Only the Faithful

by Tilthanial

They held the line when the hordes came. They held the line when the gods came. They held the line when the Worldbreaker came. Now they hold the line against a threat they have never imagined. And they will hold the line. For they are Cadians, and they are faithful.

3. Welcome Aboard

A/N: Next Installment arrived.

Reviewers:
kukuhimanpr- It is actually going to be fairly 40k-lite, trying to not bring in too much over because, let's face it. If Warhammer 40k came to the Mass Effect galaxy in any significant mass, ME would get wiped. That being said, I have the explanation for the other races, but currently have absolutely 0 ideas on how to make it fit in the story. Might just Author's Note it at some point.
dekuton- Exactly. That is the nice thing about Warp-jumping. Everything's made up and points don't matter. :D
SalemTheSpeakerOfTruth- True, and... bwahaha (maybe)
Disciple of Ember- Yeah, I think was being weird that week. Half this story is basically going to be one party saying "the fuck?" to the other party, and vice versa. Gonna be lots of laughs, and a few tears.
dghornick- Well, you can be sure he will approve of Palaven's defenses if/when he ever visits them. Not Cadian-level, but the Turians have a pretty solid defense set up there. See below for the lasgun discussion. :D
Guest- The document jumped from Microsoft Word at one point to plain rtf, to Google Docs, and once you hit over 15k words it tends to lag and get wonky. I try to clean it up as best I can.
Guest 2- Yeah... Inquisitors. Definitely never showing up here. Nope. Never. But yes, Commissar I thought would be fun. Honestly, I got that idea from the older fic Hammerhand. they have Miranda become a commissar, sort of. Fantastic pre-ME3 fic, btw.
SomeGuyOverHere- Kasrkin. He's a Kasrkin. I refuse to acknowledge that retarded name and those retarded models. Stormtroopers went from being hardcore mofos to being these prissy little douchenuggets when they redid that line. hah. rant done. I am definitely trying to keep this from being a "new people, cool!" fic. There's going to be lots of friction, but not to the point it is laborious. Hopefully.
reader51947141- You like numbers, don't you? Thank you for the compliment.
DrakeTheTraveller- That is very kind of you. I try hard.
AngryOstrich- don't worry, this one has about 400k words already written in it. I am just taking my time editing everything before I post. TWiF is currently my main focus, but I will keep letting this one out in as regular doses as I can manage.

---

After a long and painful briefing, Shepard updated the two men on the state of the galaxy they had found themselves in. It was not a pleasant talk. Both men balked at the idea of working alongside xenos, and seemed more than ready to argue their belief that all xenos wanted was the destruction of man. Kelly's aid proved indispensable. She recovered quickly from her initial shock, returning to her practiced role as the psychiatrist, always asking questions and defusing temperamental reactions before they could get ugly. By the time they finished, all parties were exhausted. Shepard had Kelly find them a spare room on Deck 3 to get some rest. They took their gear with them, of course. Shepard noted the protective way they clung to their equipment. If it came to it, disarming them would be a bitch of a task.

Once the Cadians left, he summoned his team to debrief them. Miranda and Jacob both bounced with questions, but they held their silence while Shepard had EDI give audio playback of both the discussion in the medical bay and in the conference room. EDI skipped through the uninteresting bits, fast-forwarding to the most pertinent details. Just enough to get the point across, for now. Further investigation could come later. He knew Miranda would listen through it all in detail later.

The fact that they held in their knee-jerk reactions was a testament to their professionalism. Poor Kelly Chambers was still digesting everything she had heard. She sat at the corner of the table, listening to it all again and scribbling furiously on her datapad. After thirteen pages, Shepard had stopped counting how many she had finished. While Jacob and Miranda had listened, Shepard snuck a glance at Kelly's notes. Intricate, detailed, precise. The Illusive Man had chosen her well.

When EDI finished the playback, the room fell utterly silent. Their faces showed the general flow of their thoughts. Disbelief, incredulity, amusement, sullen acceptance. All vying for control. Miranda's scowl remained fixed firmly on her face. She stood behind her chair, leaning one hip against the back, hands drumming restlessly on her arms as she pondered the news. Her dissatisfaction with the situation needed no explanation. Yet she held her tongue, contemplating, considering possibilities.

Shepard had no idea where to even start. They had seen it firsthand. It was not as if they were entirely unaware of the incident. But to hear all of this information, it was like a punch to the gut. For him, hearing it the second time made it even less clear to him. Things were supposed to make more sense with repetition. Here, he just felt more confused. Like his already uncertain world was crumbling around his feet. The cold claws of doubt lingered around the corner of his consciousness. He wondered if this was what his father had felt like, during First Contact. Like his universe had just exploded, and somehow it was up to him to make it all right.

In the end, it was Jacob who spoke first.

"If I hadn't seen that shot that nearly took your head off, I wouldn't believe a word of that," he pointed vaguely up at the audio projectors on the ceiling. "The weapons they carry, they aren't anything like I have seen before. Call me crazy, but I think that was a laser rifle. Actual laser technology. I mean, that's like science fiction."

"I have met many kinds of madmen in my time" Miranda placed her elbows on the back of her chair and leaned into it, interlacing her fingers. "These meet all the requirements. They have wild tales, maintain full confidence in their imaginations, carry themselves with righteous fervor. We should not be allowing them out without a team of guards."

"You don't believe them?"

"I did not say that." Her reply sounded half-defensive, half-dismissive. "Their weapons and equipment speak in their favor, as EDI agrees. It is a hard concept to grasp, certainly not something I find favorable to consider. Temporal displacement is impossible to imagine at the current level of technology, but a few hundred years ago we thought aliens did not exist and mass effect transportation was not even on the theoretical table. It goes without saying of course that, if true, this will bring a great deal of complication. They have a rather simplistic view of the natural order."

"You're referring to their apparent hatred of aliens and how any reference to aliens is like pulling teeth?" Kelly arched an eyebrow from behind her notepad.

"I do. His xenophobia is impressive."

"Says the Cerberus agent," Shepard muttered. He bit his tongue a breath later, a pang of guilt slashing through his mind. He did not regret the sentiment; his reservations had been put out there for the entire crew. They all knew what he thought of the organization. It had been part of his first address to the crew, along with an invitation to leave if they didn't like it. In an organization founded on secrecy and lies, he refused to maintain the status quo. Of course, the Illusive Man had known he would do something of the kind. There were no "purebred" Cerberus agents on the Normandy. Except Miranda, maybe Every crew member had some tie to Shepard, even if it was one-sided. Former Alliance, survivors of the Skyllian Blitz. Everyone here believed in him or did a good job pretending to. It was the perfect setup. He had no reason to not trust these people. Which meant he had every reason to distrust them.

And he could not deny the slight tingle of glee it gave him to watch the momentary flush of irritation spook across Miranda's face. Miranda did not have the purely humanistic ideology that Cerberus espoused. Even though her allegiance was true enough, she had never claimed human dominance at the expense of the other races. Humans first, but not aliens last. There was just enough humanity in her to find offense at the jab. That was good. His instincts had been solidifying about her rather quickly. For all of her aloofness and arrogance, Shepard was sure that she could be trusted. In the battles to come, he would need that.

"Their eyes are peculiar too," Miranda continued, brushing aside his comment. "Violet eyes, did you notice that? They all have them. Far too bright to be natural, but they lack any sort of cybernetic signatures. Palaven does have significant radioactive contamination compared to Earth-standard. It is possible that a human colony on Palaven could, over multiple generations, develop mild mutations like this."

"So you think they are mutants?" Jacob shook his head. "This keeps getting weirder."

"It is not so simple to label, but… yes. I am not talking about the kind of mutations you read about in comics or see in the movies." Miranda shot Shepard a meaningful glower. "Lifelong spacers tend to have lighter bones due to artificial gravity. It is theoretically possible that a specific exposure to consistent mutagenic agents could cause an evolutionary change like this. Besides, violet eyes is hardly a step towards homo superior."

"EDI, can you bring up the scans?" Shepard collected their attention. "And transfer the files to our datapads."

"Affirmative, Commander Shepard. Bringing them up now."

Life-size images sprang to life from the projectors. The flickered and swirled together in a riotous ball of light-data before spilling out to align themselves in the order EDI considered the most efficient. The three bodies occupied the center of the holographs, surrounded by scans of their armor, all spinning slowly in the three-dimensional field for full viewing. On the furthest edges of the table stood the collection of weapons that accompanied the newcomers. Technical readouts hovered along every inch of the projections, noting everything from color pigmentation to chemical residues. The speed at which EDI could process still astounded Shepard.

The swords drew everyone's attention first. For soldiers with laser technology, or at least something similar, the presence of such archaic weapons left him confused. He hardly doubted the effectiveness of such weapons, the chained blade in particular had a gruesome savageness to it. But how could they possibly still find any use for such things? He knew some krogan still carried hammers and the like, but those were berserkers who forwent ranged combat in favor of close quarters combat. And berserkers were near impossible to take down. These were humans. They weren't that hard to kill.

Miranda strode to the edge of the table and pointed to the figure of Sergeant Kane. Specifically, she pulled her fingers apart to zoom the image on the thick shoulder plate. A silvery highlight roped around the symbol of a double-headed eagle, set in the same location where a unit emblem would have belonged. Kane had called that the aquila. It had significant meaning to them. And it was everywhere. On their armor, their weapons, their kit.

"EDI," Miranda was one of the few crew members who had adjusted to addressing EDI without needing some sort of focal point to feel comfortable. "Run extranet searches for this symbol, see if you can identify historical references, whether they are political, social, militaristic. And not just human history either."

"You think there could be alien influence?" Shepard's incredulity bled through. "After all that talk about 'abhorring the xenos'?"

"And possibility, no matter how remote, is a potential until proven otherwise. I do not expect anything, but that does not mean I would dismiss the possibility out of hand." She smirked, ever so slightly. "After all, if they are mad, lying would not be out of the question. And this would be where they might have slipped in their fabrication."

"I have found no similar symbology matching current galactic events, dating back five hundred years, Officer Lawson. There are no references to such a symbol in the histories of any of the Council races, and the only human records date back to the foundation of the Roman Empire, the Cult of Caesar. The aquila is a prominent icon of the time period, a popular symbol of victory and authority for Roman Emperors and descendants of the fractured Empire stretching for several hundred years afterwards."

"So they're the ancient Romans, but from the future?" Jacob snorted. "Alright, Shepard. I am officially lost."

"I believe it is safe to assume that the origin of the symbol is not tied to Julius Caesar," Miranda interrupted, ever focused on the task at hand. "It features prominently on all of their belongings, like a stamp. Perhaps it is a fascist state, and the symbol is there to remind them that they belong to something greater than themselves."

"They did say they worship a man ascended to godhood…" Kelly looked each in the eye before returning to her notes. "Just saying."

"I don't have near enough caffeine in me to start dealing with that idea." Shepard grimaced. "I am more concerned with the implication that these men are religious fanatics, not pure soldiers. Those two," he indicated the two men, "are clearly of two different calibers. Kane, he's elite."

"Besides the obvious," there Kelly was again, asking the question with pen ready for the more experienced answer, "what makes you say that?"

"You don't get that big doing regular soldier stuff." Jacob stole the answer out of Shepard's mouth. "I mean, look at me. I'm in the gym every day and I'm not even close to that man's build. He's built like a brick, made out of titanium. And nerves as cool as I've ever seen. He just got catapulted through time, probably straight out of a battlefield, with a wounded comrade, and he's still talking straight. I'd bet a year's salary he's some special operations commando-type. N7-style."

"I wouldn't bet against you" Shepard agreed.

He motioned for Miranda to continue. She had leaned in closer to inspect EDI's scans. Alongside the symbol, two data readouts flowed, one in binary and the other in English: EDI's passive scans of the materials in his armor. Shepard recognized some of it; more he recognized as saying UNIDENTIFIED SUBSTANCE.

"Their armor is reminiscent of pre-spaceflight combative plate armor. It is not vacuum-sealed, but it is made of an extremely dense material, not metallic, but more durable. While it is not the most comprehensive of suits, leaving less vital areas unprotected, it does not constrict their mobility. According to what I am seeing here, it is possible that their armor would be capable of withstanding medium arms fire. I have little doubt it is stronger than our own combat suits. Thicker too, of course. This is obviously designed for ground combat, not for combat in a potential vacuum, or in hazardous environments. But what draws my attention more is this…" She drew her hand along the data, scrolling it upwards until she found the point she desired. "It does not appear that this armor is designed to be primarily resistant to physical fire. These substances seem more intent on energy dissipation, heat absorption. See this here? Their kinetic capabilities are impressive, but I am more interested with this. Not only does it speak in agreement to the thought that their weapons are true energy technology, or heat-based at the least, but I can see numerous potential exploitations to be derived from them, both in armor and industrial capacities."

"It might be a little early to start counting the chickens" Jacob noted. "All I've got to say is that the big one, Sergeant Kane? He's one tough-looking mother. The other one is our size, normal. But that Sergeant is a giant. And the meat he's carrying in his muscles… I could see him wrestling a krogan and coming out on top. I wouldn't want to get on his bad side, that's for sure."

"And there is no possibility that he's some secret super-soldier program, right?" Shepard gave Miranda a questioning look. She shook her head. "Just wanted to check."

"Cerberus does have a division researching combat enhancement genetherapy and cybernetics, but nothing on this scale and nothing near completed."

The armorer shot her a surprised look; it was evident he had not been aware of such things. Which made sense that the Illusive Man would keep such projects confidential. Genetherapy was heavily sanctioned and monitored by the Citadel Council. There were few companies with the allowance to pursue it, and those were all for medicinal purposes only. Anything that Cerberus had would be deep underground. So deep that only a handful of people could be aware of it.

"So we agree with his story?"

"We do." Miranda sighed. "I cannot think of another possibility. We all saw the energy burst that they came out of. No living creature could have survived that blast. Which means they arrived directly after it. I had EDI forward Doctor Chakwas' medical scans to me. Their physiology is human, of course, but contains evolutionary markers that we have never seen before. In addition they are also carrying bacteria and dormant viruses that are not recognized."

"Which brings us to the important question, what do we do with them? This is a revolutionary event, not just in scientific terms, but in military as well. Time travel, laser weaponry, advanced metallurgy... and that's not even counting whatever knowledge and culture they possess."

"We are not equipped to handle this" Miranda said, her voice filled with conviction. "I would advise we drop these three off at a research facility and have the scientists look them over."

"I am not giving a scientific miracle to a bunch of terrorists" Shepard snapped. Jacob flinched. Not all of Cerberus were true bad guys, Shepard had to remind himself again. Men like Jacob were one of the only reasons Shepard had agreed to the Illusive Man's offer. Jacob knew what was important, and where to draw the line. It was a pity the same could not be said for all of Cerberus. "Sorry, that was harsh. But the point remains. There is no way in hell I'm handing them over to Cerberus. The Alliance, maybe. But not an organization with a history of terrorists activities and a cloak-and-dagger modus operandi."

The two Cerberus agents nodded respectfully, acknowledging his point. That Miranda did not give a biting retort reinforced Shepard's belief that she was not Cerberus-first, humanity-second. There was some good in her, buried beneath the attitude and the Cerberus ties. Then again, it would also be hard to remain the Illusive Man's spy on board if she alienated herself from Shepard.

"We don't have the luxury of taking time off of our own mission to study them." Miranda pressed. "The Collectors are our immediate concern, followed by the Reapers themselves. We cannot afford to waste time trying to figure this out on our own. If you would prefer to hand them off to the Alliance, then by all means, do so. I'll make the call myself. As long as we are not sidetracked by this. There is too much at stake."

Jacob had a pensive frown on his face. Both Shepard and Miranda watched as he stood up and approached one of the other images. He tapped one of the rifles. There were three rifles in total, each different from the others. Two appeared nearly identical, save one had a collapsible wire stock and a slightly shorter barrel. Both were blocky, sturdy, and easy to analyze. Trigger, fire selector, magazine slot, bayonet lug. Jacob trailed a finger over the lug, his thoughts hidden behind a veil of silence. Bayonets had not seen use by humanity in hundreds of years. Some of the more savage races, namely krogan, vorcha, and batarians, still used them. The more Shepard thought about the hulking Sergeant Kane, the clearer the image of him fighting a krogan with his bare hands became.

Then he stepped past the two and stood directly in front of the third weapon. Sergeant Kane had carried this one. While it shared similarities to the first two, it was clearly made to a higher standard. The body of the weapon was heftier, reinforced and lined with thin vent slits. From butt to tip, it was the size of a standard issue grenade launcher, with a wide barrel, a broad magazine slot. A deadly weapon, to be sure. But that was only half the charm of it. The rifle had an elegant construction, with beautiful symbols and script etched in brass along its length. The stock was molded smooth as ice, with subtle imperfections that could only be evidence of a personally-tailored buttstock. There was a quality to the craftsmanship that would have made an asari weaponsmith jealous. It was functional, but it looked damn good at the same time.

"They're soldiers" Jacob said aloud, his tone leaving it unsure whether he was asking a question or making a statement. "He said so himself: he fights to protect mankind from threats."

"From alien threats."

"Not just that. He said other things too." Jacob shook his head. "Look, it's just an idea that slipped in my head. Maybe it is a stupid one. But that Sergeant Kane does not look like the kind of man to go in peacefully if we try to hand him over as a lab rat. He's a fighting man. And sure, he may be dangerous as all hell combined if things get nasty with him. But what if we can get him on our side?"

Shepard cocked his head to one side. He had an idea of where Jacob was going with this. It wasn't the craziest idea. "Go ahead."

"People cling to what is familiar when faced with the unfamiliar." Jacob stepped back from the weapon and looked over to Shepard. "He's a soldier. Soldiers fight. What if we gave him something to fight?"

"You want to recruit them onto the mission?" Miranda's disbelief cracked through her measured calm. "Jacob, that's insane."

"As I said, probably a stupid idea." Jacob shrugged and sat back down.

"No..." Shepard studied the rifles. He could imagine the advantage those could bring to the field of battle. Pure energy weapons. Kinetic barriers wouldn't stand a chance. There would be a whole host of complications, of course. For one, they'd have to convince the newcomers that they were on the same side, and that the fight was worth stepping up to. The next, most glaring option, was that Kane and Brunson were complete unknowns. Shepard could not count on their training, their philosophies, their tactics. He didn't even known where to begin. But if they could... "Jacob, hold onto that idea."

"Shepard, you can't be serious!"

"I don't know." He admitted it freely. "Miranda, we've got three people that just appeared out of an explosion, Terminator-style. They're big, mean, and have God-only-knows what kind of firepower and training. We're on a suicide mission, correct? I can't imagine that we'd be looking to turn down help anywhere we can find it."

"The Illusive Man did not app..." she cut short midstream, realizing the absurdity of her words even as they left her mouth. That was a first. She had never misspoke before. Clearly, rattled. "Shepard, I see the point. I really do. Extra bodies, extra firepower. But we don't know the first thing about them. We don't know what they can do, how they fight, how they think. They are too much of a liability."

"More of a liability than some psychotic biotic who's locked away in a space-portable prison?" Shepard eyed her meaningfully. "Seems like we're bring on a whole lot of liabilities onto this mission."

She did not respond. Shepard put his elbows on his knees and leaned forward, thinking. "EDI, what are they doing right now?"

"Sergeant Kane and Corporal Brunson are in a state of meditative petition. They are speaking synchronized litanies that I can only assume are prewritten prayers to their deity."

"They're praying?"

"It appears so. Shall I summon them?"

"No. Leave them be." Shepard looked from one Cerberus agent to the other. He took in a long breath, holding it while he thought of what to say next. "As Jacob said, it's an idea. Not necessarily a good one, not necessarily a bad one. We're heading to Omega next, that course is already charted. Worst comes to worst, we can deliver them to the Alliance after. If not, we might have just added two new soldiers to our team."

"Three, possibly, if the woman survives." Kelly had pulled out her datapad. "Karen just sent an update. Vitals are stabilized. She is confident the woman will pull through. It will take a good deal of time, though."

"Perhaps that is something we can use to our advantage." Miranda eyed their weapons again, slowly flicking her gaze from one to the next. "It is not wise to let them keep their weaponry, but I can see the trouble we would have in disarming them. As long as the woman is in medical bay, we can use her as leverage. A bargaining chip to ensure their good behavior."

"You want me to hold the woman hostage?"

"I want the Normandy's crew to be safe." She indicated the horrific sword with the chain-blade. "No civilized person would ever use a weapon like that. I wouldn't call them barbarians, but I would say they must be a savage people. We should be ready for the worst case scenario."

"Hope for the best, prepare for the worst" Jacob muttered. He nodded along.

"We'll consider all possibilities before we decide anything." Shepard stood up and stretched. "It's been a long day and I'm running on fumes. Get some shuteye. Tomorrow morning we will talk to them, test the waters. EDI, make sure to let me know if they attempt to leave their room. I don't want to lock them in, but I don't want them wandering around freely either."

"Affirmative, Shepard."

-v-

Jacob entered the medical bay slowly, checking first to see if Doctor Chakwas was in. The elderly former-Alliance medical officer had already proven to be an anchor to the ship's crew. She had nerves of steel, a steady hand, and a motherly intuition for knowing how and when to speak to people. He had learned early on to trust her completely. There wasn't a more honest soul on the Normandy SR-2. Not even Shepard could match her straight-forward nature.

"Doc?"

"Jacob." Doctor Chakwas had rolled a chair over beside the primary surgery bed, the one now occupied by the blood-drenched woman from the explosion. Less bloodsoaked now, after a thorough scrubbing and careful emergency surgery. A reddened smock and pair of gloves lay on the edge of the wastebin, not quite thrown out. Judging by her relaxed posture, the set of her shoulders, and the mug of coffee in her hand, things were going well. "Do come in. I am just taking a breather. She took quite a blow, this one."

"So I saw. Pretty sure I know what kind of weapon did it, too." Jacob strode over but stopped a respectful distance away from the bed. He knew that Doctor Chakwas did not approve of crowding the medical beds, as he also knew that this one had not gone through the decontamination procedure yet. Not fully, at least. Glancing over the heavy application of bandages and medigel, he grimaced. "Looks like someone went at her with a real chainsaw."

"A real chainsaw would have done less damage." The doctor sighed and took a long swig from her cup. "It's not like in the movies, you know. Chainsaws don't go straight through things like they are made of jello. It takes a good deal of force to put a chainsaw through anything as strong as bone. Not to mention the armor she was wearing, and all the flesh gumming up the teeth." Offering a dismissive wave to the woman's clothing piled in the far corner, Chakwas sipped at her mug. "EDI informed me that her… shirt… is made of durable material similar to kevlar, but much stronger. I would wager a blade would have a hard time piercing that without incredible amounts of force."

"You speak like you have experience." Jacob turned to regard the clothes. He still marveled at the uniforms these people wore.

"I've cut a few trees down before." She waved her hand dismissively. "It is easier to use a drone or a cutting tool, but sometimes the visceral feel of dominating nature is too enticing. But that is neither here nor there. The weapon that did this to the poor woman is a monstrosity."

"I agree with you there." He gestured to the other chair. The doctor indicated for him to go ahead and seat himself. "So how're they looking?"

"Apart from a gratuitous amount of bruises, cuts, bullet wounds, and so on? They came straight out of a battle. The large one looks like he was hit by a car. And their blood is carrying dozens of substances that I could only guess at. I am fairly certain I have already identified one potential supervirus floating inside her. Their immune systems make ours look like we've never set foot in the outdoors. The medical discoveries that could be derived from their blood, if the appropriate team of medical professionals had a crack at it, are quite exciting."

"You've had time to look into their blood work?"

"Hers, at least." Doctor Chakwas pointed to her small lab-kit with the mug, thrusting it like a fencer at her mortal foe. "Sergeant Kane was kind enough to bleed on the bed too, so I swabbed it and am running it now. I should have a comprehensive scan completed by the end of the hour. It is taking longer than usual, but their DNA is much richer than ours."

"Hm. What's your prognosis on them?"

"Medically?" She shrugged. "This one will live. It will be some time before she can walk, but she's a tough one."

"What's your impression of them?"

"Ah. The younger one, the corporal, wasn't it? He's more terrified than an Alliance private getting deployed into the Krogan DMZ. But the other one, he's a killer. I don't like him very much. He reeks of death."

"You mean the blood?"

"No, I mean... death." The doctor grimaced and sipped at her drink. "There's something wrong with that man. I can't place it, and I don't think he's a danger to the crew. But I don't trust him. He carries himself more like a machine than a man. And there is this feeling that I had when he was in the lab. Like his very presence muted the lighting."

"Huh." Jacob rose and shook her hand. "Thanks for the talk."

"Was there something you needed?" She eyed him accusingly. "I know you did not come by merely to speak about these people's blood work. What are you up to, Jacob?"

"Shepard's trying to figure out what to do with them." Jacob eased his chair back into the desk. "But he's wiped after going down to Alchera and all that's happened the past few days. I just thought I'd lend a hand, do some legwork. You were here with them, so you've had the chance to glean something that maybe we missed."

"That is very thoughtful of you."

"Isn't much else to do right now."

"I appreciate that you are looking out for Shepard." The doctor raised her mug in salute. "You're a good man, Jacob. Shepard is lucky to have you aboard."

"Thank you, Doc. He's luckier to have you."

"Flatterer" she murmured, draining the coffee in one final swig.

Jacob exited the lab, leaving her to her work. Karen rose from her chair, set her mug down on her desk, and turned back to the woman on the bed. "You're a lucky woman, you know that? A million places you could have ended up, and you appeared at my figurative doorstep. If that isn't a sign that you are meant to live, I don't know what is."

She approached the table and activated her omnitool. "Medical Log Thirteen, Normandy SR-2, June 20th, 2185. Subject has stabilized after emergency surgery. Vital signs deteriorated but holding in coma-like state. Subject appears to be hovering on the brink of sub-consciousness: mental faculties show signs of detection and translation, yet lacking definitive response. I have engaged active and passive monitoring devices to alert me if any changes appear in condition."

Leaning over the body, she spent a moment observing the woman's breathing. She was a beautiful creature, with a patrician face that had no doubt set hearts fluttering and stomachs churning among young men all around her. Yet here she was, nearly cut in two by a terrible weapon the likes of which Karen had never seen before. What sort of time had they come from? The Normandy's doctor was not sure if she wanted the answer to that.

"Blood work and skeletal structure indicate subject is in her late teens, no more than early twenties. Physical indicators confirm she is well into puberty stage, yet still undergoing minor end-changes. Conclusion that subject is in early-stage adulthood." Karen let out a heavy sigh. "Christ, she's just a child."

She played back the log and deleted that last line.

"Callouses on hands and feet indicate heavy usage, cross-reference with claim that subject is a soldier in the… what was it… Imperial Guard. I will speak with Commander Shepard tomorrow about removing subject to intensive care facility for dedicated recovery. No further updates at this time. End Log."

-v-

The world was not supposed to be so white. Even as his eyes crept open, spilling from the dreamless sleep into reality, he knew it was wrong. The darkness in the room did not hide the white surfaces accented by gold and black. Unfamiliar colors surrounded him, and unfamiliar symbols disturbed him. His sidearm appeared in his hand in an instant, sweeping the room even as he rolled off the mattress and planted his feet on the floor.

For a long second he thought his hearing had not returned, that something had deafened him. There was no noise, no bass thrumming of the ship's engines, no clanking of pipes or drilling air recyclers. Only when he stopped to count his breathing did he confirm that his senses functioned. Quiet, steady breaths seemed to echo in the near-noiseless chamber. The previous day's events began to trickle into his mind, accompanied by the startling realization that this ship ran in near silence. The idea seemed so wrong to him, so unnatural. The Imperial ships he had traveled on always roared and sang, their powerful engines and creaking bones reminding all aboard that disaster was mere moments away at any time. This ship did not.

Corporal Brunson had not woken yet. His tanned face lay half-buried in a pillow that actually provided comfort. The room had a pair of bunk beds, and judging by the lack of other accessories in the room, it had not been occupied before their arrival. Ever, or for some time. He did not know. The ship smelled new. It was something he could not objectively place, but the clean paint, well-kept machinery, and general ambivalence of the crew all argued that this Normandy had not been out of the docks for long. Perhaps they had shipped off under-staffed.

A chest-high dresser stood by each bed, unadorned and strikingly white. Their three rifles rested between the dresser and the bed, pistols lay neatly on top. The lieutenant's chainsword occupied the top of the other dresser, on Brunson's side, while the Junior Commissar's power sword hung in its scabbard next to Kane's head. Everything remained where they had left it. Ever their armor, spread out on the room's table for later inspection and repair. Their room remained secure.

Confident that no one would barge in ready to kill them, Kane approached the door and searched for a light control. A simple panel next to the door had two small lights centered near the bottom. He touched it with one finger and noted with surprise that the lights followed his touch, and the lights of the room responded accordingly. He flicked his finger to the top of the panel, and the clean lights in the ceiling burst to life, bathing them in refreshingly pure brightness. A soft humming rose behind strategically positioned grates as well, and he immediately felt a cool breeze drift through. The air here did not taste stale and recycled. Not as recycled as he remembered, at least.

If it were not for the four beds, he might have mistaken this room for officer quarters. Affording four mere crewmen quarters his lavish spoke of special indulgence and borderline decadence. Though there remained little in way of entertainment in the room, he could not help but wonder what sort of budget this ship had acquired to waste such valuable space for a commons table and a countertop in the rear of the room.

Content, but not satisfied, with the situation, Kane went to take stock of their inventory. He had done it four times the night before, but his mind had been swimming from post-battle adrenaline, and this new time had him near-reeling with information overload. Besides, he was Kasrkin. The first priority of any operation: Proper gear maintenance.

So he cleaned his weapons. His Cadian-pattern MkIV Hellgun took minutes, even with the extra cleaning needed after having suffered through the blood and mud of trench fighting. Tht weapon had come apart so many times under his fingers that it hardly registered anymore. The same could be said of his sidearm, the Cadian MkXIX Hellpistol. At record time, he could strip and rebuild the pistol in thirty seconds. He spent five minutes on it here, ensuring that every facet of it remained in optimal condition. Throne only knew how soon he would need it.

The Kantreals, Corporal Brunson's M36 lasgun and the Junior Commissar's acquired MG "Short" carbine, both had suffered wear that he simply could not fix with a quick cleaning. Dented buttstocks, a crumpled corner on the magazine catch for the M36 where a bullet had ricocheted. Those were jobs for a techpriest. Not something he could fix without several hours and proper tools. Moving on to the MG "Defender," he cleaned out the barrel and checked the butt, encouraged to see that no damage had been incurred when the Corporal had caved in a frothing three-armed cultists face with it. Of course, Cadian weapons were made to withstand tremendous kinetic impacts. They were almost as sturdy as the men who wielded them.

The final two pieces took the longest time. The Junior Commissar's Garm-pattern bolt pistol had seen far too much action since its last cleaning. Kane could forgive her for that lapse in judgment. Her situation had been far greater than she had expected, and she had performed excellently. Her sidearm had served faithfully through the last battle, and that was all that mattered. Applying a generous helping of cleaning oils to the rags, Kane allowed himself fifteen minutes to attend the weapon. The insides of the barrel were a disgrace, choked with soot and powder. Dreadful condition, something he would have beaten a Whiteshield for. It was not his place to discipline a commissar, Junior rank or not. She would have to atone for this in her own way.
By the time he finished the bolt pistol, the corporal had woken. Brunson woke slowly, wastefully, stretching on the sheets and blinking himself into awareness; that sort of thing might fly on an Imperial vessel, or in peacetime. Not on a strange vessel crewed by stranger people. Kane barked an order for the man to set about securing his gear. The corporal leapt out of the bed, guilt stricken across his face as he hastily roused himself and went looking for his weapons. Kane allowed the corporal to clean the chainsword; he had gotten enough grime and gore off of gear. While Brunson fiddled with a dislocated chain, the Kasrkin took stock of their assorted equipment. A half-dozen grenades, five hellgun magazines, ten lasgun magazines, three laspistol magazines, and three hellpistol magazines. Most were depleted, and several of the lasgun magazines had char marks from emergency reheating over fires. Those would be unreliable now, a last resort option. Worst case scenario he could rig some explosions with them. And twenty bolt shells for the commissar's sidearm. A significant amount of firepower for servants of the God-Emperor. Not enough to ease his distrust of the situation. Kane had little doubt they could kill the entire ship's contingent with this, but what then? Float in space until they died of old age or were boarded by another vessel. If anything were to go down, it needed to not be here. He needed feet on firm ground. Somewhere he could have a backup plan.

It was not until the corporal had completed maintenance on the chainsword that Kane realized his stomach's grumblings had reached an audible level. It had been days… millennia, really, since he had last eaten. The thought soured his mood, and once again he whispered a silent prayer that this all could be some drug-induced hallucination, perhaps his mind reeling in the last moments before the Titan's firepower obliterated their bodies and souls. No answer came, of course. He knew it was no hallucination, no trick of the Enemy. Everything looked real, felt real, moved real. His limbs remained fully in his control, there were no whispers at the edges of his awareness. Time passed in measurable seconds. As fiendish as Warp trickery could be, it could never fully mimic the real world. It could not; the Warp obeyed no natural laws, and the lawless could never but draw caricature of the law.

"Do we have a plan" the corporal dared to ask, shooting a nervous glance sideways at Kane.

"Take courage in your faith, Corporal." Kane touched the aquila on the power sword's scabbard, hanging at eye level to the Guardsman. "For now, that will suffice."

"But, Sergeant, if this is the third millennium, then the God-Emperor doesn't even ex-"

"Finish that sentence and I will end you."

The trooper wilted, and Kane let his hand fall away from the grip of the hellgun. A dreadful silence descended, made all the more eerie by the knowledge that the trooper, as misguided as the sentiment had been, was right. With even what little Kane knew of the history of mankind, he knew there had been a time before the God-Emperor. A time when humanity had floundered and mucked about in the galaxy without purpose. This had to have been that time. A time where humanity lacked a leader, a united vision of expansion and conquest. The thought nearly ruined his appetite. This would be a hard time, if simply for the reason that they lacked any discernible purpose.

"Corporal," Kane motioned for the man to take a seat at the small table, "we are in a strange time. We have found ourselves in a situation that I doubt any before have suffered. I am sure you heard stories of the irregularities of Warp travel, how time means little in the Warp, and without navigation, a ship can find itself adrift outside of the natural time-stream. Something similar has happened to us, now, and we must hold fast to our faith. It does not matter where we find ourselves. What matters is where we came from. Snow does cease to exist in the summertime, it just isn't there. So it is with our faith. We hold true to that which we know. The God-Emperor will protect us, regardless of when we are."

"Understood, Sergeant." The man quivered with barely restrained fear. He was badly shaken, and Kane could not fault him.

"Now, get dressed. The ship's uniform will do for now; until we can repair our uniforms they are hardly serviceable. It would be improper for us to represent the Imperium of Man in beggar's garbs. I will summon our guard and see what the ship captain intends to do with us."

"If you would like to speak with Commander Shepard, I can summon him to your quarters."

The damnable voice emerged from numerous locations at once, projected through minute speakers hidden across the ceiling. Kane stiffened at its unexpected announcement. Had it been listening in on them? Were they under constant surveillance here? He would need to be more cautious with his words in the future. For now, he had not said anything to cause trouble.

"I would see to it that we are fed" he announced, picking out a speaker at random to address. From what little he had understood, this ship's intelligence had a secured housing somewhere on-board the ship. There was no true 'speaking to it,' but it felt odd to address the empty air. "And that we may check on our wounded commissar."

"Summoning Commander Shepard" the voice replied. "He will be there shortly to escort you."

"The ship captain is coming to guide us himself?" Kane frowned. "Is that common practice?"

"Commander Shepard has made it clear that no one is to interact with you without his approval."

"That is very trusting" Kane muttered, refusing to finish his thought. And dangerous.

"Were you to cause trouble, I am capable of venting all oxygen from any chamber in the ship within 3.94 seconds. Commander Shepard's implants would allow him to survive long after you would asphyxiate."

He did not know whether to be horrified or amused by the intelligence's statement. To give an artificial intelligence that much power over a ship spoke of unlimited trust in the nature of the intelligence. That was incredibly dangerous. More than Kane could ever hope to be.

"Equip yourself with a sidearm" Kane ordered to corporal.

"The rest of our equipment?" Brunson picked up the laspistol, ejected the magazine, and slotted it back in. His movements showed a familiarity with the weapon. Perhaps he had used one often in the artillery company.

"We will secure the room from intrusion as best we can. There are only two of us, and we both need to eat, as well as guard the Junior Commissar. We do not have the ability to cover everything, and of the two, I would fear the loss of our commissar more than the weapons. This crew is…" his eyes drifted up pointedly towards the ceiling, "not a threat."

"Are you expecting trouble?"

"I am Kasrkin." He finished selecting which gear to take, and set about placing the other weapons in drawers and anywhere he could remove them from immediate view. The power sword came with him. That was a weapon he would not leave behind. He continued to whisper prayers, reaffirming his commitment to the Emperor of Mankind, requesting guidance in this new world where faithless and heresy abounded.

The soft bell-tone of the door alerted them both that someone had arrived. Kane glanced at the door, waiting for it to open. The Cadians shared an expressionless look.

"The Commander is outside waiting for you to open the door."

"He is not going to open it himself?" Kane approached the door and inspected the door panel. Locked. As they had left it.

"Commander Shepard left strict orders for your room to be left locked for your convenience. I am able to override the lock and allow him entrance, if you would like."

Kane slid the panel to unlocked, and stepped back to trigger the door's sensors. It slid open to reveal a tired Commander Shepard, dressed down to the same uniform fatigues that they had acquired. He held a steaming mug of what smelled vaguely like recaf in one hand, the other hung loose at his side. No weapons on him.

"Morning," the Commander offered, stifling a yawn. He blinked several times, as if to assure himself that they were indeed real. "Hungry?"

"I would check on our comrade first."

Commander Shepard's eyes flicked down to the pistol holstered on Kane's hip. He took a slow sip from his mug, raising an eyebrow as he gazed back up at Kane. Asking the question, but not being so rude as to voice it. When Kane refused to give him the satisfaction the ship captain shrugged and gestured for them to come along. "Medical bay is right by the mess hall, so it won't be a detour. Gotta warn you though, most of the crew is out and about right now. Breakfast is the only good meal on the ship. Even Gardner can't mess up bacon." The Commander chuckled to himself, enjoying some joke they were not privy to.

"Your ship is tiny" Kane stated, marveling again that it took them only a few dozen steps down the corridor before they reached the elevator. "What is your crew rating?"

"Twenty four" Shepard replied. "Capacity for fifty, but we haven't a need for that many yet."

"Is that all?"

"It's only a frigate."

"Our frigates crew thousands" Kane grunted.

Commander Shepard paused in the middle of the passage, mug raised halfway to his lips. A second long pause interrupted their walk before the ship captain made a noise like a sigh and took a long draught from his mug, draining the rest of its contents in one swig. Then they continued walking.

"Of course yours are bigger."

"Our largest vessels reach tens of kilometers and can carry millions with room to spare."

"Sonuvabitch." The ship captain switched the mug between his hands, and fiddled with the orange light on his wrist. "This is going to be a long day, isn't it? Next thing you are going to tell me is that you have thousands of super soldiers that punch tanks for fun."

"Those would be the Adeptus Astartes, though I doubt that they consider powerfists a preferred method of anti-vehicular warfare."

"Irish coffee" the Commander muttered, sounding forlorn and wistful. He led them around to the medical bay without more questions, perhaps preferring to be more awake before dealing with more oddities. True to the man's word, a significant portion of the crew occupied the mess hall. Kane counted sixteen, and some were not even eating. They stood about, or sat as space was available. Regardless of what they had been doing, every single one stopped and stared as they entered the mess hall. An expectant hush pervaded the air, but Kane ignored it. He was not here to satisfy the curiosity of mere crew ratings. Following the Commander's lead, they approached the medical bay doors.

"You allow your crew to loiter, Commander?" Kane could not suppress the question. Its answer would prove vital should trouble arise, either for them or for the ship. Operation security overrode any desire for subtlety.

"The system is deserted, Sergeant Kane. And the Normandy has the best sensor and stealth suites short of the top-tier STG reconnaissance vessels. We would know the instant anything entered the system."

"Your confidence is commendable. You said this ship is the second of its kind. The… SR-2. What happened to the first?"

"Surprise attack." Shepard grimaced. Some of the nearby crew pointedly looked away, as if embarrassed by the question for the commander's sake. "The Normandy SR-1 was hunting rogue Geth constructs through this system, but was ambushed by a dreadnought-class warship of the Collector's. Down there," he pointed to the floor, "that was the remains of the SR-1."

"It held sentiment for you?"

"It was my ship." Shepard fell silent for a long moment. One hand absently reached up and brushed one of the glowing scars on his face. "I died here."

It took Kane a few seconds to process the revelation. Corporal Brunson was less restrained.

"You died?"

"I got better," the commander said with a carefully-crafted shrug of indifference. Kane could tell it was manufactured for the sake of the crew. The door finished its decontamination cycle and unlocked. They entered the bay, with Kane eagerly sliding past the commander to check on their comrade.

The medical bay had not changed. It surprised him to find no other crew inside. On an Imperial ship, the medicae wards always overflowed with injuries. Less than thirty crew, he reminded himself. Small numbers meant fewer accidents. Which also answered his unspoken question of how they had only secured a single medicae for the entire vessel. Having one medicae for thirty crew was an exorbitant ratio.

Of course, from what he had seen, this one medicae had more than enough skill and experience to warrant manning the ship by herself. Doctor Chakwas sat at her desk, plugging away on a holographic keyboard as she filled out some report. It amazed him each time he saw it how abundantly they used their technology. Holographic runes on doors, for cogitators… seeing this drove home how much humanity had lost. With this level of technology, it did not surprise him that humankind would dominate the galaxy in only a few thousand years.

Junior Commissar Blake had fallen into a coma, according the to medicae. After the initial lifesaving surgery, Doctor Chakwas had set about decontaminating her as best she could. Most of her clothing had been removed, those that did not require moving her overly much. In place of her bloody armor, the elderly medicae had covered her with a patient's dress, leaving it resting on her rather than having attempted to ease it under her for a full fitting. Heavy swaths of bandages hid her most intimate places. The commissar had an almost peaceful smile on her face, like a sleeping child. Seeing her without the mud and the blood reminded Kane that this woman had been a student of the Commissariat, not a battle-hardened warrior. Her features, though striking and noble, still retained the softness of youth, and her frame was much smaller than he had first thought.

"She still lives" Kane noted with approval. He had not expected the commissar to live. Her wounds would have put the Imperium's best medicae to the test. But Junior Commissar Blake possessed a hardy spirit, and the medicine of this time worked miracles. He shuffled to the side as the Doctor came to stand beside him.

"The damage to her body has been addressed. What remains to heal is outside of any medical hands."

"Meaning?"

"Her body has all but shut down, a mixture of shock and this coma-like state she has entered. Physically, I have done everything for her that I can. I repaired her ruptured blood vessels, I sealed her broken bones and hardened her organs. Now, we can only wait and hope that her spirit wants to live."

"I am familiar with the concept. She will live. She is a Cadian."

The assertion meant nothing to them, but it soothed Kane's own thoughts. Cadians endured. Cadians survived. In hardship and disaster, they thrived. If ever this woman were to prove her Cadian roots, it would be here.

"You have a well-stocked facility, small as it is."

"Doctor Chakwas is one of the best in her field. Wouldn't settle for anything less." Commander Shepard reached up and slapped a cabinet at random. "Also, Cerberus dumped a planet's ransom into this ship. Only makes sense they would have the medical bay primed."

"And who is this Cerberus? They are human, yes?"

Judging by the dark look that flashed across Commander Shepard's face, there was no love lost between them. Kane made a note of that. "Cerberus is the party that provided the ship, and returned me to the living. God's honest truth, they are a radical human supremacist group that has ties to numerous terrorist actions, illegal scientific experiments, and xenophobic hate groups."

The Cadians exchanged a bitter glance. Kane should not have been surprised that the human supremacists were considered evil in this age. Still, it bothered him deeply that humanity as a whole was this blind to the threat of the xenos.

"Before I died," the commander continued, "I killed a lot of Cerberus agents. On numerous worlds, for numerous reasons. Back then, they were little more than murderers and black ops psychopaths. Since then, they have become more organized, more… driven. It had become more of an organization and less of a fringe terrorist show, but their goals are still the same. They have murdered Alliance officials, experimented with Husk technology and Thorian spores, and even attempted to destroy whole colonies. That was the Cerberus I knew."

"And something changed?"

"Desperate allies." Commander Shepard scowled. "There's a bigger enemy right now, and Cerberus is able and willing to step outside the law to stop that threat. As much as I loathe the organization as a whole, there are some good people in it. And they did bring me back to life, so I owe them." He did not sound the least bit happy about that. "I am not working for Cerberus, but I am working with them. At least until we can stop the Collectors, and maybe through that, the Reapers."

"Collectors?" Kane listened intently, honing in on the odd names and attempting to place them in his mind. It sounded arrogant, stylish, symbolic perhaps. Eldar raiders, perhaps.

"An alien race" the commander answered. "For the longest time they would come out of their relay for trinkets and technology, but recently they have begun targeting human colonies. They have… technology, that allows them to wipe out whole colonies at a time."

"Orbital bombardment?"

"What? No." The commander's confusion registered for a moment before he smoothed it over. "No, they have this swarm agent that paralyzes entire colonies at once, and they take them all out as prisoners."

"What do they look like?"

Commander Shepard brought up an image. Kane did not know whether to be relieved or anxious that he had never seen it before. An ugly, bug-like race with bulky heads and chitinous armor. Humanoid though, so clearly intelligent.

"And they are invading human worlds? Why has this human Alliance of yours not stepped in to stop them? Do they possess a significant fleet?

"The colonies that are attacked are all outside Alliance space, and therefore outside Alliance jurisdiction. And the Collectors are able to step in system, assault the colony, and be out in eight hours. Hardly enough time to mount a response unless we had advanced knowledge of where they were going.

"Hours," Kane breathed, trying to imagine an Imperial fleet with that level of speed. If the Imperium possessed the ability to assault an enemy planet from outside the system within hours, they could reconquer half the galaxy in no time at all. "And how large is this fleet?"

"It's… one ship. One big, massive ship."

"One." Kane was far too impressed by the ship's speed to comment on the ludicrous thought that a single ship could cause this much damage on its own. Surely there must have been escort craft. For a ship to take on prisoners, it must have been a carrier or a transport vessel. Its combat capabilities would be sorely lacking. "And the Alliance has not launched a fleet into the sector to hunt it down."

"Outside their jurisdiction."

"That's ridiculous. Every human world belongs by right to humanity. Every human citizen is a citizen of humanity. They are the jurisdiction."

"Maybe in your time, but not in ours." The commander motioned to the door, offering for them to join the morning meal. "We play by a different set of rules. We would have to acquire territories via the Council, and they have not been so keen to give humanity anything more in the past few years, seeing as how we have skyrocketed to galactic prominence and have everybody scrambling with worry."

Before they could step out, the medicae insisted on giving them the second round of booster shots and inquiring to their health. Kane accepted it stoically, answering a handful of questions about their diet. He hardly thought it necessary, until the medicae pointed out that thousands of years of microevolution could have led to changed digestive processes. Kane pretended to understand what she was talking about.

By the time they escaped into the mess hall, the gaggle of crew had lessened, though many had found reason to remain about. Ignoring the stares, Kane followed Commander Shepard to the line and picked up a rectangular platter. He inspected the food with guarded interest as they shuffled closer. Hardly a gourmet feast, but it was much better pickings than he had ever seen on an Imperial vessel. There were real greens, and what looked like genuine meat, as opposed to generic brown protein pastes. At the commander's insistence he tried a bite of everything first, considering each food carefully lest some unknown allergy or reaction occur. Nothing happened, so Kane piled his plate high and followed Commander Shepard to the table, with Corporal Brunson as his shadow. The younger Guardsman had remained quiet for a while now, choosing to observe and learn rather than speak.

The Commander seemed to intent on putting food in his belly to ask them any more questions, so they ate in silence, chowing down on what turned out to be one of the best meals Kane had enjoyed in quite some time. The water tasted pure, lacking the residual sludge of purification fluid, and the vegetables were fresh. They also had these strips of cooked meat that were crunchy to the bite in some places, but still had enough fat in other places to set his mouth on fire with greasy appeal.

A few of the braver crew tried approaching the table, but Commander Shepard shooed them away with silent glances or shakes of his head. Kane appreciated that. It would be hard to enjoy these meat strips with the constant presence of others looking over his shoulder.

Not long into the meal they were joined by the commander's raven-haired comrade, the one with the icy frown and statuesque bearing. Officer Lawson took the seat next to the commander, directly across from Kane. Kane offered a flick of his eyes in acknowledgement, noting the obvious displeasure oozing from her expression, and paused when he saw the mountain of meat and fatty foods that covered her plate. It made Kane's portion seem an appetizer in comparison. That earned her a second lookover, this one curious to see how she retained that figure with a diet like this. Must have gone straight to her breasts and ass, he thought to himself.

"Shepard," she said, speaking out of the side of her mouth while she set about carving the giant block of meat she had acquired into bite-sized pieces. "The ground teams have finished scouring the site. All relevant materials have been recovered, although the science team is still recording residuals from the anomaly. EDI has assured me that we were not exposed to any lasting effects."

"Thanks, Miranda. Get any sleep last night?"

"I do not require much." Her report finished, she tore into her meal, attacking it with a finely-tuned ferocity that belied her proper appearance. Her etiquette remained superb, of course, but she somehow managed to speed up the process several times over without taking away from her poise. Kane had seen starving frontline soldiers shovel food less quickly than she tucked it all away. By the time he finished his plate she had nearly done her in. He could not help but be fascinated by the ease with which she tore the platter apart. A quick glance at Shepard confirmed there was nothing out of the ordinary about her appetite. Despite the pounds of greasy food, she was still lean and fit as a professional entertainer.

"Commander," Kane pushed his platter a few inches away and fixed the man with his full attention. There was no better time to get this over with than right now. Or, there never would be a better time at all. "I have a question."

"Go ahead." The commander leaned back in his chair, stretching just slightly.

Kane picked his words carefully, aware of how the crew were all eagerly listening, wondering what he would say. No visible weapons were about. That was good. He did not want this to escalate against them, should the answer prove less than favorable.

"What is your plan for us?"

Officer Lawson set her fork down in a nonchalant manner and wiped her lips with a napkin, eyes flashing him a steely look, as if she was reading his very thoughts. Her free hand disappeared under the table; Kane had no illusions that she was not armed. Across the mess hall, the more militant crew members tensed, understanding the implications of the question well enough. Corporal Brunson grimaced and eased back in his seat, freeing his legs in case he needed to stand quickly. But not before shoving a last piece of the meat strips into his mouth.

Commander Shepard digested the question for a moment, then reached over to a pot in the middle of the table and refilled his drink. It was a casual, unconcerned move, showing no alarm, anticipation, or anything, really. He merely blew on his drink before taking a slow sip. The fact that half the room had just switched into Fight-or-Flight mode did not appear to bother him in the slightest.

"No idea." He took another sip. "Truth be told, I have no goddamn idea. The intelligent idea would be to restrain you, confiscate your weapons, and deliver you all in a bundle to an Alliance research station to exploit your technology and re-purpose it to our military's usage. The empathetic idea would be to treat you as refugees, to shelter you until we can find a place to let you go where you will be stable and capable of surviving on your own. The selfish idea, well, I think it's selfish although others would disagree, is that I hire you. I told you about these Collectors. I am currently assembling a team to take them on, which is possibly the most one-sided suicide mission in the history of the galaxy. To do that, I need elite warriors or every kind and any kind. I need guns and muscle. You've got both."

The commander's honesty threw Kane off-guard. The man was blunt, truthful, and outwardly showed little care to what Kane's response might be. Kane did not know where to go from here. Momentarily at a loss for words, he looked at the woman across the table. Officer Lawson returned his stare with a challenge, her own thoughts masked except that she clearly did not approve of the third option. Or the second.

"That is it?"

"Well," Commander Shepard chuckled to himself. "I could always shove you all into the airlock and space you, pretend this whole thing never happened."

Obviously, the commander was joking. He would never waste such a valuable cache of weapons technology.

"When will you decide?"

"Look, Sergeant, I have only been alive...you know what I mean… for less than a week. There are a lot of decisions for me to make, paperwork to catch up on. I have a pile this big" he gestured with his hand "of paperwork. And we don't even use paper anymore for most stuff. That was before I had to deal with you people appearing in a giant explosion of scientific go-fuck-yourself bullshit. What I can tell you is that we are leaving orbit today, and heading straight to Omega. That gives us two days to figure something out, at the very least."

"Two day." Kane accepted the assessment. "Until then we remain your prisoners?"

"Prisoners? Would you be a prisoner if I let you keep all your weapons? You are my guests, Kane. Until you prove I should hold you in the brig, that is."

"If I wanted to cause trouble, I doubt you could stop us" Kane pointed out. Not as a threat, but as a mere observation. One that the commander accepted with a nod and another sip of his drink. The raven-haired officer grew even moodier at the comment. Kane still wondered if these people were so naive.

"Guess that settles it, then." The commander smiled over his mug. He had an earnest, likable smile. The kind that got plastered on recruiting posters. "But the other half of that questions is finding out what you want to do."

"How do you mean?" Kane stifled a burp that tried to rise from his gut. The meal had been more that satisfying. He wondered if Commander Shepard had ordered it specially for them. A satisfied belly was always a good tool for swaying moods and defusing explosive situations. Judging by the lack of decorum and discipline among the crew, he assumed this was an ordinary event. That reinforced his belief that this ship captain was honest to a fault.

"You're a soldier, Kane. I don't know anything about your military, or your capabilities, but the important thing it that you are a grunt like I am," he paused, shrugged, and continued. "Like I was. I've been bumped up a few pedestals. But I started as a rifleman, and I know what drives a rifleman. When they get bored, life is hell. Throw them at an obstacle or a problem, and they'll be happy."

"That is correct," Kane agreed.

"Good. Then the first order of business is to find something for you two to do over the next few days. Sitting on your hands isn't going to help anyone."

"I've suffered worse than a few days of boredom, but I see your point. What are you intentions, then?"

"Well," his officer shot him a don't-look-at-me glare. "We have a workroom down that corridor. The computers there can get you on the Extranet. Literally could spend a lifetime on there and not run out of information. We have a few library and research type sites we can hook you up with to start learning our time. Down on the engineering deck we have a small gymnasium, mostly just dead weights and a couple compact machines, but it works. Officer's Lounge is that way past the-"

"Do you intend to give him a blueprint of the ship's critical systems as well" Officer Lawson asked suddenly, her biting tone stopping the ship captain cold. Both Shepard and Kane turned to regard her expectantly, though the Cadian was more interested in seeing whether or not such blatant disregard for her commander would earn her a bullet through the head.

Kane spoke before Shepard could offer a more polite answer. He understood this woman, at least. She was a bitch to the core. Had their situations been reversed, he would be saying and doing the exact same things. She understood her role as executive officer, even if she lack the discipline to not counter her commander in public. There was no time for niceties when security was concerned.

"Your concern is commendable, Officer Lawson, but flawed. Your ship is tiny compared to what I have traveled in. If I wanted to harm the crew or this ship, there would be nothing you could do to stop me, and it would take me minutes to discover the ship's layout for myself."

"That sounds like a threat" she growled.

"We are not enemies" the commander interrupted. He directed his irritation at both parties.

"That option remains on the table." The executive officer picked up her platter, so thoroughly cleaned it might have been unused. "I will not apologize for being skeptical of their intentions."

Kane bit back from responding, choosing to follow the commander's lead. Nothing productive could come out of a fight here. She stalked off to deposit her platter, and Kane studied the way the crew reacted to her presence, as distracting as the sway of her sumptuous gait was. A whole lot of unease and reverence followed her. The same kind of looks that Guardsmen reserved for Commissariat officers. Her arrogance certainly matched. A small part of his mind wondered what she would look like in the dreaded cap and coat. What came to mind was the slightly older picture of Junior Commissar Blake. The two might have been mistaken for sisters in this time. There was enough of a resemblance to fool the casual observer.

"Miranda is just doing her job" Commander Shepard told them, in a near-apology.

"Understandable. I must admit I cannot fault her suspicions. Were our positions reversed, you would be locked in cells until the Inquisition could send a representative to deal with you. You have been incredibly generous, Commander Shepard. Such things do not happen in my time without strings attached. Your honesty is unfamiliar to me."

"I've always been a straight shooter."

"Indeed." Kane allowed himself a moment to admire her sculpted figure as she leaned over the mess disposal to turn in her dishes. "She would make an excellent poster figure. For your Alliance."

"She could have, but she is Cerberus."

"And Cerberus, I assume, is mutually exclusive from the Alliance."

"There are some former Alliance members on board." Shepard gestured broadly. "Joker, the pilot, Doctor Chakwas, Hawthorne, Bill, Gardner… most of the crew is former Alliance, actually. I figure the Illusive Man knew it would make me more willing to work with him."

"So these people abandoned the Alliance to join a terrorist organization?" Kane cast a critical eye around. Even if he did not agree with Cerberus being on the wrong end of public opinion, he felt nothing but contempt for those that abandoned their cause to join another. Even the Ecclesiarchy's so-call redemptionists, former cultists brought back to the truth of the God-Emperor, were of no more use than cannon fodder on the battlefield. If a man could switch allegiances once, he could do it again.

"Cerberus is complicated. And it is currently pushing one hell of a propaganda game, or so I have heard. The organization operates in independent cells, very disconnected, very fluid. Some of them are entirely legal and good, other are not. Half of them probably don't even know they are in Cerberus. But this crew, it's the best you are going to find in Cerberus. I knew most of these people before, back when I served in the Alliance. They are loyal and good people."

"Yet they all reneged on their loyalties and joined the other side."

"Better way to think of it" the armorer appeared, taking the seat that Officer Lawson had just vacated. "Is that they stayed on Shepard's side."

Kane nodded to the man, and changed topics. Ideological differences would not get sorted out over breakfast. "So then, you are the only non-Cerberus operative on the ship. And you are the ship captain. Is that not odd, to give the entire ship to an outsider?"

"It's a long story," the commander assured him. "Short version: The Collectors serve the Reapers, which are coming to destroy all sentient life in the galaxy. They already tried to come in… two and a half years ago. I killed the first one. It was called Sovereign. We think the Collectors work for the Reapers, and so they ambushed my ship, the original Normandy, and shot it down here, over Alchera. I was spaced, suffocated, and burned through atmo. Somehow Cerberus got a hold of me and invested God-only-knows how much into bringing me back from, literally, the dead. They called it the Lazarus Project. I'm a first of a kind."

Digesting it all quietly, Kane considered the points that he wanted to prod at. There was, of course, the glaring issue. "You must be quite valuable to be worth bringing back from the dead."

"Apparently they thought so." The Commander laughed quietly. "Even before Sovereign, I was a pretty popular guy. Hero of the Skyllian Blitz, N7 qualification, considered and then inducted into the ranks of the Spectres… I was on posters for the Alliance before I died. Now… I'm pretty sure every sentient being in the galaxy knows my face."

"So… a propaganda tool. If Cerberus has this great human hero working for them, that will no doubt fill their coffers quite comfortably."

"Yes." Shepard's grin faded into a scowl at the thought. "There is that. But more importantly, I know what we are fighting. I have stared it in the eye and killed it. That is why they gave me the ship. Because I know the stakes and they believe I can beat them."

"Second question: Sovereign. You say you killed it? What did it looked like?"

The Commander fell silent for a moment, pondering the question. "When I say I killed it, that is not entirely true. I defeated it would be the better term. Sovereign was a ship. A living ship, at least two kilometers long, black as onyx and shaped like a squid. It was… strange. According to it, the whole ship was a collection of intelligences that powered the shell. It could project itself at a distance of hundreds of kilometers, assert control over others' minds, do all sorts of things. It was operating through a vessel, another Spectre named Saren. I killed Saren in the heart of the Citadel. Then Sovereign brought him back through his cybernetics and I killed it again. The ship itself was killed by the combined firepower of five different fleets. But we think that the only reason it fell was because of the damage I did directly to its intelligence by killing the thing it was pouring its power into."

"An intelligent ship?" Kane had never heard of something like that.

"The Reapers are old. We don't have a clue how old."

"An interesting story." Kane gestured to his plate. Shepard rose and they followed taking their platters over to the be washed. Most of the crew had wandered off, but the few that remained were watching with unashamed stares. He continued to ignore them. They were not worth this time. "So if you are not Cerberus, you are still Alliance?"

"I haven't gotten that far yet" Shepard admitted. "Only been awake for a few days. Haven't gotten around to getting that whole mess sorted out. Right now I'm running on Spectre authority. The Council reinstated me, though with a good deal of grumbling."

"Spectre. What is that?"

"Spectres are agents of the Citadel Council. Individuals of exceptional skill that investigate illegal activities and put them down with extreme prejudice, more or less."

"Sounds like our Inquisition." Kane appreciated being able to draw a comparison. Finally. He had seen an Inquisitor once. And he knew the stories, what they did. "They are individual agents? Do they all have retinues like this, or do they operate on their own?"

"I guess it depends on the Spectre. As far as I know most operate on their own. I'm used to working with a team… Alliance military after all. But I would guess I am rather different than most. After all, most Spectres don't face off against a galaxy-killing enemy like I do."

"Most Spectre agents are loners" Officer Taylor chimed in. "I've met one before. They all have their networks of agents, informants, etcetera, but they all tend to rely on themselves. The amount of responsibility they have, and the enemies they make, isn't very conducive to having friends."

"And where do you fit into this?" Kane asked. "Are you merely crew? Shepard brought you down to the planet as one of two companions, so I assume you are more than a simple armorer."

The muscular former soldier took no offense at the bluntness of his attitude. "I was project security for him." He gestured at Shepard. "Miranda was the project head, she oversaw the research and operations and all the fancy stuff. I was just the grunt who made sure things went according to plan."

"That woman is a scientist?" He could not help but voice his amazement. There was nothing about her that struck him as a Mechanicus-type adept. She was too… human. The thought of an enginseer strutting about in that form-hugging catsuit brought a heretical image to mind.

"Miranda is many things" Shepard answered, glancing to Jacob for confirmation. "Spy, Scientist, Commander… she told me that she was genetically engineered to be the 'perfect human.' I don't think there is much of anything that is out of her reach."

"This is quite a retinue you have, Commander Shepard." Kane turned his thoughts towards a less mind-engaging task. All this talk of strange and foreign things had brought on a headache. For now, he required something less stressful. Something that could help him maintain his composure. "I thank you for the… conversation. If it is agreeable, I would return to my quarters now."

"Going back to your room?" Shepard clasped his hands together and pointed with one of them in the direction of the elevator. "If I may, can I suggest a way to pass the time?"

"You may." Kane glanced over to Corporal Brunson. The trooper's attention had wandered, gazing across the numerous other crew scattered about the room. He had something that was not quite a frown on his face. More of a curious interest. That would have to be remedied.

"You have laser rifles." A hint of a smile tugged at the corners of the Commander's mouth. Kane understood without having to be asked. He had seen similar, though often less composed, reactions among feral worlders when they first encountered the simple miracle of las weaponry. The thought that this man, an apparently quite well-regarded and highly esteemed soldier-commander, got all giddy inside at the thought of seeing a simple lasgun in action gave Kane a surge of confidence. These people were not primitives, but they were not on the same level as Imperial society either. He still had plenty of knaves in his cuff.

"You would like to see one?"

"If you don't mind showing it off" Shepard assured him. "I'm not asking to use it, not yet. But I would like to see what it can do. Laser tech is practically unheard of in our own time."

"Do you have an appropriate firing range aboard?"

Shepard did not try to hide his grin any longer.

-v-

Jacob went ahead to prepare the armory. While Shepard had walked with the two Cadians to their room to gather their weapons, he had hurriedly cleared some of the worktables and pushed crates out of the way to clear the pathetically small target range that they had tucked in the corner of the armory. Theoretically, if one stood at the far end of the room from the targets, it gave decent pistol practice. Here he was more interested in seeing what sort of firepower they had packing. Accuracy was less a concern than stopping power. He had his own ideas of what an energy-based projectile could do. If it could penetrate armor… the human body contained a lot of water.

The door that led to the elevators opened, and Shepard entered with the two newcomers in tow. Between the two Cadians rolled a simple cart, loaded to overflowing with their ranged weaponry. The swords, he noted, were absent. All the better. Those would only distract him, and the treat he was about to see needed his full attention. A little thrill tingled up his spine at the thought. Real laser rifles. Every government in the galaxy would pay a decade' budget to get their hands on this hardware. And the Normandy had no less than five working laser weapons on board. If they could ever be trusted enough to use them, he just might die happy.

The taller brute of a sergeant set about moving the weapons from the cart to the table, but the other one stared about in wonder. He stepped away from the cart, missing a pointed glare from his superior, and approached one of the secured weapon lockers. Jacob followed his movement without concern. Simple curiosity. They had their own weapons sitting in arms reach. No threat to allow him to look.

"This room supplies your entire ship with weapons?"

"I'll choose to not take that as an insult." Jacob shrugged and moved over to examine the laser rifles. Kane had set them in neat rows, each weapon carefully positioned to provide maximum visual coverage while somehow managing to get all three rifles and two pistols onto the one table. Studying them in-person sure beat the three-dimensional scans. The weapons were boxy and functional, lacking in the curvature and elegant compactness of Council-race technology. That being said, they did have a unique beauty to them. The symbol of the double-headed eagle was proudly stamped on the right side of each weapon. Brass letters, written in such tiny curling script that he needed a magnifier to properly read them, decorated the opposite side of the larger rifle and its companion pistol. The letters themselves were indecipherable for a few moments, then the slightest pressure rubbed against the inside of his skull and they presented themselves in recognizable characters. God Bless EDI and her translation software.

Apart from the design, the rifles and pistols were by and large what he had expected. Similar concept, similar weapons. They had a trigger, fire selector, barrel, either a collapsible or fixed stock, iron sights or enhanced. Instead of one fire selector though, they had two. The largest difference was the presence of a physical magazine. Modern technology had rendered such things obsolete decades ago, though the new fad of thermal clips had returned the concept in a limited form. These magazines were more like what one could find in the twentieth century. Boxy, utilitarian, inelegant on their own. When combined with the rest of the weapon though, it made for a formidable profile. The lack of compactness was a hindrance as far as carrying went, but these men did not appear the sort that cared much for subtlety.

The larger rifle's barrel rivaled that of some shotguns he had fired before. His eyes roved back to one of the grenade launchers they had locked away, mentally comparing sizes and realizing that they were roughly the same bulk. Grenade launchers required a decently strong arm to wield effectively. They were not cumbersome, but they had a good deal of weight. On Alchera, Sergeant Kane handled his rifle as if it weighed nothing. The man was built like a krogan, blocky and muscular to a point that even Jacob found himself a little self-conscious. He was no ordinary man; that was certain.

Comparing the weapons to each other, Jacob wondered if the Sergeant's weapon was some sort of next-level equivalent. It seemed to be an upgrade to the other two, which appeared the same except for the stock difference and a few centimeters of barrel length. Kane's was larger, heavier, more fearsome. Of the three, it alone had a scope enhancement. Not a particularly large one, just a rounded piece two-fingers long with clear glass ports on both the front and rear. A small box attached to the top most likely housed a battery for it. He wondered what sort of fantastic futuristic ability the scope had.

The only other identifying differences between the weapons was color scheme. The pair of larger weapons had been painted a reflection-less dark grey, nearly black in its intensity. The others were drab green with grey secondary. It matched their armor. Kane's was dark and Brunson's was green.

His curiosity could not quite be sated by merely observing. Stretching out a hesitant hand, he glanced from the Sergeant to the Corporal and back, silently seeking permission to touch. Both men stiffened, muscles tensing at the thought. The grim set of Kane's jaw warned him that these men were more than attached to their weapons. Offering a respectful nod, Jacob dropped his hand to his side and gestured for them to continue.

"Can you show us how they work?"

"Do you have a target?" Kane looked around, his frown of disapproval showing. His gaze lingered on the viewports that allowed them to see out into space. Unease could be read in his eyes. He did not approve of being so close to the void, apparently. The tension exuding from his posture told Jacob that he did not trust the hull integrity of this small ship.

Shepard approached the switch at the far end of the room and stole their attention. "We have some ballistic dummies. Kinetic gels and fiberplas innards are designed to simulate a human body. And here," he flipped a second switch and the kinetic barrier generators flared to life, surrounding each dummy with a shimmering golden field. "Are the shields."

"Shields?" Corporal Brunson approached the dummies and held out a hand to inspect. He gasped sharply when his fingers slid straight through. "You have power fields?"

"Kinetic barriers" Shepard corrected. "Designed to stop high velocity rounds and impacts. In all honesty I am not sure if they will do anything against your weapons."

"How rare is this technology?"

"Rare?" Jacob suppressed a snort of laughter. "They are about as ubiquitous as pistols. Every merc and soldier from Earth to the Terminus Systems has a kinetic barrier. Some are better than others, but it comes pretty standard on most any military-grade armor suit."

The Cadians exchanged pointed looks. Jacob had a good idea of what they were thinking. He could read the glee on the Corporal's face. Someone's day had just been made. It amazed him that both parties had technology that amazed the other.

"Let's test it, then." Kane scooped up his rifle and ran it through a reassuringly familiar firing pre-check. Insert magazine, check safety, inspect power supply, check sights. He did not turn on the scope, Jacob saw. There was no point in doing that. Not in this situation. The ease with which the man maneuvered his weapon left no doubt that he had spent considerable hours interacting with it. How much of that had been spent putting people in the ground, Jacob could only wonder at.

With a flick of his finger, Kane activated the magazine. His finger moved to the rearmost fire selector and he rotated it to the middle position. Then, shifting forward, he moved the forward selector to the notch showing parallel lines with a single dot between them. Single Fire, he assumed. Ten evenly-placed lights winked along the length of the magazine, glowing a faint but recognizable green. Jacob's guess was that this was a charge indicator. As shots were fired, it would cycle down from ten to one, and eventually all would go dark when exhausted.

"This is a standard power shot" Kane told them. Shepard and Brunson retreated to stand behind him. The other Cadian appeared just as eager to see the rifle in action as the Normandy crew members. Perhaps he had not seen it himself before. Or maybe this rifle was really that badass.

Lifting the rifle to his shoulder in a fluid motion, Kane sighted on the target dummy and squeezed the trigger in the same breath. They had intended to watch for recoil, study the weapon itself, but their attention was torn away by the brilliant flash of crimson light, the screech of ionizing air, and the carnage that was the laser beam striking the dummy. The shot passed through the kinetic barrier without activating it, striking the fiberplas shell of the dummy with full force. Punching a fist-sized hole through the dummy, the beam continued on and left a scorch in the bulkhead behind. Kane lowered the rifle and ejected the magazine. Studying the effect of his shot with an expressionless mask, he sucked in a slow breath.

"You're right. Your shields don't work."

"Damn…" Shepard let out a whistle. His eyes fairly glowed with excitement as he stepped forward to inspect the smoking dummy. Jacob followed, both amazed and appalled by the level of destruction the beam had caused. The hole itself was clean, not dripping kinetic gel or hanging ragged strands of fiberplas. The laser beam had burned a total hole, searing the edges and leaving a neat gap where the heart would have been. Jacob reached out to confirm the size of it. He put three fingers in the hole, not daring to insert his whole hand. The kinetic gel hissed and steamed, still superheated by the energy of the shot. He shuddered despite himself. This kind of weaponry would rewrite modern warfare from the ground up. Kinetic barriers couldn't stop it, and the damage was as catastrophic as he thought it might be. The simulated body could only do that… simulate. Against true flesh and blood, things would be a whole lot worse. There would be shock, screaming, flopping. The stench of burning flesh. Maybe biotic barriers could do something, but no one was going to want to test that. Certainly he wouldn't. Not with that horror.

"And that's the standard weapon when you're from?"

"Standard among basic human troops. The Guard uses lasguns because they are easy to maintain, cheap to produce, and have effective firepower."

"Effective firepower? That's an understatement." Shepard whistled and made a point of staring at the rifle. The calculations were going on in his head. A single squad armed with these could tear right through a company of Alliance Marines without breaking a sweat. It would break the whole system of military tactics. "Do you even use projectile weapons?"

"The Imperium encompasses millions of worlds. Plenty of regiments use projectile firearms. Mostly primitive worlds, or specialist units. But there are the standard heavy weapons. Sniper rifles, heavy stubbers, boltguns, cannons."

"How does your Imperium produce enough weapons?" Jacob's puzzled frown matched the wonder in his eyes as he attempted to run the numbers in his head. There were only a few primary weapon manufacturers in the galaxy, including military-specific companies. Though large and pervasive, they could hardly keep up with peacetime demand. What sort of production levels did the future have?

"There are hundreds of worlds in the Imperium dedicated solely to the manufacture of weapons of war, Officer Taylor. We call them Forge Worlds, because that is what they do. Entire planets converted into endless factories. Controlled by the Mechanicus, they answer directly to the Ordo Mechanicus, but liaise with the Officio Administratum to provide weapons, munitions, and supplies to Imperial forces within regional sectors."

"Why did you settle on laser technology? Why not something like plasma, or gauss?"

Brunson answered for Kane, lifting up one of the standard lasgun magazines. "Las weapons produce limited recoil, which improves the aim of the soldier. They are lightweight and do not require cases of loose ammunition, which reduces production and distribution times, as well as carry weight on the soldier. In combat the charge of a las weapon can be adjusted to increase or decrease firepower, allowing a soldier to tailor his combat effectiveness to the threat. And, in a worst-case scenario where one is cut off from supplies, extended contact with intense heat sources can recharge a used charge pack. A scavenged recharge does a number on a pack, but it works in a pinch."

"As for plasma," Kane added, "the Imperium has limited access to plasma technology. Most of the facilities or schematics of plasma weaponry has been lost or destroyed, meaning that production of such weaponry is extremely rare and difficult to manufacture. Even when deployed, plasma technology is unstable at best, and overuse can lead to a catastrophic breach of the containment core, which leads to an explosion and often a dead soldier."

"Damn." Jacob shook his head. He cast a look a Shepard. "I guess we know the answer to that line of theory."

Shepard pointed to the one weapon that stood out from the others. The black and gold one, bulkier and sporting a large barrel. "What is that one?"

"That is a bolt pistol. Fires a .75 caliber self-propelled explosive shell, diamantine tip, depleted uranium core, mass-reactive detonator. Shoots like a pistol, explodes like a small artillery shell. Extremely powerful, excellent armor penetration; one of these can turn a regular into paste."

Shepard understood enough of what he said to realize this weapon had more killing power than the lasguns. Which begged the follow-up question: "And you don't use these because…"

"There are many patterns of bolt weapons, however they are expensive and limited. They also have tremendous recoil, and require a strong person to handle them. Outside of the Adeptus Astartes, bolt weapons are limited to high-class individuals, officers, and other important persons. It would cost far too much to equip an entire regiment with these weapons."

"Can you show us what it does?"

Kane cast the target dummy a dismissive glance. "One shot would leave that in ribbons. We only have a few dozen rounds for it, and I would rather not waste any."

Both crew members of the Normandy nodded. Shepard studied one of the shells, provided by Kane as he discharged it from the magazine and held it for inspection. "Given the right materials, we may be able to reproduce this. Perhaps the components you speak of have a different name to us."

The Cadians shifted uneasily, changing their weight. Shepard had meant for the idea to encourage them. It seemed to have the opposite effect. Kane's expression soured, Brunson's went slack with thought. Neither replied to the suggestion. In fact, Kane blatantly ignored it, choosing instead to point at the gaping hole in the target dummy.

"Now, that sort of shot is not always the case. That was a standard power shot from a hellgun-variant. It is an elite weapon, issued only to stormtroopers and specialized units. Hellgun packs have greater focus for increased armor penetration and lethality. They are designed to punch through armored and resistant targets. Ordinary lasguns are designed for killing ordinary people."

Shepard noticed the hint of disdain in the man's voice when he spoke of 'ordinary lasguns.' Elitist attitude. No surprise there. Regardless of when Kane came from, it gave Shepard a hint of familiarity to know that certain mindsets were the same. An unspoken agreement passed between the Cadians, and Brunson picked up the carbine variant. He took care in unfolding the stock, muttering something that sounded like a prayer under his breath as he stepped up to the firing line. Shepard offered a subtle nod to Jacob, who reset the monitors. The damaged target folded back into its port, replaced by a second one that bore none of the terrible damage their hellgun had inflicted.

Hellgun. The name did not lie.

Unlike the sure fire of Kane, Brunson took his time aiming. He seemed hesitant, eyes flicking from his sight to the scorch mark on the bulkhead. His reticence to fire could be understood. No sane person liked the idea of putting holes in a starship. After a considerable wait, Brunson squeezed the trigger.

Once again, the beam bypassed the shields. This time, however, the brilliant red shot merely drilled a small hole in the target's forehead. It did not penetrate as far as the hellgun; steaming gel bubbled out of the simulated skull. After a few seconds the leakage cleared, revealing a cave that showed the rear bone-material. A lethal shot, still more terrifying than a single rifle shot. The extent of the wound stretched two fingers wide. A satisfied shrug rippled across the young soldier's shoulders, and he lowered the weapon. Flicking the safety on, he discharged the magazine and set both on the table. The magazine, Jacob noted, showed only a single red light on the pips. Almost drained, he assumed.

Giving the charts another quick read, he saved the data and brought both dummies up side by side. Their outer layer was a hard gelatin, designed to perform as a armored body. Underneath, a kinetic gel of the same density and response of the human body. This was effectively field-grade armor they had shot through. Their own gear was useless against this. Cauterization would have been instantaneous. Shock probably within seconds. A horrid, brutally effective weapon system

The stench of ozone and burned gel was wafted their way from the dummies. Shepard thoughtfully activated the air scrubbers. All breathed a slight sigh of relief as the scent of recycled air filtered in. It smelled so much better than scorched gelatin.

"I'd hate to see your field hospitals" Jacob muttered. He returned both target dummies to their holes and deactivated the monitors. There was nothing more to be gained from them. It did not take science to understand this.

"You would hate it." Kane leaned against the table with crossed arms. Cocking his head to the side, he studied the armory racks on the far side. "Certainly they are not as clean as yours. I know I will not recognize this, but what is the current weapon technology of your time?"

"Heatsink projectile." Jacob plucked a Carnifex from the rack. "Ammunition is shaved tungsten rounds, heatsink keeps the weapon from overheating. Universal clips attach to just about any weapon in existence. Not as powerful as yours, but versatile."

"So every weapon is the same?"

"Hardly. The heatsink merely controls how they quickly they heat up. This one, the Carnifex, it's a shield breaker. Designed to overload kinetic barriers, packs a punch that'll knock a krogan back a step."

The bigger of the Cadians stiffened at the name of the weapon. His jaw clenched.

"Carnifex?"

"Yeah."

"Why is it named that?"

"It's Latin," Shepard answered. "Means the butcher."

"Latin?"

"An old language." Shepard shrugged. "Not used anymore except for spitting out fancy scientific names."

"Nothing to do with a creature?"

"...no…" The Normandy crew members exchanged puzzled glances. The name clearly had the man bothered. His posture began to slacken, to ease off. Kane opened his mouth as if to explain, but shut it instead, mouth clamped firmly shut. Whatever it was, he did not want to talk about it.

"Your magazines… how do you reload them?" Jacob pointed to one.

"Recharge," Brunson answered. "In the Guard we have recharging stations where the techpriests reconsecrate them and rearm them. In a pinch, they can be cooked on a heat source, but that degrades their quality and makes them prone to… exploding."

"Do you think we could recharge them? You just need a heat source?"

When Kane showed no inclination to answer, Brunson answered for the both of them. He was not entirely comfortable with the idea. "A specialized charging station would be ideal, but we have neither that nor techpriests. A stable power source should do the trick, I suppose."

Jacob looked to Shepard. The idea was forming in his head, and the Commander seemed to be drawing the same conclusion. "I could talk to our engineers, see if we can make a device for that. The Normandy draws power from a mass effect core. Cleanest energy that's ever been created. I think it might work."

"We can't stop you from trying." Kane shrugged. "Worst case scenario, it doesn't work. Best case, I have full combat load."

"How many shots do your magazines hold?"

"Depends on the weapon." Kane picked up one of his. "These hellgun powerpacks hold eighty shots standard. With adjustable settings, that can range as much as one hundred fifty to twenty five." He fell into thought for a moment. "Most I ever got out of a single pack was one hundred fifty three shots."

Jacob's mouth pursed in a contemplative frown. The question was obvious in his eyes. The lingering of his gaze on the weapons. Kane heard the incoming query before the words had even left the armorer's mouth.

"No."

Shepard and Jacob exchanged a short glance, confirming the Kasrkin's suspicion. Jacob pursued it anyways. The man had persistence. "Do you even know what I was going to ask?"

"You were of mind to study our weapons."

"Yes," he admitted. "The technology your carry would revolutionize our systems. It could give mankind weapon superiority and us an advantage against the Collectors."

Both of the Cadians stared at him, neither blinking or betraying their thoughts. The silence that followed was excruciating. Even Shepard shifted about on his feet. Slowly, painfully slowly, the Kasrkin raised his eyebrows just enough to indicate he was waiting for the second half of Jacob's idea. The part that was going to sit about as well as a varren in a salarian's hatchery.

"...but it could also potentially lead to an arms race between Council races, and future political concessions could include the trading of your technology. And I am sure you would not want the other races to have access to your weapons."

"That is correct." Kane started collecting his weapons, and Brunson did in his shadow. The possessiveness could not be mistaken as they accounted for their equipment and secured it. What they could not sling or holster they gathered in their arms. There was a stiffness in their postures that told the Normandy's crew that the discussion was closed. No more talking to be had on the matter. Having seen the zeal with which they guarded themselves, Shepard and his armorer understood that it was useless to continue. Nothing they said could even broach the topic.

"Maybe, in time, I might share them with you." Kane gestured in their direction with the empty bolt pistol. "But I will not allow weapons forged in war and consecrated in the blood of the saints to be perverted by xenos touch."

"I thank you for your time then." Shepard tipped his head. "And I have to say, I am glad you are on our side."

The expression on Kane's face showed he planned to challenge that remark, to no doubt remind them all that he had not made a decision in that regard. Instead he swallowed his thoughts and offered a curt nod of acknowledgement.

-v-

The bridge all stopped and stared as the Cadian entered the CIC. Twenty hours ago, they broke orbit to approach the relay station. The time for remembrance and honoring the dead had passed. Now, their course took them to Omega. The cesspit of the galaxy, the den of thieves and pirates. It was a lawless station in a lawless frontier. No Citadel authority, no mandates or laws. Survival of the fittest was all; survival of the strongest. Shepard found it strangely appropriate that this is where their path took them first. The Collectors did not fight fair. They did not fight according to rules and regulations. To fight that, they needed an edge. A place like Omega could very well gift them an edge. The mysterious time travelers already had something to offer, should they come around to it. But Shepard was not going to settle for anything less than the strongest hand possible. War was not won through half-measures and complacency. Shepard wanted the Collectors stopped. He wanted them dead.

It was not going to be easy. The most advanced vessel in the entire Citadel fleet had been shredded like paper against the Collector ship. This mission had no chance of success. It was going to take a miracle. They needed technology, intelligence, and manpower. To that latter end, the Illusive Man had offered a batch of carefully screened and rated candidates for this suicide run. Three persons of interest, all clustered together on the godforsaken pirate den. Finding them could take days, weeks, or if they were unlucky, forever.

Omega, unlike the rest of the civilized galaxy, had no central databases. It was lawless and out of control. Humans were few and far between, aliens were everywhere. The Cadians were not going to like it. He himself did not consider walking into a den of thieves, pirates, and bounty hunters to be a stellar plan. More than likely, he'd run into a few unfriendly faces that had grievances. And it wasn't as if he could pass entirely undetected. His face had been plastered all over Citadel space for years now. Anyone who set foot outside the Normandy would have to be armed and wary.

To that end, he had busied himself with compiling shore party lists. Some of the crew would no doubt want to stretch their legs as well. They couldn't exactly go strutting about in Cerberus gear. That would invite trouble they could not afford. There was also the matter of figuring out how to gather as many of these men, and possibly women, as quickly as they could. To that end, he needed as many bodies as he could bring.

"Sergeant Kane." Shepard acknowledged him with a tilt of his head. Dropping one hand away from the holographic map, he indicated a point where Kane could approach. The ponderous clomp of the man's heavy boots seemed to echo through the CIC. His shadow drifted into the field, only to be washed out by an almost unnoticeable increase in light from one of the fixtures. It was the little things like that always had Shepard smiling. The subtlest details in technology that most everyone took for granted.

"How do you like the bridge?"

"Without having something to compare it to, it's a bridge."

"You never went on the bridge in any of the ships you traveled in?"

Kane snorted, showing his disdain for such an apparently ridiculous question. "Our ships are not small like this, Commander. It would take hours just to walk from the barracks to the command area. Not to mention only a few select persons are ever allowed on or near the bridge. It would be unthinkable for a mere soldier to set foot on the bridge."

Choosing to not continue that topic, Shepard merely shrugged. Yeoman Chambers stole his attention for a brief second, informing him that a message had arrived for him. The bubbly Yeoman's posture was antsy, straining at the leash to confront the Cadian and learn all about him. For now, Shepard had forbid her from engaging either of the men in prolonged conversation. He did not want her enthusiasm to cause trouble. Both men were closed off and suspicious. Too friendly and they might mistake her for something else. In the meantime she could watch and analyze.

The Cadian remained silent. Shepard realized he was waiting to be addressed. As much as the man had to be curious, he took certain protocols to heart. This one being to wait for the superior officer to explain why he had been summoned.

"We are entering the Omega system" Shepard expanded the map to show him. The man's violet eyes captured it all, devouring the map without a word. "This is our destination, an asteroid-turned-space-station called Omega. I have told you our mission; to complete it we need more bodies. My… employer, has found three. You should know it now, some of them are going to be non-humans."

The man's body went rigid. His jaw clenched so tight Shepard wondered if he would chip a tooth. But he said nothing, aware as he was of the multitude of crew members on the bridge. The bridge crew had been partially clued into the nature of the newcomers, though many knew little more than that they were outsiders. Only a handful knew the whole truth, although scuttlebutt would change that faster than Shepard could hope to quell it.

"Xenos, sir?" The words ground through the man's teeth like he was giving the order to have himself shot. A spark like flint danced in his eyes.

"Yes. Is that going to be a problem?"

"You are in charge, sir." That last part was more mutter than not. The muscles on Kane's neck twitched. "It is not my place to decide what you can and cannot do."

"That is not an answer."

"No," the Cadian confirmed. "It was not."

Again, Shepard chose to not comment. He had hoped the man would accept the decision. It appeared he had a lot to learn about how thoroughly ingrained and rigid his views were. Everything about this man was foreign. His thoughts, his equipment, his speech. It was immensely frustrating, and something that Shepard did not want to deal with in the middle of everything else. Fate, it seemed, had a particularly bad sense of humor. There was one easy way to start solving this issue. Direct confrontation. But not here, not in the CIC. This was an uncontrolled environment. It needed to be just him and Kane. Talking it out like men.

Turning from the helm, Shepard ordered Kelly to notify him if anything came up. Kane followed on his heel, understanding his role without having to be told. They stepped around behind the elevator and into the conference room. Once the door shut, Shepard turned to the man and allowed his scowl to show.

"Let's get something straight, Sergeant. I am not your commanding officer. You are not in my chain of command. You are a guest on this ship."

"A guest that is constantly monitored by a damned intelligence that keeps reminding me it can vent the air from any room I am in.." Kane did not speak accusingly, merely stating the facts. Shepard nodded his agreement, attempting to keep his train of thought from being derailed by the simple and frank response.

"The crew is still acclimating to your arrival. By the time we reach Omega you should be able to walk freely."

"I am fully aware that I am a security risk to your vessel, Commander. My only concern is that of our status. When we arrive at this Omega, would be allowed to leave if we wanted to?"

"Do you want to leave?"

"That is not an answer."

"No." Shepard's mouth quirked in a small smile. "No it is not."

Kane's long pause and contemplative grimace showed he recognized his own words being spit back in his face. At least Shepard had a bit of good intention there.

"Does it matter? I certainly will not stop you from leaving, but you need to be handled delicately. I would be a fool to just let you and your weapons go prancing about in this galaxy. You'd be dead in days, your existence would stir controversy, and your weapons would fall into the wrong hands. Surely you can understand the enormity of the grey area we are in right now. I don't know whether to turn you over the Alliance, or to hide you here with us, or to announce you to the Council. You're from a time and place that is incompatible with what we have now. I have no idea what to do with you. But I do have a job to do, and if you are going to stick around here i could use you. You look and talk like a damn good soldier. Where I am going, I need the best. But if you choose to stay, you will submit to my authority. We do not have the luxury of petty bickering and feuds on this run. We are going up against the strongest power in the galaxy. I need everyone's heads locked on straight and their attitudes aligned.

"I can fight with you." Kane took a seat, with Shepard's permission. Staring up at the Commander, he put his hands together and began counting with his fingers. "You are human. You represent the faction of humanity that is fighting for humanity. You are fighting a xenos threat that is preying upon mankind. I can stand behind that. I am a soldier. I need something to guide me. For now, this will work."

"And the others?"

"Corporal Brunson will follow my lead. He is young and less experienced than me. That makes him malleable." The Kasrkin grimaced. "I have a nagging feeling already that he will take to this new galaxy with more enthusiasm than is good for him. As for Commissar Blake, she is an entirely different matter. Your doctor said she is able to hear everything, perhaps. I will report everything to her, and I would advise you form a debriefing for her when she awakens."

Shepard registered the man's confident 'when' with some disbelief. Doctor Chakwas' private diagnosis had not been pretty. The girl had seen almost her entire chest cavity ripped to shreds. Every rib broken and mangled. Internal organs battered far beyond what even medigel was comfortable handling. The practical assessment was that if she ever woke up, it would take years for her to recover her mobility and strength.

"Regardless, she is a Commissar," Kane continued. "The Commissariat are political officers. They are raised, like I was, in the Schola Progenium. Probably an orphan, and of a military heritage. They are trained to be enforcers of military law. You see, they don't exist in the chain of command. They attach to it. Commissars are assigned by the Commissariat wherever it is seen necessary. Their word is law, and they oversee the rules and regulations of the Guard. Specifically, they enforce the correct beliefs and teachings of the God-Emperor. They have full authority to execute offenders at reasonable doubt for heresy or disloyalty. They do not bend the rules."

"So she is going to be a problem?" Hearing this, he wondered if he even wanted her to wake up. Certainly, he did not wish her death, but if what Kane said was true, she would be a sure issue.

"You call it a problem. We call it integrity." Kane shrugged. "It won't be personal, you know. I believe you would call the term brainwashed. That we are raised from birth in the knowledge that xenos are evil and enemies of mankind. Those that don't get the message, don't last. I am willing to fight, because that is what I do. That is not what she does."

"Your Schola sounds harsh." Shepard frowned at the thought. He was not so naive to say that humanity was above that sort of thing. Kaiden's stories about the BAaT probably could have compared. Children raised in cruelty and discipline to forge incredible warriors. "If she wakes up, I will want you by my side."

"That can be done." Kane nodded.

-v-

Kane sat down next to Commissar Blake's bed and pulled out his personal dataslate. It was a simple thing, one he had been issued as the company sergeant for the Whiteshields. Good for little more than transcribing commands. That was all he needed. Over the past few days he had written down everything he heard and found about this new universe. He had decided to read it to her every day. If at least some of it would get through, that would be enough. Doctor Chakwas left them alone the first time, gave him the medbay so he could speak undisturbed. Sometimes she sat in though. Kane was not a storyteller. Even when alone with the Commissar, he found himself uncertain on how to proceed. But when the Doctor was there it was plain intimidating.

She made no overt show of listening in. Usually she was absorbed in her work. Kane only caught her watching once or twice, and that was always with an impartial, medical stare as if she was trying to read his mind. From time to time she would comment on what he said, correct something that was not quite right. Those times were almost relieving. The Doctor had a quick wit and a friendly demeanor. She had taken their arrival more or less in stride. In fact, she seemed quite pleased with them. It helped, he thought, that after the first rounds of vaccinations he had not complained any more as she came back the next day with more booster shots. His arms were a little sore from all the shots, but he understood the importance of it all. Even the Commissar was having the boosters put into her through an intravenous device.

When he spoke with the doctor she proved full of questions like all the others. But her questions were easy to answer; she asked about common life and medical practices and things like that. She tactfully avoided questions that would have caused irritation or regret. He appreciated how she picked her questions. Those were answers he could give without discomfort.

Today Kane regaled the Commissar with how he and Brunson had settled in. Trooper Brunson had been taken down to engineering at one point and instantly fell in love with the zero-core technology they had. He spent a lot of time down there. It had bothered Kane at first because the soldier loved it so much and because it separated them more than he liked. He hadn't found a niche on the ship yet. The battlefield was where he belonged. Kane hated ships, hated how useless he was on them. There was nothing for him to do, and that gave him far too much time to think.

That was why he spent so much time here, in the medical bay. He looked up from the dataslate and gazed at the Commissar's face. It was peaceful. The monitor beside the bed said that her mind was working right now. Whether that was subconscious or not he had no clue. But he hoped she could hear him.

"We need you to wake up" Kane told her. He set the dataslate down and leaned over the bed. Peeling one eyelid open, he stared at her violet eye. It twitched slightly. His shoulders sagged and he closed it. She probably couldn't hear him. "Damn it, Madam Commissar. We need you awake. I can't take care of both of you like this."

The door to the medbay opened and Doctor Chakwas strode in. Kane hastily sat back down and picked up his dataslate. Pretending nothing had happened, he went back to reading.

"How are you doing today, Sergeant?"

"I am healthy, ma'am." Kane turned off the dataslate and looked up at her. It was hard to guess her age. She was elderly, that much was certain. Her hair was silvery grey and her face lined with age. But the doctor still had a spry step and plenty of energy. She smiled softly and approached around the other side of the bed.

"She is showing improvement."

"Is she, ma'am?"

"Yes, though I expect it will still be some time before she stands a chance of waking up. The damage that, you called it a chainsword, inflicted is more traumatic than anything I have ever seen. Her survival is more a testament to her will to live than to medical science."

"What do you mean about her improvement?"

"She is slipping in and out of awareness more often. I think that, perhaps in a week, she might even be able to acknowledge you."

Kane's hopes soared with that. Standing, he patted the Commissar's arm and took a step back. "That is good."

"Don't just thank me" she said. "Thank Commander Shepard for realizing how badly she was injured and calling me down to the surface. If he hadn't she might not have survived."

"I've been listening to some of the crew's stories about your Commander. He sounds like a Star of Terra candidate, had he been alive in my time."

"A what?" She looked up at him in confusion.

"Star of Terra." Kane traced the symbol in the air with his hand. "Highest honor a Guardsman can receive. Takes a superheroic deed, the kind of thing people make legends about. Almost always awarded posthumously."

The doctor laughed. "Sergeant, you have no idea. We have a Star of Terra award of our own. It sounds remarkably similar. And Shepard has it."

Kane cocked his head to the side. "Every day I find more reasons to be confused by this time."

Slipping his dataslate into a cargo pocket, he bid farewell and headed out the door. As he walked he checked the chrono on his wrist. With Shepard's help, they had found the supplies to repair their uniforms. It had gone surprisingly well. He had fixed all the tears, and their cleaning agents and completely removed the blood, and even erased stains years older. His 'guard,' as he had come to call Jacob, looked up from his seat at one of the mess tables. Jacob nodded and closed his book. It was so odd to see a paperbound book on a ship with this much technology. It was odd to see a paperbound book at all.

"How's she doing?"

"Living." Kane waited for him to get up. "So what's the plan now?"

"Well, we're entering range of the Extranet satellites, so if you wanted I could give you a console to work on."

"The Commander has mentioned that before. What is the Extranet?"

"Internet." When Kane showed no recognition, Jacob sighed. "Sending and receiving messages, check the news, and all that stuff. It's about as good as an introduction as we can give you before we get to Omega. We've got, fourteen hours maybe. Better than nothing."

Kane followed him to the starboard observation lounge. A small bank of consoles lined one side. Jacob turned one on and handed him a large pad of paper and a couple pens. "In case you want to take notes."

After showing Kane some of the basic functions he said goodbye and stepped out. Kane found himself alone, with an open console and no supervision. You could never find this much trust on an Imperial vessel. Then again, Kane hardly had the technical know-how to exploit the situation.

The first thing Kane did was look up Commander Shepard. His Alliance military profile was slim and heavily classified. He saw nothing new there. Backing out from the Alliance Systems, he ran a check on his name through what he assumed were the less official realms of the Extranet. A news broadcast called Battlespace had a special on him. It had multiple specials on him, actually. The one that drew his attention was about an incident called the Skyllian Blitz. It had taken place on a planet known as Elysium. Kane immediately cross-referenced the planet with a galactic map. Not the same one that existed in his time. Back to the Blitz.

Elysium had been a colony world, a fairly new one at that. Less than a century old. Kane could not imagine a colony that young in his own time. There were certainly colonies that young in his time, but they would be few and far between. This Elysium had been attacked by a race known as the batarians. Shepard had mentioned them once before. They were the closest thing to a race of purely evil aliens as he would be able to find, according to the naive Commander. Slavers, pirates, drug dealers, and scum like that. They had descended on the world without notice, attempting to not only take slaves, but to destroy the entire colony. Commander Shepard had been there, on leave. When the batarians struck, he rallied some defenders and fought back. He took a stand by a shelter full of non-combatants and held off the batarians for five hours before reinforcements arrived. For that, he was awarded the Star of Terra.

If that was all it took, the Imperial Guard would have ten billion saints leading them to war.

There was no official count, but Battelspace estimated that he had slain thirty batarians and destroyed three vehicles. The report made him sound like some badass commando. There was no footage to prove otherwise. The number sounded reasonable. Kane investigated the report and corroborated news stories for a good while before backing out and checking out the other major report on him.

The Eden Prime War. It happened almost three year ago. A rogue Spectre named Saren had led a gigantic Geth assault fleet against the Citadel. The attack had been repulsed with heavy casualties among both Citadel and Alliance fleets. The losses were responsible in part to the presence of an enormous Geth dreadnought called the Sovereign. It had weapons and shields that outclassed anything that had been seen before. They finally took it down on top of the Citadel, after devastating casualties to all fleets. And the entire Geth invasion fleet had been destroyed. When everything was said and done, humanity had won a place on the Council. Alliance military forces had claimed that Shepard alerted them to the impending attack, thus they were able to muster two fleets to reinforce the Citadel fleet and win the day.

Kane skimmed through the other smaller reports. The battle of Eden Prime itself. Shepard's induction into the ranks of the Spectres. His death above the planet Alchera when the SR-1 was destroyed. The rumors about his return and his involvement with Cerberus. Almost every incident showered him with praise. Even one journalist he found had started off with fairly negative reports about him, but after a few interviews had nothing but glowing praise for him.

When he exhausted Shepard's stories he searched for the Geth. The information he found made him nervous. Virtual Intelligence hive mind with physical bodies. The xenos race known as quarians designed them for slave labor. Then the Geth grew too intelligent and nearly wiped the quarians out of existence. For a long, long time they had hid in their sector of space. Since the Eden Prime War they had been sending out excursions in increasing numbers. They were a menace to all organic life, alien and human. And they had advanced weaponry compared to the modern galaxy.

A slight hiss warned him that he was not alone. The Normandy's executive officer strode in with her attention buried in her omnitool. She reached the console next to his before noticing she did not stand alone in the room. Her expression soured as she locked eyes with Kane. Kane calmly clicked out of the article and greeted her.

"Ma'am."

She scowled and moved one more console over. "I did not realize we were letting you move around unattended."

"Officer Taylor brought me in. I thought he would have been waiting outside."

"He was not." She sniffed and looked at his screen. "What are you looking into?"

"Anything that will help me get a better head for this place. Your Commander has quite a legend behind him."

"He has earned it, many times over. I would go so far as to say I trust him even when what he does makes no sense."

Kane ignored the pointed nature of her statement. "We have people like you back in the Guard. Political officers, like Commissar Blake. Can't trust a soul and would rather die than smile. You may not be happy with the situation at hand, but I can assure you, I am even less thrilled about this than you are. That does not mean that I will sit by and endure the snark of a genetically-enhanced freak."

The glower she gave was all he needed as answer. Returning his attention to the screen, he began searching for the place Shepard had called Omega. The information settled like a spoiled nutrient paste in his stomach. An asteroid-turned-haven filled with xenos, pirates, thugs, gangs, and every possible criminal organization. The worst part was the xenos. The more Kane read, the more he had the feeling they would be a very small minority on the asteroid. Enemies all around them. No allies to be found. It would be a godless rock. The moral threat to his soul would be testing.

After a few minutes of searching he glanced over at Miranda. She was concentrating heavily on the console and making a show of ignoring him. It struck him as odd, and a little childish. Here Kane was thinking she was some intelligent, opinionated woman with a stick up her ass. Maybe he had overestimated her. Maybe she was just a petulant noblewoman with a lifetime of being slaved over.

"You know you can't keep pretending we don't exist."

"Who said I was pretending you didn't exist?"

She blinked slowly and continued typing away. Kane chuckled despite myself.

"You're the ship's executive officer. Don't you have your own console?"

"If you must know." The words ground out of her as if forced. "My console is uniquely coded to my personal signature. Cerberus is an agency that values intelligence over all. User logins are tagged and recorded. I am able to bypass the security systems of course, but that takes time and effort. It is sometimes simpler to use a generic login on a generic computer for things that I do not need kept hidden from prying eyes."

"Your organization doesn't even trust its leadership. That helps explain why mankind is so incompetent." Kane leaned towards her to try and steal a glance at her work. He had a general idea of what she was talking about, but only just. Whatever it was she was working on, she closed out of the screen before he could mark anything of interest. Didn't need kept hidden, his ass. So this was how she was going to be. Blowing smoke out her pipes in every conversation. He'd suffered through worse officers.

"Do you have a question?" Her growl set the hairs on the back of his neck to standing.

"So many" Kane replied. Pushing back from the desk, he gave her a long look. "Can I ask you one, no bullshit?"

The grunting huff she made could have been exasperation or infuriation. Kane could never get the two straight. Often they were mixed together. She closed her console and turned to face him. Her arms crossed defensively over her chest. He took that as a yes.

"What is it about us that makes you so… disapproving? You seem to be the only one of your crew that has a problem with our presence."

"My problem, is it?" She tilted her head just slightly. It gave her an unforgiving, ice-cold expression. "Or maybe that in itself is the problem. Shepard is taking your arrival too calmly, without question. If I were in charge you would be locked in quarantine until we could drop you off at a base to be studied and interrogated."

"And you consider us to be that much of a threat to you?"

Her deadpan delivery fit her nickname of the 'Ice Queen' that he had heard muttered by some of the crew. "You are something we cannot quantify. There is no scientific test to confirm your story, so we have to take it all on your word and on the assumption that your weapons are not from a top secret research program. For all we know, you are part of some mercenary gang. Or something worse. Maybe you work for the Collectors. Maybe they gave you this advanced technology. Whichever it is, the odds are unlikely that such a program would have escaped my notice. I do not like things I do not know."

"Is that all?" Kane chuckled dryly. "Are you sure you've got enough assumptions, there?"

"Your story raises more assumptions that I would care to ponder" she spat back. "And every minute you spend on this ship is another minute I worry that Shepard might be wrong about you. While I find it entirely probable, at this point, that you are indeed from the… future, that is no guarantee that you are telling the truth about anything else you have said so far."

An approving grimace eased onto his face. "See, that is all I needed to know."

The Normandy's executive officer frowned. "Is it?"
"I was curious if your attitude was mere petulance at no longer being the center of attention, or a trained response to the unknown. Yours is the latter." He resumed scrolling through the news feed. "Which means you are the most prominent threat on the ship."

"What?" Nothing about her face showed interest or amusement.

"If I decided to do anything, just be sure I'd kill you first. The suspicious ones are the first to react, first to defend. Figure I'd put a round in your skull, while you're sleeping, now that I know where your room-"

The next thing Kane knew he was picking himself up off the floor. The salty taste of blood filled his mouth. Kane blinked hard in surprise, stunned by the blast. He hadn't even seen her move. Miranda was standing over her knocked-back chair. Purple fire danced around her hands. He froze where he crouched, blood curdling in his veins. A psyker. A thrice-damned psyker. Shepard hadn't told him there were psykers aboard the vessel. He hadn't thought to ask. And placed in such a position of power. No wonder the crew was terrified of her.

"Witch!" Kane's fists clenched and he lunged towards her. A purple ball of energy arced out and slammed straight into his chest. It threw him backward into the wall. His ribs compressed so badly he thought they would crack, but the pressure eased at just the right moment. Still, he could hardly breathe. Stumbling down to his knees, he gasped for breath and wiped blood from his mouth. "Fracking. Psyker. Witch. I'm going to put you in the ground where you belong!"

Drawing his combat bayonet from his boot, Kane hurled it at her even as he rose to charge. Her eyes went wide and she dodged to the side. The blade missed her. By the time she recovered her balance he barreled into her and sent them both flying to the ground. He had thought his superior size would have flattened her. It didn't. She rolled with their momentum and used his weight to flip him over her head. Grabbing a firm handhold of her bodysuit, Kane jerked her along and she was lifted into the air and sailed into one of the console chairs. There was an audible cracking sound, and a pained cry struck out from the scrambling tangle of black-and-white clad limbs.

"I am going to take your head off" Miranda snarled as she picked herself up off the floor. Blood trickled from her nose and mouth. Her nose was badly bruised, possibly broken. Left arm bent at an odd angle. Kane could feel his own shoulder hanging loose from dislocation. Multiple ribs broken, most likely. Ankle twisted something bad. Damn, she had a punch. He hadn't met a psyker this tough before. Those genetic enhancements were something else.

Purple fire flared from her eyes and hands. Knowing he only had a moment, he pushed off and dove to the side. The ball of energy exploded on the floor with a whining crack. She drew back and began to form another ball, but then Kane was on her. A stretched right hook sent her reeling. Following it up with a kick to her stomach, Kane grabbed for her hair and threw her down on her face. Before she could recover he straddled her. His arms locked around her throat in a chokehold that she couldn't break if she had an Ogryn's strength. "Lights out, bitch."

Her body stiffened for a moment as she realized her position. Kane heard a breathless gasp, then she began throwing her elbow into his side. Each blow hit with the force of a hammer. Her strength continued to surprise him. This wasn't ordinary human strength. Another rib cracked, and Kane realized he wouldn't choke her out before she finished crushing his side. This woman was a monstrosity. Changing tactics, he braced his arm to twist and snap her neck cleanly.

Then two sets of arms grabbed him by the shoulder and hurled him backwards. One followed him, slammed a forearm into his chest to pin him to the ground, using the other hand to shove a pistol barrel in his face. Jacob Taylor's scowl hovered just above it. "Stand down, Kane! Don't move a goddamn muscle!"

He couldn't see much else, but he heard the Normandy's executive officer heaving for breath. Shepard was in the room, Kane recognized his voice. But he couldn't hear any words over the pounding in his ears. Blood rushing through his skull. Oh, he was in pain. His side had not fully healed yet from the beating it had taken on Cadia. And this had made it much worse. He was going to be limping away from this one.

"Kane!" Shepard stormed into view, sidearm drawn, but not leveled at him. There was deadly serious intent in the Commander's eyes. Now was the time to lay still. He was outnumbered and outgunned. Throne, he needed to lay still anyhow. His breathing was ragged and it hurt to move his neck. His eyes watered, blurring his vision. "Jesus, Kane. What the hell happened here?"

"You did not tell me you had psykers on this ship." The word dripped like oil from his lips. Slurred, like oil. At some point in the fight he had bitten his tongue pretty badly.

To his credit, Commander Shepard only showed his confusion for the barest moment. A flicker of hesitation, surprise. Did the man not know about the devil that walked on his ship? The man glanced from Kane to the executive officer. Something that might have been embarrassment clouded his face, and he holstered his weapon. That seemed to be the signal for Jacob, though the armorer did so with less enthusiasm. Left his arm on Kane's neck, pinning him to the floor.

"What is a psyker? Are you talking about our biotics?"

"I am talking about psykers. Abominable witches that draw strength from the Ruinous Powers. Power like that bastard has at her fingertips."

Officer Lawson bristled at the comment, a glare flashing across her eyes. She pulled her hand down from her bloody nose long enough to spit a thick blob of blood out of her mouth. Her own murderous glare must have been reflected in his own. This was not over, not by a long shot.

"You're talking about her biotics? That's hardly a… whatever you called it." Shepard patted Jacob on the shoulder. "Half our crew is biotic. It's pure science. They aren't exactly common, but they're not rare either."

He listened to that, wondered what the hell Shepard was talking about. "You're saying it isn't witchcraft? That purple fire?"

"No, it's not." Shepard shook his head. "What, you people have magic in the future? Get up. Jacob, let him be. He isn't going to be going anywhere quickly."

The armorer eased off the pressure, that scowl etched permanently on his face like someone had taken a saw to it. Taking a few steps back, he retreated to Miranda's side and checked on her while Kane gingerly eased up to a sitting position. That simple effort made his head spin. It would be a while for him to walk this one off. He looked up at Commander Shepard, but the ship captain silenced him with a gesture.

"Kane, don't say a damn word. I guess I should have mentioned it earlier. With all that's been going on, it slipped my mind. But that doesn't excuse a thing. You," he rounded on his executive officer. "You are the executive officer on this ship. It is your job to make sure things run smooth. I was told you are a competent officer, cool-headed, intelligent. Where was any of that in… this? Go see Chakwas, then consider yourself confined to quarters until I come talk to you. Jacob, get her there; make sure she's alright."

Miranda Lawson's scandalized expression betrayed how thoroughly shocked she was at everything that had just occurred. Like a man just woken up from his dreamwalking to find himself with trousers down in the Commissar's tent. Disbelief conveyed itself at the Commander's orders, but she voiced her assent and allowed Jacob to help her limp out of the room. The hatch clicked behind them, leaving them in sudden silence. After the brawl and the shouting, the utter quiet unnerved Kane. It felt as if the ship was dead in the void. It set him one edge, made him look for the nearest escape boats.

Choosing not to say anything yet, Shepard strode over to the notepad beside the console. A frown crossed his face for several moments as he tried to read Kane's notes. Perhaps the translator could not interpret that. Well, this intelligence only knew their own cryptogrophy. Gothic was entirely foreign to them. That was good to know. He could still maintain some secrets.

Rather than make the Commander guess, Kane decided to satiate his curiosity. It was hardly confidential, after all. He was using their systems. The damn intelligence they had onboard could probably datamine his searches in the blink of an eye.

"I was researching you. And these abominable intelligences called the Geth. It appears that mankind is barreling headfirst into its own destruction in your time. Tinkering with intelligence programs, enduring diplomacy with xenos. I cannot see how mankind survived beyond this period."

"One thing I've learned," Shepard said, resting his hip on the counter, "is to never underestimate humanity. We pull through the toughest shit by pure determination and stubbornness."

"That, we can agree on." Kane eased himself into a chair. He should probably go see the medicae when they were done here.

"EDI alerted me the instant you two started fighting. What happened, Kane?"

The Kasrkin spent a moment wondering how to answer. Truth was the easy answer. Shepard could probably tell if he was lying anyways. And it wasn't as if he had anything to hide. Or to be ashamed of. So he went with the truth. Honesty was hardly a vice. And his pride was not at stake.

"We were discussing her opinion of myself and the others. Words were exchanged, escalating in nature." A small grimace tugged at his lips. "I may have crossed the line."

The Commander's expectant stare begged for more, but Kane had nothing else to say. No excuses, no reasoning as to why. He had made a choice and he knew full well what had come of it. When he said nothing further, Shepard almost reacted favorably. A slight easing of the judgemental glare. A hint of approval.

"So you started it?"

"Physically, no. She struck first. As far as who initiated the conflict, I would say we are equally at fault. I do not expect your people to trip over themselves playing the gracious host, nor do I even expect any friendliness from any of you. I am… used to a time when everyone is treated with suspicion. This concept is new to your kind, or rare, I would guess. The things that I consider ordinary your executive officer considered unforgivable. I still do not trust you and yours, Commander. Hospitality is not a thing to be taken at face value in my experience. I am a threat to your ship. Myself and my companions are dangerous unknowns. You are taking great faith to allow us to remain free."

"A decision that I am reconsidering," Shepard said pointedly. His mask slipped for a bare moment. There was fury simmering behind his stoic face. Understandable. One of his crew had been endangered because of a choice he had made. Good officers took full responsibility for their actions. It looked like this one did too. That was good; he could respect that. Kane nodded, conceding the point.

"Regardless, Officer Lawson has been spoiling for a fight since we met. It would have come to a head eventually."

"Correct me if I am wrong, but it looked like you were trying to snap her neck."

"I thought she was a witch. That's what we do with witches."

"Snap their necks?"

Kane's expression darkened. "We kill them."

"Good thing she's not a witch then. She's a biotic."

"I don't know what that means." He paused, thinking. When it hit him, the simple realization that he had completely overlooked in his surprise, he let loose a short, bitter laugh. Commander Shepard cocked an eyebrow, silent but curious. Of course. It was so incredibly easy. How had he missed it? He had missed it because his head was still spinning from the newness of this time. Everything was so different and strange. At some level he was operating on pure instinct.

"What's so funny?"

"It's funny, you know. These biotics, as you call them, I don't know what they are, but they are certainly different from psykers. From what I have been reading, your time doesn't even know what the Warp is, much less have the ability to draw power from it. I don't know if it has not been discovered by mortals, or has faded so far that it does not interfere with the mortal realm. But your officer, she is not a psyker. I can see that now that the blood isn't flowing. Had she been a psyker, it would have gone much differently."

"She would have kicked your ass?"

"No." Kane shook his head. "The Warp is a realm that defies explanation. I have read learned men that claim it is a reality founded on pure emotion and terror. Daemons fill it, swim in its currents. Psykers draw power from the Warp, tap into its limitless energy. With the power of the Warp they can attain feats that no mortal man could. But that power comes with a price. Daemons prey on those who touch the Warp. Possession is a constant risk. But many fallen souls deem the risk acceptable."

"So she would have been more powerful? But that would have made the fight easier?"

He sighed softly, wondering how to explain it. "In my time, perhaps one in one billion souls are cursed with the power to interact with the Warp. Whether consciously or not. I am sure you are familiar with the True Laws of Nature? For every positive, there is a negative. For every good, bad. For power, weakness. For those that touch the Warp, there are those that repel the Warp."

"Like an anti-psyker?"

"Essentially." Kane tapped his chest. "I am one. No scholar in the Imperium even knows how rare my kind are. Perhaps on in a billion billion. Where one can find many psykers on a Hive world, one might find only a single Untouchable, as we are called, in an entire sector of space. We not only are resistant to the powers of the Warp, but we suffocate them. If I stood in a room with a psyker, the psyker would be pissing itself silly, not to mention unable to manifest any of its power."

"So you are a neutralizer."

"Yes."

"But you didn't neutralize Miranda's biotics."

"No."

Shepard offered an exasperated glare, a harsh reminder that Kane should have noted the discrepancy immediately. He was a professional soldier. Military instinct and response had been drilled into him since he could walk. If he were on top of his mind, there would have been no hesitation, no confusion. He had fucked up. That was his first mistake with these people. It might be his last. "I owe Officer Lawson an… apology."

"That's up to you," Shepard said. "You're an adult. I am not going to do you the disservice of ordering you to. But I am telling you this, now. If you lay a hand on one of my crew again, I will put a bullet in you and throw you headfirst out the airlock. Understood?"

"Yes, sir." Kane flicked a hand towards the door, seeking permission. Commander Shepard nodded, stepping to the side to clear the way.

"Go get yourself patched up. Miranda gave you a hell of a beating."

"She's got fire in her. Those biotics, they make you stronger?"

"That is one way to use them, yes."

"Hm." Kane rolled his neck. "Effective. She had a punch like an Ogryn."

They stepped out towards the elevator. Halfway there, the doors opened and Yeoman Chambers stepped out with Corporal Brunson. They were focusing on the Yeoman's wrist-mounted cogitator, the glowing thing with orange lights. Brunson glanced up at the sound of boots and nearly missed a step as he recognized his superior. Snapping to attention, he threw a salute that went unnoticed by the Yeoman, who almost bumped into Commander Shepard.

"Sergeant Kane."

"Corporal."

"Woah." Kelly Chambers looked him up and down, eyes wide with wonder as she took in the bruising and blood. "What happened to you?"

"Training exercise" Kane and Shepard said at the same time. An awkward silence settled between the four. Brunson did not bother hiding his disbelief. No Cadian would ever mistake the difference between a training bruise and a fight bruise. Nutrient paste to grox steak. If the man wanted to find the real answer, he could ask later. The Yeoman did not seem to be able to tell the difference. She accepted their answer with a nod.

"You guys don't pull punches, do you? Kyle here was telling me all about the training you guys went through. It sounds awful."

"Probably. I don't have something to compare it to." Kane shrugged. "If you don't mind, I have to go get patched up. Figure this will really start hurting in about five minutes when the shock wears off."

Accepting his excuse, they stepped to the side and allowed him to enter the elevator. Shepard gave him a stern look and a reminder to go see the medicae. As if that wasn't on the top of his list of things to do.

-v-

Officer Lawson had the bed next to the unconscious commissar. Kane strode in, having about two seconds before the ship's medicae marched him to the last bed on the row. He tried to not stare, but it amazed him how similar the two were. Even in the Commissar's unconscious state, their similar poise was apparent. For a brief moment he toyed with the question as to whether or not this officer was some far distant ancestor of the Commissar. Even if, he dismissed the thought. Those sort of thoughts would only give him a headache, and in the vast span of time any genetics markers would be unrecognizable.

Even more distracting, drawing his mind away from the pain, was Officer Lawson herself. She had stripped her bodysuit to the waist, exposing a wonderfully-sculpted body with finely-toned muscles and an impressive bust hidden behind a lace black bra that did not belong anywhere but in a joy-house. The touch of femininity clashed with her cold and brusque demeanor. Kane allowed himself a moment to admire, while she wasn't looking. Her physique was perfect. Almost like someone had taken a heroic statue and brought it to life.

He endured several minutes of silence while the medicae finished applying medigel and bandages to the officer. Chakwas did not even give him a spare glance. With nothing better to do, he shifted his position to face away from them and studied the room. Again, he marvelled at how clean and bright it was. This ship was almost a polar opposite of Imperial vessels. It was so much smaller, but somehow felt more open than the dark halls of an Imperial spacecraft. Most likely it was the light and the furnishing. Things were smaller here, and less intrusive.

Knowing that he would have to do it eventually, Kane eased off his shirt and set it beside him. His side screamed in protest at the unwanted effort, already showing dark purple bruising of broken ribs. Re-broken. She had gotten him in the same spot. Damn, if that had been intentional, she had a good head on her shoulders in the heat of the moment. Combat might not have been her primary role, but she was good at it.

When Chakwas finished with her, Miranda slipped her bodysuit back over her shoulders and limped out of the medbay with a good show of haughty disdain. Despite the strained breath and soreness, she stubbornly refused to acknowledge the damage he had inflicted. The more time he spent around her, the more Kane convinced himself that she was the closest thing to familiar on this damned ship. The disdain, the mistrust, the aggression. A hint of home in a foreign world. Maybe that was why she riled him.

Not content to let him merely patch himself up and go, the medicae attacked his side with a vengeance. Her irritation at the whole situation bled through her clipped words as she swabbed his side, berated him for his foolishness, applied a layer of medigel to his skin, then ordered him to sit tight while she prepared the machine for an MRI. She spent close to an hour in prep, cleaning the wound, pushing him into the decontamination shower, having him change into a flimsy examination gown, then sitting impatiently while she tinkered with a machine that had a hole maybe just big enough for him to fit in.

"This is going to be a tight squeeze" she informed him as he laid down on the table, a hint of a smirk hiding behind her clinically neutral expression. "Try and not lose your head."

The machine descended on him, bathing him in a warm yellow light. The medicae wasn't lying. Both sides pressed into his arms, squeezing him so tight he couldn't move once they clamped down onto the table, creating an airtight seal that left him utterly helpless. His world shrank into about two finger's distance, all the space between his head and the machine. He couldn't even see past his chest. A buzzing sound similar to a flock of flies filled his ears, interrupted by a rhythmic, obnoxious clicking. Accompanying each click was a pulse of light that traveled the length of the tube. The disorienting combination of sound and light, coupled with his loss of peripheral vision, ruined his sense of time. He tried counting, but lost track. Time passed. Throne only knew how much time.

And then the machine gave a final cry, and the sides detached from the bed with a clang. It retreated back to the ceiling, arms poised like a spider about to trap its prey. The ship medicae sat at her desk, attention switching between two screens that looked to be displaying similar content.

"You survived" she murmured, more the herself than to him. Kane waited for her to give permission to reclothe himself. "Most people have a hard time going in the tube, their first time, at least."

"I've been through worse." Kane cracked his neck and slipped off the table. "You never explained what that machine does."

"Magnetic Resonance Imaging. The machine creates detailed imaging of your internal systems, one layer at a time. Here." She gestured to the screen. Kane stepped over and examined it with interest. It certainly looked like the inside of a human body. Except the coloring reminded him of thermal imaging systems. And if those were ribs… oh. Three broken ribs. Well, two broken and one just… that explained why it hurt so much.

"That is impressive."

"You don't have technology like this?" The medicae gave him a dubious look. "In the far off realm of science fiction mankind?"

"Maybe. I've never heard of anything like this. But I'm a soldier. We don't have access to luxury technologies."

"This is hardly luxurious."

"For you, maybe."

"I assume I would hate to see your advanced medical facilities."

"No one likes going to medical." Kane gingerly tapped his side. "So, what are we doing about this?"

"As I said yesterday, I am going to have to insert medigel directly into your chest cavity. Since you are so lucky to not have an entry wound, the only option is a large needle."

"Lovely." He grunted. "Sure you can't just put a bullet in my head and spare me the misery?"

She chuckled, amused. "Bothered by needles, are we?"

"Only when the word 'large' is placed before them."

Rising from her chair, she motioned for him to follow her back to the table. "Unfortunately, your side has been shredded internally. The broken bits of bone have been wreaking havoc on the muscles and flesh, as well as having come close to piercing your liver and kidney. My two options are to crack you open like a bad egg and remove everything, a process which I assure you will hurt you much more than it will hurt me, or I can rely on the magical properties of medigel to piece you back together."

"I think I'll go with option number two."

"I thought you would see reason. Lie down and lift up your… on second thought, put your trousers on first."

He did, then eased back onto the bed. Maybe it was pure psychological, but now that he had seen what was going on in his side, it felt like it hurt a lot more. A hell of a lot more. Compared to this, what could a needle possibly make him-

"Frack me" he growled, eyes widening just a hair as the medicae removed a large-bore needle from its vacuum-wrap.

"Don't be such a sissy, Sergeant. You know full well that you deserve this. Getting in a fight so soon after receiving an injury. I swear, I am surrounded by hopeless idiots on this ship. Don't even get me started on Commander Shepard and his penchant for sprinting from one gunfight to the next."

She stood over him, needle poised to puncture his chest. That not-quite-smirk returned. "As I said, this is going to hurt you a lot more than it will hurt me. Will it help if I count to three?"

Kane closed his eyes and waited.

"On-"

Reaching up to grab her hand, he plunged the needle into his chest without ceremony. The impact stunned him, the screeching pain of having a stiletto-sized needle piercing through his torso left him breathless.

"Damn it, Kane!" She shot him a stern look, the kind that normally was followed by a flogging at the Schola. "This is a needle, not a damned sword. You could have broken it."

"Did I?" He struggled to keep his voice even, jaw clenched tight to hold in a little scream of pain.

"No, thank God. You didn't. Now stop helping and let me be a doctor." Her words dissolved into a string of muttered grumbling. Kane wasn't listening anymore. Between the aching in his side and the needle in his chest, he was having to fight to stay conscious. A dim part of his mind registered the sudden flow of cold liquid being pumped into his chest. It was ice-cold, tightening his chest and freezing his organs. Breathing grew hard as his lungs strained to function.

Then the needle withdrew, squeezing out of his chest with a sucking pop. Doctor Chakwas nodded to herself and went to dispose of the needle while Kane fought to steady his breathing. This medigel was frigid; his lungs ached from the unexpected chill.

"There. That should fix the majority of the damage within the next two days. I am going to tell you now, so you cannot complain later, that you should absolutely avoid more fighting or strenuous activities until that time has passed. That being said," she sighed. "Shepard has us docking at Omega, so I am certain that fighting and strenuous activities are all that is in store for you."

"You think that he is going to let me on that station?"

"Of course he will. Shepard is a hopeless romantic and an eternal optimist." The medicae held up a warning finger. "Do not tell him I said that. And I expect that you will try to behave yourself."

"I believe you and I have different meanings behind that word."

"Unfortunately." She made a face and motioned for him to get his clothes. "You are all taken care of. Be on your way. I am going to run a few more tests on your… commissar? Her blood-work is quite intriguing."

"What, with thousands of years of antibodies and evolution?"

"I'm surprised you even know what those are." She shook her head. "No, there are subtle markers in her blood that indicate something more than natural. Almost as if she was experimented on, and the chemical trails were not quite expunged."

"Experimented on?"

"Is that unheard of in your time?"

"No." Kane shrugged. "Just usually not on people like her."

"Well, I am quite fascinated with whatever is going on inside her. Do not fear, I am merely siphoning a few drops of blood from the plasma-fuser. Not nearly enough to risk any harm to her."

"I guess I have to take your word on that."

"Yes," she replied, a sour smile creasing her face. "You do."