The metal corridors of the Normandy were close, but comforting, the protective walls of his own defensive walls. He shuffled, favoring his left side, one hand mopping away the last of his battle face-paint. The batarian bruiser had been more effective than he'd wanted to let on, especially in front of a krogan. Garrus had been solicitous, but backed off at the warning looks from Alenko and Williams.

In all honesty, the concern was touching. He'd failed on Plutus, taking on an unknown foe without backup. If sarge could see me now, he'd kick me six ways from sideways and have me running miles for a month. Then he'd start tearing strips from my hide. He tried to divert his attention to the small stack of forms in his free hand, proof that the galaxy existed on paperwork. No rest for the weary. Or was that for the wicked? He shook it off. Either way, he wasn't getting any rest.

The shake turned into a desire to pound his head against the bulwark when Doctor Chakwas's voice echoed through the hall. "Commander Shepard, when you finally come in, Doctor T'Soni is awake. There are a few … questions, she would like answered."

Giving the un-pounded wall a regretful look, Shepard tapped into the ship network. "Message received Doctor. I'm on my way."

Ship-time was past 1800, which meant reduced lighting on most levels. Ordinarily, he'd feel more at home in the shadows, it was easier to escape notice when all was dark. When the med-bay door hissed open, the stronger lighting poured out, nearly blinding him, highlighting his weary face. "What's up, Doc?"

Chakwas snorted. "Six people go down to a negotiation, and you are the only one to come back injured. Somehow, I am not surprised. Why is that, Commander?"

Shepard gave her his most innocent look. It felt good, letting down his guard for a while. "You are an incredibly intelligent and witty woman, with a gift for precognition?"

She tried to hide her amusement, he knew she did. But she didn't try as hard as he knew he could. "Get in here. I won't do much … you have enough to face as it is."

Enough to face? What … oh. Doctor T'Soni ... well, this should be interesting. The line of an old classic drifted to the conscious portion of his mind; To land of gloom with tramp of doom, with roll of drum …. Oh cut it out; it can't be that bad.Shepard came to a halt two steps inside.

"Commander Karl Magnus Shepard." A decidedly cool voice greeted him. He shifted his focus to the regal blue figure sitting on the spare seat. He didn't need to be a mind reader to see the sheer anger radiating from her frame. Or the incredibly rigid stature of her upper arms, tense to the point of quivering; that couldn't be a good sign. Her next sentence echoed through the room like the crack of an ice-covered whip. "Or should I say, fiancée?"

Shepard sighed. "Doctor, have you heard of the phrase: 'Mercy killing?'"

A resounding slap caught the left side of his face. Given the damage already present, it hurt. Artificially increased density did nothing to ameliorate the effect of a full-fledged assault. He was aware enough to catch the furious set of her shoulders. "Don't even joke about this, Commander. Not in my infirmary."

"My apologies," he meekly lowered his head. Now that he thought about it, it had been out of taste, and certainly not something he'd normally say. Must be overtired.

Her hands relaxed, and she nodded towards the analyzer. "Sit down then. Let's see what happened to you."

He sagged onto the bed, and then remembered his audience, straightening once again. "I owe you an apology as well, Doctor T'Soni. All I can say is it took me by equal surprise."

"Really." Her frigid tone was accompanied by a folding of her arms across her chest. He was certain the effect would have been impressive, given a different audience …. even himself, were he less tired. "You knew nothing of this?"

"Nothing." He raised one hand, cutting off the inevitable retort, "I will provide you with transcripts if you so wish. I did not know, I will not comply, and I have removed – Ambassador – Udina," he dearly wished to say something rude, "from his position as my representative. Duly compensated, of course."

"Of course," she echoed faintly. Her arms came down slightly, and he could see the vulnerability she'd been hiding. It was in the slumped shoulders, the slowly rising knees. Unconscious protection of vital regions. Universal across the galaxy. "You … you really said no?"

"In more colorful terms dear," Chakwas swept between the asari and Shepard. "Now, lie still Commander. This may sting a little."

"While I have your attention," Shepard turned his focus to Liara, "I have a few questions you weren't able to answer bef – Criminently!"

Chakwas brushed a cloth across the side of his face, deftly avoiding his eyes. "I warned you. Now will you settle down or will I need to bring out the thumbscrews?"

He gritted his teeth and fell silent. There were enough subdermal contusions to turn him black and blue – if not for medi-gel, it would have been a marvel if the tendons hadn't been damaged. Chakwas's hands became gentler, apparently realizing the extent of his injuries.

It took him a moment, but he finally shook his head, eliminating the last of the pain-induced fog. "Perhaps we can start again." He took a deep breath, then mentally slapped himself for betraying a base emotion. It wasn't healthy, but there was nothing that could be done for now. "Doctor T'Soni, Commander Shepard. It is a pleasure to see you again."

The blue face contorted, but grew still. "Indeed. You have been active since when we last met. Lest you think me ungrateful, I want to thank you rescuing me on Therum."

Shepard gave her a seated bow; somehow, it felt right, given her formal mannerisms. "I could hardly allow someone who helped me on Eden Prime to be captured by former-Spectre Saren. Your knowledge of Protheans would be a formidable asset for him as well. I deeply apologize for the trouble our," he hesitated on the term, "alleged engagement is causing."

He could see the wheels turning, following the shifting hand position to a thoughtful movement under the jaw that supported no weight. He awarded himself a point; if the hand had begun supporting more weight, the asari would have been just humoring him. "Then – just to be clear, this … arrangement … was of someone else's design?"

"Ambassador Udina and Councilor Tevos are my primary suspects," Shepard shifted his seat on the examination chair, pausing to allow Chakwas access to his lower jaw. After she moved upwards, he continued. "Udina was my representative; whom as mentioned, I have since removed on the grounds of failure to communicate. Tevos is your Regent, since apparently Matriarch Benezia has been on a mission. Former-Spectre Saren Arterius is also within the realm of possibility, but what he would gain from a betrothal contract is beyond my reasoning."

The asari unfolded her arms, slowly relaxing. "I have not spoken with my mother in years. Two weeks ago she sent me a message, requesting my presence for a project, but I didn't answer."

Chakwas changed the angle of the subdermal repair device she was using. "Please Commander, you will have time to talk afterwards."

He waved her off, ignoring her exclamation; this was important. Two weeks … the timing ... difficult, but it makes sense. "For someone of Saren's resources, that would have been cutting it close, but doable."

"Saren?" Liara tilted her head. "I had assumed the entire situation was a misunderstanding, or a geth incursion he was investigating."

He shrugged. "Two weeks ago he would have anticipated needing a Prothean expert. To him, the Beacon on Eden Prime was important for something, important enough to try framing the Salarians for destroying a human colonial capital. What could be so essential for that? Just a bit of ancient technology?"

"Well," Liara relaxed further, leaning back into a studious posture. "Eden Prime is classified as a late Fifth Age Prothean colony world. The artifacts I saw there were reminiscent of Third Age construct, but incorporated designs of later periods. Relics from either are excruciatingly difficult to obtain. My university has been able to obtain less than a thousand good examples; and everyone knows there are no intact Beacons remaining. The entire Terminus region would invade if they thought there was one still functioning … perhaps he is attempting to obtain financial reserves?"

Shepard didn't have to think about it, even with Chakwas's somewhat irritable muttering near his head. "No, he has Matriarch Benezia giving him financial support in Council space, and the Geth resources to use outside of it. It has to be something else."

A thought came to mind, something stirred by his instincts. "You mentioned different ages being similar; how are they alike?"

"Near-extinction events," Liara responded promptly. "The first example is the Third Age, where the Protheans apparently waged war with an army of machines. Their name has never been successfully translated, but the Protheans evidently won that war, since they had time for two more Ages."

"And the second?"

"The Fifth Age is a definite extinction event. Many examples are spread across the galaxy, with a few exceptions." Liara started chewing on a knuckle, deep in thought. "There are some records of machines in the battles, but not like those of the Third Age."

Machines, why did it feel so familiar? He was close, he knew it. "How?"

"The images look different, really. What we've uncovered from the Third Age are represented pictorially by an oblong shape, showing multiple weapon emplacements along the hull. " Liara glanced up, locking dark blue eyes on his own. "The Fifth Age examples are almost non-existent– Commander? Are you all – Doctor! The Commander!"

Shepard felt a rushing in his head. The vision from the Beacon throbbed its way forwards, relentless.

An incredibly gigantic construct, shaped like an aquatic arthropod, reached hungrily to devour. Blurring static occluded parts of its hull, but the running lights along its bow cast ravenous shadows.

"—warned him, too much too soon is going to make problems –"

To consume that which had been sown. Devour everything, destroy. Obliterate. Annihilate. Only emotion, no images.

" – coming around, not nearly as bad as last time thank God."

Reapers of the harvest, taking that which had been planted. Deep from the darkest regions they came, army upon army, fleet upon fleet. Unending, unstopping – but able to be destroyed. Claiming immortality, yet broken into pieces when the fury of their military came to bear.

It all made sense. A terrible, terrible sense.

We defy you. To our dying breath. That part was the clearest portion of it all. The sheer fury, a hatred he'd known himself. Two minds across the vastness of time that felt the same emotion.

The images weren't an accidental series of pictures, scrambled data from an ancient, deranged machine. It had been a message. A warning. Machines built with the intent to last millennia didn't collapse on their own; something had happened, plans had gone wrong. What had caught in his mind gave the impression of desperate urgency, but fifty thousand years too late.

No wonder he'd been feeling off, seeing strange things! Whatever esoteric technology the Protheans developed needed a priority override of some sort; that explained why everyone else had gone mad. Why he had not, because he was different.

Cool hands touched his forehead, bringing him back to the infirmary. "Commander, can you hear me? Shepard!"

"I hear," he groaned. The memories persisted for a moment, showing him the bodies of alien lifeforms, twisted beyond recognition. "That Beacon … did a number on me."

Something injected the base of his jaw, hissing out of position. "Muscle relaxant, migraines are not pleasant. I'm setting up an EKG, can you –"

"No, I'm fine." Shepard waved her away, smiling at her insistent attitude. "Really, it's nothing we haven't gone over before. But now … I might know why." He reached for the communications tab, paused, and drew back, turning towards the flustered asari. "We should probably talk a little more before we get into the causes of the Prothean extinction. If you have any questions, now would probably –"

"Brace yourself," Chakwas tone dipped, "this will hurt."

Shepard winced, just as the sensation of electricity arced over his face. His leg jerked, but the rest stayed under control. Vaguely, he registered Chakwas spraying a soothing analgesic on the surface, numbing its biting edge, but he was just glad when the burning feeling finally stopped. He twisted his head to look at the doctor accusingly. "That. Hurt."

She shrugged, unrepentant. "Perhaps the numbing agent should been applied first? Next time, don't wait so long to come here, and don't downplay it when I ask you. I can heal with, or without pain. Remember that."

"I'll make a note," Shepard rubbed the now numb face. "Remind me to find you next time I do interrogation."

The doctor sniffed. "Just remember to override your own nanites tonight. Leaving my variety will cause scarring if you do not."

Nodding assent, Shepard settled in the chair once more. It felt good, relaxing after a successful mission, minor effects aside. The team seemed to be pulling together, the squads had taken to the new training schedule very well, and the last, unwanted gifts were set to be offloaded at the next battle station they passed. Base, not battle station. Political correctness decreed the change in names, but the massive constructs held the same bombastic presence as that of a fully decked out war elephant. Calling it a mouse didn't change what it was.

His thoughts were interrupted by the asari, now looking … pensive, if he was reading her body language correctly. Shoulders lowered, face angled down; cross-species trait. Breathing pattern … none?

"Commander," she hesitated again. "why do your people dislike contractual marriages so much?"

Starting out with the heavy, yes? Shepard cleared his throat. How had he misread her body language so badly? "Do you want the long or short answer?"

She gave an elegant shrug. "We appear to have time, but a dissertation is not necessary at this point."

"Understood." This time it was his turn to take a moment, collecting his thoughts. "In all honesty, there are certain cultures within my species that seek out and approve of marriage contracts. Some approve, and actively pursue such a thing. For the rest of us …" he turned to face her, barely noticing his rising voice. "For me, it's an insult. To set up a 'relationship,' sold off without my input, without my request, is more than insulting!"

Her face twitched. "I am … I am not disagreeing, Commander," she began carefully. "But … would it not also be considered a high honor? To be matched with – in all humility – one of the most prestigious families in the Council Races? I am certain that the selection process my regent undertook," she paused, growling softly in her throat, "was quite strenuous."

Shepard reigned in his temper feeling slightly ashamed. "Doctor," he forced his hands open, setting them on the table beside the infirmary bed, fingers intertwined. "I mean no offence, but the Council means nothing to me. The Alliance is not a member state, I am not a citizen of the Council," a twinge of conscience spurred him on, "other than the bare minimum required to be a Spectre."

The table creaked, complaining at the pressure. Echoes of the last conversation he'd had with Anderson seemed appropriate, but held back for now.

"Is it really … perceived as such a bad thing?"

So innocent. He sighed. "To be honest, I don't really care if other people wish to undergo a marriage contract. To me, it's little more than an advanced form of slavery, and one of my favorite sayings from the Eighteenth century states: "'Give me liberty, or give me death.'" He paused, letting her parse the connection.

She did not respond, leaving the room in silence. He waited for a few handfuls of heartbeats, then continued. "To be honest, I had a friend that had a similar contract, set to activate when he turned twenty-five. His parents apparently thought it to be a comfort, a certainty that he could count on. When he found out, he disagreed."

"What happened?"

Shepard sagged. "Ivan hired every lawyer he could find, tried to make a loophole. When that didn't work, he found an isolated place, wrote a note, and ate a bullet. His parents were devastated."

Liara had frozen into place. "He committed suicide? Just to break an engagement?"

He heard the unspoken question, "Ivan felt it was the only option. I couldn't talk him out of it, and he didn't leave me enough time to warn anyone. By the time help arrived, it was too late. And no," he made the effort to look into her eyes, "I have no intention of committing hari kari. When I go, it will either be surrounded by my enemies, weapon in hand and a smile on my face ... or the traditional going down with my ship. Hopefully, not for a very long time though." Smiling felt odd, but also natural. Something he'd have to look into later.

After the next discussion. Slowly, he stood, checking his balance. The ground remained stable, firm under his feet, always a good thing. That allowed him to make his way to the far wall. He tapped the intercom tab next to the light controls on the wall. "Shepard to Specialists, please meet me in the Communications room in one hour. Repeat: Specialists to Comm room in one hour. That is all."

Flicking the digital indicator to the deactivated position, he looked back to the asari. "If you have time," he made a show of checking the clock over the back wall, "I have a few questions for you. When I last saw you, you mentioned something about the families? Could you elaborate?"


Five minutes was supposed to be more than enough time, given the limited number of personnel. The room almost never seemed to completely fill, as if it were able to change size. It was barely enough time, his thoughts were roiling from the impact of what he'd learned. I can't tell anyone … not yet. So many secrets, yet so simple an answer. I'll have to think about it for a while.

Shepard put the thought aside, rising to address the gathering. "Thank you for coming; but business first. Williams, are the weapons squared away?"

The tanned woman nodded, "Aye sir. A few pieces will need cleaning, but all arms are accounted for."

"Good." He turned to the resident Alliance biotic. "What about the prisoners?"

Alenko shoulders were still hunched; apparently the scene planet-side had made more of an impact than he'd thought. "We don't have enough trained people to help them. Best we can do is make sure they have enough medical supplies, and whatever assistance Doctor Chakwas is able to spare. She's been in contact with the surface ever since triage was set up."

That made sense. It explained some of her attitude earlier. "Good. I may need you to stay in charge here, Lieutenant. I'll leave Beta squad with you to help, until the Alliance sends an actual relief ship. Then, the Normandy will pick you up asap." Receiving the other man's confirming nod, Shepard glanced around the room. "Debriefing will be short. Here's what we know …."

There was little enough to cover; captured intelligence still needed processing, but there was still basic information to disperse. Expanding on the Alliance's role in the Traverse didn't take much time, nor did the brief explanation of his own fight with the Glorious batarian. A brief rundown of the current situation took less than ten minutes, a habit he could get used to. After that, he scanned the room, mentally checking off topics. He wanted to get back to his cabin, to think about the immediate future – but in order to reach the future, he had to perform in the present. Such was life.

Gratefully, he found himself reaching the end of the formal portion, which opened the floor to the informal parts. "Good. I'll read your reports when you file them; until then, are there any questions?"

Ashley stirred. "Sir, what was with that makeup? It looked like tattoos, but you don't have them now …?"

The room became dead quiet. Individuals that had been carrying on side discussions under their breath stopped, waiting for what he had to say. Liara, new to the team, seemed to watch the eclectic grouping in turn, until she turned her own attention in his direction. Internally, he cringed. You made your bed, now lie in it.

"Yes … I suppose you have a point … Ashley." He sucked in a lungful of air, exhaling gradually. "Some time ago, I realized that the batarians are a remarkably … superstitious … people. Obvious in hindsight really, any society so dependent on an unchanging caste system must be equally conservative elsewhere. When I discovered their susceptibility, quite by accident, I decided to take advantage of it."

Rising to his feet, Shepard started to pace, slowly making his way around the room. "Batarians have an ancient mythology, where two massive deities dueled for ownership of Kar'Shan, the Batarian homeworld. The battle is a legend in their Pillars of Strength, and the cause of how harsh the planet is to this day. Modern thought – outside the Hegemony – postulates their experience may have been the result of an interstellar conflict; references to demons blasting fire at angels with glowing shields, stars that shone brightly and caused the earth to heave upwards in response, that sort of thing."

"In the end, the two powers decided to divide Kar'Shan into segments proportionate to the number of followers each had. Bubullimë, the light-sided being held a majority of the populace, and won ownership of three-quarters of the planet. Blasfemues on the other hand, won control of a small but rich island-continent, and settled there. According to the legends, the two never went to war again, and began using their followers as proxies. As time went on, the war became more and more esoteric, with Bubullimë and Blasfemues interacting less and less on a personal level. The Pillars of Strength is supposed to be directives guiding both of their followers on the conduct of war, and peace. A training manual, if you will."

He turned to face them, observing each of their expressions but seeing nothing. "Some of the most feared killers in their history are also facets of their religion: the Nar'Sheth, or Blood-drinkers in their common tongue. Whenever a batarian was born with red eyes, it would either be seen as a cursed child, or a warlord in the making." Shepard coughed, meaningfully. "As you probably know, most warlords tend to not like having threats grow under their rule. You can guess what happened. Families took offence at having their children murdered; struck back, which invited more retaliation. Chaos. Now, anyone with red eyes is suspicious; the Krogan Rebellions were considered proof of that belief."

Wrex growled under his breath. "Should have killed 'em all when we had the chance. Some pay pretty good though, so maybe not."

Ignoring the overly pragmatic statement, Shepard moved on. "So, a little face paint, some research and language studies, and the Terror of the Terminus lives."

Taking their silence as a cue, he stood up, swaying in place. "Really, it's not a big fame cachet. Everyone in the Systems wants to be called the Terror. Or the Death or Mutilator of something. Wrex or Garrus might know more."

"Oh, the Terror, yes," Garrus rejoined, languidly extending his legs towards the center of the room. "I've seen the Horror of Haliton, Your Dreadfulness, the Dyslexic Alphabet Killer – only made it through Z and F fortunately – a few warlords that seem to think the color pink to be intimidating, Bunny the Bane – long story … everyone seems to lose their last name. Somehow. Lots of clans though, they seem to breed like pyjacks out there."

"Your name on the other hand," eerily spherical eyes focused on Shepard. "Nar'Sheth crossed my desk a few times. Was always glad I didn't have to investigate that particular bogeyman. Is it true he destroyed a relief transport to Bur'gess Prime?"

Shepard's eyebrows shot up. "Never been there. Last I knew the clans were fighting over who owned the titanium mines, Gelin and Codin clans were in the lead, but I don't know for certain. Sabotage, probably."

"They didn't do it, not this time." Wrex's basso rumbled. "One of the smaller clans framed 'em. Got Gelin to hire a mercenary strike team to take on the whole group. Now Gelin's got a blood fever going, an' Codin's hidin'. Back in a decade, maybe less."

The insight surprised Shepard; forcing him to revise his estimate of the krogan's intelligence upwards. Again.

"On that note," Shepard changed the subject. "What should we do with you, Doctor T'Soni?"

"Me?" the asari sounded surprised. "I had assumed I would be doing research on your ship, at least when I was not with your people on the planet's surface."

Great. He let no sign of his displeasure show. "What makes you think I'd allow a civilian into a combat situation? Most of my ground missions end up in gunfire. Lots of gunfire. You are a civilian, not a soldier."

Her back straightened, "I have undergone the basic training necessary for someone in my position. My hand-to-hand skills are in the fifth szint, far above most asari."

She has fire. Good. Shepard turned his shoulder to her, careful to not turn his back; out of the corner of his eye, Wrex's teeth glinted in an approving grin. "Basic training? Ma'am, the least experienced soldier on this ship has had a minimum of five years' experience, with a two year minimum requirement for specialization. They know how to fight, communicate, and take orders. They have training. How long have you trained? A college course in self-defense?"

Something in her body language warned him to be very careful. "Commander, I have nearly thirty years of intensive combat training. My biotics are rated in the top five percent; galactic standard."

That brought him up short. Faint afterimages of the pounding he'd received spawned a greater sense of caution. Swinging around, he faced the asari again. "What tier?"

Liara's chin came up. "Tier nine. I have dueled with matriarchs weaker than myself. And won."

One of the Ultra's. Classification between species was a touchy thing; few species dwelled on an eezo rich planet like Thessia; off-planet asari had to import food from the few worlds so gifted, ensuring their offspring would wield the same biotic gifts as their progenitors. Skill counted for a great deal, but on the galactic range, only a few Krogan Battlemasters, a very few Cabalists, and asari Matriarchs achieved Ultra level.

For the love of all that's holy, a Na'hesit Glorious is a class seven. A brief moment of recent history crossed his mind. Well, maybe class eight. But that's still an order of magnitude lower than an Ultra.

"I see …" that changed things. Substantially. But, he wasn't the only one to have a voice; Liara – however powerful she was – wouldn't be watching his own back alone. "Garrus, thoughts?"

Clanking armor reminded him that the turian had yet to change from combat gear. "Well, much as we may want it, I don't think she's going to try to be all Siria Telon out on the battlefield," his chuckles made a lonely echoing sound in the silent room. He stopped, coughing in a fisted gauntlet. "I'd say we test her, see if she's able to work with us. We don't have another ground mission for a while anyway."

Shepard ignored Liara's darkening face – blushing again – and looked to Ashley. He'd have to look up who this Telon individual was, if it could elicit such a reaction. "Chief?"

The soldier gave him a firm nod. "I fought with her on Eden Prime. She's cool under pressure, and follows orders. Besides, if Kaidan's going to stay here, we need another blue, keep us salty."

Shepard nodded; another good point. Without Kaidan, the biotics fit to fight were reduced to the five spread throughout Alpha, Charlie and Delta squads. Another biotic would balance the workload. They were good, but not quite up to Kaidan's level of expertise. That was, if Liara was an equally trained combatant.

"I agree with Ashley, Sir." The biotic in question spoke up. "Let's give her a trial run. I can do a few exercises, maybe do some sparring before the Normandy leaves. Besides, this is an investigation, not an assault task force."

A look to Tali and Wrex told him all he needed to know; they would follow his direction; one by virtue of cultural upbringing, the other out of sheer pragmatism. "Then it's agreed. Doctor T'Soni is a provisional part of the specialist squad. Any other questions? No? Then dismissed; get some snack time, rack time, and back to work."

He waited as the room emptied, and caught Kaidan's attention. "Alenko, a minute please?"

The Canadian-born biotic paused as well, said something to Ashley that caused her to laugh, and made his way over. Shepard had to admire the man's social awareness; he could set people at ease without effort, act as if someone he'd just met was an old friend. That was something Shepard had to work for years to achieve, and it still felt awkward. For Alenko, the gift came naturally, without effort.

"Yes, Shepard?" Kaidan stood at parade-rest, relaxing to a less rigid posture as soon as he noted Shepard's mood.

"I need you to make a delivery for me, on your way back to the Normandy," Shepard glanced around, checking for eavesdroppers. "It's a data-stick, five petabyte version."

Kaidan accepted the device. "Where and how?"

That was one thing he loved about Kaidan; no useless questions, just simple acceptance. "On your way back, you'll go through the Pamyat System, and make a stop on the station over Dobrovolski. It's an Olympia class battlestation, has a lot of ships coming in and out for repairs. When you get there, look up a transport: the HMS Temeraire. Give it to the mech at the loading dock. That's it."

The data-stick vanished in Kaidan's hands. "Understood. Channels being watched?"

"Has to be," Shepard gave an irritated grunt. "Engineering sweeps this room three times a day; I scan it before every meeting. When I changed orders for the lawyers on Earth, Udina somehow knew within a standard hour."

"Huh," Kaidan pursed his lips. "Glad it's you in charge of this thing then. At least, better you than me."

Shepard snorted. "Wanna trade? You can run the high-profile investigate of the Council's Golden Boy, and I can sit around running deliveries."

"No," Kaidan stretched out the word, humor evident in his voice. "Thanks, I'd rather be a grunt. That way I only get yelled at by people close to my own pay grade."

As Shepard unsealed the comm-room doors, he noticed both Tali and Garrus loitering around the side, far enough to be discrete but more than close enough to catch him before he left. He had an inkling about why Garrus was present, but resolved to make the pre-emptive move. "Detective, is this about that bet?"

A wide grin spread across his face; frightening but sincere. "Why yes Commander. How did you guess?"

"Your greed was showing," Shepard said drily.

The turian covered the lower middle portion of his thoracic region, where a heart resided on a turian. "You wound me. I could have been here to ask after your health, compliment you on your impeccable marksmanship, or just say hello. That is speciesism!"

"True." Shepard glanced at Kaidan, giving him a long-suffering look. "Remember this turian. He is a materialistic individual with a long memory."

Kaidan nodded, a perfect, deadpan movement. "Yessir. Materialistic man, sir."

Shepard gave the turian a formal half-bow, "Detective Vakarian, your throwing knives will be delivered to an address of your choice. Send me the link, and they will be en-route by the time you go to sleep this night."

"Excellent, Commander," Garrus gave a return bow, equally exaggerated. "I shall sleep better, knowing my teammates are men of their word."

Giving a half-sardonic salute, Shepard moved on to Tali. "Ms. Tali, I hope I have not forgotten a bet with you?"

The smaller quarian quirked her head sideways. "Is that supposed to be a joke?"

Shepard rolled his eyes. "Yes. It's apparently only common among turians and humans. Now, how may I help you?"

The faceplate shot upwards again, twin dots of her reflective eyes glowing beneath its frosted expanse. "Well, Captain, it's just that I noticed you used a wide-range EMP-style pulse in the fight, and I was wondering If I – "

"Sabotage charge," Shepard interrupted calmly.

She ground to a halt, reorganizing her train of thought. "Sabotage?"

One wrist extended, Shepard activated the program's pre-fire stage. "The initial burst is normally a targeted program. All eezo-based weapons have to incorporate a safe-fail capacitor, in case someone gets the bright idea of overcharging a bit of element zero right next to their face. There are overrides of course, but the safeties are always there. If you have a wireless connection, you can adjust the frequency to trigger feedback resonance in the safe-fail. If you tinker with the targeting software, you can also pinpoint sensor suites in eezo-balanced hardsuits. Push up the output enough, and you can blind sensors in a small room – most of the lower-grade ones, anyway. On high-grade sets, you can only mess up the targeting metrics."

Bright eyes examined the program, hunger shining in their depths. That was a good sign, quarians dearly loved technology, it was a deeply ingrained habit. "My people have a version of this, but it is more of a disposable program. Doesn't that overload the command sequence? It couldn't be reliable without an in-depth step-sequence pulse …."

Shepard laughed, watching her mentally dissect the program. "I tell you what, you take a copy of the program and look at it. If you can make an improved version, I'll pay you for it, and set you up with a distributor for mass production."

Instantly, her head snapped to attention. "You get a free copy, and ten percent of net profits. The Alliance gets an additional forty percent."

Slightly impressed, Shepard made a counter offer. "Patent rights are in the air right now, but if you can make a sufficiently different system, I'll submit the paperwork in your name. Fifteen percent net profit for me, thirty for the Alliance Veterans Association. You get the patent, and fifty-five percent net profit."

The smooth helmet bobbed once. "Done."

He moved on; that had felt good. Whatever the young quarian managed to cook up, it would be good experience for her, give him a personal advantage, and improve relations between the Migrant Fleet and the Alliance. Maybe if he managed to repeat the feat a few times, he would be able to retire in peace.


A/N: A shorter chapter than usual, but I wanted to get this out for the New Year. Hope everyone's 2017 is a great one!

Note: the 'safe-fail' phrase comes from one of my favorite sci-fi series: the Lost Fleet, by Jack Campbell. Excellent bit of work, especially in realistic physics of FTL and sub-lightspeed combat.

Thanks to LogicalPremise, for his Encyclopedia Biotica. One of the best fanfic groupings in the books. Bar none.

Apologies for the terrible formatting. Working on what is hopefully my last semester, and things are getting hectic. Also, on my third computer in 2 years - not getting Toshiba again for a while.