Shepard heard the door hiss shut behind him, a finality of sensation he'd only felt on battleship-grade settings. A sense of nostalgia occupied a small portion of his mind as, turning slightly, he could see the telltale quiver of massive security bolts engaging behind featureless plate. It wasn't how the surface shook, but in the vibrations shuddering through his steel-sole combat boots. The room may have resembled a medium-size conference room, but the reverberations hinted at something much, much stronger. Good memories.

Taking a better look, Shepard realized the 'conference room' bore a closer resemblance to an air-lock, an equally massive set of doors sealing the room at the other end. Scanners, embedded within microscopic points all throughout the room activated with a single whirring tone, sending their multi-spectrum fields to cover every angle. Perhaps discovering a rogue Spectre of Saren's caliber had made an impression? Normally all three of the Council conducted business on their Promenade, or some other location visible to all their constituents – less than the full quorum didn't necessitate such a gathering.

"A private meeting, in a secure location." Someone was attempting to send a message, as anticipated. He'd respond appropriately.

Waiting for the scans to continue their work, Shepard casually popped a fresh minty square into his mouth. It helped him concentrate, a taste of home. A moment later, he activated his omni-tool, setting a new play-list. Dulcet tones of an ancient melody began playing through his earpieces, a song he'd first heard a few days before The Attack. Dvork's New World Symphony, selected to make a statement for Mindoir; music that helped the mind focus, yet maintained a constant reminder of why he was there.

Tabitha still rested in the Normandy's medical center. He wouldn't forget why she was there either – not in two lifetimes. It stiffened his spine, a siren's call, tempting Shepard to don the role batarians feared on a primal level. Nar'Sheth – the ancient fear of Kar'Shan – would not work on Councilors.

Not immediately.

Finally, the scan finished. The lights faded, and he could sense the traps disengaging; ozone didn't come from nothing. Energy-based weaponry was becoming a larger portion of security these days; modifications of the Alliance Aitan hardware was gaining popularity in Council space. Shepard shook his head, straightening his back, and added a point of stalking mannerism to his stride.

The next room was larger; the entire first level of the Shepard family home could have fit inside, thrice over. No carpet, of course. Turians had never favored the concept until after meeting the asari, and salarians viewed the accoutrements as so much dust-collection. Shared space tended to reflect those tendencies, except where a distinct impression was intended. Each side of the room held flat panels, complex artwork showing momentous occasions of the past – each slowly fading into a new image, creating the effect of an open landscape.

"Is that a krogan, with an asari Councilor?" Shepard's eyepiece recorded one of the digitized paintings. He'd look at it later, after scanning the room. Despite his best efforts, many Council chambers were unmapped – but the strangest feeling of déjà vu kept falling. "That Beacon really twisted me – I wonder what the Protheans did in this room?"

An answer appeared in the forefront of his mind; a group of vague figures – Shepard tentatively labeled them as Protheans – gesturing at a massive projection in the center of the room. They faced images on the wall, which shifted to match movement on the central projector, large insectoids with forward-extending antennae, large creatures multiple times as large as a Prothean. Something about the bipedal figures bespoke fear to his mind, blending anger and terror simultaneously. Odd emotions worked through the alien sensations – a project that had gone wrong. Disaster from a last home?

A voice gave a theatrical clearing of its throat. An asari voice, one he'd grown to loathe. "This Council will finally come to order. Spectre. You realize we have been waiting for thirty minutes, do you not?"

Shepard kept his response nonverbal, touching a minute setting within one gauntlet. Pseudo-biotic presets first programmed a decade earlier activated, imitating a then-visiting krogan Warlord. The En-seven program attracted many specialists with its lucrative contracts – financed by donations from a certain Mindoir native. Synthetic biotics lagged behind the more traditional forms, but it excelled at flexibility. Organic senses couldn't be fooled like synthetic systems, but it was still possible.

"Show time."

Shepard kept his body language stiff; irritated. A sneer, barely hidden twinged at the corner of his mouth. "I am in the middle of an investigation, Councilors."

"We are aware of this," a higher-pitched timbre responded, although of a lower octave than Councilor Tevos. "Your actions must be addressed before this continues."

Shepard rotated his head, letting the eye-piece scan each Councilor. Heartrates, body temperatures, a cursory exhalation-oxygen analysis shuddered across the miniature screen. All showed average heartrates, indicating relative honesty – for politicians; that could indicate outright deception, or actual truth. Difficult.

"First of all, I would be remiss in not expressing my gratitude for rescuing my ward." Tevos sounded more apologetic, her tone soft. "When this business with Saren began, I did not realize the depths to which he would descend. Matriarch Benezia has long been respected for her diplomatic skills. Her wisdom goes back through the centuries – to realize her falling to the wiles of a young turian Spectre is quite a sobering thought. My people and I are taking thought as to the safeguards we could enact to prevent this sort of occurrence from repeating itself."

Valern raised his head, large eyes scanning the room while remaining focused on Shepard. "Rest assured: there are no issues with your status as provisional Council Spectre. Your selection, based on your past record, and of course the connections your people have established with the Council Races, has drawn our two societies together as no other action has. Your presence is necessary, in that we must communicate without fear of interception."

"Perhaps your …." Shepard had to pause before the right word crossed his mind. "Your briefing could have taken place before my current operation began? The Normandy has a functional comm system, the best encryption possible with modern technology."

"It would have been better for all parties, agreed." Sparatus, the turian Councilor shot a glare across the room at his colleagues. "It is true that battle plans seldom survive first contact. I doubt the purity of the ore you have refined, but the dross will reveal truth beyond any opinion I may hold. The actions of the Geth are especially troubling – but forewarned is forearmed, as your people say. My people phrase it differently: Good scouting makes good tactics."

The turian councilor paused, mandibles clamping shut. They relaxed a moment later. "We had planned to speak with you as soon as you'd arrived on station. C-Sec informed us of the – situation in the Alliance docking bay, and our discussion was delayed. I presume the threat was neutralized?"

Shepard's hand stretched for Truth, the ancient pistol always at the small of his back now, but restrained his movements – no one had actually threatened Tabitha. "The situation is resolved. I've had much experience with former slave rehabilitation."

"As a second point," the asari councilor injected smoothly, "The Normandy's communication systems were reported as failed not very long ago. Considering the delicacy of subjects we will be discussing, it was decided a personal interaction would cause the greatest benefit for all parties involved."

The omni-tool on Shepard's wrist chirped. He checked the readout, and felt a warm sense of satisfaction inflate his mind. Glancing upwards, he noted the salarian's heartrate bump upwards. Interesting.

"Saren's situation is becoming far too high-profile," Tevos continued. "We are doing our best to quell public concerns: you are the best the Alliance has to offer, and have the assistance of everything the Council can offer. Will you summarize the extent of your operations, for the record?"

A sensible suggestion for a change. He squared his shoulders, raising his chin at all the Councilors while the eezo nodes pulsed a soft counterpoint in his armor. Could they have anticipated his plans? Everything necessary for the advancement of his plans rested on decades of thought, information gathered by informants scattered across the galaxy. His web held far less than the STG, or even the Alliance Intelligence, but it showed far more than government analysts would expect. Corporate information-gathering services had been underestimated for centuries, but did aliens share that ignorance? Arrogance. They must expect it; he'd give them arrogance.

"As you wish." The armor shifted a touch under his modified command, the plates beginning their charge under its influence. "I am Karl Magnus Shepard, En-Seven Plus of the Alliance, recipient of the Medal of Honor three times, the Star of Terra and the Mindoir Cross. I earned my degree in xenobiology at the University of Ridkallen, with honors."

The Councilors glances were clearly visible, perhaps his estimate had been off? "My early assignments centered on piracy management in the Outer Colonies, followed by three tours in the Attican Traverse. I have been officially deployed over forty times in total. Success ratios are above ninety-five percent. If you received my file from the Alliance, you will have noticed redacted information clearly labeled; I may not speak about then; you lack sufficient clearance."

Sparatus leaned in, a faint look of amusement in his posture. "While I would like to speak more on the subject Commander, I believe my colleague meant the pursuit of Saren."

A false smile crossed Shepard's face; he could sense the irritation coming off the other Councilors. Was this why Udina enjoyed politics? The ambassador's image crossed his mind, the pudgy visage killing any cheerful feelings. "Apologies, I misunderstood."

"Of course," the turian representative sat again. "Please, continue."

Shepard took a moment to resettle his thoughts. Or at least pretend needing to settle. "On August fifteenth, oh-seven-hundred hours plus fifteen local, the Normandy received an emergency request for assistance from Eden Prime. As the Council is aware, a Prothean Beacon had been discovered on the colony; collaboration efforts between our respective governments were uncovering a fascinating quantity of information. I've only just gained clearance to what had been recorded on the Alliance side, and I assume your people have already transmitted their findings."

A white lie, if viewed a certain way. It caused the Councilors to stir with unease – a touch of chaos benefitting his position.

"Spectre Nihlus, my squad and I, were deployed three klicks south of the Beacon. The Normandy took Alpha, Bravo, Charlie and Delta squads to the worst of hotspots, and gave fire support. We discovered geth in abundance, and strange husk constructs. Corporal Jenkins lost his life attempting to rescue a civilian, but his sacrifice demonstrated the husks were former colonists, transformed by the geth."

Jenkin's death hadn't quite been that fashion, but words shaped the world. Two sons of the Jenkins family had died that day; they deserved to be remembered.

"Doctor T'Soni and Chief Williams joined us, one-point-five klicks south of the Beacon. After exchanging fire with the geth, and proceeding to the Beacon site, we discovered the body of Spectre Nihlus Kryik at a nuclear device. Later analysis found its components compliant with both a salarian radioactive signature and parts; however, nonstandard makeup is more in line with Hegemony training, leading us to believe Saren planted the device as a method for inciting – difficulties."

Out of the corner of his eye, Shepard noted Councilor Valern shudder.

"Follow-up checks have matched the hardware with equipment the Special Tasks Group reported missing, with clearance permissions matching Spectre algorithms. Additional programming appears to be Geth in origin, although Quarian contactors have gone over every line of code, and fail to recognize any of it."

He took a moment to stretch his shoulders, letting the augmented plates. "Summarized, the Beacon was sabotaged by Saren; brief contact before the self-destruct sequence downloaded a large, segmented portion of its data to myself, so far as I understand. The explosion rendered me unconscious."

"Following this, I have been on Saren's trail." Shepard was careful to note Tevos's sudden tension, dropped an attosecond later. Her reaction to the Beacon data seemed – excessive. "His resources on the Citadel lead me to Tali'Zorah, who had more proof of Saren's involvement on Eden Prime, and a slavery ring. I've tracked his money trails to Therum, where I once again encountered Doctor T'Soni, and Feros, housing significant Prothean artifacts, and where I acquired the Cipher. Various engagements between those points lead me to believe that Saren employs significant quantities of geth cooperation, the financial backing of his own investments, and Matriarch Benezia's efforts on his behalf."

"Going back," the salarian councilor's body language tightened, "Please define 'significant Prothean artifacts."

Shepard waited a heartbeat, until no objections seemed forthcoming. "Feros was a Prothean world. Their security systems involved organic defenses, data storage on the planetary surface, and what appears to be a gestalt-mind management. ExoGeni called the most visible representative Species 37, the Thorian. As it had enslaved the colonists, I attempted to negotiate a release; failing that, killed it."

"A pity," Tevos murmured, eyes glittering to the point where Shepard could make it out. Her shoulders too seemed too high, unbent by the weight of loss. "A treasure trove of information, gone."

"Lost?" Valern's attentive posture intensified. "I heard nothing of the kind. Only that the 'most visible' specimen was removed."

Silence filled the room like a miniature tidal wave. All three Councilors turned to look at Shepard with varying expressions. He responded with a krogan-worthy smile, the kind full of teeth backed by enough confidence to tether a cruiser.

"Is there anything you wish to – add – to this conversation, Spectre?" Tevos's head tilted in Shepard's direction. Her features were indistinguishable, but the tone was not.

He shrugged. "The Thorian was a plant. Apparently a Prothean experiment of some sort; they seem to have been fond of those." For a moment Shepard considered pointing out the obvious bit of Prothean technology lying between them, with Tabitha rescued, his job was done. Who cared what Prothean gear hid in the same room as the Councilors? But that could prevent his return to Mindoir, perhaps the joy would be saved for later. "There is a certain – redundancy inherent within Prothean hardware. They built backup systems atop of tertiary fallback data stores in everything they built."

A hungry look overcame Valern's strict body posture before he restrained himself. "Interesting. Would you be able to demonstrate? The report on Therum indicated a certain – facility with Prothean technology."

"He can – wait – you can manipulate Prothean technology?" Sparatus's mandibles straightened with an audible click. "I read the reports, and I am certain nothing of the sort was recorded. If such a thing had been known…."

"Read between the lines, Councilor," Tevos responded. Her own eyes were fixated on Shepard. Where the salarian Councilor's body language evocated hunger, hers seemed to evince something primal, a desire beyond mere appetite. "Therum's report included a unique access code for the Prothean barrier fields, one no other recording contains. The Feros report never actually reported a loss of intelligence, and the next paragraph subsisted primarily of this 'Cerberus' terrorist group. Admiral Kahoku was not a close friend of his by any record I have found, yet the entirety of the final two paragraphs focus on his efforts, and the lengths to which Cerberus has obtained access to classified files. Worthy information to be sure, but what is a terrorist group compared to Prothean data; information that could revolutionize technology, overthrow empires, destroy entire solar systems?"

Shepard jerked at the last part, involuntary movement switching his focus to the ancient asari. A single thought ran through his mind. "Crap."

"Have you heard of the Mu Relay? Or perhaps the Bel'en system?" Tevos asked. "The former was lost after a nova destroyed a solar system; the Relay remains intact, but disengaged from the Relay network. Records indicate full function is possible, but no one knows where it is. That Relay survived a nova, Shepard. Now the Bel'en system was the site of a Prothean research facility four centuries ago – or so our records indicate. Two decades after the facility was discovered, the lead researcher announced uncovering a prototype based on Prothean research. One week later, the entire system was destroyed in a miniaturized singularity. The Relay did not survive."

The turian councilor stared, mandibles drooping in shock. The bits of chitin-layers trembled as reality appeared to reset in front of his eyes. "You can use Prothean technology? But – but – that is impossible! The Council races have searched for millennia, and not found a way. How – but –"

"Not strictly true," Valern mused from his chair. "Wireless transmissions respond well at times, using base-six mathematical programming. Many sources agree on that point. Translations are going well, in many quarters."

Sparatus chopped his hand, and rose to pace. "But what I wish to know is how come this was not reported at face value. Why was this not explained outright? The research possible through this, solutions to problems older than civilizations – this is incredible!" His head whipped to one side, focused on Shepard. "Or did you suspect something?"

Shepard felt a sense of shock. Perhaps he'd misjudged the Councilors? No, their reasoning still remained within the parameters defining his interaction. He could use that, with a single word.

"Saren."

Tevos sank back in her chair with a soft groan. "Of course."

"I trust my crew. If any were guilty of betrayal, I would solve the problem. Personally." Shepard made sure to keep his thoughts away from the soon-to-be-if-not-already dead body in the Keeper tunnels. The limits of asari biotic techniques were vague; telepathy could still be possible for all he knew. "His networks are being rolled up right now. However, I need volus support to accomplish this as fast as possible. Every resource Saren has, I want to shut down. Communication companies, banks, businesses, investments – everything."

Valern nodded rapidly. "Done. We must stop Saren before he brings another weapon like his ship. That – that monster withstood a dreadnought's main gun fifteen hours ago. What else could he come up with or find if allowed the time?"

"Fifteen hours?" Shepard checked his eyepiece; the politician's bio-signs remained steady, "Where?"

"A turian patrol in the Terminus, Utan system." Valeran responded. "It ignored a dreadnought as if it weren't present, proceeded to the Relay, and accessed it without permissions. Attempts to lock down the Relay failed."

"Lock down a Relay?" Sparatus's figure sent a look of shocked anger. Shepard was careful to remain still; perhaps the Councilors would forget his presence entirely, and he could leave. "Unilateral control of Relays is strictly forbidden, Code twelve-sigma five, shortly after the Rachni invasion. How could you?"

Soft amphibian hands slapped on chair arms. "Well it doesn't really matter now, does it? Saren's ship overrode the overrides as easily as a хипопотам tramples a trn grmuška!" (1)

"Gentlemen, please." Tevos rose above the conflict, frowning both councilors into submission. "It is obvious what is done is done, and Saren holds a greater advantage than we feared. We will speak of appropriate actions later. At the moment, we hold a formidable asset of our own here and now. Spectre, perhaps you would accompany me to where we have an Artifact stored?"

Sparatus stood as well. "Councilor Tevos makes a good point," he paused to bow his head to the salarian representative. "I was, perhaps, swift in judgement. But in this case I could be of assistance. There might be a few Prothean devices in Research storage near the Embassy, if Commander Shepard would be so kind?"

The salarian Councilor glanced at both of his colleagues, a smirk playing around his wide lips. But he remained silent.

Shepard's eyebrow rose as the two Councilors continued speaking, ostensibly to him, but keeping their eyes on each other. "This is insane. I haven't spent half my life to wind up as some – some worthless data-pushing dictionary!"

"—as well. Doctor T'Soni is already waiting at the discovery." Teeth flashed in Tevos's face, aimed in Shepard's direction. "Knowing what information lies within could grant a far greater understanding to research."

Shepard shook his head, one tiny shake. He'd half-expected Liara to join him in the chamber as well, a bargaining chip for 'the Greater Good', a phrase the asari had picked up and immediately embraced. Societies that lived ten human generations on average loved to play the long game at risk for the short-term.

"… weapons cache, we're certain. But it requires an approach we are unfamiliar with, and experts agree one more failed opening will cause the storage device to detonate. Since moving the container might set it off, and it is within the Citadel proper, I would suggest we defer to our embassy as a service to the Council."

"A piece of meat. Useful meat, but meat nonetheless." Shepard felt his temper growing shorter – it seemed longer these days – and halted its progress with ice-could thoughts. "Let them talk. Mindoir isn't going anywhere, and they are desperate. Desperate folk betrayed secrets."

"… and he is engaged!" Tevos finished another point.

Shepard felt his anger growing once more. Reason receded behind the fury.

The turian waved aside the argument, a strange light in his eye. "Once he's married your Republics will be hauling him into the deepest stronghold they can. Deny, deny, deny – that's what you'll do. You did it for the Terminus Campaign of '63, you did it for the appointment of my third predecessor, and you'll do it again. If the Commander does not see our caches – don't deny you knew we had them – they will go unopened. I can assure you the Hierarchy will not permit their transit off Turian property, even if you hold a rare commodity in your golden prisons."

A smirk crossed the sarlarian's face. He shared a long look with Shepard, nodding ever so slightly. It partially broke through his anger, but only for a burst of clarity.

"He's benefitting from this," Shepard realized. "An unguarded, honest appraisal of Council feelings. How much is this worth?"

"Prison? Prison?" Tevos's color turned darker than ever. "A guest he would be! Every member of the Thirty would compete to gain his favor. Over ten millennia of collected knowledge would be at his disposal, financial empires that have stood since before the Hierarchy ever saw the Citadel. What would your government offer? Armies? An alliance with the humans?"

Polymer-encased talons slammed down, cracking a side-table. "We would treat him with honor. Nothing more, nothing less. The Salarian Union already holds trade agreements better than either of our people could offer, and the military prowess of the Republics is useful only in small conflicts. The Hierarchy held back the Krogan, and the krogan destroyed the Rachni. What strength do the asari have, other than their spies and dancers? Their first three centuries living in hedonistic abandon, accepting currency for mating, imbibing every illegal substance known to the galaxy—and then a long time of seeking the right mate, raising children for another century. What a strong tradition you champion."

The asari councilor clenched her own fist. Dark purple light pulsated between fingers. Shepard's armor gave a tiny whir, sensors reading a proto-singularity in the making.

Shepard's irritation vanished, he missed the asari's counter-argument. Councilor Tevos's political acumen was second to none – her experience in the intergalactic community stretched centuries in the past. Losing her temper in such an obvious fashion? Desperation drove her fear with more power than a direct-connection to a battleship-class Hawking engine.

"Councilors," the amused look had left Valern's face. His position between the two also seemed to have changed; he stood further back now, out of the range of fire, yet within eyesight. "Not in front of guests, if you please?"

The pair twitched, exchanging looks that Shepard couldn't read. Their body language relaxed, a small amount to his eyes, as they seemed to come to an unspoken agreement.

"My apologies, Councilor," Sparatus bent at the hips, performing a truly elegant obeisance. "My temper got the better of me."

"Our presence here was not a coincidence," Tevos responded, after a moment's hesitation. "We clearly must not consider ourselves beyond arguments. I have been too petty, I must admit."

Hairs along the back of Shepard's neck rose; the Councilors were exchanging looks again, communicating without words. He'd seen that before, in elite forces ranging from the Hegemony to asari. Without thinking, he rested one hand on the table, a third point of contact in case rapid movement became necessary. One small sidestep continued the unconscious thought, as he shifted weight, footsteps resonating comparable to a half-ton krogan. The action intended by instinct to serve as a warning, seemed to focus the Councilor's attention on himself instead. Control kept Shepard from further betraying his thoughts, but his heartbeat elevated, that half-touch just below combat-level rates.

Time slowed, an unusual sensation out of combat.

Shepard's hand drifted down to the central table, gauntlet making contact with its cool surface. Its metal length seemed of modest proportions, compared to most such objects on the Citadel. The station's infrastructure seemed to demand extravagant sizes, or infrastructure manufactured in so miniscule proportions as to require corrective optical measures. This seemed too – normal.

He needed a surprise. Something to distract the Council. Everything he needed to learn had been given, what more did one need? A girl had to go home. He would ensure she did.

Absentminded during the stretched-out moment, Shepard looked at the table as he always had; an implement, a tool. It existed simply to fulfil utilitarian needs. But then, he started to focus on the mental aspect, shifting his mind back to when operating the doorway on Feros, the prison world once operated by Protheans. The literal key strokes came to mind, motions inherent within the device. Anyone paying attention could see the patterns; right, left, inward spiral. The table poked back, flicking into the depths of his mind. Yes, there were advantages to what the Batarians had done to his brain, years ago.

A faint sensation emanated from – forward. Yes, forward and down. The table felt – surprised?

"Activate." Shepard pushed at the object with his mind, the descriptions Liara and Kaidan had mentioned in regard to their biotics. Thinking commands felt like describing the flavor of purple; but without the smell. "Full power. Show history. Last user data."

The table flickered uncertainly, faint images running across its surface. "More skin contact," the thought crossed Shepard's mind. "Protheans wore fingerless gloves. How did I know that?"

"Commander …?" Sparatus's flanged voice, similar to Garrus but so very different, met his ears. "What are – are those …?"

Shepard concentrated. Protheans, large heads dipping – perfect for long-range sniper targets he thought absently – looking at something below the field of vision. Curious, he shifted the viewpoint downwards. The view spun in a crazy spiral until he readjusted his focus. "Down."

Three-digigrade hands hove into view, tapping over a flat screen, strange symbols creating twin columns on matching cylinders anterior to their position. His view panned upwards to the Prothean screen, itself showing three-dimensional images. One looked like a large insect, curving carapace sloping down from a high point to nearly touching the ground, spike-laden antenna thrusting forwards. A static image, two-dimensional, of a tentacle-faced statue filled another corner, scanning devices frozen in place.

"What is …." Wonder filled Tevos's voice. "Shepard, are you – directing this?"

Panic erupted in Shepard's mind. This had not been planned. Attempting to break the connection, he shifted away from the table, but his glove stuck to the surface; tugging only made the field change view, slipping into a long series of lines. Prothean writings, spidery curves and spikes spread across the screen, preceded by miniature ovals.

Shepard forced the panic down, and scanned the rows. Though they did not look any more familiar than what he'd seen before, their meanings – trickled. One appeared to cover a weapons test, another claimed to hold some sort of poetry contest results. Still another seemed to indicate genetic information, data containing enough information in the title alone to puzzle his Xenobiology degree from years before.

He tried to pull free again, using his off hand to push against the table It touched one of the ovals at random.

The screen widened once more, this time rising into the air, projecting information above his head. Armor-encased Protheans stood before a sealed door, but the camera approached without pause, entering as the doorway opened. Inside the room lay devices Shepard couldn't identify. The sensations registered as oddities; the words Singularity Cannon felt warm in his mind as a dangerous barrel drifted past. Then he saw what looked like a throwing star, the shruiken of the human homeworld. This time the words saw-flier echoed in his consciousness; a logical name in his opinion.

Frowning, he flicked his arm sideways – realizing the motion to be instinctual after the fact. The ovals reappeared. This time Shepard deliberately selected another oval, based on the sensation proffered. "Might as well learn something, even if I'm borked for this."

Columns of data rose in the projection, spiraling in graceful curves. Preliminary browsing indicated the data to be a report on combat conditions with something called the Met-ikon, a seemingly elite society that –

Shepard pulled himself back from the brink. More information surfaced in his mind, an idea used to distract the machine-race in the Battle of Lenal – "Where is this coming from? Prothean memory algorithm?"

He took a breath. Then, for the first time, Shepard deliberately started manipulating the ancient hardware, not just experimenting. "Just like typing. Don't look at your fingers, just do it. Think about what you want, let the hands do the rest."

Swift yet sure movements called up a basic scanning analogue. Available networks appeared, some bearing names that could be translated into recognizable terms. Home-Security-Network likely meant the C-Sec offices. High-Rule-Control potentially referred to the Presidium, or the Councilor meeting hall on top. But it was the weaker signals that interested him, three of them bearing unfamiliar symbols. There were four, in fact, one slightly stronger than the other three. That had to be the omni-tools carried by himself and the three Councilors.

Shepard bundled files, sweeping entire data clusters into folders. Some might become entangled, placing poetry within files of combat instructions or a report on sewage treatment – but it was obtained all the same.

"Commander," the Councilor from Thessia grew more insistent. "What are you doing?"

Both hands moved faster, coordinating on a level Shepard felt unaccustomed. More files spawned, diving into further folders, including a special repository reserved for himself. Why give the Council everything?

"Yes it's cheating," the thought ran through his head. "Especially considering all the other data from the Thorians. But I'll be damned if the Councilors get copies of everything."

Two seconds later he finished loading what had to be yottabytes of information. Some clever manipulation, and the packets were sent, barreling through an information superhighway that made the current ExtraNet look like a mud-filled hiking trail.

Simultaneous chiming emanated from the three Councilor's wrists – his own omni-tool was carefully set to flash a color visible through his eye-piece connection. Only amateurs and Thessian vids made their stories hinge on a flashing omni-tool at the wrong moment. So long as his eye-piece remained connected, the omni-tool would keep its alerts near silent. Mostly.

Arms rose, lifting their ubiquitous devices to various faces. Shepard entertained himself for a few moments, considering what a professional assassin could accomplish. Of the three Councilors, Valern would likely be the hardest to remove, so he would be first. Tevos would be second, given her innate biotics and shielding potential. That would leave Sparatus as the third target – ironic considering his military nature. Of course he could invert the order; turian reflexes trumped asari focus, and salarians were soft-bodied.

Shepard shook his head, dismissing the turnaround. Salarians were faster than the computers used during First Contact. They moved with liquid grace and lightning decisions; they didn't fight fair, either. He respected that.

"Commander," Sparatus's omni-tool did not move a fraction from his face. "From where did you receive these … files?"

Shepard let a confused expression cover his face. Innocence, warring with puzzled honesty – no truly honest man could match it. He cast a glance at the Councilors.

The Turian representative had a dumbfounded expression on his face. The mandibles drooped in absolute shock, predatory eyes and perfectly round pupils wide. By contrast, Tevos held her data pad in a death grip, knuckles nearly white. A faint sound of creaking reached Shepard's ears; her poly-carbide frame threatening to break.

Shepard continued feigning ignorance. A moment of concentration, exemplified by furrowing his brow, proved a suitable pause point before the image's focus wobbled into an image of large insects, crawling around a screened cell. Shepard made sure to include a note of uncertainty in his voice. "Are those Rachni?"

A series of deep breaths emanated around the room, punctured by an irritated hissing sound. Sparatus showed teeth at the screen. "The Council has used this chamber for millennia. This has never been discovered before."

Tevos tore her eyes away from the recording, leaning forwards. Her hands dropped the data pad, folding on the glass support construct at her side. "This only proves our point, Commander. You have discovered more Prothean technology since the discovery of the Citadel. We will need to remove you from the Saren case, give you a position far more in keeping with your abilities."

Horror filled Shepard's mind, shielded from his face through a decade of practice.

"Agreed." Sparatus's talons tapped an odd rhythm on his omni-tool's screen. "The information locked within your mind is worth far more than stopping Saren. If possible, we should arrange for a moirasteíte sképseis (2) if my colleagues agree?"

"Of course, an excellent idea," Tevos responded without missing a beat. "My ward would be an excellent place to start, to cross-examine memory accuracy. Commander, forgive the question, but could you tell me how in-depth the memories you've shared with Liara proceed?"

Reality took an abrupt turn for Shepard. Could she be asking what he thought she asked? "Doctor T'Soni and I have submitted our findings …?"

"No, no," Tevos said with impatience. "The Meld, I am sure the two of you have gone over the Prothean link in great depth, have you not?"

One eyebrow fought loose of his legendary control, climbing upwards. "We have not performed the Meld. Not once."

An expression of shock, visible even through Shepard's condition, made itself manifest on the elder asari's face. "How – what – but you two were -?" her head tremored, grounding itself. "I will contact the Thirty, and arrange a –"

"As one of my associates would say," Valern's dry voice cut through the babble. "That could be – problematic."

Silence rejoined the room; Shepard welcomed its presence, although it felt miffed. He would be too, what by entering and leaving the same place so many times in such a short time span.

"By the goddess," the asari councilor's blue visage tightened. "You are right, Elgin. Forgive me Commander, your oaths to the Alliance …."

Shepard felt relief, directly proportional to the momentary terror earlier.

"We will discuss this with your superiors." Sparatus added, sending Shepard's emotions back into his boots. "The Alliance and Council would both profit greatly from your expertise in this matter. Considering the potential benefits, I am certain a mutually beneficial agreement can be arranged. Where is Ambassador Udina? He should be here for this?"

The sense of anger welled up inside once more. Carefully controlled fire that granted speed to his wits. There was a single chance now – and he would seize it with both hands. Teeth too, if necessary. "The Ambassador no longer speaks for me. But if you will excuse me, it seems I must return to the Normandy and make preparations."

He noticed Valern cast a quick glance at himself, then at both Councilors, but say nothing. Given the intellect the gangly salarian had displayed in private, Shepard took it to mean there would be further communication. Possibly in response to the donation of that rather expensive forge? He'd finally traced the coat of arms to a trading company associated with Mindoir exports in salarian Valerniculatum bio-plastics – as good as a calling card.

The turian Councilor gave a puzzled look in return, but waved a dismissive hand. "Of course, Commander. Tevos, Valern, if you do not mind, there is much to discuss."

Shepard waited until he'd exited the chamber, back once more into the airlock structure, before activating his comm system. "Shepard to Normandy. Status is green. I want everyone back on board in twenty minutes or less."

"Roger that Commander," Navigator Pressley's voice responded. "Doctor T'Soni is still away, shall I send her the recall as well?"

The question twisted its way through Shepard's mind. Liara's presence would accelerate Prothean translations; she possessed a keen mind he could appreciate, even if Tevos's reasons were unacceptable. He was too close to his goals for that to happen.

"Send her the recall, with the Spectre signature. If she requests clarification, tell her I found more data."

"Roger that. Normandy over and out."

Shepard triggered the airlock, brushing a shoulder against one opening side as he pushed through. He met Anderson's gaze, the older man in the process of straightening up. He wasn't ready to trust the man again – not yet – but he could serve a purpose still. "Captain. I am returning to the Normandy. Could you take care of the … shipments?"

His face became grim. "Aye, Commander. What will you be doing?"

A faint motion triggered Shepard's sense of paranoia. The asari seductress still remained? He'd have to make a note of that; good persistence, terrible approach. But her presence stultified any free conversation. The casual stretch of one hand, hooking around his belt gave a cue to the other infiltration specialist to pay attention. "I'm finishing what others started, fifteen years ago."

Anderson's eyes closed. Shepard didn't care. He had a job to do.


Shepard ignored the two asari attempting to catch up with him. This took considerable doing, involving the rapid descent over a Citadel safety wall, an abrupt hijacking of a taxi – which took flashing his Spectre credentials to appease the elcor passenger – and arranging an impromptu haranguing by the local hanar evangelizer. That had been the tricky part, convincing the hanar to entangle the two in its tentacles. But the task had been accomplished in record time.

The last portion hadn't been strictly necessary. But having two asari tangled in tentacles before the entire Presidium gave a message he hoped would be shared.

Shepard arrived at the dock, breathing hard, but glad to hear the deep rumble of the Normandy's navigation jets idle. The frantic motions of men in hazard-gear did his heart well; their movement near the aft access hatch indicated Pressley had taken his orders to heart. Counting under his breath, he started the decontamination cycle. Right on cue, the static burst hit his earpiece, subsiding as the clamps section passed by his feet.

An unfamiliar form met him as the Normandy' airlock cycled open. Alliance dress blues, including the hat, poised at attention. "Commander Shepard. I must speak with you."

"Not now. Busy. Go away." Shepard took in the rank depicted on the man's chest. "I am in the middle of an operation, Admiral. A later time, if possible, would be better."

Before anyone else could move, Ashley stepped forwards, from deeper inside the ship. Her head twitched once, taking in Shepard's anxious form before returning to the other figure. "Admiral Mikhailovich, sir. Commander, the Normandy was originally slated to join his Reconnaissance Fleet; the shift changed things last minute."

The older man studied the woman closely, and then nodded in approval. "Chief Williams. You do your family proud."

"Thank you sir." Williams figure straightened, but he could tell it was for show. She was worried too.

Shepard breathed a silent thanks. Using titles alone created a formal atmosphere; useful in the main, but every scrap of data helped. "My apologies, Admiral. But I have an operation critical to Alliance security ongoing."

Mikhailovich tilted his head to one side. "So critical that you stopped, just for a single former slave?"

"I assure you," his back stiffened, "My ability to perform tasks is not suffering."

A white blur, all Shepard could make out of the Admiral's face, suggested a circling aquatic predator. "You have my every confidence, Commander. As my full confirmation of your … status … should say, your past record has been without question. However, you have been unable to accept current assignments, due no doubt to the tasks the Council and Alliance. With the assistance of some contacts I happen to have, I am sure your recovered friend will regain good health in far less time."

Shepard felt the underlying threat. "Thank you, Admiral, but I have a goodly amount of experience in assisting recovering slaves, as my past record shows."

The admiral sighed. "Commander, the Normandy is a warship. I opposed its construction from the beginning, but I fully realize its potential. You cannot justify using it as a transport for personal use. It would not be an intelligent use of resources."

"Intelligence can be overrated." Bystanders, Ashley included, took a step back; Shepard fought to rein in his thunderous expression. It was a losing battle. "I am confident in my ability to manage the situation."

The admiral's stance closed. "I am sure you are. You should trust your superiors more, you know."

Shepard let his own teeth show themselves. "As much as their guiding principles, I agree."

Mikhailovich inhaled deeply, back going straight. After a moment's hesitation, he blew the breath out. "For what it's worth, good luck."

Shepard relaxed. "Same."

He watched the admiral's shoulders shift, the result of a look around the command center. The broad shoulders rose and fell. "I don't approve of so many aliens on an Alliance ship. But you know your business. I can't stop you. Or the consequences."

Shepard stepped aside, letting Mikhailovich pass. The older man left without turning back.

"Commander," Ashley stepped closer. "What – was that?"

Around them the ship resumed normal activities for departure. Shepard could hear the commands cycling through the ships interface, checks passing through as if nothing had happened.

"A warning. Al-Int and I have never really seen eye-to-eye. He was sent to bring me back into the fold."

Her dark hair swayed in a nod. "So that was him telling you to get back in line? With Intelligence? Grandpa always had a bad feeling about those guys. Dad wouldn't say why."

"No," Shepard turned towards the medical portion of the ship. "Mikhailovich is an arrogant fool. But his heart is in the right place; he was wishing me luck."

Leaving her behind, he keyed the intercom. "Joker. As soon as Doctor T'Soni is aboard, get us out of here. Set course for Mindoir. Take your time."


(1) Ancient salarian phrase, indicating a large mammal ignoring insignificant plants in its efforts to proceed.

(2) Mind Share – An asari medical technique used in times of crisis or high-profile investigations.


A/N: Another chapter! I'm going fairly AU now, which took more thought, ironically. In addition, working on my thesis project: graduation is set for next Spring, if all goes well. Lots of field work, papers to write, et al. I'm also teaching ... fun, but it takes up yet more time. Lately all I've had time to write are one-shots and crawling progress on the Mass Effect tale. Speaking of which, this story is getting closer to the end. I'm approximating this is the 75% point. There are so many rabbit trails to follow, the loyalty missions, backstory, etc. Shoot, I could write a full chapter just travelling from orbit to planetside on any mission. So much potential!

Sadly, I have no recommendation this time; almost no time to read, which is sad. Hope you all enjoy!

Excelsior