I had a welcome break the other day. Serena introduced me to a wonderful snack she calls Tilafen. I call it Asari cheesecake. It is a delicate substance, rich, sweet and – of course – blue. A majority of Sarian products take advantage of their coloration to emphasize how exclusive they are.

In turn, I introduced her to a blueberry trifle. It's beginning to become a kind of competition now.

Needless to say, we are both needing to hit the gym more often.

Dr. Arnold Pavenmeyer

~Project Ragnarök Files


Shepard stood at the CIC main panel, watching. Waiting. Most predators turned such an activity into an art form, whether by blending with the surroundings or making a point of not becoming one with the scenery. The cockpit held a perfect position for that line of thought, at least to his way of thinking. Outside the transparent layer, a myriad dots of light studded the velvet black layer of deep space, like gems. The bare eye could make out tiny flickers darting around the planet far off, and witness the deep colors of nebula ordinarily leeched by atmosphere. It made him feel like a bird of prey, surveying its domain from some inestimably lofty perch, talon and wing poised to attack.

Deceptively peaceful, that was certain. "Joker, sitrep."

"Nothing's changed, Commander. They're still making the same runs."

That made him smile. The sheer efficiency of the artificial mind was its greatest asset over an organic mind, but also its greatest flaw. Without undue cause to change, it would repeat the same action indefinitely. No visible threats gave a false security, or at the least, no perceived reason to change a perfectly efficient process. Just because you can't see me doesn't mean I'm not here. "Fire the message in the aft launcher, signal the fleet."

"Aye sir. Firing now."

The Normandy quivered again, absorbing the excess energy from the proximal light-speed jump. "Torpedo away, ready to maneuver on your orders."

He drew himself up, striding back to the CIC where the bridge crew awaited his order. Every fiber of his being urged him to order the attack, wait for nothing – pausing in a fight gave enemies the victory more often than not. But before the fight could be joined, there were formalities to observe, now that this was no longer a simple reconnaissance mission. Straightening to an almost parade rest, he turned to Navigator Pressley who, as tradition demanded, stood just beside his station. "Commander Pressley, is the Normandy ready for battle?"

The elderly man performed a perfectly returned salute, reciting the formal response. "The Normandy is ready for battle sir. At your command."

"Very good." Shepard stepped forwards in the command center, leaning onto the railing, hands splayed at shoulder-width. "Helm, activate stealth countermeasures, enter their scanning range. Charge all batteries, load all missile bays. Battle stations."

Red lights began blinking along the lower portions of the walls, pulsating in time with the low-toned audio alarm. Wet navies had proven the concept centuries before; three forms of alarm, in case one or two were impeded. The hum of the deck beneath his feet brought a smile to his face; it felt as if the metal and circuits of the Normandy itself responded to his call, eager for battle. Easy girl, he stroked the rail under his grip. Blood will be yours soon enough. Just a little longer.

Stars swirled around the screens with feeds to the external cameras, relaying their shifting position more accurately than his own sense of balance ever could. On the projection just ahead of his watchful gaze, the imitation Normandy accelerated, charging towards Feros. Tiny bits of information scrolled along the digital representative of the ship, available should he feel the need to study the operating parameters in more detail. Further ahead, in the direct path of the frigate, countless tiny red dots spun in complex gyrations. What exactly they were doing didn't matter; just the fact that their movements were predictable was enough … for him, anyway. Between his experiences, the tactical analysis team on the Normandy, and the algorithms provided by the quarians, analyzing geth patterns changed from impossible to manageable.

"We'll be in position in two minutes, Commander," Joker's voice emanated through his earpiece. "Nothing from the fleet yet."

"Steady as she goes," Shepard responded. Trust was the most valuable currency in the military; trust in his brothers, trust in his superiors. Once an officer could be discovered worthy of following, he became a guiding light in the fog of war. Admiral Hackett was one of the few that could pull that much respect from him. "They can't see us and they won't hear us. Weapons. Give me targeting solutions on the three most active dropships."

Silent acknowledgement responded, leaving him with nothing to do but watch and wait – yet appear calm. Tense seconds rolled past. He could feel the stiffness in the way his updates jerked into position faster than normal, in the higher pitched voices attempting to hold quiet conversations. In response, he tried relaxing his shoulders, rolling them in a confident manner. Still, the crew appeared tightly wound, hunched before their screens, paying rapt attention to the data as if it were a lifeline.

"A good crew, Pressley. You have done well bringing them together." Shepard surprised himself by addressing the Navigator directly. "The geth won't know what hit them."

The older man visibly relaxed, apparently catching on. "Yessir, thank you sir. We'll send those metal bast – "

"Fleet contact in three – two – one – engaging," Joker interrupted from the cockpit. From where Shepard stood, he could see the co-pilot making power adjustments while Joker handled the major ship movements. "And there we go boys and girls. The Geth may be sneaky, but we time our attacks to the second. Don't forget to tip your driver after the fight."

Dozens of blue icons lit up the projection, making a steady drive across the system at sub-light speeds. Two massive points near the middle of the formation, the Fifth Fleet's main carriers, moved considerably slower than their compatriots, but erupted in miniscule dots. To the uninitiated, it was a fearsome sight. Carriers, the single greatest contribution the Alliance brought to the intergalactic stage. Turians had begun constructing their own, but didn't possess the easy familiarity humans held. It took time to develop tactics for a vehicle, while different cultures increased the difficulty by nigh exponential levels – carriers were designed to remain out of the fight, a concept something few turians could fathom. The concept of 'victory at any cost,' so deeply embedded in most turians came at odds to the design of the carrier: to carry others to battle but not partake of themselves.

A hoarse baritone came out over the open channels. "All units, this is Admiral Hackett. Watch your flanks and don't hold back. Feros: we're bringing the pain."

One of the technicians cocked her head, holding one hand to her earpiece. "Sir, hailing frequencies are all open, requesting immediate emergency assistance."

Shepard kept his gaze on the map, watching. "Clarify."

Her hands returned to the screen. "Distress calls across the board. Several shuttles are en-route from the Fifth. Should we respond?"

He shook his head. "Negative, that's not our job."

"But sir,"

Shepard turned the force of his gaze on her, meeting her eye as best he could. She froze, then turned back down to the screen. "Yessir. Sorry sir."

He watched for a few seconds, then returned to his vigil. It was unpleasant to leave people in the void, but more were risked by following her expected action.

"There," he highlighted one of the geth supply ships, beginning its run. The bulky nature, unimpeded by common aesthetics moved with surprising grace through the contested space, likely bringing more munitions to the larger geth vessels. "Joker, follow that ship. Keep us close and quiet."

"Yessir, Follow-the-Leader sir."

Another voice, Hackett, boomed in over a different set of speakers, attuned to the main fleet channel. "Second Element, commence attack run. First element, launch all fighters. Third element, give those stations some covering fire. I want a half kilometer clear breathingspace on all sides of them."

The blue dots swirled into three distinct patterns, driving hard for the geth fleets. A fourth group, however, was swarming the Relay, with the red, motionless dots around it.

Shepard ran a quick mental calculation. "Joker, step it up mister! I want us next to that cruiser before the fleet gets there!"

The Normandy shuddered, accelerating. "Roger that Commander, pushing it up. ETA two minutes, thirty seconds. Buckle up boys and girls, it's going to get a little bumpy!"

Shepard grunted approval. Seconds later, he straightened again as Pressley spoke up. "Commander, new orders. Hackett wants us to go directly to the colony, full stealth."

"He what?" Shepard gave his Navigator a disbelieving stare. They were less than a minute from blindsiding the geth, breaking their fleet's backbone. Break the spine, kill the fleet. That's how strategy worked in battle. A faint hope rose in his chest. "Comm, can you confirm that transmission?" It seemed wrong, to hope the geth were masking a signal … despite the terrifying potential of geth already knowing about both the Normandy's unique capabilities and secret codes.

The technician shook her head. "Confirmed sir. Orders are authentic."

He muttered under his breath. "Fine. Joker, change course. Make for the landing bay at the Zhu's Hope colony."

"Aye sir," The normally quick-witted pilot made no attempt to make a quip, the irritation in Shepard's voice must have been obvious. "Course change on the board. New ETA thirty minutes and some change."

Shepard growled under his breath again. That wasn't much time for a complete tactical shift. Not long at all. Growling, he slapped at the inter-ship tab. "Williams, prep the squads. We're going groundside, thirty minutes tops."

If she had been feeling similar frustration, it wasn't evident in her voice. "Aye sir. I'll relay it on. Will you be here soon?"

That was the downside, she needed more confidence in commanding groups; losing her squad on Eden Prime couldn't have helped her skills any, plus the almost blatant lack of command positions since her induction to the military. What she really needed was leadership training, and he was stuck teaching her on the fly. Despite the downsides, he had to admit to its effectiveness. It had worked well for himself had it not? "Affirmative Chief. Gearing up here, I should be there in fifteen. Start the briefing without me, and tell Tali that this will be considered the field test for her Sabotage project."

There was the barest of hesitations before she replied. "Yes, Commander."


He took a moment after the channel closed to review. Feros,ExoGeni founded colony, named Zhu's Hope, small colony, less than three hundred people. Scattered between work site – ExoGeni's building, and the colony proper. Lack of proper defenses around either, but so it goes. That meant some support, but not enough to count for anything. Negligible weapons repair facilities, so only the sturdy types would be brought the blade, a long rifle, pistol or two, Emp grenades … hopefully Tali had finished the upgrade to the Sabotage software.

An unwelcome voice intruded on his preparations. "Commander, priority message from the Citadel. The Council wants to talk to you."

"What? Now?" Shepard finished buckling his greaves, moving up to the pelvic girdle. "I'm making hard contact in less than thirty minutes. Take a message."

He was left alone for another few seconds, and used them to put the utility belt in place, snugging it tight. The primary layer of the plastron went on over that, snapped into position with the carapace. A larger set of Arahne-Kedhar pauldrons would have been more useful in melee engagement, but a smoother set of protection would streamline the armor's power supply. In a battle against geth, shields would be more important than physical layers. Their rate of fire could be described in military terms as … 'continuous.' After that, the eyepiece, giving him an advantage over organics, and equal footing on synthetic.

"Commander, they're flagging it 'Urgent.'" Joker's voice came back, annoyingly cheerful. "Sorry, but they really want to chat."

Shepard growled under his breath. The new sniper rifle clicked into place on his back, just a motion behind the heavy pistol on his thigh. "I will be at the comm room in thirty seconds Joker." He snatched up the ufbert, snapping the sheathe into position on his other thigh. "This had better be important."

Switching frequencies, he keyed in the cargo bay, striding to the door as he talked. "Williams, I have been delayed. Make sure everyone is locked and loaded when I get there; go over placement. Charlie is on recon, Alpha holds the center, Delta takes the offensive."

"Aye Commander," she responded. He cut it off before she had a chance to say anything more, opening the pneumatic doors to the communications room. It was only a few seconds from his own cabin, but felt like an eternity away.

Inside, a figure saluted, young Hudson – identified by Shepard's visor with a warning red text – once more. "Sir, systems are fired up and ready to go."

Before Shepard had a chance to speak, the projector itself flared to life. Four ghostly figures appeared above the main lens. His eyepiece made spot-identifications; three Councilors and an Ambassador. Internally, he hid a growl; why did Udina need to be present at every Council interaction? The answer was obvious of course, letting an Alliance soldier speak with the Council unsupervised could be viewed as treason. Probably not, but the principle was the same; understandably, the Powers That Be would not appreciate having one of their most visible members interrogated by the scary aliens.

Understanding did not necessarily lead to acceptance. Or end sarcasm.

"Councilors, Ambassador." He gave the somewhat chubby appearance of the human a light smile, flicking up his gaze to meet with the man's eyes. The other man flinched. This time, Shepard kept the smirk to himself. Well done. He's scared of me now. Good.

"Spectre Shepard. We apologize for contacting you on such short notice. We shall be quick." The asari Councilor gave him a polite half-bow. "I trust all is well?"

Shepard picked up his gauntlets, slipping the soft inner layers in place. "Well enough. We are over Feros right now, and I will be leading the ground task force within twenty minutes. As you say Councilor, time is precious, so I hope you will pardon my brevity. What do you require?"

This time the turian Councilor seemed to take the focus of the viewer. "We have received reports of geth activity at Feros, and have sent the Turian 42nd Fleet to support the actions of your own Fifth Fleet. We are also sending a Spectre to assist you in the Saren investigation; please treat him with the same respect you have given ourselves."

He felt the atmosphere change slightly, a result of the Normandy's engines increasing their output. But it may just as well have been from the Councilor's expressions. "Help is always welcome. May I ask how this individual will be assisting me, and when I can expect it to arrive?"

Valern took over, keeping Shepard's attention moving. "Most of our Spectres are otherwise on assignment, but we have managed to re-assign Spectre Guerrier to be stationed on the Normandy. He will be traveling with the turian fleet within hours, and upon arrival shall immediately move to assist you. He has studied with some of the best the Council has to offer, and earned his tutelage under Saren. Do not fear; his dedication to stopping Saren is with a fervor equal to your own. I can assure you that his integrity is unquestionable."

"Very good." Shepard tightened the hardened exterior plating covering the outer layer of his gauntlet. The material was lighter than the truly heavy armor, but carried more mass than the light armor preferred by light assault infantry. "Then on behalf of the Alliance and Feros, I thank you for the assistance. I thank you on my own part for the Spectre aid as well."

"If you would not mind a personal question," Tevos floated a hand through the air, making the statement seem as airy as the medium through which it traveled, "How are you getting along with your fiancée?"

Shepard finished the last gauntlet, and triggered the full-seal for the armor set. Plates shifted microscopically, closing miniscule gaps. While invisible to the naked eye, the entire set of armor plates moving at the same time gave the impression of a slowly writhing thing, protectively wrapping its folds tighter. "Ma'am, my personal life is none of your business. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a fight to win."

At that moment, Shepard realized he'd made a very basic error. When resetting as he'd done to ensure a proper fit, the NightStalker armor set recalibrated its secondary neural links for the pseudo-biotic components, but only when its connection to the omni-tool registered no bodies nearby. Otherwise, unless he overrode it, the biotic component would be thoroughly tested as well, if only for a brief moment. Visually it was similar to when a biotic with naturally occurring capabilities performed a complex series of flexing motions, preparing for battle or an intense workout. The non-biotic could do the same thing – minus the lightshow – by doing a full-body stretch.

But the NightStalker hardware wasn't aware of the Councilors, because they weren't actually there. Rookie mistake. Rookie mistake.

The armor pulsed a white-blue fire, tracking from the upper part of his ankles to his head. Crackling from the sheer energy of the corona dominated his hearing for a split second. Nothing was wrong with his vision however, and he saw the Councilors start, particularly the asari Councilor. For a brief moment, he could see animalistic intent behind her motions, focused on him and him alone, before vanishing into the smooth veneer of a politician. Mental reflexes sprang into overdrive, and he quickly faked a glance to one side, tapping his earpiece as if it were active. "Geth got in a lucky shot, comms still up? Some feedback here … good. Keep me posted."

Members of the Council were not stupid, particularly the salarians. But, they tended to ignore what they didn't want to see, if past experience was any judge.

Shepard offered the now-silent group a tight, professional smile, pretending as if nothing had happened; it widened slightly more than usual when Udina's projection choked. "Councilors," his tone cooled when he looked at Udina, "Ambassador. Duty calls."

With a final gesture, he cut off the signal, moving away from the console. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Better plan on another career after this. The possibility of retirement soon after the assignment had been an attractive part of a possible endgame plan, if he were honest. But not quite this blatantly. Probably have every spook inside Relay space ticked at me now. Got to revise retirement plans to include a little more in home defense measures. Can't imagine Intelligence letting me go after showing an artificial biotics armor setup like that. Well, not without an argument or three.

He passed the younger man on his way out, acknowledging Caswell Hudson's presence with a brief nod. The man was a communications technician, with the secondary job of security. An odd combination, now that he thought about it. Then he stopped, just outside the door … the little display had been seen by someone with low clearance. Sufficient to see the eezo-enhanced armor, but … something about the man still rubbed him wrong.

Dismissing the notion, he started moving again. There was an assault to begin; whatever the new Spectre would be in intending.


For the second time in less than a week, he stood at the Normandy's cargo bay, looking down at a new planet. High orbit had been bypassed, the upper cloud layers even now rushing past the barrier protecting the cargo hold. The very tips of massive buildings were making their presence known, like trees made of stone and steel. Thermal stealth had long ago been shed; even atmospheric craft, designed to cut through the sky, couldn't retain the same fields under this kind of stress.

"You all know your assignments." He didn't look around, didn't check if the squads were where they needed to be. They were professional. They were his. "You know the plan. Remember: the plan will be shot to blazes as soon as we make contact. Keep your objectives in mind, trust your mates."

The front of the cargo bay brightened as the Normandy powered its way towards the daylight side of the planet. Slowly, great spires poking up through the floating dust of the lower atmosphere came into view, hazy in the pre-dawn light. Their massive structures, towering into the sky, looked to be made of some forgotten compound lost to memory. Straight lines, vanishing into the lower cloudbanks, reared above his sightline, bending as the Normandy slipped through their midst.

Shepard kept his eyes on the horizon, watching the murky gray lighting brighten into a crimson flare, stirring memory. "Now for wrath, now for ruin and the red dawn. Forth Eorlingas," he muttered.

From the near side, he heard the Gunnery chief chuckle. "A sword day, a red day, 'ere the sun rises."

Unwillingly, he felt a smile break out on his face. "Wait not for the dawn, let not the swift wait for the slow."

"At dawn, look to the east," Ashley retorted. "And … that's as far as I know. Got any other quotes ready to trot out, Skipper?"

Shepard eyed the now bright haze, the once blood-red light fading into its azimuth. "Tell you what, if you can get your kill count higher than mine, we'll have a contest at the evening meal. I will match you quote for quote; the genre doesn't matter."

The rattle of hardware accentuated her words. "You're on. Prepare for a butt-kicking like you've never felt before."

He chuckled politely. It had been some time since he'd debated the finer points of literature. Classics, histories, tales from the talented mind of long-dead scientists … all held a special place in his heart.

"Thank you for flying Alliance Invasions, catered by your friendly Mystery Meat Marvels," Joker's voice boomed over the hangar bay's speakers. "Given today's combat venue, the cooks have prepared a little something special for you all: Mecha Meatloaf Surprise! We will be in contact within thirty seconds, and you can get to disruption, dismemberment and disorder before coming home for the nicest home-cooked meal you've never wanted. Have a great trip, see you next fall!"

"Your pilot likes to … joke a great deal, does he not?" Liara asked from Shepard's back.

"The privilege of skill," Shepard readied his sniper rifle, unshipping its length from his back. "When you are the best at what you do, you can get away with a lot."

Tremors shook the ship as Joker took them into increasingly erratic maneuvers. A dropship, unseen from orbit, rose into view, bursts of light leaving its flanks to flash past their viewpoint. Shepard, magnetic clamps fully activated, swayed with the motion, but didn't move, unlike several soldiers near the back. He smiled again at the irritated grumbling from their direction. "Mag-clamps on," he called. "Watch your footing."

"Commander, probes away. You should be getting the feed any minute now," Joker called.

Shepard powered up his receiver, waiting until the remotes began their transmission. As the link started, he kept a close eye on the placement. Colonial infrastructure, looks like a fairly defensible place, good. Civilians, where's the turrets? Never mind; geth units all around, but not trying to climb underneath. Wordlessly, he commanded one of the drones to retreat, giving him a larger field of view. Ah, solid structure underneath, vines all over the place? Prothean manufacture, so damage resistant. Has to be, to last this long. One – no three Armatures, bridge from the next building over. Multiple Destroyers, maybe two Primes. Can't see too far in, but can't be too different.

"Orders, sir?" Ashley asked.

He smiled; she was learning to anticipate. "Change in plans, but not much. Same guidelines as before, but I want Charlie squad to get out higher; height advantage."

She grunted acknowledgement, flipping channels as he continued observing. There were burn marks throughout the entire colony, what he could see of it. Evidence of Armature-class siege weapon bombardment. Countering that, he could see at least five Epimetheus-class armor suits, strategically positioned to cover the colony. Their locations were well thought-out, overlapping fields of fire, but could have been more accessible by support – likely the result of civilian planning. Other civilians, completely unarmored, were using small-arms to fend off multiple geth, probing attacks from the sides.

Why are they focusing fire? He watched the collective Epimetheus armor systematically lay down a barrage over an oncoming Armature, then refocus on a Prime approaching from an oblique angle. Each time, the units moved as one, never selecting individual targets. Have to be fire-linked to a single unit, or even a VI targeting system groundside – that means direct cable. Civilian colony, makes sense. Wait, incoming fighter ….

A geth fighter-craft screamed in from the sky, side cannon launching hyper-accelerated rounds. As one, the Epimetheus armor rotated, but only two returned fire, launching rail-gun strikes from emplacements on anterior portions of the torso. The other three remained immobile, facing the geth fighter before the rounds made impact, blowing the craft to one side before it could complete its approach.

"Williams," he called. "Forget your power armor. There's a couple big sets groundside. Take one over when you can, keep overwatch. Grab control of all the units if you can. They have civvies running the program."

A thinly veiled burst of emotion came back to him, quite descriptive. "Aye sir, pardon my French."

Liara, double checking her new set of repurposed armor, cocked her head to one side. "I beg your pardon, but my translator did not render that as 'French' … is it a sub-dialect?"

Shepard snorted. "No. Old custom; profanity is blamed on the French. Prefer German myself for a good insult though, has a lot more feeling in it."

Her confused posture did him good. Puzzlement was good for the soul. "I … see. Are we ready to engage?"

Despite the combined tons of armor surrounding them on all sides, Shepard could feel his squads roll their eyes. Observers, watchdogs, interested bystanders, whatever you called them. Civilians could never get into the hang of military nomenclature. Or, he corrected himself, most do not. The ones that do are a rare breed, usually married to a soldier.

Aloud, he said nothing but, "Almost there, Doctor. Are you suited up?"

The manner in which she checked her sidearm was reassuring; as was the biotic-flare emanating from her fist for a moment. "I am prepared, Commander. You wish for me to stay close to you?"

"Yes," Shepard ignored the suggestive comments being whispered over the sealed airwaves. "I will be sniping, you spot for me. Watch my back and I'll watch yours."

A suggestive snigger came from one of the comms. "Watch her back …."

It took an eyeblink for Shepard to isolate the frequency, then turn to glare in that person's direction. The resulting gulp and whispered apology followed soon after. Professional attitude needed to be enforced; not just suggested. Familiarity may well have bred contempt, but in some subjects – it was better to be feared than loved. He was not their mother, they were not sophomoric students. Respect in his squad was earned, not given.

"We're getting close Commander. Three minutes."

Shepard faced the hangar opening, beginning a mental countdown. "Acknowledged. Standing by for the countdown."

The target appeared on the horizon, matching the drone's images inside his visor, and growing as the pilot started counting backwards. The structure, taller than most of its fellows, was somehow still intact in the upper regions to a greater extent than what other structures had managed. Slick shielding, courtesy of the standard colonial package, protected it from meteor strikes, almost as effectively as the twin battle stations in orbit. A dozen turret emplacements – void innards black against the gray walls of the structure – hinted at the potential seen in the site; enough to predispose the founding party to spring for enough hardware to protect a colony three times its current size.

A pity the Powers That Be hadn't thought to actually deliver the hardware. What had they discovered?

Prothean planet; who knows what's available? Shepard glanced at the impenetrable haze, a mile or more below his sightline. Investment in the hope of discovery … surprised nothing's been found so far. A frown tightened his expression. Or reported so far. Remember to get what records I can.

That would take time; time that he very well might not have. A substitute to compensate for that lack would need a certain frame of mind; some of the more ruthless businessmen could rival Terminus region warlords for callous thinking. Countering that mindset required a different approach; one with which he was very familiar, but had hesitated to use in front of his people. Or anyone non-Alliance for that matter. If he were strictly honest with himself, anyone really. But if Williams was going to be as good as he'd hoped … and if he wanted the squads to have an example … that meant he would need to use it. Nothing for it. Go Cold, Shepard. Remember that teddy bear on Eden Prime? Geth. That Hegemony slaver shuttle? That stripper joint on Yuler Five?

The familiar rage started building once more. Mnemonics, the study and development of the memory, assisted. Similar associative exercises were used by actors, allowing them to simulate emotion in unrealistic settings. Surgeons likewise often visualized themselves in calming circumstances, listening to classical music before operations.

Soldiers, on the other hand, used fast-paced music on a mission. Or practiced forms of meditation, depending on the individual. He, a unique individual among a unique breed, drove himself into a quiet fury.

Manfredi. Johnson. Xien. The list of names, one he'd once promised to retire, continued. O'Harry. Tai'Lung. And Jensen. Jensen had been the last. Would be the last; if he had anything to do about it. It wasn't a method of depression; genetics had prevented him from being depressed. But he could still get angry – and anger could be a very valuable tool.

"Hey, Shepard," Garrus's flanged tones boomed over the mike. "Up for another bet? Double or nothing?"

Shepard raked his gaze over the squads. More than a couple were stealing glances at Liara, or more accurately, at her form-fitting armor. It irritated him, on top of the association exercise he was using; they were supposed to be the best. On the verge of the best, if his training plans came through. The Normandy carried no slackers; and the 'best' were busy ogling a shapely passenger?

"No bet," Shepard slid a loving hand along the extended barrel of Excalibur. Sometimes, people were just hard to understand. "I prefer to bet when my opponent has a chance." He delivered a smirk at the turian, and started for the exit as the light began blinking clearance.

Taking a running leap, Shepard hurled himself through the static mag-curtain. Tight at his side, Liara matched his jump, biotics flaring in an impressive display of spot-correction. Behind them, the rest of the squads plunged into action, emulating his example. Some of the more excitable members of Delta squad screamed epithets at the geth, but the rest focused on their approach.


Feros System

Hackett stroked the readiness panel, letting the numbers flow across its screen in an unending cascade. Though no VI, he could read the trends as well as any artificial intelligence. Outliers were the danger, exceptions to the rule; that required no synthetic genius to interpret. That was why he loved fighting simulations, everything the quarian people had to offer on the geth. He'd actually been forced to turn down reinforcements; practically the entire Fleet had offered to accompany him on any geth-related maneuvers. Apparently, his reputation among the Fleet had grown wildly out of proportion to reality – the first geth/human interaction, and he had defeated them handily. Something quarians appreciated.

Now to repeat the feat. Hackett watched the geth deployment, noting the shift in movement as they realigned their focus to his approaching forces. "Recall the Relay group. I want the recovery ships on them ASAP. Get me Admiral Zorah."

An aide heard his order, and the quarian admiral's face was soon on his projector. "Admiral. You are engaged with the geth?"

Hackett liked Zorah – professionally. The man was blunt, and to the point, never obfuscating the issue with unnecessary political jabs, a refreshing breeze in the often overly-politicized realm of military rank. But, he was disappointed with how the man took care of family. Quarians were renown for putting their people first – Zorah appeared to have forgotten the finer details of that point. "The Relay is open. You have fifteen minutes at most before the turians arrive. We will cover you as much as we can, until you leave. Good luck."

Lights flashed behind Zorah's image, and the figure leaned forwards against an invisible pressure. "We are en route. Fifteen minutes will be more than enough time to collect sufficient samples. And admiral … thank you for this opportunity. Good hunting."

The signal cut out, leaving Hackett to return his full attention to the battle at hand. Unlike the previous engagement, the geth were showing far more intelligence, ably switching formations with a fluid grace unexpected in a society of machines. Fortunately, grace and precision only counted for a clearly defined goal; something he intended to muddle for them.

"First element, withdraw to holding pattern Sigma by the stations." Reinforcing the Alliance presence would allow the Olympia battle stations time to begin much-needed field repairs. Two of them together would handle the process much more efficiently. "Second element, withdraw to the flagship. All other vessels, get clear if you are able, and prepare for phase two."

Projected light shimmered as the dots representative of the individual vessels changed position. The ancient rules of war held true, no matter what foe he'd faced. Every engagement, every fight, every war, involved fighting in someone's chosen terrain. The trick lay in making the enemy think the battleground was theirs.


Shepard's HUD screamed in his ear, painting the ground blood red in targets. The landing zone was a short drop for eezo-controlled armor, only ten meters from the Normandy's drop point, but he was able to pinpoint three targets, executing two before landing on both feet. The third almost managed to dodge his follow-up, but a snap-shot with his side-arm removed the crucial data-processor in the head-like extension.

"Move it, move it, move it!" He jogged forwards, slipping away the pistol. "I want the colony under control in an hour! Show some hustle ladies!"

A power armor suit landed nearby, a half-ton of bad attitude making the ground tremble. Its arm, already leveling, spat a pair of grenades before beginning an auto-cannon assault. The far point of its range staggered a geth Prime unit.

Delta squad dropped next, swarming across the ground with deceptive speed. An average quarian was almost comical to look at; lean figures, nearly as polite as the Hanar, and physically incapable of withstanding even minor damage. Yet here, where Shepard could see them in full combat, they looked terrifying. At least half of the squad were War Dancers, an ancient martial art that dated back to times before their own First Contact. Watching a quarian bisect a geth unit with nothing more than a omni-blade reinforced the impression of brutal efficiency.

"Destroyer, right side and closing." Liara's calm voice snagged his attention. It had been a welcome discovery to find that the asari had taken some training in sniper support. In retrospect, he should have suspected that combat training for a potential commando would have done so. The asari, as a race, almost embodied the sniper team code.

Shepard marked the target, "Destroyer, aye." A gentle stroke of the trigger, and Excalibur purred in his hands. The visor over his eye confirmed the kill, leaving him free to tag another unit for Garrus to hit from the open dock of the Normandy, when he had a chance.

"Incoming," Liara spoke again, and Shepard lifted his head from the scope, just in time to see one of the stealth geth units stop in midair, rotating helplessly around a pitch-black point. The area surrounding that point shimmered, like a heat mirage, but casting a blue shade on everything. Another geth unit, this one a rocket carrying variety, joined the stealth unit in the Singularity's prison. Both attempted to reach each other, likely to gain traction, but before they could attain any momentum, the singularity between them pulsed, attracting them to its very center.

Shepard winced. Only the most powerful biotics could generate a Singularity. Even fewer actually used them; one incorrectly placed gravity well could render an entire squad into credit-sized chunks of meat. Manuals referenced krogan biotics that could damage battleship armor with a Singularity, and there were asari rumored to be even more powerful than that – but he'd never actually witnessed one.

"Alpha squad, 'ware armature, north by northeast. Take it down blue!" Shepard highlighted their target in their HUD's, before ducking behind another block. The biotic from Alpha squad signaled acknowledgement, and levitated a massive chunk of masonry in response. His partner launched herself at the floating bulk, triggering the jets her armor contained to increase her momentum before kicking off the hovering rock. At the point of impact, she triggered her own biotics, generating a cross-field detonation.

"Good work!" Shepard darted forwards, taking advantage of the chaos in enemy ranks as the heavily armored geth unit crumpled. "Delta, make a hole. Charlie, cover 'em!"

The quarian contingent leaped forwards, rebounding off the obstacles with inhuman grace. Above, the mostly lighter members of Charlie squad took to the skies, jets flaring in the daylight. The tactics were rough, he had to admit, but that would change with practice. Live fire exercises taught like no other teacher.

"Commander, they're moving fast," Ashley''s voice blasted over his earpiece. "Coming in hot, right flank."

Instantly, Shepard swapped sides, looking over the battlefield. "Alpha squad, keep pushing. Delta, take cover. Charlie, keep up the overwatch, right flank. Snipers: make them watch their heads." He keyed off the comm, and rested the barrel of Excalibur across the breadth of an abandoned crate. "Liara, watch my back."

"Yes, Commander," he heard the asari answer, then lost himself to the dance. Movement, crossing a gap laterally, caught his attention. It wasn't enough for a true shot, but he timed the rate of passage to another opening, and fired. His eyepiece chimed a kill, freeing him to refocus on a pair of infantry, vaulting up the rubble at speeds no human could match. One shot spun the left-most geth ninety degrees, shattering the articulation joint at the side of its collar, the second merely broke the other geth's shields. Reacting, the now vulnerable unit dodged, straying into the crossfire from an alert member of Charlie squad.

Nodding, Shepard swept the rising slope, selecting targets. Poor tactics, he picked off another infantry-grade geth. After what they did on Therum, I expected better. A destroyer; the comparatively massive geth unit bounded up the debris field, scattering heavy fire in his general direction. Behind it, a floating drone trio kept pace, close enough to use each other's shielding, but far enough apart to have a deadly range of fire. One evaporated as a light infantry soared overhead, and dropped a small, innocuous package just ahead of the larger unit. The resulting explosion tore through the remaining three units, phosphorescent fire overwhelming barriers in an eyeblink.

Tiny squads against two full squads, and a force multiplier trio. Shepard threw another look around, starting to become worried.

"Two jumpers, mid-tower," Liara intoned behind him. "Separating left and right."

He left those for the quarians, scanning the field once more. Something felt off, like he was being watched. "Ash, what can you see up there?"

The response hissed in his ear, static. His worry grew. "Tali, is your upgrade online?"

"Not yet, Commander. I need a few more minutes to finish uploading, then it needs to calibrate." The quarian's terse tone came as a surprise; she was normally an outgoing individual … but …she could just be feeling the pressure.

Resolving to check again, Shepard took yet another slow view. The reconnaissance elements had painted a number of contacts on the HUD, but less than half of them were of a level threatening enough for him to take notice. Where are they?

Inspiration struck; there had been multiple contacts prior to his assault; maybe a third now missing. He'd accounted for a number of kills, but not enough to deplete the entire geth force by thirty percent.

"Um, Shepard?"

Spotters were on every highpoint, Joker on the Normandy, with some of the specialists aboard. No commander would send all his strength at one point; reserves were made for emergencies. The geth had no need for reserves, when they were in full control of the situation. That meant a retreat had been involved, with nowhere to go.

"Shepard!"

He whipped around, alarm in Liara's voice penetrating his calculations. He noted her position, oriented 180 degrees to his own, facing the sheer dropoff. Prothean construction held up to an incredible amount of damage, but something in the planet's history had broken through the walls, leaving an opening to chamber acting as the colony's hanger bay. And there, just clambering through the opening, lumbered a pair of geth Armatures. Where there were two, there had to be more.

Instinctively, Shepard dropped to one knee, firing point blank into the nearest unit's barrier. Its shields were strong enough to deplete most of the round's energy, but a residual amount passed the barrier to score a deep furrow across one leg. It moved, stomping the affected limb at him. He ducked left, and rolled, putting the chunk of rubble between himself and the machine.

Liara, however, was shouting incoherently, firing her small sub-machinegun like a water pistol, for all the damage it was dealing.

Growling, Shepard activated his pseudo-biotics. The Council had seen it; and pretty soon, every Council-related minion would know about them. Who cared if a know-nothing archaeologist found out?

The catches slipped free, unleashing the power hidden inside the unassuming armor. White energy, ethereal at first but rapidly solidifying, coalesced around his fist. Reality shimmered, bending under the forces at hand, flowing into a single point. The brilliant energy burst left his hand, streaking into the marked armature's thoracic ridge. It made impact through the weakened shield, driving the armature's leg inwards at an angle its designers had not intended. Thrown off balance, the machine struggled to re-align its remaining legs, while peppering Shepard's position with the heavy caliber machine gun emplacement.

Finally, Liara seemed to regain her senses, scrambling into cover. The time her escape had cost however, had purchased enough time for more units to arrive.

"Fighting retreat, back to the colony!" Shepard underhanded an EMP grenade like a baseball, moving downhill as fast as he could. "Delta squad, we're coming your way. Charlie, pull back."

A different voice cut into the static. " …pard? Read … 'e?"

Intent on running, Shepard ignored the communication. "T'Soni! Run! Get the hell out of Dodge!"

The asari gracefully leaped past him, briefly pausing on the side of a pillar before launching herself further downfield. Her featherweight move suddenly terminated in a crushing maneuver, her body seemed to blur just before falling much faster than its ballistic arc would have predicted; right onto a geth infantry unit. Her feet crushed its frame into the ground, before she flipped over and onward.

But, she had just abandoned her squadmate. That was bad; very bad. The first rule of combat was to watch out for yourself; a fair enough statement: you couldn't protect your buddy if you were dead after all. But the accepted method was to advance, watching for your mate, leapfrogging in a fashion as old as urban warfare. Have to either teach her better, or leave her behind. Problems like this were exactly why he'd paired her with himself; he was far more capable of looking out for trouble than most of his people.

Putting the matter aside, he continued moving down. By comparison to the lithe asari, Shepard trundled down the short slope, legs pumping. He was fast by any human measure; possibly in the top ten percent, he guessed. Quarians could sprint circles around him, but didn't have the mass to make full use of that speed in a charge. Humans had learned how, long eons before in the time of the Chivalric Charge. That time period had put men in full metal armor on equally well-armored thousand pound animals, sending the combined weight crashing into the ranks of enemy infantry. Only the krogan had something comparable in their history; turians – the next most logical choice had what could best be described as a 'love hate' relationship with the concept.

Shepard felt an impact at the back plate of his armor, forcing a grunt. Something, likely medium caliber, had struck his backplate. Mentally, he pictured where the heavy geth position, and pushed forwards as hard as he could. Another hit knocked him over, tumbling him into a pillar; fortunately his arms were in a good enough position to pull himself the rest of the way.

Behind his bruised back, the Prothean concrete shuddered. Siege-grade weaponry slammed into its bulk, sending flakes into his visor. The accompanying small arms fire, peppering the ground on all sides convinced him that more of the geth had joined the pair of Armatures. "Could use a little help here, anyone got visual?"

A tiny window opened on his visor's communication square. A video feed, from a higher perspective – from one of the light infantry – displayed a number of the more standard geth troops headed in his direction. Even as he watched, a Geth Prime unit speared its arm through an outcropping, leveraging its mass into a combat roll.

Seeing multiple tons of military-grade hardware behave so fluidly was … impressive. A design centuries old, still more than capable of keeping up with cutting edge technology had to be a dream for most inventors.

Too bad they had to try killing him. "Joker, can you read me?"

An outraged hissing responded eloquently. "Right. Heavies, give me a volley, one shot."

The limited number of heavy infantry in Delta squad opened fire without hesitation. Four high-yield tipped rockets boomed past his cover, detonating on the larger geth in a dazzling show.

Geth calculate probability. What would I be likely to do? Shepard gave himself two heartbeats to come up with a plan. Right. Survival. Suicidal tactics it is then. My favorite.

Quickly, he unshipped his rifle. Predictable. Machine-like. Stay Cold. Cold was better than hot. Angry men made mistakes, let their emotion rule their actions. Anger was best when used as a power source, focused on a goal.

Rolling to one side, he snap-fired, sliding back into cover before the machine's insanely fast reflexes could react. A moment later, he rolled out the same side, launching a grenade in a flat arc. This time he continued the roll, taking cover behind another bit of ruined stonework. The block's curvature appeared to be the remnant of an ancient curb, or perhaps an original rain gutter. From what he could see, the rocket assault proved effective on one of the Prime's, but the others were still approaching. Even the best sniper in the galaxy would be hard-pressed to take down a fraction of the geth.

"Hang on Shepard, I gotcha," Ashley's voice resounded in his earpiece. "Take cover, here comes the thunder."

Shepard curled in a tighter ball behind his stone, covering his ears. This was the only point where he really wished he'd worn a helmet. Just the sound of artillery, once known as the Voice of Kings, could blow through the eardrums of a battle-hardened turian's tympanic membranes, if he weren't careful.

Shuddering explosions rocked the tower. The ground under his body shook, the monstrous proof of some higher power, delighting in terrorizing mortals. The sound transcended sonic levels, devolving into the infrasonic range; more the realm of an angered master of volcanoes.

When the shaking reduced to a gentle swaying, Shepard risked a chance look, peeking around the side of his cover. Darkened craters, less than a hand-span deep, had been punched into the concrete. Good grief, anti-armor rounds and the rock still doesn't crack? He briefly considered testing the material's capacity, but shelved the idea for later. Don't want the whole thing to collapse under me for a stupid test.

The rattle of a light machine gun shuddered into place, closer to the colony. One of the geth Armature units staggered and fell, vital components rendered into scrap metal. Multiple infantry grade units lay in shambles, but at least half of them were rising out of surprising hiding places, as if in mimicry of the undead.

Now, while they're recovering. Shepard lifted his rifle once more. The HUD made target selection easy, and the heavy units were of minimal effectiveness in their current state. Downed Armature first, then Rocket. More geth had crawled out from under the cleft in their flanking maneuver. Right now, he appeared to be on the edge of two bodies of geth forces, protected by the collapsed pillars. Taking a deep breath, he drew a bead on the fallen Armature, letting it out slowly. One.

The Armature shuddered, slumping once more, sans the delicate circuitry channeling high-level processes in the data-collection hardware. Shepard paid it no mind, changing targets; rocket on the wall. His rifle spoke again, oversized projectile blowing through weakened shields and armor alike. Two.

Traversing obliquely, another rocket trooper fell to his gun. Three. Then he was forced to duck back, waiting for the cooldown sequence to finish.

Before it finished, Shepard rose again, omni-tool primed and released an Overload, discharging its payload into a camouflaged geth sniper. It fell, twitching and shuddering, bouncing off the edge past the retaining wall into the abyss.

Wait … I'm that close to the edge? A quick glance behind his shoulder revealed the skyscraper's proximity to infinity. Fog swirled below, long beyond an organic capacity of survival, should it fall. The geth unit made sparks as it crossed his field of vision, deforming even as he watched, smashed against the unforgiving twin problems of unstoppable force and immovable objects.

His attention was distracted as a skeletal hand, made of an unknown alloy, reached over the precipice sinking the tips into his leg armor. They flexed in a remarkably lifelike display, and dug into the ferro-ceramic plate.

Shepard fought down panic as the arm started dragging him towards the edge. Instead of clawing uselessly for handholds, he drew the pistol his father left him, conveniently left at the small of his back where a shotgun would be normally found. Then he waited, letting the geth pull him closer. As the machine's second arm reached out, the motion briefly exposed the processing center just above the stone lip. The pistol roared, launching its payload.

Sparks flew out of the shattered machine's head, arms frozen in position.

"Shepard! Look out!" Without looking, he stuck out an arm, glowing with suppressed biotic power. It intercepted a charging geth's leg, closing in an eezo-enhanced grip. Shepard squeezed, the secondary program activating a Warp factor.

The geth, now missing a leg below the knee, toppled forwards over the edge. Momentum carried it past the point of no return. Twisting, Shepard picked up his rifle once more and leaned to get a better angle on his next shot.

A violent tug on his leg yanked him far enough back that one leg now dangled off the side of the building. Shepard dropped his rifle, digging his gauntlets into the uneven floor. Stupid, stupid, stupid! You forgot their reflexes! The weight of the second geth, added to the first, dragged him slowly towards the edge."

"I need an assist," Shepard tugged against the weight, bracing one hand against a nubbin of rock, protruding from the floor. It halted his descent, but the pressure was increasing. Reaching to snap the limb like he'd done to its leg would throw him just far enough off balance to render any recovery moot. It was with great effort that he kept his voice level, when he wanted to bellow as loudly as he could. "Asap, if you please."

"Roger that, blue in play. Hang on," Charlie squad's channel squawked. "Give her covering fire! Now blast you, now! If we lose the Commander on my watch, you'll wish you'd jumped in there after him!"

That didn't make any sense. Both of Charlie squad's biotics were recon, talented at sniping and remaining out of enemy range, not interception. Delta had one biotic, a male human assigned to the group for the duration of their stay on the Normandy. Perhaps Alpha squad had doubled back?

The weight yanked on his leg once more. His grip loosened, despite the strength-enhancing nature of his armor. Gritting his teeth, Shepard activated the pseudo-biotics yet again; he hated using them so often. It made him feel incompetent. This time, Warp fields appeared around his fingertips, disintegrating the stone beneath them into finger holds. It had been a suggestion from an old Drell instructor; a method of tracking. Some assassins would climb sheer surfaces with nothing more than their clothes, their weapon of choice, and biotics; very good for surprise, but only until someone noticed the odd trail of markings.

The weight increased, this time with the strength of a fallen angel pulling harder on his leg. Shepard diverted more power to the mass-enhancing subroutines; the legless unit must have activated the derelict's power supply. Increased mass for as long as the power supply held; two geth units roughly six feet tall, made of solid metal, abusing the power efficiency of computer-precision hardware … the situation wasn't exactly impossible, just more of a challenge.

"Gah!" Shepard muscled himself forwards, digging the glowing blue fingers into the ground a hand span further in than before. His pistol, the gun from Mindoir long before, lay just out of reach. If he could get there …. Come on Shepard! Two inches, or you're as useless as a chocolate teapot! Half-right, face! Front Leaning Rest Position! Move!

His fingers dragged slow furrows across the ground, grinding the stone into powder. Cutting the Warp subroutine stopped the slow drag through stone, but meant his fingers were beginning to slide out of the artificial handholds. Shepard redoubled his efforts, tensing his abdominals, keeping the rest of himself as still as death, touching as much surface area as he could.

"Keeyah!" A mountain landed right next to him, blasting dust into his face. The weight came free, a good thing. The bad thing was that in the newfound freedom, his muscles decided to relax in a well-deserved break.

"I have you Commander," he felt a mass lightening field encompass his body, and made a grab for his pistol, snagging it just before getting pulled away from the edge. Both he and his rescuer landed behind the fallen pillar, crunching in the rubble. He rolled, meeting the blue visage of one asari.

"T'Soni?" he blinked. That stunt at the head of the slope, standing out in the open like a fool, not to mention abandoning him on the position shift, were the moves of a rank amateur. But … getting to him, pulling him to safety – a glance down revealed a geth arm still holding his leg like a mechanical Grendel – and a precision biotic strike powerful enough to sever armor-grade hardware. Impressive … but also a little inane. "What did you think you were doing? Diving into a crossfire like that? That's one of the dumbest, craziest, most intellectually challenging moves I've seen anyone ever pull!"

Shepard could see Liara's body tense, and hid a smile. Some people were so easy to read. "Keep up that kind of insanity, and someone might mistake you for a human. Thanks. I owe you one."

She stopped, frozen, mouth open; he could tell that much. Letting a grin lift one side of his mouth, he motioned at her hip. "Lose your piece?"

Liara patted her thigh, then slapped her other leg, searching for the weapon with increasing urgency. "I had it, I know I had it!"

Shots made a whistling sound, over their heads. Chatter on the comms indicated the battle went well, but could be improved. Silently, Shepard picked up his pistol, and looked at it. It was his father's, carried through a hundred battles on a dozen worlds … but … she had saved his life. Gently, he rotated it in his hand, and offered its stock to the asari. "I want it back without a scratch. Careful, it kicks."

She took the worn stock, flipping it into a ready position easily. "Thank you, Commander."

Dust fell from above, warning Shepard a split second before a stealthed geth dropped on top of him. The split-second warning was enough for him to flick the settings of his armor to generate a massive Throw field on one fist. It caught the mechanical soldier and flung him far over the lip's edge. Snarling, he cut the field, slapping Excalibur into position once more. Cuddling the weapon into his shoulder gave a sense of purpose. Lethal accuracy.

"Target Armature, last one." Shepard triggered an Overload, disarming part of the frontal shield. A second burst quickly followed from Delta squad, collapsing the tank-like machine's protective energy field.

A loud booming crack, followed by a startled exclamation came from his side. "By the Goddess! What is this?"

He glanced at the weapon fondly. "One of the Railjack series, sidearm edition. Company went under not long after Devlon and Ariake got going." Another sizzling burst of power impacted the pillar. "It's an actual railgun, back from before eezo was popular, so not as much ammunition. Watch your fire, but what you hit, stays hit. Focus fire, focus fire!"

Immediately, a hail of hyper-accelerated fire took advantage of the opening. He saw an accurate series of shots chew at the construct's main processor, and a hail of less accurate sparks ricochet across the lower carapace.

Shifting once again, he focused on one of the few remaining infantry units, separating the flashlight skull from the torso. Next to him, Liara raised one fist, thrusting it downwards. His next target lifted off the ground, shuddering as the armor plating crumpled on its body. Shepard moved on to the next target of opportunity, highlighting one that while visible, was outside his angle.

Satisfaction filled him, as he noticed the number of red indicators on the map vanishing. For some reason, eliminating the largest geth first appeared to inhibit the smaller geth maneuvers.

Already, he could see the smaller units falling back, almost clumsily attempting to avoid being flanked. The fluid grace they'd displayed earlier was vanishing, seen now only in the units surrounding a Destroyer-grade geth. Two quick shots, and those too were behaving more erratically.

Ten minutes later, the battlefield was silent, except for the clicking sounds of cooling metal ... no crackling blaze, no wisping smoke to bat away. On this world, there was nothing flammable to burn, no wildlife to terrify. It was fortunate, in a way, that geth did not decay; there were no beasts of carrion to eliminate what could not be disposed.

"Charlie squad, Delta squad," he stood up, rotating in a slow circle. "Nothing on my screens. Sing out if you have something."

One by one, a negative response cleared the weight from his mind. "By the numbers, everyone with us?"

Once again, he went through the responses, comparing their hardsuit data with the verbal reports. Good men. He checked the flashing icon next to a pair of names. They should be in a hospital, but claim to be 'fit to fight.' If I'd had them a few years ago, I could have waged war on the entire Terminus Systems. He stopped. The idea, ridiculous years ago, didn't hold the same frivolous attitude any more. There are a few merc bands more or less trustworthy … that sniper from Elysium? O'Riley, that was it. He had a good band. Might need to get in touch.

"Ryans, Stevens, report to Chakwas as soon as the Normandy sets in." Compromise was the mother of diplomacy … or was that combat? "Joker, can you hear me?"

A dry voice responded. "Yeah, I read you. Guess you found out the drones were hacked, right?"

Shepard grunted. "We found out, yes. Next time we're putting stronger firewalls on those things. Can you put in here? The landing zone is clear."

"Roger that, Commander. Coming in for landing. By the way, Hackett said that the quarians were here and gone again. Turian backup should be here any minu – nevermind. They're here now."

"Good." Shepard ignored the question of quarians, and brushed some of the concrete dust off his armor. "I'm headed for Zhu's Hope right now. Let me know when you're dirtside."


A/N: Hey all, good to be here. Not much to say except thank you to Nightstride for his Beta assistance, and to the near 400 followers of this little tale.

Today's fic recommendation is 'The Prodigal' by Coilerfan35. For anyone that is a Miranda fan, it's an excellent read; regretfully unfinished at this point in time. Probably never, given its last update. But, time goes on.

Here's one question: are you looking forward to the Mass Effect Andromeda? I'll keep writing this story, and continuing it if I'm spared (grad work coming up next semester). But it will be interesting to see if the Mass Effect forum suddenly obtains a burgeoning population of stories, no?

C'ya down the lane!