Shepard's omni-tool flared a brilliant yet invisible color, registering on the infrared range. His eyepiece caught the non-standard change; most of the programmed indicators would have a direct route to the eyepiece, a small text notification at the least. Only the most sensitive of information maintained an existence without an eminently hackable wireless presence.

He rose to his feet, nodding a farewell to Wrex. The large alien glanced at his own omni-tool, and gave a slow return blink.

Sometimes he really did appreciate the krogan mindset.

Shepard strolled along the ship's internal halls, making sure to recognize the squad leaders by name if encountered. Pressley may have been taking the more active role of ship management, and the Ashley-Kaiden tag team had done a fantastic job looking after the marine contingent, but it was still his responsibility to ensure their well-being. As Commander, his rank went back to when water navies still ruled the known world; Captain ranks were reserved for larger ships. But it was the smaller vessels that got the job done.

"Hey Commander," a familiar voice called out.

Shepard turned, and saw the unusual sight of Joker away from the cockpit. "Joker. Having lunch?"

The bearded man cracked a smile, albeit one tinged with hidden pain. "Ah, nah. Just taking my constitutional. Doc's orders."

"Ah." Shepard felt a burst of empathy for the crippled pilot. "It's Tuesday, isn't it?"

The grin vanished for a moment, then replaced itself with a more enthusiastic variant. "Exactly. I was all set for the ritual dismemberments, but then I looked at my calendar …."

"Of course. That's on Thursdays. Tuesday is torture through rote activity. Common mistake." Shepard felt a smile tug at the side of his mouth. It felt good to be trading jests once more. When was the last time he'd felt secure enough to do that? Years? Months?

"Ritual dis-mem-ber-ments?" a filtered voice cut in. Tali's smoked purple faceplate appeared in his field of vision, twin blue beacons peering out from its depths like a pair of curious stars. "Did that translate right?"

The omni-tool buzzed against Shepard's wrist, a different signal related to the first. He took a step away, visage as expressionless as the hull plating. "Of course. Tali, could I trouble you to ensure Flight Lieutenant Moreau reaches his destination safely? His funny bone is not as intact as it should be, might be sprained. The rest of his regulated self-torture might be exacerbating the damage."

"What? Joker, are you hurt? What are you doing here?"

Taking advantage of the sudden flurry of anxious quarian, Shepard ghosted back to the stairs. His combat boots made the same noise as always, but appeared to agree with the need for stealth, making the same noise seem much further away than it was. He raised one hand to an ear; force of long habit. "Vakarian, Shepard here. Please meet me at the elevator, second level as soon as possible."

A pause, followed by a faint click was his reward. Then the turian's voice responded. "I'm already here, headed to the mess. Is it important?"

Shepard snorted. "Yes."

Thirty seconds later he found the turian standing off to one side of the elevator entrance. Shepard paused, verifying the readings on his omni-tool, then continued. "Good. Come with me."

Garrus Vakarian followed, naturally taking the right-hand position, just a pace behind. Durable combat boots, issued by a civilization dedicated to improving survivability on every level. Tridactyl toes stuck the ground in an odd cadence, contrasting with Shepard's own ferro-ceramic footgear. "What's this all about, Shepard?"

"Operational security. You're Citadel influence, I'm Alliance."

One mandible flipped, a sign of deep thought. "Understood. Good cop, Bad cop?"

The elevator arrived, but Shepard keyed its movement into stationary position. "Of a sort. If I'm right, I'll be able to pull off something I've been planning for over a decade. What's the Council's position on slavers?"

A brief clench spasmed across one of the turian's hands. Despite that, he followed Shepard, ably climbing into the access hatch. "Officially, slavery is illegal in Council space. The Hegemony left the Council over that, so there is no legal means we can do anything about that. Illium practices 'Indentured services'; just barely legal, but they have too much power for the Council to put boots on the ground. Every once in a while the Hegemony sends a raiding fleet into Council territory, hits a colony. We retaliate, but: Just scanning debris accomplishes nothing. Old Turian saying."

Shepard opened another hatch, sliding out into the same level on which the Captain's quarters were ensconced. Its volume remained less than a common apartment, but the mere fact of walls and a door made it eminently superior to the crew tubes below. "Interesting. Would you be open to a … punitive strike against batarian slavers?"

A familiar expression played around the turian's oral cavity. It almost brought a smile to Shepard's face, recognizing something so human in an alien.

"It …" Garrus hesitated. "It would depend. Repercussions, motivation, total extent of punishment?"

"None, official authorization mixed with personal desire, and only the guilty as far as science can make it," Shepard responded. He paused to look the turian in the eye. "Make no mistake, it is extreme, but the Hegemony refuses to cease and desist. If my approach fails, it is very likely the Alliance will go to war with the Hegemony."

Mandibles twitched again. "Your route or no route, eh?"

Shepard sighed. It seemed every species had a variation on the phrase. "No highway option."

He reached out to key the door, then looked down to find a turian arm blocking his path. Slowly he looked back up.

"Just to clarify," Garrus's flanged voice dropped to a quiet, deadly level. It was in cases like these that Shepard could well-believe the turian reputation for lethal capabilities, in case he ever forgot the sniper's death-dealing skills on the battlefield. "Your government sanctioned this, there will be no issues from your Intelligence or political command?"

Shepard inhaled once, air hissing through his nostrils. "You're cynical enough to know better than that. I have full authorization. There will be resistance, there always is in human politics, but only if they find out. This is covert, a Black Ops project SAIS came up with before dropping it."

The arm dropped, blending into a turian shrug. "Really? If you'd promised no problems, then I'd have had a problem." He stopped, rolling his neck in a fashion that made Shepard twinge. "More story later?"

"Aye," Shepard stepped up to the door. "You're good cop?"

"Hah," Garrus chuffed. "Been a while since I've done that. Usually I'm cast as the bad cop; going soft on me Shepard?"

"Please," Shepard laid hold of the keypad and hit the sequence.

The door slid open, its usual hydraulic sound permeating the entire room. He'd once looked into copying the noise; almost every species in the galaxy recognized the sound and reacted in a similar fashion.

Inside, Shepard took a swift look around, and came to a halt. Almost everything lay in shambles. Pads, cracked screens displaying partial data streams, seemed huddled for comfort in a pile next to his desk. His weapons, once attached to the wall through coded security measures, were twisted out of place, over half flung across the room.

"What happened?" Garrus eased into the room, bypassing a normal being's state of shock.

Shepard snorted. "No cry of dismay?"

"Professional hazard. Subject on the floor, not moving."

Twisting, Shepard noticed a pair of feet protruding from the side of his bunk, leading to a pair of legs extending from an emptied locker. As with most space-bound craft, room was at a premium. Sleeping capsules occupied almost an entire deck of the Normandy, where the crew slept in turns. Shepard himself had used them until the unexpected semi-promotion. Here, the luxury of a bed exemplified a commanding officer's status – yet maintained the lack of wasted space through lockers underneath the synthetic-fiber mattress.

"Your opinion, Detective?"

Garrus flipped open his omni-tool, taking quick scans. Dark pupils likewise scanned the room itself, checking, evaluating. "His bio-signatures are everywhere. Cut himself on a blade sometime recently, no fingerprints. A few hairs, looks like … is this Lieutenant Hudson?" An orange light angled itself across the prone body. "I have a decent forensics program on here. Maybe it can – wait a moment. He's alive; stable life signs, but elevated. Going higher, much higher. Heart rate is accelerating. Shepard, he's going into cardiac arrest!"

A breath later, Shepard pulled out his own omni-tool, fingers flying. "The fool. Override: Medical Emergency, myocardium infarction check. Authorization: Shepard one-five-approval Sigma."

The feet jerked, before an enraged sounding squeal of electronics emitted from two separate corners of the room.

"Backup jammers," Shepard answered Garrus's silent question. "He'll be fine. Drag him out, see what he's got himself into."

The turian waited a moment, then obeyed. Alliance blue slacks gave way to a rumpled shirt, standard issue for the officers aboard a navy vessel. The blue jacket however, was missing. His arms dragged against the ground, limp. The strangest part Shepard could see, even used to the effect as he was, rested in the wide-open eyes, staring at him as the body was dragged free. The pupils were side, indicating a strong response, not that Shepard could recognize its expression.

'Lieutenant ranking.' He didn't really need to go through the process, but habit made its presence known. 'Medium height. In my room without permission. Only one man fits that description.'

"Detective," he caught sight of the downed Lieutenant's hand as it pulled free. "For the record, what do you see the subject's hand holding?"

Garrus let go of the man's leg, rising to his full height. "Sir, I see a container that resembles the object brought aboard by Mister Alenko less than two weeks ago."

Shepard nodded, satisfied. "Correct, Detective. Now, if this is the same object, there were certain safety protocols in place that could render a thief catatonic. As this Lieutenant is still conscious," he noted the open eyes swivel in his direction, "It suggests either a high level of resistance to the process, or an extensive level of preparation. But, where are my manners? Let's put the subject – Lieutenant Hudson if I'm correct – on a chair."

Falling into role seemed to be a natural talent of the turian. He spent extra time fussing ensuring the unmoving man rested in a more comfortable position, if not true ease. "Commander, should we call Doctor Chakwas? I am uncertain of Alliance protocol, but it is unethical to just leave him there."

Shepard narrowed his eyes, pretending to deliberate. "A point, Detective. One moment, please."

His own omni-tool sparked to life, running a program from long ago. Its resulting chirp saw Lieutenant Hudson twitch as his entire body hummed. The vibration stopped fast enough to make one wonder if it had actually happened.

"Gah!" the former body jumped to life. "Commander! Thank you!"

A dark growl threatened his throat's integrity. "Of course. Your fate is mine, little spy."

"Debatable," Garrus interjected. "But we may discuss that later. Lieutenant … Hudson, isn't it? For the records of course.

Shepard held himself back, feeling the rage seethe. Vengeance planned for over a decade could have been at risk, were his paranoia any less. 'This … minion.' There existed no other term applicable to a servant for others, running to do their bidding no matter the task, incapable of independent thought. 'This minion would steal that from me? No, there will be a reckoning.'

Of course, there had been any number of plans set beforehand. How and who remained flexible, but its end point remained static.

"… with that said, you have a lot to explain."

He took that as his cue, rising to his own full height. While not as tall as some, his mass equalized a great many differences. Metal creaked under his hands; mentally cursing, Shepard dropped the old glaive he'd been carrying, letting it clatter on the floor. "Who do you work for? System's Intelligence? Cerberus?" His voice dropped into the angry snarl fighting to leave his chest. "You made it this far. That takes a lot of skill. Or money. How long have you been bought?"

"Now Shepard, we need to do this by the book," Garrus's vocal pattern remained calm. "But you know Lieutenant, he has a point. This doesn't look good. Breaking and entering? Theft from a crewmember? Theft from a superior officer?" Upraised eye-ridges betrayed the sense of shock; Shepard couldn't tell if it were real or feigned.

Caswell snorted. "You don't have authority here Council representative or not. The Council may have a stake in this ship, but the crew is all Alliance."

"That, makes you my problem." Shepard felt his disguise beginning to activate. His ocular implants gave a humming sensation felt, rather than heard, turning blue eyes into glowing red orbs, tactics for terrifying Batarians. "One I am going to love solving."

Garrus was quick to insert himself once more. "I know you can't trust me. Spirits, after Shanxi I'd hesitate to trust the Council too. But according to the Colleen Amendment, trading partners with the Council are obligated to extradition treaties. Alliance or Alliance Signatories can be claimed by the Council. Moreover, the investment by the Salarian Union into the construction of this vessel included a contractual responsibility for crew issues. As a representative of the Council, it is well within my purview to, as you say, 'have authority.'"

"Sir, am I being detained?" Hudson turned back to Shepard.

Teeth gleamed in a way no human's jaws should have been capable. "Under charges of treason."

A massive twitch shook through Hudson's frame. "What?"

"That," Shepard's finger stabbed at the half-cylinder lying by the Lieutenant's feet. "Is my personal property. It is equipment being donated for a project authorized by levels so high up your handlers can't count it with a computer's help. Official. Alliance. Project."

Garrus attempted an interruption, but Shepard overrode it with a chop of one hand. "Moreso, it was found in your hand, applied its security measures, which means you tried opening it. Did your superiors tell you how valuable that many nanites are?"

The Lieutenant recovered some of his composure, but remained silent.

Shepard switched his attention to his counterpart. "How about you, Detective? Three kilograms of specially modified nanotechnology?"

Garrus hesitated. "I believe the current exchange rate for baseline Keshian nanites is approximately eight thousand credits per gram."

"Correct," Shepard extended an arm, touching the cylinder on its side. "Mindoir nanites are of a much higher quality. Ten thousand credits per gram. That's ten million credits per kilogram, which makes this," he nudged the container once more. "Thirty million at least."

A soft whistle broke from Garrus's mandibles. "Well then, that makes it a bit more serious, unfortunately."

"A bit," Shepard agreed. "These are specialized, yes? Exponential increase. Medical grade nanites are ten times as expensive. Unique medical grade? Double that. Want to make changes on a genetic level? Ten times that again. Now what kind of product do you think are in here?"

Two sets of eyes changed focus to the young human helpless on the chair. To his credit, the man remained defiant.

"All of the above," Shepard let himself exhibit a broad grin. "Plus some. These started development back just after the Hegemony attacked human colonies. It was only about seven years ago that the final design was completed, and enough produced two years ago."

Garrus gave a heartfelt sigh. "It's serious all right. But let's talk about what can be done now. Shepard, I know you aren't exactly the best person to ask right now, but under the circumstances there is not much for an alternative. I know the rules for a Hierarchy vessel. What is the lightest sentence possible on an Alliance vessel?"

Drawing himself back, Shepard forced his mind into the orderly realm it needed to operate. "If convicted, the usual penalty is Capital Punishment. Extenuating circumstances might reduce to lifetime imprisonment, but that has only been successful on three colonies in the past two decades, to my knowledge."

"Ah. And if not?"

Shepard delivered a flat stare. "He is released back into service, given compensation and an apology. Of course, that will not be happening here."

"Every man must have his day in court, isn't that a human saying, Shepard?"

That made him pause. A brief moment of introspection ran through his mind, then he shook his head. "Humans place military and civilian judgement in two separate courts. The level of secrecy for these nanites is beyond military courts – especially as we are chasing Saren."

"Yeah," Hudson sneered. "You've got time for some ex-slave, but none for a man that's served twelve years?"

Shepard's fist pistoned into Hudson's jaw, knocking him over onto the floor out cold.

"Shepard!" Garrus was on his feet.

A slow grin stretched across Shepard's face. "That felt good."

Alien eyes rolled. "I'm sure it did. But does this mean we can stop the charade? The airlock looks like a good place for storage. Would that be good?"

"Well," Shepard considered. "You haul him off the ship once we get to Noveria. Make sure he knows he's unwelcome. Why?"

The turian clicked his teeth. "An ol' Shameful Shove, eh? He was a Normandy crewman. He betrayed the ship. Us. Older turians would've called it bare face, it means no loyalty – maybe he holds true to whoever wanted him to spy, but on a turian ship the ultimate loyalty should be first to the Hierarchy, then to its commander." His crest shivered, eyes directed at the nanotechnology container. "But what about the top secret … things? Do you need him, ah, silenced?"

Shepard lifted one shoulder. "Everyone knows that needs to. He'll serve as the catalyst. End of story for a good many slavers."

"Ah?" The turian made an enquiring noise, while lifting the comatose human.

"I've been sending out nanites over the past ten years. Very advanced stuff, programming beyond anything back in the Systems Alliance. Quarians had to help out with that part, traded immune-boosting nanotech for it. Alliance dextro worlds are considered a choice assignment in the Flotilla, and being able to take off suits for a few hours a week is almost a, what did they call it? Religious experience, I think it translates."

With a low grunt, Garrus heaved the body over one shoulder. "Immunity technology is one of the top three things quarians trade for. Does Tali know where the Flotilla gets it? Is that why she's on the Normandy?"

"Not who provides the tech," Shepard said. "It's … better to keep it quiet. One or two admirals know, but they're sworn to secrecy."

One alien shoulder lifted, imitation of human customs rendered into an odd sight. "I will respect your wishes. Last question?"

"Not right now," Shepard pushed the heavy container back into its hiding place. Locks whirred shut, two shifting slow, grinding noises emanating from their interiors. "Noveria is coming. We should get ready."


Horse Head Nebula

Pax System, Planet Noveria

Shepard stood in the cockpit, watching the icy planet loom. In the early days of human colonization, a habitable world was a gem, beautiful and rare. Earth itself, the origin of the species, was held as an ideal. Warm temperatures, animal life intrinsic to complex chain systems. To compare, the Human Home System held a G class star, and planets ranging from the dwarf asteroids to gas giants.

Pax, however, held a A0 class star, a giant among stellar bodies. Its captive audience started with a hydrogen-helium gas giant, its precious resources obtained solely by the efforts of remote-pilot drones. Hephaestus-class stations based just a hair on the good side of safety served as base stations, housing the drone-pilots, aiding the one habitable world's fuel needs. Shepard himself approved the model, a type proven extremely useful during-and-after Mindoir's rebuilding phase.

He shifted his gaze outward. Four worlds in total circled the massive star, two of which showed signs of interplanetary collision. No gas giant willingly chose to be so close to a star, nor could it remain a gas giant if it did. Shepard frowned at the thought. 'Reapers? Or accident? Give them enough time, Lord only knows what technologies monsters can develop. Protheans had only one short cycle, and their technology outstretches Council hardware.'

Prothean data from Feros, he recalled, had been delivered to a few key research sites. As of yet those sites were breaking into alien data systems using base twelve mathematics – difficult in the best of conditions. Still, they promised progress within weeks.

Shaking himself, Shepard returned to observing the world outside the window. Noveria was a cold garden world. Its sibling-planets were utterly uninhabitable without extreme measures; a man stranded without life support on Noveria's surface could survive without breathing equipment indefinitely, but would need help with the planets average surface temperature several degrees below freezing.

Of such things, resorts could be made.

"Hey Commander?" Joker's chair swiveled, servos whirring. "You ever been here before? Lot of ski slopes down there. Looks like a few biotiball teams too, how did a colony in the Mid-region get fifteen Major League Teams?"

Shepard glanced at the planet, noting entire mountain ranges covered in ice and snow. Clouds were frequent, and full of moisture coalesced from the volcanic regions. A world of fire and ice in more ways than one. "Company picnic, a few years back. A couple assignments, good times."

"Huh," the pilot made a tiny adjustment. Shepard wasn't sure if it actually did anything. "Kill anyone important?"

"Not that anyone can prove."

Joker hesitated, blur of a face twisting back. "Yeah, I deserved that one. Oh, here we go, Control finally answered."

Multiple panels illuminated themselves, flashing different colors.

"SSV Normandy, we have no scheduled flight plan for your arrival." The voice was female, a tradition that went back to the early eras of electronic communication. "Be advised, your ship design is unknown to our databases. Proceed to Station Security Theta-Gamma where your credentials will be examined."

Joker sniffed, lifting one hand from the panel. "Friendly bunch. Think I'll take my next leave here." His hand pressed down once more. "Negative Control, we have official Alliance En-Seven business at Port Hanshen, priority berth required. Transmitting clearance now."

A moment passed before the voice returned, less friendly than before. "Receiving transmission, verifying. I am obligated to warn you that false-invocation of Alliance authority is subject to vessel forfeiture and up to, but not limited to, lifetime imprisonment. Before entering your request, are there any changes you would like to make?"

Shepard stepped forward, bringing his hand down to cover the pilot's. In a moment, he ran his voice down all the way to displeased sergeant range. "Control, this is Commander Karl Shepard, Service number five-nine-two-three, Ay-Cee twenty-eight, twenty-six. If you do not grant immediate landing permission to Port Hanshen, I will take action per Interplanetary Combatives Initiative Protocol Five-Zero-One, subsection six-six. That is before my corporate interests begin expressing their displeasure. Acknowledge receipt of transmission."

This time the communication bank remained silent.

Joker ensured the lock-switch was engaged before looking up. "Y'know, they technically aren't a part of either the Alliance or Council. Can we do that?"

"If they want to remain in business with the Alliance they will," Shepard delivered a glare at the innocent planet.

"Okay, rephrase." Joker paused. "Can you do that?"

The speaker hissed to life. "Commander Shepard, your identification has been acknowledged. Please come about to heading one-one-three mark five-two, and proceed to Docking Bay Seven. Thank you for your cooperation, and have a pleasant stay."

For a long moment Joker stared at the speaker. Then he turned wide, almost worshipful eyes on Shepard. "Teach me, oh Great One!"

[break]

Port Hanshen looked something like an inverted bowl, if viewed from above. Investments revolving around thermal-retentive silicates had yielded treasure troves of sturdy building materials, perfect for creating a safe, unmatched view. As far as Shepard knew, the formula had been declared a Colony Secret, and the manufacturing rights were generating a bidding war including half the galaxy's private sector.

A single individual waited outside, her form visible on the Normandy's airlock screen. Shepard gave her his full attention despite casting his usual quick look around the hanger. Ship-based sensors were far more powerful than what his eyepiece could put out, but habits were habits. Breaking safety now could mean not needing it later. Or ever.

He came to a stop before the elegantly dressed woman. "Commander Shepard, En-Seven Plus. Provisional Spectre…."

"… and a stakeholder in Noveria corporate society," the woman finished for him. "Gianna Parasini, Liaison for Mindoir Exports and Noveria Collective Interests. I just received word of your arrival ten minutes ago. What do you need?"

Behind, Shepard could hear a disappointed krogan grumble. He let a corner of his mouth rise a fraction. "Just like that? No red tape, no demands for ceremony?"

The woman's head tilted, an action Shepard recognized as accompanying raised eyebrows. "Commander, Mindoir holds a great deal of influence here. Add the Ferosian Prothean data that the Board knows you have, and they are very eager to avoid making enemies. I have rarely seen them so exceptionally eager to make friends. Officially, I am here to ensure the well-being of you and your crew."

"Officially," Shepard parsed the term. "And unofficially?"

Parasini's face moved. He couldn't read the features, but by virtue of her body language and the reactions of his companions, it felt a safe assumption that she was smiling.


Gray walls made every room appear similar, lending a form of interminable eternity to undecorated hallways. Noveria's economy thrived, but was dependent on the willing assistance of agrarian worlds. Greenhouses provided over seventy percent of colonial needs, but a rising population and a building program headed by an elcor firm meant a slower growth than desired.

Hurrying away from the Commander's hanger did not feel like retreat. On the contrary, speaking with the man had given her a feeling of enthusiasm. Her duties had consisted mainly of monitoring personnel and projects, but few of her reports resulted in action.

Now that Shepard was here? The man was nigh infamous for causing disruption wherever he went. Fortunately, her resume was up-to-date.

Her high-heel shoes clicked against the synthetic marble floor. Even this deep in the facility, the bone-chilling cold of Noveria made its presence known. On warm days the windows outside never frosted over, but when the winter blizzards came through, even the Board's offices adjusted the thermostat upwards.

At long last she reached her office, the one secure position on Noveria. Hourly sweeps prevented surveillance electronics from their insidious work, and she performed daily physical checks as well, both before and after the professional Security teams went through. One week she'd discovered a surveillance bug under her chair, and tracked it to Security itself – a fat bonus in her paycheck for that particular catch. It was a unique situation, pretending to be an innocent investigator, using VI voice replicators to fool the rank-and-file surveillance. But this was a different situation altogether.

"Computer, activate security." Parasini let the automated processes continue their work, while she performed a parallel service. Static curtains slid across all four wals, blocking out the pictures and viewscreens. An ionic shield came into place over the air-intake, complementing the baffle already in place. Her room would smell of ozone for a day after, but this was necessary.

"Report."

The computer buzzed. 'Zero new surveillance devices present. Two anomalies present, quarantined for verification. One output signal detected.'

Parasini disconnected her computer from the building's network, powering down its wireless hardware. Modern technology made it virtually impossible but aftermarket refits, and a minor in computer engineering, were up to the task.

Conducting one more sweep, she sat down on her chair, and brought up the file Shepard had sent during their brief meeting. It was short. Terse, in the fashion for which her superior was known. Her true superior, not the office drone buzzing around his self-set boundaries, pontificating about the falling quality in Salarian tap-caf shipments.

She read it. The information was … surprising. Perhaps this was some form of jape? Those of Mindoir were known for a dry sense of humor, but to pull a stunt involving resources across the entire galaxy –

She read it again.

No change. She could detect no jest. It included the code words, nullifying previous contracts. If there was one thing Parasini was good at, it was undercover work. Memorizing obscure terms, remembering phrases after years of disuse, inserting herself within social standings without perturbing the elite? Simple. All that she'd needed was a start in higher academia, and a scholarship from Mindoir's most famous business had taken care of that.

"Vee-eye, make a note," she waited for the orange glow to blink on. "Schedule a meeting with Commander Shepard this afternoon, three, no. Four pee-em."

The small unit buzzed acknowledgement. "Next. Where are Melina Chavez and Casper Summers?"

A link requested permission to connect the wrist-device to her main desktop unit. It was the single greatest difference between Alliance and Council technology; whereas the Council seemed content to reduce all their computing needs into wrist-bound processors, humanity preferred to diversify into a base unit, and mobile units. She granted it permission, letting the smaller wrist-unit scroll through her files.

'CEO Melina Chavez is scheduled for extra-planetary travel in four hours,' the unit finally responded. 'Mister Summers is in a meeting with investors from the Talos Republics Colony.'

"Huh," she checked her timepiece. "Just enough time. Computer: please reserve Conference Room 12-See and 31-Ey."

The two rooms were on opposite sides of her base building. Not the most cunning maneuver, but it was better to act now then wait for better options. More plans failed because of hesitation than any other cause – the Commander had taught her that during a seminar her Senior year. This would not fail. Could not fail. Every debt she'd ever owed was paid in full, but Shepard had helped her above and beyond the call of duty. How could she do any less?


The slim woman approached Shepard's group within two hours in a businesslike gait. Well-trained she must have been, since she artfully waited until he was finished speaking to Wrex, and a few steps away before acquiring his attention. "Commander, a few minutes of your time? I have the results for your request."

Shepard glanced around the small room. Attached to the hanger, it gave the impression of durability, concrete and mortar on every side. "Right. One moment."

The woman waited as he detached another vial of nano-machines. Her only hint of surprise, that he could see, was stiffened shoulders as the seal broke and a sparkling gray sheen covered everything. After a few breaths, he gave her a nod. "The room is secure for five minutes."

"Understood," a tablet appeared in the woman's hands. "Let's see … Saren was last on Noveria over four years ago; Three thousand tons of cargo carrying equipment labels have arrived in his name since then. Purchases … off-site experiments … yes." Her face came up, blurring in Shepard's vision. "I'll have a pass arranged for your transportation."

"I'll be taking the Normandy to Peak Fifteen," Shepard responded. "I'm not blindly going into a Spectre's personal research laboratory with just a squad. What I really want is a company of Titan mechs, or an orbital bombardment. Sadly that's not possible right now. The CEO's?"

"I will look into that, but I believe Peak Fifteen recently had anti-air emplacements installed, orbital range with the Singularity power supply. However, CEO Chavez has been detained for questioning in Conference Room 12-See, and Mister Summers will be in Conference room 31-Ey an hour later. I appreciate your taking the time to go through channels, Commander. The Board is not fond of jackboot tactics; Saren was fond of those. May I ask where you obtained the … data you submitted? I have not seen such numbers within Noveria interests."

Shepard tried to smile. He really did. But Parasini's reaction seemed more appropriate to that of a small squeaking thing, beholding a carnivore expressing delight at her delicious appearance. "The audits show some – interesting data. I'll learn more by speaking with those two."

"Jackboot?" Shepard could hear Tali mutter in an aside. He ignored it.

"Saren was interested in their financial affairs, very interested. He had contacts all throughout the Traverse, need I say more?"

Parasini swallowed. "Oh. Oh. Of course. Should I …?"

"I will supplement security, of course," Shepard glanced back, nodding at the Squad captains. "One for each conference room, one for backup. My personal squad will be rotating between the two, just in case there's … well …."

"If there's a mole," Parasini finished the thought. "Certainly. Will you need support for the interview?"

Shepard gestured. "Lieutenant Alenko and I will take one. Chief Ashley and Detective Vakarian will take the other."

"Understood, Commander. Or Commissioner? How shall I …"

Shepard waved a hand. "I work for a living, Commander is fine."

Muffled snorts betrayed the thoughts of his audience. He ignored that as he'd done so many times before. "Let me know if there's news."

His opposite spun, already pulling up her communicator and gabbling into its microphone. Shepard watched her go before waving the rest of his squad forward. They gathered, ceasing the small-talk engaged around him for the past hour.

Another burst of nanites extended the privacy field, expensive, but this close to his goal, there was no expense to be spared. Keeping that in mind, he made sure to look each of his people in – well, where he believed their eyes should be. "Remember the dossiers. Watch the guards, especially the asari. If they start anything, signal the squad. The Alliance has been looking at this issue for years."

Garrus made a coughing noise. "Just to remind you, this is like that pirate asari we captured. The one that I found working her will on the Commander's brain, and committed suicide?"

"Exactly," Shepard checked his meter; a few seconds left. "What I gave each of you is mostly what we know, but rated Top Secret. The Thirty Families on Thessia have a great deal of power in the Traverse, they send teams of asari into civilized space, and entire corporations soon fall under asari influences. This is happening here, right now. Two birds, one stone: we get proof of asari interference, combine it with the Saren investigation, and take both out of the picture. Peak Fifteen will still be there, but this is an opportunity we could wait a decade and not find again. Apologies for the last-minute notice, I received the last report a short while ago."

Williams waited until the group had dispersed before approaching. "Question, Commander?"

Shepard glanced around, and nodded. "What is it Chief?"

"Sir," her voice lowered. "Are you sure about this? I trust Garrus with my life out there. But this is an Alliance matter. We should be able to do it ourselves. Are you certain you can trust me? I'm just a Chief, no one in the Alliance is willing to – well. You know."

Shepard nodded again. "You are absolutely correct, Williams. In a perfect world I'd have an N-Five or higher take the second interrogation lead. Garrus is trustworthy, but this isn't a Council matter. Not yet. But I trust you to do your best for the Alliance, and I trust Garrus to follow your lead. This is a capture mission, keep Summers alive if you can, but do not allow his guards to escape."

"Yessir, I won't let you down sir." Her posture drew upwards, confidence he'd noticed lacking in the past. "One other thing, off the record?"

The large man checked the time. "If it's quick."

"Yeah. Well, you know Liara? Your alleged fiancée?"

Shepard felt a burst of anger ripple down his spine. It calmed almost immediately. "Yes."

"Well," Williams shuffled closer. "We've been talking. She seems to respect you, a great deal. Like a crush, if the asari are capable of that."

"I…" Shepard closed his eyes. "Am aware."

His supposed subordinate had a long smile in her voice. "Hey, don't shoot the messenger. We talk sometimes; she's not bad for an asari. Tali too. They remind me of my sisters sometimes. Eager to explore everything, whether it's a power grid or some dusty pile of rocks, but push them far enough and –" she shook her head. "All hell breaks loose. Tali with that shotgun? And Liara's biotics? I'm not exactly fond of aliens Shepard, but those two, they're all right."

He took a moment to re-evaluate the young woman. Her attitude had been … less than welcoming. Professional, but never too close, at least where he'd seen. This was a new side to her.

"Um, good." How did one respond to that? It wasn't a question, more of a statement. General agreement usually worked. "They have worked well with the squad."

Williams shifted, angling her back towards the Normandy. "So, this whole contractual marriage thing. It's like you haven't bothered to do anything about it."

"Psht," Shepard scoffed. "It's been less than two months. I fired Udina, declared no intention to comply, and am getting on with my job. What Doctor T'Soni does with her side is up to her, but I am expecting a joint effort in shutting down further attempts. This should actually help out, to be honest."

"Well, hear me out," Ashley stepped closer lowering her voice. "I think you should fight that contract like it's a greed-crazed volus with a shotgun. But while you're doing that, maybe you could talk to Liara a bit more? It's not her fault this whole – thing is going on. What with her mother working with Saren, someone selling her out on a contract, well. I think she's scared. She's lonely, and she looks up to you a lot. I mean, it's like she's a teenager sometimes, I forget how old she actually is. But she needs a friend."

Shepard sighed. Hadn't he just been considering speaking with Liara more? It wasn't to establish romance. He wasn't capable of romance, not since Mindoir pounded the idea out of his . But if the Chief was asking him to talk … perhaps it was sound advice. "I can't promise anything, least of all friendship."

The young woman nodded. "Thank you, Shepard."

Chiming sounds erupted in his earpiece, why had it not gone off just a few seconds earlier? The universe was conspiring against him, he knew it. "This is it." Shepard turned, speaking louder. "Let's move people. Conference rooms are online: scanning teams first, security stays out of sight. If we get armed resistance, come down on them like the wrath of God."

One of the marines, Lieutenant Sigurd he remembered, hefted a massive weapon, even larger than what some mechs carried. "We have your back, Sir. Just point out the target, we'll take care of the rest."

Shepard smirked, earlier irritation forgotten. He loved working with these people.


Conference rooms resembled each other across the galaxy. Their sole purpose included a measure of solitude, combined with sufficient space for a limited crowd to feel at ease. Most that Shepard had observed retained sterile lighting, and a bland floor cover. Homogeneity in that regard lent a sense of familiar comfort in the same way bad coffee found a niche in complaints across the galaxy. Even salarians had discovered a dislike for the low-quality stuff, engendering an almost religious fervor in the pursuit of the 'perfect' coffee maker.

Shepard settled for taking a deep breath, inhaling the aromatic steam. Propriety demanded he accept a mug, but caution demanded a thorough analysis. His onboard sensor suite could do the job, but its operating processes were dedicated to other tasks at the moment.

A door hissed open, allowing a stocky asari in formal attire to enter. She glanced around the room, then gestured outside. Two asari entered, taking up posts on either side of the door frame. Finally, a middle-aged human woman made her entrance, frowning at anyone that caught her attention. Shepard was certain she directed the majority of her facial ire in his direction, but for once the curse the batarians had inflicted proved a benefit.

"I hope," Acid could not have exceeded her tone's cloying sharpness. "That you have a very good reason for delaying me."

Shepard lowered his mug. "I will cut to the point. I am Commander Karl Shepard, En-Seven operative of the Alliance Armed Forces, and provisional Spectre to the Council. My authorization has been submitted to your satisfaction?"

"Yes, yes. I know who you are, a Mindoir miracle-worker. Stranglehold on the nanotech market," her hand spun in the classic hurry-it-up motion. "What is it?"

"In my audit of former Spectre Arterius's financial empire," Shepard maintained a calm tone. "I found a veritable treasure trove of information related to your corporation. Sensitive stockholder information, research plans – data marked for less than half a dozen eyes only. Were you aware of this?"

Her elbows thumped on the table. "While distressing, that has nothing to do with me. I'll notify Security and Internal Audit, and investigate this claim. Will that suffice?"

"Almost." Shepard felt Kaidan drift to one side, noticing how one of the asari matched the move. "While you are believed innocent, your personal security is suspect. Do you mind if I conduct a quick check on them?"

Chavez snorted. "If you must – wait – ah, that should not be – ah … I – I am afraid – I must – decline."

A tiny window expanded on Shepard's eyepiece, focused on the glazed look in the CEO's eyes. Biometric readings dropped, lower blood pressure, heart rates, but the alpha-wave signals coming from her brain had tripled. Accepting those results, his screen jumped to the asari, testing their own readings. Calculating energy outputs on a species that possessed triple the neural interactive elements of a human posed a risk, but basic logic suggested a significant elevation meant something.

"Tango right." Shepard's Nightstalker armor elevated to combat readiness, firing a Push technique at the asari giving off higher readings.

Kaidan's Lift hit a fraction of a second later, sending the asari careering into the ceiling, rebounding off it towards the back of the room.

"What the – Cherise? What –" Shepard ignored the CEO, drawing the old-school blade from the modified holster at the small of his back.

The second asari flash-stepped to one side, a blur of motion faster than the eye could follow. A strange biotic field, black tendrils writhing in nauseous patterns found Shepard, tearing at his shields. He unleashed the catches in his gauntlet, sending another pulse at the downed asari – slamming her form into a solid wall once again.

Alenko leapt over the table, moving as if he weighed nothing at all – which was a definite possibility considering his skillset. "Commander!"

Shepard caught the flying man, making a tight spin and accelerating Alenko's velocity. It failed to catch the second asari off-guard, but distracted her enough for Shepard to begin his own assault, closing enough to direct a series of slashing moves at her torso.

The asari pulled back, dodging with preternatural grace. An orb whipped from behind her back, connecting with the dark energy still looking for entrance to Shepard's shields, detonating in a massive pyrotechnic display. He weathered the explosion, increasing his mass to avoid being flung back. Alenko used the distraction once more, leaping to catch Shepard's shoulders in an aerobatic move, landing feet-first in the asari's torso. The impact shoved her upper back into a stone pillar, flinging her arms out until Shepard brought the hilt of his sword into her temple with a solid thunk.

"Behind you!" Shepard ducked; the Canadian biotic just behind put up both arms in a defensive move, projecting his biotic field. A wave of pulsating indigo energy slammed into the barrier, blasting terajoules into its measure.

His response took the form of a blinding white burst that caught the first asari's left side, twisting her around as if hit by a speeding truck. In a flash, Shepard started to move, but he was slower than Alenko's lightning reflexes, which had the man pointing an arm at the prone asari, glowing an odd blue color. "Got her Commander. Secure her. Fast!"

Shepard went from a sprint to a slightly slower run, pulling restraints from a utility pouch. The closer he got the more the asari struggled, but the massive increase field Alenko was administering more than prevented it. Shepard tossed the thin loops onto the asari, drawing a strained noise as their density increased under the field's effect. Once again Shepard struck with the hilt. "Shut it down!"

The field dropped, leaving the asari gasping. Shepard latched the cuffs on her wrists, pulling both arms behind her back – very pointedly away from her neck – before linking the cables to a second pair he attached to her ankles. A second collar snapped into place around her neck, who's only purpose was to continuously deny biotics the ability to bring their powers to bear. Alliance law enforcement would have fallen many times if not for the insignificant-looking device. "Got one. Alenko?"

"Almost – got two."

"Good." Shepard rose to his feet. He looked down, then over. The stocky security asari lay atop a very still body, which currently was glaring at him. "Chavez. You alive?"

The guard jerked away as the small woman rose in fury. "What. The. Hell. Was. That?"

Shepard reached down, and hauled the dazed asari over one shoulder. Casual displays of strength tended to reduce disrespect, or at least blatant displays of it. "Congratulations. I have your security leak. More or less." He paused as Alenko stomped past, dragging the second asari, a tell-tale blue glow around her floating body. "I'd take a good look at your most recent acquisitions paperwork, if I were you. Question: does the word vasilias mean anything to you?"

A blank look went through her frame. He could see it in the lowered shoulders, the letdown feet. The final asari, however, looked surprised. "No. Why should I?"

"If I may, ma'am," the third security guard spoke up in a soft voice. "Vasilias is a term referencing the Council of Thirty. Um, am I under arrest too?"

"Just drawing conclusions, and yes, until I've done a background check." He was a little surprised that the third asari simply accepted arrest Shepard made a gesture at the downed guards. "Did you know these two?"

She shrugged. "I was hired last week. They were a bit – prickly. But they're also late-stage Maidens. I assumed they were just getting irritated at the lack of human companionship."

He blinked. The resistance of humanity to asari … skills was legendary amongst the Council species, but …at this point? Irrelevant, never mind, back on task. "I believe the Thirty may have more questions than they can handle after this. Keep that in mind, Miss Chavez, when reviewing your paperwork."

Now whistling to himself, Shepard hauled his sentient cargo out the door, meeting the Bravo squad just outside. Without ceremony he turned over the prisoner. "Any news from Williams?"

Lieutenant Jørgensen's thumbs went up. "Perfect capture there, didn't even put up a fight. Detective Vakarian had some kind of toxic darts that put the one asari they had down before she even could stand up."

"Excellent." Shepard let his gaze travel upwards. "Put them in the brig, full isolation. Get a complete rundown, I want to know what they had for breakfast two centuries ago. Genetic profiles, prosthetic backgrounds on the companies owning the companies making their prosthetics, everything. I'll join up with the Normandy before we head to Peak Fifteen. Something tells me that'll be a trip and a half."

"Sir!" the lieutenant saluted, then hurried to catch up with the rest of the squad.

Shepard just watched. This was a good day. Conspiracy linked with Saren? It was a paranoid politicians dream come true. Fortunate he was indeed to avoid the entire political nightmare about to unfold. 'Hah. Lucky. I just want this to be over. Go home and sleep. Soon though. Soon.'


A/N: So a lot has happened since my last update here; I got my Master's (yay!), a job (yay-ish) and a lot of ideas in other stories (yay?). This particular segment has been rewritten six seven times now, combining a lot of elements that have been around since the beginning. Anyone recall the asari in Chapters 8-9?

My thanks to all followers, and the experience you helped me gain from writing this story. Big thanks to Nightstride, for basically beating my head into the keyboard until my storytelling skills became … better. Until next time, I leave you with this story redirect: The Exaltation War of the Worlds XCOM, code: 13300977.