Christmas is a special time of year, no matter where your path has taken you. My little home away from home always feels more cheerful, brighter than normal at this time of year. Even when a certain quarian decides to color-code my desk in festive hues.
For Shepard, there were one or two bright spots in his earlier campaigns. And later campaigns. One occurred during his hunt for Saren ... in the middle of what accountants would later call many things. Financial markets measure many things, but that incident is one of the points all reference from time to time. But that's something that comes up later. I am a tease, aren't I?
Notes from Dr. Pavenmeyer's logs
~Project Ragnarök Files
Captain's Cabin: SR-1 Normandy
A final series crossed Shepard's data pad. Results from more teams than a normal man could count floated in and out of view, the coded sequences visible solely through the matched pair of visor and omni-tool. Hundreds of competitors, possibly thousands, desired his security capacity. No less than three Matriarchs had sent their swallows, attempting to roost in his cabin for that very purpose – none succeeded.
Some things, money can't buy. Shepard mused. The single greatest advantage to most research organizations was secrecy – a single product could fund entire colonies, or break strangleholds on economies. In this case, the visual cues combined with nano-technology created the safest communication systems in existence.
Now it all pays off. Saren, you're going down you son of a kowakian monkey-lizard. (1) I've fought your machines, now let's see how many fronts you can hold.
"Joker, Pressley," he tapped the open-key, addressing both men at once. "Alter course: fastest course you can get to Irune. Wait … belay that … what is the ETA from the Citadel to Irune?"
A faint mutter of conversation broke the silence for a moment. "Thirty hours from the Citadel, Commander."
Joker's voice snapped into play. "I can make it in twenty-four, maybe twenty if we pull out clearance."
Disbelief colored the older Navigator's voice. "Average times for frigates of our velocity indicate –"
"'Other frigates'?" Joker fired back, making the speakers vibrate. Shepard twisted his head, the invisible participant in this verbal ping-pong match. "We're a class of our own! I know my baby, we can do it in twenty."
A moment of silence held sway over the communication system for a moment. Then Pressley spoke up. "Umm, sir. Our pilot believes it can be done in twenty. I have no reason to doubt him, as of yet."
Shepard held back a chuckle; no sense letting everything about his reputation go to naught. "Make it so. As soon as we leave the Citadel, consider a full Emergency speed run. Thirty hours or less."
Hurrying now, for time was becoming more and more valuable, Shepard sent a summons to what the rest of the ship was beginning to call his Squad. None of the word choice had changed, but the feel within that term denoted something new … emotion. Before, it simply carried the normal meaning: combat troops engaged in warfare. Sometimes, it even meant friends. But now?
Shepard's Squad, it almost carried the name as a badge, as if it meant something bigger than words. The marines themselves were operating at higher efficiency as well … and calling themselves his Marines. Shepard's Marines.
When did that happen? Shepard sent a follow-up message. When did they start actually liking me? Respect? Soldiers are soldiers, but now ….
Shaking the mysteries of leadership aside for the moment, he began moving things in his cabin. Some hasty work with his well-exercised muscles, and enough room opened itself for the full group – minus Kaiden. Blast that man, where is he? I should have heard back ages ago. Did I send too many men? Too few? A simple pick-up though … quarians do that no trouble, even in the Outer Colonies.
The thought parked itself firmly in his subconscious, while he focused on the matter at hand. Namely, creating the magnum opus of his career.
Shepard drew a line, passing it between the different names. On any other list, it would have qualified as some of the most eclectic groupings ever seen. Asari Matriarchs shared columns with batarian colonels, linked diagonally to business holdings and human diplomats. Several Hanar face-names, what the jellyfish-like people used for business practices, formed a border on the peripheral edge.
He took a breath, adding dates. Then the organizations feared and respected across the galaxy began to appear, creating another layer in the tertiary wall-screens; the BlackWatch, SpecialTasks Group, and that small but powerful pro-human group called Cerberus. Moving the projection gave more space to use, and he filled it with more numbers. Population shifts and stock-market patterns stacked in swiftly rising columns, orbiting his projections like planetoids. Finally, he rounded out the collection with a timeline reference, inserting an entirely different table, filling in the spaces with more data.
When he'd finished, Shepard tapped off the digital marker and returned the screen to the initial point. Clearing his throat, he focused on the people now sitting around the room. The entire squad was present, even those injured from the experience on Feros. Every one of them had earned a place, or had at least been tough enough to endure being with him for weeks at a time. But, they were each involved, and deserved a chance to understand what he was about to do.
"Nearly fifteen years ago, I started a new career: soldier and businessman. Ten years ago," he lowered his head slightly, "I became aware of a few inconsistencies. Markets that fell against demand, or rose when new elements entered the field. By themselves, it was nothing … but I have a somewhat unique view on the galaxy."
He tapped the pointer. "Human businesses have followed similar patterns since the first Stock Exchange, back in the seventeenth century. There is plenty of data to study, to use for comparison. Entering the galactic stage, the pattern continues, even after First Contact." The view changed again. "But here, there are changes. Binary Helix and Genex Chemical started matching patterns with Alko-Luminal. Their synchronism fades after six months, but reappears fifteen years later, and again another decade after that. Sirta Foundation has kept its own pattern, as has Cord-Hislop. But, Cord-Hislop has an interesting outreach program in the Terminus Systems, a formidable reputation for violence."
Shepard paused to take a breath. "I have spent the past ten years correlating data. Watching the patterns. Every time the batarians launches a major slave raid, Hegemony State Arms reports a higher profit margin. Elysium, in what is currently known as the Skyllian Verge, saw record numbers eight months prior to the event – followed by a drop greater than anything seen since the Hegemony left the Council."
The numbers faded, replaced by names. "Among the numbers I've found names. Major business owners appear with almost pathetic regularity, Nassana Dantius for one. A year before the Blitz occurred, she purchased a large amount of stock in HSA, and sold it just prior to the Blitz. She's also been remarkably prescient in business management on …" he hesitated on the term. "Troubled markets. As an example, her activity in certain colony infrastructure ends, shortly before they are raided."
Garrus snarled from the side of his mouth, under his breath. "Sounds like a lovely lady. Maybe you could put us in touch with her?"
"I could," Shepard agreed. "But then, that would be fairly useless. However, I do happen to know a sister of hers – one Dahlia Dantius – kidnapped by pirates." He let a little smile break across his face. "Miss Nassana has been gracious enough to request my assistance in clearing up the matter. From one businessman and diplomat to another. But … that's not all we have planned."
Wrex chuckled at the back of the room. "You have a plan."
"Indeed." Shepard flashed the krogan a conspirator's smirk. "You may recall we had a guest in the detention facility on the Normandy, roughly three weeks ago. That individual seemed to practice a unique form of brainwashing, one that I have since learned to be called Domination." He was very careful to not look at Liara. "Simply put, the biotic imposes her will on the subject, and compels him or her to perform simple actions. It's answered – quite a few questions, actually."
"That could be … a problem." Garrus disagreed, tone now somber. "We've seen what the Thorian can do with just pain and a few suggestions. What could a more sophisticated form do?"
"Excellent question!" Shepard made the screen change once more, shifting to what appeared to be a list of names and dates. "The answer is: quite a bit. Here, you can see names of people that were formerly in employed by Alliance-held companies. First on the list is Micah Black, founder and CEO of the Micah Black clothing line. Born in 2142, died 2171, just before a meeting that opened the company to external purchase. If he had been alive for the meeting, it is probable that the company would have remained privately held. Death was ruled a suicide; he jumped out of a window one hundred and thirty stories high."
The image on the screen shifted, changing to another man with dark hair and broad smile. "This was Roger Luis, the ExoGeni investment manager for the research arm, Stellar Solutions. Born 2153, died 2179. While normally a xenophobic, Mister Luis changed his mind and accorded a salarian satellite company full investors rights in 2179, with a simple typed message. Two days later, he was discovered in a coma in his bathtub. He nearly died of hypothermia, but managed to live – as a vegetable."
Shepard ignored the sound of a small pile falling, cases he'd stashed under the far wall. A faint gasp from a large set of lungs caught his attention for a moment, but wasn't repeated, leaving him free to concentrate.
"This woman," the projection changed yet again to an older woman, graying hair framing a pair of stern dark eyes. "Oversaw the trade routes into and out of the Verge. Mariah Solzenizhen; born 2131, died 2162. Her paranoia about alien influences hindered Council trading practices through Alliance space for two decades. On the other hand, her investments for long-term growth are just beginning to pay off, the profits of which are being processed for her grandchildren, including three planned trips to theme parks on four separate planets. She was found dead in her home of self-inflicted injuries, facing a crucifix. She was Catholic."
Ashley gasped. "Wait, all that with her kids, and she was Catholic? One of those asari forced her to kill herself?"
"It's never that simple, but in this case, exactly." Shepard flipped the pointer in a tiny display of happiness. "It sounds like a conspiracy theory worthy of some sad fiction aficionado … but then again, we are chasing a rogue Spectre, bringing the might of an AI race, and their master, upon us. Truth is stranger than fiction."
A heavy stare pushed at the back of his neck. Turning, he met Wrex's eyes, glaring at him. It somehow looked much colder than before, startling in its intensity. Shepard did his best to look back. "Yes, Wrex?"
The krogan turned his head deliberately, focusing on one of the cases uncovered in the shift to make room. An old, battered set of armor rested on its surface, tarnished by age, dented under the passage of arms at some point. "That armor. Where'd you get it?"
"That?" Shepard frowned, puzzled by his friend's attitude. What was even more confusing was how he'd somehow interpreted the krogan to be a friend, instead of a simple comrade, or hireling; the distinction bothered him. "That came from a turian weapons smuggler. Thought himself some kind of collector; didn't even bother to restore it. When I have time, I'm planning to repair it, maybe upgrade it somehow. It's krogan design, built to last."
"I know." Wrex turned one eye back on Shepard, the crimson orb gleaming. "It's one of the Urdnot clan, specialty make, Fifteen-hundreds Fortify line. Over a thousand years old."
That made Shepard's eyebrows go upwards. "Back in the Rebellions or whatever the asari call them? Whoever made it did good work. Do you know the manufacturer?"
A faint grin appeared on the old krogan's face. "You could say that. He was my grandfather."
Pieces clicked into place; the changed attitude, the behavior. Shepard studied the armor plate, and felt an idea drift into his mind. "Then it should go back to you. I could restore it, but given what's going on now …" he shook his head. "Take it. Maybe you can fix it better than I could."
Red eyes studied him. Then the massive form rose, stomping over spilled hardware to reach the ancient bit of history. Something flickered, deep inside the old krogan's eyes. "Can't believe my ancestors used to wear this piece of crap. Still, I know a few people. Might be able to put it right." The Wrex's eyes cut back. "Thanks, Shepard. You didn't have to do that. Won't forget it."
The krogan's stance had shifted yet again, at least to Shepard's practiced eye. Before Wrex had maintained a relaxed, alert posture; never quite to the point of outright deference, but equally lacking in the sort of pride most people exhibited from time to time. Now that he thought about it, the only times he'd noticed Wrex carrying himself so highly was during combat, fighting against a strong enemy. While holding the piece of his past however, Wrex seemed to be carrying himself higher, shoulders relaxed into confident arrogance. For some reason, it almost looked like what the ancient Asari texts depicted as 'vasilikó vlémma,' the 'royal gaze'.
Why that sprang to mind he had no clue.
The information dropped on his squad took hours to fully converse; the sheer magnitude would require weeks, if not months – yet that time did not exist. Despite such a drawback, the insight of a trained turian investigator combined with the experience of a suddenly-helpful krogan, and a paranoid human Marine, created many potential tangents. When Tali appeared, summoned from the depths of the engine room, her esoteric knowledge of the edges of space quickly lead to further flights of conjecture, backed by enough solid data to formulate the basics of new plans.
Truly it was written, Shepard absently played with a salarian punch-dagger, watching Liara debating with Ashley. In many counselors, there is wisdom.
Hundreds of new data points held the majority of his screens hostage. Wrex and Liara had proven extremely helpful in that regard, providing background information he'd never been able to acquire himself; benefits of being plugged directly into a social network spanning the entire galaxy or living half a millennia as a premier mercenary.
His gaze shifted to the turian detective. Contrary to stereotypes, Garrus had ignored the potential legal issues. The alien's attention to detail had been downright frightening, the level of focus applied as if he were trying to memorize everything.
A conversation about protocols, moral rectitude, seemed imminent. Most turians needed that kind of exchange, assurance that what they were doing benefited the squad. Cultural upbringing – Saren appeared to be one of the rare exceptions.
Despite that potential setback, Shepard felt a small sense of satisfaction as he watched the group interact. While Williams was by no means a Terra Firma member, her worldview tended to distrust nonhumans. Most humans held that viewpoint, especially after Shanxi and the batarian raids. Aliens held the same view about humans, more so after learning about Kar'Shan's damages in the retaliation raid; full coverage had been restored, but social repercussions still reverberated in Hegemony society. Yet here they were, five separate species, working together.
"We'll be arriving at the Citadel within the hour," he hesitated to break up the planning session, but pushed on; there would be time later. "I'm authorizing shore leave for the next two days. If you have friends, a little job to do or anything," he specifically did not look at Wrex. "This is the time to take care of them."
The group dispersed, leaving his cabin in peace. Other than the mess.
Sighing, Shepard began putting his things back in order, starting with a small box of tox-darts. Behind him, someone cleared her throat.
"Shepard, sorry to bother you …."
He jumped, hadn't everyone left? Dark hair, dark eyes. Tanned skin, chief emblem …. "Ash?"
Teeth shone at him. "Yessir. Uh, I just wanted to let you know I deleted that override code you gave me back on Feros. I'll forget the rest soon enough."
Code? Shepard cast his memory back. Oh, code. That code.
Intense logic trains churned through his mind. But the decision had been made. A drawer in the side of the bed rasped slightly under his physical demand, disgorging a small shot locker's worth of omni-tools. Small rows of the devices extended themselves, inviting selection. Shepard ran his finger down a column, pulling out a smaller unit. "Here."
The woman cocked her head sideways. "What?"
He extended his arm, holding out the device. "This is a specialty-order omni-tool. A little under-par for civilian applications, but it is second to none for security. I order them in bulk, own the division that makes them."
What Shepard refrained from mentioning was exactly how much of the rest of the company he owned as well. Security depended on so much more than just the device; the minds behind its manufacture, the people in the factory, everyone could be a risk. The safest method would have been to make the device himself, and write the programming, but no one alive was able to master each technique, and perform to the extent his goals required.
Ashley took the device, turning it over in her hands. "You're giving this to me? Why?"
The drawer slid shut, clicking as the multiple lock sequence secured itself. Shepard used the time to think, why had he done it? The reasons were multiple, myriad even, but the simplest way to put it felt wrong … but also right at the same time. He closed his eyes, rubbing gently at his forehead. "I trust you. If something happens to me, I know you will do right by me."
Brushing off the sentiment, he nodded at the door. Better check your gear. Not sure the Citadel will be the safest place, after all."
Shepard assumed the Citadel's appearance made its normal presence known; gawking from windows took time he didn't have. Space stations, monolithic or otherwise, tended to stay put – it would be there in case he felt the urge. The Normandy approached under full stealth, under his order. A dangerous step, but well in keeping with the somewhat spotty reputation of Spectre behavior; or at least on the surface. Certainly well within his reputation. Complications – which meant his hands required an occupation that the mind could process.
"Um, Commander?" Joker's tenor cut through the mental gymnastics Shepard found himself accomplishing. "We're about fifty thousand klicks out, do you want us to … FLOATING MOTHER OF—"
A resounding boom made the Normandy shudder. Shepard maintained his seat, synthesized whetstone poised over the ulfbehrt's edge. "I hope there's a good explanation for that, Joker."
Bursts of static responded. "We hit something – nothing on the charts. Sensors didn't pick up anything! Like it's invisible …?"
Shepard raised an eyebrow; it meant nothing with no one in his room to see it, but some niceties needed to be observed. "Like us?"
A different voice came into play. "Navigation here, boosting sensors. Got a blip on LADAR, mark two-two-zero by thirty degrees. Unpowered, looks like debris. Ballistic course for the Relay."
A sigh fought its way up. "Get a lock, send an alert. Who's on debris watch?"
"Correction: object altering course." Pressley's voice sharpened. "Proceeding mark two-seven-two by zero point five. Decelerating."
Interest poked at Shepard. "Lay in pursuit. Salvage if possible, we have an appointment to keep."
"Aye sir."
A few minutes later, the blade once more glittered with the thick, keen edge its densified material provided. Striking metal objects – like geth – pitted the cutting edge. Only careful work could repair its pristine sharpness. Machines could do it in less time, and possibly as well as his manual ministration, but it felt like cheating.
"Got it Commander. Looks like some kind of satellite. Engineering sent a few techs to get it." Joker's voice cut out before resuming once more. "Changing course for the Citadel. E-tee-ay fifteen minutes. Dropping stealth in five."
The blade hove into place with a quiet, satisfying ring. The minimal hilt clicked against the scabbard's lock, even as the scabbard itself locked against his thigh. His armor, transferred to his room from the armory at his request, came together around the rest of his combat-undersuit in record time.
"Commander, Alliance Control is on the line." Amusement colored Joker's tone; the man seemed to live on making others uncomfortable. "They're a bit upset. Something about an unscheduled approach?"
Teeth showed themselves in a vicious smirk. "Good. Put me on. Let the entire ship hear it."
"Yessir," A moment of silence followed, then he could hear Joker's voice boom throughout the entire ship. "Now hear this. Repeat: now hear this."
Shepard straightened himself, loosely holding the gauntlets in one hand. A visual display impressed better, but audio would suffice.
"Please put Commander Shepard on the line." A cold, efficient voice made its presence known.
Shepard straightened out of habit. "Shepard here. Apologies for the confusion. I am requesting immediate berth in Docking Bay four-two-two, under Emergency Regulation Epsilon–Foxtrot-Charlie. Please acknowledge."
Something shifted in the controller's voice. "Emergency Epsilon-foxtrot-charlie acknowledged. Please give your authorization code."
He rattled off the required data, smirking the entire time where no one could see. "I am requesting clearance for three fire teams, accompanying my investigators. C-Sec will likely wish to accompany these teams; I approve their additions in advance."
"Acknowledged Commander, one moment." The voice changed timbre slightly. Static in the background faded, returning seconds later. "Clearance granted for Docking bay four-two-two. Citadel-Security has been notified and will send representatives to meet you. Also: Lieutenant Alenko wishes to meet with you as soon as possible."
Shepard's eyebrows shot towards his hairline. "He is on the station?"
"He is currently in the brig."
A moment of silence punctuated the statement before Shepard growled. "I want transportation ready when I arrive. See to it."
"Acknowledged. Docking ETA seven minutes. Control out."
Silence filled the communication for a beat. Then Joker filled the silence. "Huh, guess Kaiden parties harder than I thought."
The ship itself rang under the force of silence. Shepard took advantage of it. "Alpha, Bravo, Delta squads, you have your assignments. Let nothing stop you. Shoot straight, stay safe. Shepard out."
His gauntlets clicked into position. Micro-filament extended just above the back of one hand, matching blade hidden above the other. Time to get to work.
Three teams stood at Shepard's back, armor gleaming, weapons swinging on bold display. Against common policy, they were even activated, demonstrating what he hoped would be assumed to be Alliance military arrogance. At the center of each team waited noncombat personnel in full body armor. Unlike their guardians, their primary weaponry consisted of the physical computers humanity preferred to the Council races ubiquitous omni-tool. Yet another difference between Council and Alliance tendencies.
Shepard nodded approval. The tiny wrist bands were incredibly capable, given their limited size. But there was no comparison to a true powerhouse machine, not for a serious investigation.
"Shepard," a basso rumble resonated behind his shoulder. "I got a little business that needs taking care of."
"Good," Shepard kept his eyes forwards, waiting for the decontamination cycle to finish. The berth granted to the Normandy had a much larger passageway arranged, specifically for maneuvers such as this. "You have everything you need?"
The sound of rustling armor, the krogan's broad shoulders flexing plates, reached Shepard seconds before the voice. "Yah. My employer wants it done a certain way. I'll handle it."
A grin fought its way onto Shepard's face, open for anyone to see. "I'm sure you will do your usual excellent work. Hope he is pleased."
Chuckling rumbled the very deck plates beneath his boots, but the krogan mercifully fell silent. Krogan subtlety, that'll give the STG an aneurism.
The twin doors slid open, releasing the mild cleaning solution mist into the already hyper-clean environment of the Citadel. Thousands and millions of ships kept the same practice, particularly after a certain asari vessel accidentally transferred a unique bacteria between unexplored garden worlds. The cleanup following that particular mess had nearly bankrupted one of the major family lines, boosting environmental awareness for the rest.
Dry, sterile air wafted past Shepard's nose. He took a ninety-degree turn, taking the body language of a confident turian; shoulders lowered, stride rangy yet balanced. Humans couldn't adapt the alien physiology, but aliens seemed to subconsciously respond at just the effort.
Or he was just invoking a placebo effect. Either way, it worked.
A familiar figure waited at the entrance. Shepard didn't break pace, waving for him to join the group. "Detective Chellick, thank you for joining us. Your specialists are prepared?"
The turian's side-plates bulged slightly, angling his mandibles inward. "They are en route. If you could wait ten minutes, the last should be here."
Shepard calculated potential data loss, political responses, and the dozens of hazards fluctuating at the delay. Eventually, he gave a brief nod. "Ten minutes then; but there's a reason I arrived under stealth. Saren has spies everywhere."
Something stiffened in the turian's form. "Saren? Here?"
He gave a responding body-shrug, leaning forward a few degrees while ducking his head a few millimeters. High turian society judged meaning by differences in degrees and millimeters; here, it indicated amicable agreement between equals. "Saren has resources developed over a period of decades. I suspect he inherited some from his mentor. Right now I'm shutting down his finances, if they don't destroy records."
Chellick came to attention. "A point. I'll relay destinations instead then. Where are you headed?"
Shepard wordlessly gestured, a command immediately followed by his men. "I sent one of my squads on a high-security mission; for some reason he was picked up by C-Sec. Would you mind accompanying me?
[break]
The entire trip, Shepard quietly worried. Unlike previous efforts where he could carefully plan out lists of personnel, Alliance HQ on the Citadel had a constantly rotating roster. Done it before, no questions then, maybe a sixty percent chance of a similar result? But Intelligence is here now, and a Mindoir survivor around here somewhere; maybe facial recognition software?
Doubtful, he located the program, and tested it. Turians gave a nearly ninety percent success rate, and krogan appeared to have a ninety-nine percent identification average. Human field conditions though, despite every enhancement algorithm Shepard could add, held steady at forty-five percent. Bravo squad held only twelve members, but mis-identifying just one in front of so many eyes spelled trouble.
"Here they are, sir." The one Officer Hyle, eager to please but somewhat arrogant, showed him in to a long hallway, blank metal walls facing each other. "Cell block D-9 Alpha Five. Will you be taking them back with you?"
"Of course," Shepard raised an eyebrow at the man. "All of their belongings as well. This is a highly irregular detainment you know."
The man shrugged, a gesture simultaneously denying culpability while asserting knowledge. "They got here a few days ago, wouldn't explain their actions. Good thing you came when you did, the – never mind. They can tell you themselves. Thank you sir, have a good day."
Shepard stepped into the open door, and blinked as his visor flickered to life. Didn't I turn off the program?
One of the smeary-faced figures stepped forwards and saluted. "Sir, good to see you."
To Shepard's surprise, a name scrolled into place over the soldier, one letter at a time. "Lieutenant Jørgensen. Good to see you. Is everyone fit to fight?"
The small woman straightened. "Fit to fight sir. Just need to collect our gear and we'll be ready to roll."
Shepard let his eyes wander along the row of Bravo squad. Every member stood at attention, bringing back memories of boot camp. As his gaze traveled, more names popped into existence, hovering over their respective designation. "Where is Lieutenant Alenko?"
Jørgensen winced. "Solitary, sir. He wouldn't let go of that package, until they took it from him by force."
Fury blew through Shepard's mind in an instant, cooling just as quickly. "I see. Thank you Lieutenant. Take Bravo squad back to the Normandy, and check your pieces. We have an operation underway; use your backup armor, not what you brought in." He paused, noticing for the first time a number of bruises on multiple faces. "I take it there was a struggle?"
A light chuckle escaped the woman's stiff demeanor, swallowed back almost before it began. "When the Lieutenant was being forced away, we kind of … helped out. A little."
"A little." Shepard sighed. "Damages?"
"Three broken arms, bruises, a few twisted legs, Timmy there lost a tooth." Jørgensen rattled off. "It'll be in the report sir."
Shepard lifted his head a little, staring at the lieutenant. "Good, but I had meant them. My squads are tough, what kind of damage did you deal out?"
White teeth flashed. "We kicked the mother-loving sh- um, we fought with honor and pride, sir."
"As well you should," Shepard let a growl enter his voice. "I'll be looking forward to the report. Double time it to Bay four-two-two. We're taking the fight to Saren."
Jørgensen saluted again, a relieved bent to her posture. The group exited in columns of two as if leaving a vacation home. Shepard had to hide a smile; however one looked at it, the squads on his ship certainly held a certain confidence. Whether he'd have to punish them for it or not would have to be determined later.
As he walked out, he found the officer approaching, leading a somewhat bedraggled Kaiden Alenko. "Very good. And all of his effects are now free?"
The officer shook his head. "Lieutenant Alenko was found carrying a Class Ten biohazard container. Until it has been verified, it will remain in Quarantine."
Shepard stepped forwards, looming over the other man. "Consider that countermanded. I am authorizing its immediate release. If it is not in my hands within ten minutes, the consequences could involve small-arms fire. Am I understood?"
"Sir," the officer protested. "Under Health and Safety regulation Chapter three, paragraph –"
It felt good; too good Shepard realized. Perhaps he had been spending too much time with Garrus? "And I am authorized by the Systems Alliance Command to countermand that regulation, as well as your future postings. Now get me that container, or I will personally ensure you are posted on Outer Colony Hazard Patrol for the rest of your career."
Perhaps it was the way he hadn't shouted that made the man's eyes bulge. "Sir-yessir!"
"Good." Shepard motioned for his entourage to follow. Waiting until the officer had fled, he gave Williams a grateful nod, but said nothing. A faint smile, visible beneath her helmet's faceplate told him everything he needed to know.
Sometimes, it was good to have friends looking out for him.
Chellick, whom had stayed respectfully silent, gave him a curious look.
He obliged. "I sent a squad after a valuable payload. They were to meet me some time ago; no one forwarded their location to me; I suspect Saren's involvement."
The turian flexed his frontal cranial plate in disbelief. "You think Saren is looking to give your people trouble. He could have ordered a hit on them much more easily than a simple jail sentence."
"True," Shepard made the turn, heading for the prison block's front desk. "But this way he gets me out of the way for a little while, and I'm more of the opinion that it was some operative of his with little communication that did it. Anything to delay, vex or distract me is in Saren's best interest."
They'd just reached the desk when pounding feet resonated through the corridor. Officer Hyle clutched an opaque cylinder in both hands, two security guards running to keep up. Skidding to a stop, he held it out to Shepard. "Here it is, sir. I have to warn you, a full report will be made about the situation."
"Good." Shepard seized the canister with one hand, running a quick diagnostic. Its security had been designed with salarians in mind, redundant failsafes upon failsafes at every weak point. He wasn't terribly worried however. "I trust there have been no attempts to illegally obtain entry to my property? There is a registered C-class thermobaric warhead inside."
Garrus, standing unobtrusively to one side made a light whistling sound. "And here I thought I'd seen all the colors you humans can be. That's … almost green? Can you do that?"
"The seal is still intact, which explains why everyone here is still alive," Shepard nodded to biotic soldier. "Good to see you Alenko. Fit to fight?"
Kaiden stretched, rolling his shoulders. "A little stiff, but some coffee and a few dozen doughnuts will set me right."
Shepard gave a withering glare at Officer Hyle. "Consider treatment of a biotic to be added to my report." He switched his attention back. "Kaiden, I'm doing an operation right now. If you want doughnuts, the Normandy is in Bay four—"
"Commander Shepard, is Commander Shepard available?" a distinctly French accented voice whined from the front desk main speaker.
Giving an exasperated sigh, Shepard moved to the desk. "That's me. What is it?"
The desk sergeant flipped his omni-tool over. "Sir. Sergeant Elysee. I just received word that a civilian armed with a pistol just entered your docking bay ramp. She is unarmored, but under the circumstances we do not wish to cause … problems."
More distractions. Shepard felt weariness like he'd rarely felt before. In response, he looked at the desk sergeant.
"We were hoping that you could, ah, resolve the situation? Her records seem to be of questionable origin. An old Mindoir colony eye-dee if you'd believe it," she started to chuckle. "Someone went through much trouble to create a false identity. No one survived that –" her movement froze. "Pardon sir. I meant no offense."
The tired feeling Shepard had been fighting vanished. "What was her name?"
"Ah, Lieutenant Girard says she calls herself Talitha. Since it is your docking bay, very high classification, you were needed to be notified. But we will take care of it, do not worry."
Shepard didn't move. Her? Did she survive? All these years, never found her. Probably not the same Talitha, pretty common name back then. Like Sven is now, or Mark. And I'm babbling. Concentrate. Think Shepard, what if it is?
"Commander?" A quiet voice brought him out of his thoughts.
Shepard squared his shoulders. "Tell your men to stand down. I'll take care of it myself. Clear a route from here to Bay four-twenty-two. I'll be moving as fast as I can."
The desk sergeant's jaw dropped; even Shepard could see that. "But … the lines? There are hundreds of people, dozens of levels. We cannot—"
"Go, Shepard," a new voice, familiar but unexpected, broke in.
He spun facing Captain Anderson. The older man looked far older than he'd seemed even a month earlier. Black hair had gone to a grizzled salt-and-pepper, with more salt than pepper, strong shoulders looked stopped. Dark brown eyes – some of the few Shepard could still see – looked back at his own. "Go, son. I'll handle traffic. She needs you."
For once, Shepard found himself unable to speak. A subtle hum emanated from his armor, the Nightstalker hardware powering into attention. In a blur, he was gone.
Landing bay should be roughly thirty levels core-ward of the C-Sec headquarters. Shepard felt his mass shift as the armor decreased its interaction with standard physics. Six air passages, three stairs. Elevators have no emergency exit, stupid Protheans.
Micro-Warps formed at his fingertips, lasting just long enough to ensure a firm grasp on an overhang. Shepard used the added friction to launch himself upward, over the protective railing. The Nightstalker shifted modes, enhancing the force his feet put on the ground. Everywhere, Shepard could see heads turning, a few surprised cries. Turians across the floor were reacting faster than even the asari, a gift from their energy-sensitive biology.
Shepard pushed himself faster, triggering the suit to lower his mass once more in a leap over a group of slow-moving elcor. Got to move, can't let her get away, not again. Faster!
He found a ledge unexpectedly occupied by a Keeper. It rocketed away from an instinctive Throw, smearing across a dozen meters of dull-gray Prothean-base bulwarks. Oops. What is it, a five hundred thousand fine? Damn Council and their 'don't touch' rules.
The thought had hovered over the years, examining the insectoid minions of the Protheans. Unfortunately, Council law and a lack of resources prevented such a possibility. Defeating Saren and his Reaper took priority.
Inside of ten minutes he'd bypassed more territory than the taxi system could handle in a similar timeframe. His presence caught the sentries off guard; something he'd have to bring up with their superiors. Ignoring that for the moment, Shepard found a man that looked as if he were in charge. "Sergeant Girard, where is he?"
The man swallowed hard, reminding Shepard to power down his Nightstalker armor. Glowing blue tended to put people off balance. "Yes sir; that would be me. You are Commander Shepard of course?"
Shepard transmitted his confirmation codes, including the more obscure authority permissions.
"Ah. Good. Thank you for coming," the man glanced nervously at a pile of shipping crates halfway up the pier. Movement, stationed behind the largest container flickered in the wind.
"Wish it were under better circumstances," Shepard followed his gaze. "Is that her?"
"Oui. I have a sniper positioned, but it is not necessary I think. She is only a danger to herself." Girard's eyes flicked around the station, nervousness evident. "We have a sedative prepared, but we cannot get close to her. Every step we take makes her more nervous."
Shepard nodded, taking the needle. "Makes sense. Do you have an oral version as well?"
Comprehension dawned on the Lieutenant's face, he began patting down his pockets. "Yes; you think you will be able to calm her down enough? Don't push her too hard. If she seems liable to shoot herself, back off. Or walk away. I am willing to wait her out …."
Shepard didn't answer. Can't tell. If it's really Talitha, the Talitha, I should be able to. If not … he checked the secondary launcher on his rifle. That will have to do.
"Good luck sir."
The stretch of deck plating between the crate pile and Shepard seemed only a few dozen meters. But it felt further, lightyears or temporal marks given corporeal form. What if it's her? What then? Keep it together Shepard, there's no possible way, you checked every sales listing in the Coreward Hegemony.
Yes, but what about that slaver that got away? He found his thoughts running in circles, folding back on ancient tracks. Sure he died, but that was months later. Plenty of time to offload fresh slaves. Children slaves.
His steps slowed, approaching the crate. Time felt static; every detail visible as if acid-etched on his brain. Talitha had been less than ten, when It happened. That would make her twenty? Twenty one? Stray thoughts accidently broke through barriers. Lily was so proud of her. Why couldn't you protect just one child? She had no right to do that though – focus. Focus.
Moving at glacial speed, Shepard inched beyond the furthest edge. A young woman, dirty of face and wearing clothing that should have been destroyed years before, crouched away from him, a tiny pistol aimed squarely at his chest. The first thing that caught Shepard's attention was the sidearm, a Raikou Mark IV. Red streaks along the barrel indicated scram rail attachments, extra cooling vents just above the grip. A flashy weapon, designed to impress and little else.
The second thing was her face. Gaunt, bruised, and bearing scars, but it was her face. Green eyes, high cheekbones. Three freckles, right next to her nose … she still has that scar next to her ear. Haunted eyes peered out at him from high cheekbones, so like her sister's, terror building.
Something warned her about his presence, an animal-like instinct all too common amongst former slaves. "Sto – stop! What do you … what are you …?"
"Talitha?" Shepard stopped moving. "Is that you, Squirt?"
The gun wavered, "Who … who are you? You're one of them! She'll shoot you! Make them stop! Make them go away!"
Shepard lowered his body to one knee, keeping his hands visible, blatantly far from his weapons. "Talitha, it's me. Remember? Karl?"
Tremors shook the emaciated body. "Karl? No. No no no no. Karl left her. He said he'd protect her. Then he ran. She shouted, but he ran. Then they came – animals don't have names. The masters put their symbols on her. Hot metal all over her back. She screams when they do it."
A heavy feeling, as heavy as the Citadel settled on Shepard's shoulders. "You're not an animal, Talitha. Your parents gave you that name, a good name. Your sister loves your name. She loves you."
"Sister?" a strange light flickered in Talitha's eyes. "Where's Lily? She wants Lily."
Ah. Knew that was coming. Shepard looked up to see three familiar figures, two human one turian, come into view. Ashamed at feeling relief, he beckoned at the fully-armored female member of the group. A quick hand signal deterred the other two from approaching, safely out of hearing range. Given the rapidity of the Normandy's docking, unexpected location, and constant monitoring, he felt it unlikely that anyone had arranged for aural surveillance. Nothing his scans hadn't already detected and neutralized, to be precise. He shook off the thoughts, returning his gaze to Talitha.
"I need to give this to one of my people," Shepard said, and detached the heavy cylinder. "Her name is Ashley Williams. She needs to take this to my locker. Okay?"
The pistol darted at his chest, then pointed slightly lower, the terrified look back in her eyes. "Don't leave her again!"
"I won't," he soothed. "I will stay right here where you can see me. Is that okay?"
A half-sniffle accompanied the pistol's downward movement. Shepard took it as a positive sign, and took another backward step. "Williams."
The gunnery chief came to a stop, standing at parade rest. He couldn't read her face, but the tension in her shoulders told him everything. "Shepard."
Carefully, he held out the cylinder. "This goes in my locker. While you're there, can you pick up that souvenir I found on Eden Prime? Top shelf. Soft and fuzzy."
The shoulders froze. "Oh. All right?"
"Thank you," he said firmly. After a moment, the soldier walked away, clutching the device in one hand.
Shepard turned back to Talitha. The girl from his memories still peeked out from a woman's face. "Talitha, I'm going to come a little closer. All right?"
The woman shrank back, but didn't raise the weapon. "She … she can't get too close. Or they'll hurt her, with the Burnings. Or the Hitting. She doesn't want to remember, leave her alone!"
One foot reached a little closer to her, one step closer. "Do you want to go home, Talitha? Your sister misses you."
"Shh, shh!" Talitha clutched at her face, digging nails into the skin. "Daddy … he's melting! The masters had bright lights and hoses. Don't make her look. Don't look! Stupid. Stupid!"
The epithet he'd used so often on himself brought Shepard pause. More slowly, he took another step. "I know, Talitha. He saved me. He told me to find you. I've been looking, Talitha. Ever since you were taken, I've been looking for you."
"Liar!" Both hands fell away, holding the pistol on Shepard in rock-steady hands. "You get hit for lying. Get the buzz or the burning. Can't be there! You left her!"
Shepard clicked the visor away from his face, taking away the only shield between them. It seemed to strengthen the woman's resolve.
"Why are you alive? Why are you – why aren't you like her? Broken. Only fit to dig and carry." Anger, tinged with madness, filled her entire body. The weapon dropped to one side, pointing at the floor.
Shepard reached back, and caressed the gun of his father, drawing comfort from touching the artifact. At the same time, his omni-tool buzzed a confirmation: no bugs in the area. The sniper couldn't see his face, and long-distance audio devices were blocked by the countermeasures inherent in his loadout. "I am broken, Talitha. It broke me, too. I had to keep going, keep fighting. To find them; to find you."
For a moment, he poised on full disclosure; the cold executions he'd carried out, what he'd planned to do after succeeding. The key to that plan lay in his locker now, ready to deploy when he deemed the time right. A whole man couldn't consider what he planned to do; not think of it and remain whole. 'High-functioning sociopath' described him fairly well … but such people couldn't make long-term plans. He was not one of them. Broken, but not insane.
Finally, Shepard saw it. A deep longing in her eyes. "You … you really were looking? For her?"
He took a final step, and lowered himself to one knee. "Yes. And now I found you. Please, let me help you."
An almost dreamy smile came to her face. "The man said you wouldn't do it, you wouldn't help her."
Every sense went on alert, but he managed to keep it from his face. "I'll take you home. Will you take this? It will help you sleep."
Slowly, the gun fell to the deck plate. Talitha didn't notice his boot cover the barrel, kicking it back out of reach. Her small hand, hardened by labors Shepard didn't want to imagine, plucked the small pill from his hand. She looked up, swallowing hard. "Will – will you sing to her? Like you used to?"
In answer, Shepard sat down, putting his back to the crates. Talitha, cautiously sat on his lap, the way she'd once done many years before. "It's been a while, but I think I can. For you."
Footsteps on the dock plating clicked softly into view. It wasn't until Shepard found himself looking at the shocked stance of Williams that he realized tears were in full evidence on his face. He reached upwards and took the teddy bear from her loose grip. "Ah. Thank you Ash."
The soldier crouched a little. "So, this is Talitha? Your friend?"
Shepard felt Talitha clutch at his arm, terrified. "Yes she is. Talitha, this is Ashley Williams, one of my best soldiers. She's here to help protect you."
"Yes I am," Williams agreed. "But could you help me? I found this bear, he lost his owner, and needs a friend. Can you help him?"
Talitha's fingers closed around the teddy bear's soft form, stroking the fuzzy exterior as if it were made of nano-particulate diamond. "He … he needs me?"
"That's right," Shepard lowered his voice, keeping it a comforting rumble. "He's been alone for too long. Can you take care of him? He needs a friend."
The teddy bear was nearly crushed by her arms in a massive hug. "Okay. Sing now?"
Shepard gently tucked his arm around Talitha. She was no six-year old, but somehow, that didn't seem to matter. William's retreating footsteps barely registered. "An old one, good times. Do you remember this one?"
He took a deep breath, letting it go. "Stille nacht, heil'ge nacht."
The arms clutching so hard, relaxed, just a little. "Alles schlaft, einsam wacht."
On he sang, voice cracking from misuse. Shouting commands on the battlefield gave lung capacity, but did little for fine pitch control. But it seemed to do its job, calming the ex-slave sitting on his lap. Within three verses, Talitha fell asleep.
Keeping his movements slow, Shepard rose. Rounding the crates, he saw Williams waiting for him, Garrus standing further back, pointedly between a group of humans and himself. Nodding thanks, Shepard made a sharp turn, walking up the ramp to the Normandy, ignoring the hasty calls for attention.
"Vakarian," he kept his voice quiet, but let it carry. "No one boards the Normandy until I say so. Ashley, with me."
Carrying the girl in his arms, he knew he should be enraged. The focal point for so much pain now lay in his grasp, the relief should have been overwhelming. Anger at the slavers, plans for retribution, all of it should have rolled like a tidal wave. But nothing like that mattered for now; it could wait for another time.
For a brief moment, Shepard would enjoy having family again. At least for one night.
(1) Star Wars reference, which should exist!
AN: Merry Christmas! Tried to have this done before then, but classes and lab work has kept me busy, even in Break time. Adulting is not exactly overrated, but leaves me less time than I wished.
The Talitha reveal is something I've been building up ever since the beginning, back in Chapter 1. Perhaps I hid it too well, did anyone see it coming? PM or Review; I'd love to see what you think!
This chapter is dedicated to a friend that is (as of this publishing) in the hospital. Surgery is supposed to go well, but it's been a long row to hoe for him. Extra big shoutout to Nightstride the Beta Master; if betas (the fish) where ever faced with Nightstride (the beta), I'm sure they would swim as fast as possible in the opposite direction, in fear of the superior Beta.
Story recommendation: PSI Effect by Cap'n Chryssalid (Story ID: 10550829). Excellent story, and back alive!
Merry Christmas to you all, and Happy New Year!
