today is what matters. I'm not wasting it."

"I wouldn't have thought a club would be to your tastes."

"You don't have to get all hot and bothered to appreciate graceful dancing. There's an energy here. There's life. And some of the eye candy in the crowd isn't too shabby, either.

"No, it isn't," I agreed. "But I've got Miranda—and she's more than just eye candy."

"That she is," Cortez laughed. "Good thing you're off the market and play for the other team: I sure don't need you as competition."

The bartender interrupted us with our drinks: two shots of tequila. At least, I hoped it was tequila. "Here," he said.

I took the glass he proffered me. "To you, Steve."

"And to you, Shepard: a good friend when I needed one most. Thank you. For everything."

We each downed the shot and slammed the glass on the table. Cortez clapped me on the shoulder. "Now if you'll excuse me, there's a fellow over there that's been checking me out all night. Think it's time to say hello."

Since Cortez didn't need me as a wingman, I decided to go find Jack. She said she'd probably be here, but I missed her the other night. Maybe second time would be the charm.

Sure enough, I found her. Now I don't know what I'd expected to find, but a dry and sober Jack sitting down and scowling at a datapad wasn't it. "Ugh! This sucks."

I grabbed a seat. "What've you got there?"

"Duty roster for the students," she said with disgust. "It's what I do for 'fun' now."

"How are your students?"

"They've got us spread out across Alliance units. Reinforcing barriers, modding ammo, that kind of thing. Just a short rotation so the kids don't burn out, which means lots of shore leave. Not that I've been enjoying any of it." She gave the datapad another glare.

"So they're doing okay?"

"Oh, they're doing fine. They're not the ones reading duty rosters while on shore leave."

"Complain if you like, but I think military life suits you."

Jack was quick with the denial. "Hey, running back to the Alliance was your lifelong dream, not mine."

"C'mon, what's not to like? Plenty of combat, free room and board… and people you can depend on." I leaned over to emphasize the last point.

She gave an exaggerated sigh. "Yeah, yeah. Maybe your little suicide squad taught me something about teamwork. Speaking of which… thanks."

"For the lesson about teamwork?"

"For backing me up and putting my students in a support role. My guys are handling it pretty well. Still see some action, so they get to kick ass and take names, but they're not on the front lines. They've saved a lot of lives."

"I'm glad to hear that."

"You know, it'd be a hell of a lot more fun with you—you find bigger fights. But the little shits are useless without me. Like it or not, I'm stuck with them. 'Cause I'm dependable now, apparently." She poked me with an accusing finger. "I blame you for this, Shepard."

"You're welcome."

"Screw you—hey!"

I deftly snatched up her datapad, saved the duty roster and tucked it away. "C'mon," I said, getting to my feet.

"What the hell?"

"The duty rosters can wait," I declared. "Right now, you're on shore leave. Time to relax and get your groove on."

Jack looked at me, then the dance floor, then back to me. "You mean dance."

"Yep."

"Shepard, everybody knows you can't dance!"

"Says who?"

"Says that vid of you trying to dance at your prom. It's all over the extranet." (7)

Oh. God. I thought I'd deleted all copies of that. "Crap!"

"Language!"

"You're scolding me for foul language?" I asked incredulously. "Now I know you need to blow off some steam."

With a laugh, we stepped onto the dance floor.

Well, I could only handle so much humiliation. So after Jack let her hair down and relaxed, I let her get back to her duty roster and resumed wandering through the club. It wasn't long until I found a certain couple sitting at one of the tables. "You introduced me as your personal assistance mech," EDI was saying. "Again."

"Yeah, well, it was the only way to get you inside."

"But you know I am not one. Why deceive others?"

He took his cap off and ran his fingers nervously through his hair. "You don't really want to introduce yourself as an AI with Reaper-based code. They would... lynch you."

"That would be an inefficient way to render me non-functional."

"Maybe, but tensions are pretty high right now," I butted in. "Best not to rock the boat right now. We can start easing the truth in later."

"Hey, Commander," Joker greeted me. "Why don't you grab a seat? I was just about to get us another round."

He clapped me on the shoulder and headed for the bar. I sat down and looked at EDI. "So... looks like you two are having fun."

"Yes, Joker has been smiling and laughing at a significantly higher rate since he and I agreed upon a relationship." She paused before correcting herself: "I mean, he is happier."

There was a certain warmth in her voice that wasn't there before. Looked like Joker wasn't the only one who was happier. "It seemed like you two might make a good match," I said.

"I was not so certain," EDI admitted. "When I first presented this body to Jeff, he seemed aloof."

"Really?" That I had trouble believing, especially considering how giddy he seemed. "What did Joker say, exactly?"

"He said I didn't have to conform to some feminine ideal in order to impress him."

I raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Really?" I said again.

"I then called him on his bullshit, and we then proceeded to talk normally."

That was more like it.

"After your encouragement last night, his attitude exhibited signs of change. He said he was reluctant, but you convinced him to 'go for it'."

"I might have helped a little," I shrugged.

"I see. Thank you for your support, Shepard. This is proving to be an illuminating experience."

Joker returned with three beers-two for him and one for me. "Okay. How about we talk about something other than AIs or work?" he suggested.

"Any ideas?" I asked.

"Yes. Councillor Tevos."

I had no idea what EDI was talking about. Joker did, however. "Hot, but points off for attitude."

Oh. Now I understood. I'd played this game before.

"Sha'ira the Consort."

Joker looked at me nervously. "Uh... hot, I guess. Can we stop this? You're creeping me out."

Yeah, it was hard to tell if EDI was jealous, testing Joker's honesty or simply gathering data.

"Dalatrass Linron."

"Ew," Joker and I said in unison.

Last but not least was Garrus. He was hanging out by one of the skycar rental outfits near the Docks. "Shepard," he greeted me. "How're you doing?"

"Not bad," I returned. "You?"

"Good, thanks. Glad you came. If you're feeling up to it, I thought we could do something fun for a change."

"What'd you have in mind?"

"Something that doesn't involve fighting Reapers."

"I don't think they've conquered the bar yet," I suggested, pointing towards the nearest dive.

"I already scoped it out," Garrus admitted. "But then I thought, if this was my last day alive, I'd actually like to remember it."

"Good call," I acknowledged. "So?"

"So I had an idea."

Sounded ominous, but if I couldn't trust Garrus, who could I trust? He led me to a grey skycar. We got in and flew towards the Presidium. "Where we going?" I asked once we passed over the Embassies.

"Somewhere we're not supposed to," he said with a wry grin.

"Some things never change, do they?" I snorted. "I'm gonna ask again: where we going?"

"Ever have that one thing you always wanted to do before you died, Shepard?"

Probably. I'm sure I could write a bucket list if I put my mind to it, but right now? (8) Nothing specific came to mind. "Sure," I finally said. "But usually I'm too busy trying to live. What's yours?"

Garrus turned to me eagerly. "The whole time I worked at C-Sec, I'd stare up at the top of the Presidium and say to myself: I want to go up there. But I never did. There were 137 regulations telling me I couldn't."

"So you got them changed?"

"No," he grinned. "Now I just don't give a damn."

With that, he pulled the skycar into a sharp climb. I found myself matching his grin as I burst into laughter.

A few minutes later, we touched down on one of the support braces that ran from one 'wall' of the Presidium to the other. It was a clean, stark white, just like everything else on the Presidium. I doubted anyone had ever been up here other than the keepers.

"Figured it's time to do something stupid just for the hell of it," Garrus said as we climbed out. "Might be the last chance we ever get."

He took a step to the side, then stopped when he saw I hadn't moved. I was too busy staring off into the distance. Skycars were flying back and forth, with a simulated sunny sky above them and a lush display of plant life and water beneath them. "A little busier than I imagined," he admitted.

"How about a dive in the pool?" I suggested.

Garrus carefully peered over the edge at the water. I think there were a few fountains directly below us. "You obviously haven't seen turians swim," he said after a moment. "It's a lot of flailing and splashing interrupted by occasional bouts of drowning."

"Maybe you'll be the one turian that bucks the trend."

"And if you're wrong?"

"Then I'd just have to save your ass again. Story of my life."

"It'd make up for all the times I pulled your ass out of the fire. Feros, Noveria, Virmire, Ilos…" He sobered up and looked at me. "We've had a hell of a ride, haven't we, Shepard?"

"Times like these, you know who your real friends are," I said quietly. "They're not the ones running around looking for an escape route. They're the ones who stand at your side through the worst of it. Who never give up on you, no matter what craziness you drag them into. I'm lucky I can say I know someone like that."

"So am I."

…

…

Garrus broke the silence first. "You're not going to propose marriage now, are you?"

"I don't love you that much."

We both burst into laughter. Then Garrus moved towards a nearby crate. "Now, before we head back, there is one thing we're going to settle once and for all…"

Opening the crate, he pulled out a sniper rifle. M-92 Mantis. Basic model. No mods. Clearly he wanted to see which one of us was the better sniper. And what better way to answer that burning question than to use a craptastic brand of weapon with no enhancements or tricks whatsoever? "Okay," I nodded. "I see where this is going."

"Not saying you don't know how to handle a gun. But some of us… well, let's just say some of us know how to make it dance."

He tossed the rifle to me, took another one out and set it by the crate. "So let's find out who's really the best shot."

"There are a few people in the galaxy who've seen me in action, Garrus," I reminded him. "They seemed impressed."

"Yeah, but I've actually seen you dance, Shepard. No comment."

Again with the reference to my dancing skills. Where was this coming from?

"All right, Vakarian." I loaded the thermal clip he tossed me and adjusted the sights. "You're going down."

"Uh huh." Garrus leaned over and pulled out some bottles. "Plastic milk bottles from one of the restaurants in the Wards," he explained. "We'll use these for target practice. If by some miracle you actually hit them, the debris won't harm anyone below. And don't worry," he added, nodding at my rifle. "I loaded those clips with practice slugs for when you miss."

He threw the first bottle. Straight line, minimal arc. I raised my rifle and shot it without even thinking. "You were saying?"

"That was an easy one. Let you build up your confidence."

"Uh huh."

"Long range, I wrote the book. Nobody alive can do this, not even Commander Shepard." Garrus leaned over, picked up his rifle and another bottle and tossed the latter to me. "Give me a tough one."

I wound up and let the bottle fly.

Garrus blew the bottle into smithereens. "I said a tough one!" he protested.

"Step aside."

We went back and forth for several rounds. Each time it was our turn to throw the bottle, we'd try to put a spin or curve on it. Something to make it more challenging for each other. But each time, the shooter was up to the challenge. Every single shot hit the bottle. Every. single. time. It was becoming increasingly clear that the two of us were evenly matched.

Then it was my turn again. I stepped forward, raised my rifle...

...

...and realized that I really didn't care who won. The act of spending time with one of my best friends was more important than who won bragging rights in this silly little contest. The joy of relaxing with one of my dearest comrades was more important than who had more hits. Hell, even the act of shooting practice slugs at mock targets that didn't shoot back was a pleasure in and of itself. Besides, Garrus had always been more interested in keeping score than I did. (9)

"Do it," I told him, coming to a decision.

He threw the bottle. I took the shot.

And I watched as the bottle dropped towards the pond below, intact and unharmed.

"Oh yeah! That's right. I'm Garrus Vakarian, and this. is now. my favourite spot on the Citadel." (10)

I rolled my eyes. "It's windy up here."

Garrus ignored me and continued celebrating his victory. "Think I'm going to erect a monument right here." He gave his rifle an appraising eye and ran a talon along the barrel. "I'll bronze this gun so the whole galaxy knows—"

"—that you're the king of the bottle shooters?" I started clapping my hands slowly. "Glad you're around, Garrus. Never know when the bottles might revolt."

We looked at each other before bursting into laughter.

(1): Shepard was also interrupted by frequent visits by Miranda—either in person or over the comm.

(2): A mythological simian, ape- or hominid-like creature said to inhabit forests on Earth, primarily in the Pacific Northwest. Scientists generally discount its existence due to the lack of hard evidence and the questionable reliability of any sightings—something that, up until 2186, could be said of Leviathan.

(3): Yet another example of how Shepard's willingness to talk to his crew and listen to their problems paid off.

(4): The resulting increase in volunteers and charitable contributions freed up medical staff that were badly needed in the medical bays of Citadel Defence Force ships.

(5): While Shepard may not have gone out of his way to be a matchmaker, he certainly seemed to recognize when two people would work well together.

(6): An affiliation of asari manufacturing guilds well-known for their high and consistent standards of excellence. During his hunt for Saren, Shepard bought a few omni-tools and bio-amps from them—with a license obtained from Nassana Dantius after killing her sister.

(7): Shepard apparently just shuffled from side to side. Based on the aforementioned extranet vid, his dancing skills hadn't improved since secondary school.

(8): A list of things to do before you die. The term comes from the human phrase 'kicked the bucket,' a euphemism for death.

(9): Garrus later admitted his suspicions that Shepard had deliberately lost that contest. He didn't say anything at the time because, like Shepard, the time spent with his friend was more important than who actually won.

(10): A reference to Shepard's trips to the Citadel in 2185 and the short promotional advertisements he recorded at various shops and kiosks to earn discounts on their merchandise.