Life aboard an Alliance vessel, for an asari, was a jarring blend of the familiar and the foreign. Human faces were comforting; noses and chins standing where they should be, with quarian-like ears extending sideways from their appropriate positions. Then the diverse color threw familiarity on said ear, helped by the fibrous material hair that provided insulation and protection. Some did not carry such material on their scalps, but that added to the conundrum of human physiology.

True, their teeth and penta-digit hands were familiar, but they had red tongues as a uniform species characteristic. While their skin could be dark or light, their internal-visible organs were uniform, so unlike asari.

Liara visited the workout center on the vessel frequently, and grew familiar with yet another difference: stamina.

Humans, it appeared, were designed for running long distances. In her opinion, it compensated for their near-universal lack of biotics. When she started a workout, several humans would often be on the running machines, timers indicating a full Thessian marathon having progressed. By the time she finished her workout, they were still running, or continuing their exercise on alternative machines. Doctor Chakwas had been most helpful in that regard, demonstrating the varied fast and slow twitch muscles making up the human physiology. If her youth had not been nurtured with tales of the Krogan Rebellions, including their fearsome demonstrations of physical endurance, being surrounded by such monsters would be terrifying – enticing to others of her race, but terrifying nonetheless.

In biotics, however, Liara found the average asari possessed overwhelmingly superior ability – and those with admitted superior prowess supported such a thing. Take her current situation for example.

She powered a basic technique, sending the target in question upwards, skittering along the ceiling. Her partner, Kaiden Alenko, lobbed a dark violet sphere, detonating the field and sending the ball end over end into the goal on the far side of the hangar. It smacked into a three-foot wide square, triggering a loud buzzer, and groans from their opponents.

"Yes!" she shared in the ritual of 'High Five', raising a palm and smacking its extended surface against Kaiden's own. She followed this by an asari ritual of interlocking forearm and wrist with his to generate a mild static discharge from all their activity, sending a loud crack harmlessly into the floor.

Kaiden stooped, hands on thighs, breathing heavy. "You're pretty good, Blu – I mean, Liara. What are you, a Class Seven?"

She tilted her head, parsing the translated terms. Humans tended to attach nicknames to everything, and then misremember them. "Do you mean the Tier system? I believe my last classification was in Tier Nine, although I have not used my biotics as vigorously in some time."

His eyes widened, familiar features set in a face of jarring difference. "Damn. That's … that's pretty good. When were you tested?"

"Oh," she thought back, muscles moving on automatic to stretch. Why had she boasted of her prowess? It had taken a fortune to keep the results of her biotic capacity a secret, and she just told someone in a casual conversation? No matter, there was no one in hearing, and she was yet a Maiden, unexpected to keep things hidden all the time. "Perhaps seventy years ago. It was not long before I entered the Academy. It was a standard practice for entrance exams."

His eyes grew wider. "Seventy …." He shook his head. "I forget how old you are sometimes. Ah … sorry."

Another form glided from the sidelines where interested bystanders could watch. "Careful El-Tee. Next thing you know you'll be calling her old."

A small smirk touched the corner of Liara's mouth before smoothing away in a quick burst of control. Camaraderie amongst those that were – at least biologically – similar to her own age was a new sensation, even after travelling with them so long. Seeing them include her in their jests was heartwarming, once more proving a difference between asari and human interactions.

"I should remind you," her stoic expression remained in place. "I am considered young –"

"For a race of immortal, Amazonian, space witches," Ashley finished. The dark-haired woman gave a snigger of her own. "I'll say it again, I hope I look that good when I'm your age."

Game over, bantering as appeared normal for the vessel, Liara joined the respective members as they headed towards the showers. Like asari vessels, communal bathing was the usual routine, minus the scalp files and moisturizing oil. Having bi-gendered division was an experience as well, but similar enough to the turian ships she'd encountered. The comparative youth of the human species was another pleasant surprise; they had yet to incorporate the common amenities omnipresent throughout civilized space – Council space, she corrected herself – which meant a strong presence of specialized hardware meant for five-fingered, ear-possessing species of moderate height. There were no 'optimized' soap dispensers, arranged to be within reach of any random member of the client races, nor the 'compatible' shower heads designed to be grasped by turian tri-dactyl hands or salarian-soft skin.

It was far superior to the facilities boasted by her dig sites, she was certain.

After cleaning herself off, and experiencing the full-body dryer that sent tingles down her spine, Liara quickened her steps back to the research lab appropriated for her use. Doctor Chakwas had surrendered it without protest; the woman was a true goddess among mortals for her many kindnesses. She would have to consider a proper thanks after suitable thought could be taken. The T'Soni fortune granted a large realm of potential, but pure financial remuneration would be crass after the thoughtful care provided by the doctor.

The sliding door hissed open, then closed. Liara resumed the chair she'd used so long the seat bore an outline of her normal seated posture. She gave it no mind, focusing instead on the wondrous treasures brought to light by that enigmatic figure, Commander Shepard. He'd sequestered himself from all Asari communications – she'd seen the massive files deleted by the ship's VI under the Navigator's careful guidance. In time, it seemed that Shepard had ignored every request for information since the T'Soni Regent's announcement. Tevos had much to answer for, but the current solution appeared to be apathy, as if he hoped the galaxy would go away if he paid it no attention.

'If only he knew,' the thought flitted through her mind as she began translating another document. It was one of millions recovered by the human Commander, and seemed to be a treatise on agricultural development on desert worlds – useless for combat, but invaluable for infrastructure. 'His stand-offish behavior makes him mysterious. To most asari, that is a courtship technique. To the more aggressive suitors, too.'

She was different. She knew that. Her colleagues had been helpful enough to point out her deficiencies in the Academy, and before. They'd made greater efforts to ensure she knew none of them considered her attractive, and that the mistake of her conception would not be repeated.

'Perhaps I am broken? But I like how I am,' she activated the translation software, monitoring its progress. Amongst the priceless treasures Shepard had retrieved was a program that had needed updating – fifty thousand years buried under a mountain of debris tended to do that. But the now-functioning program was able to translate actual ancient Prothean into Sarish, the main asari language. From there a host of programs could extend the translation into Turian, Keshnian and the Vol tongues – races that no doubt would lust for such knowledge if she did so. But why would she? 'It may be selfish, but I believe I shall keep this to myself for a time. It is better to give it a thorough testing after all; one mistake and scholars would unify against me. Again.'

Anger brought a bright blue glow to her fist – fading in just as rapid a timespan. The dig site on Feros had been slated for closure, after her manager discovered the 'pleasures' of another sponsor's patronage, and 'decided' her academic thoroughness was a front for 'entitled laziness'.

Liara had to admit: hiring a fully staffed resort on a temporary basis, let alone promising permanency was an expensive proposition, just for a bribe. Even a tiny bit of Prothean hardware could be worth exponentially more of course. But the sheer effrontery required to pull off such a thing on a simple dig site manager was impressive, the sort of theatrics one expected from a cheap novel or the ancient classics.

Not that she'd admit to reading such things, of course. Where had she been again?

Plaintive clicking came from the direction of her latest acquisition, readings of the probe/satellite hybrid, discovered just outside the Citadel. Given the volume of illegal deposits outside the massive Prothean station there had been no trouble from Citadel Control in retaining the object – or perhaps it had been due to the Commander's Spectre status – despite being limited to the Traverse as it was. Its ancient construct bore parts piquing her interest in a way she'd not felt since her early days in the field. It was just so … old.

The spectral analysis engine clicked at her again, reminding her to check its results. Liara did so, skimming the numbers and recording them to the Serrice Class XII omni-tool that had been her graduating gift so many years before. Frown lines developed across her brow, creasing the soft blue skin.

"Tali," she tapped the link set up between herself and the only other specialist in non-Alliance technology. "I am sending you an attachment. Could you verify the evaluation for me please? My calculations are included."

A few moments later the voice of the quarian responded. "Just a second, I am in the portside access tunnel."

"Not a problem," Liara responded. She spent the intervening time reviewing the just-finished translation, checking it for syntax. It checked out, allowing her to add another file for translation – single-file transfers were an unbelievably slow method, but until she confirmed the accuracy to her own satisfaction, it would do. This newer file appeared to contain schematics for an energy-conserving fuel cell, a design that could make billions in the right market. Perhaps Shepard would consider a partnership in founding such a business? It would get the varren claiming her efforts were unprofitable off her back at least.

"Liara, are you there?"

The asari scientist abandoned the transcribing image, tapping the cochlear implant's contact point. "Go ahead."

"It looks good to me," the disembodied voice said, trace accents of her foreign upbringing making it through the software. "If I am thinking of the right place, there should be an inductive power slot on the side of the probe. If you use a negative-charge driver, it should release the main panel. Once you have that out of the way, you could access the memory direct."

"Well," Liara hesitated. They'd avoided opening it in case of problems; ancient technology was rife with obscure viruses that wirelessly transmitted themselves. The Olchum V event sprang to mind, a space station that had opened all airlocks after an archaic thumb drive had been plugged into the main frame for decryption. "I can do that. Is it safe?"

"Liara," Tali's voice sounded amused. "I have placed the best firewall I can find around your network hub. It is insulated from the mainframe by two of the best filters I can create, and can be disconnected from the ship's network by that death dial we talked about. If it makes you feel better, I can come up and help you with it?"

It took no time for a decision to be made. "Please?" Liara started clearing a place on the desk, new tools from Noveria took secondary importance to this. "I will be waiting."


Shepard, despite his best efforts, was fuming. It wasn't that he was bad at it; like most humans, practice made perfect, and his activities permitted much practice in the fine art. He'd tried distracting himself by arranging a meeting, making personal contact with each squad's leader in planning the assault on Peak 15. But that just made the frustration more focused.

"An orbital assault is out of the question," he looked at Noveria's projection on the Normandy's main communicator array. When not in use for trans-galactic communications, it was an excellent briefing aid. "Noveria has ground-based artillery for both aerial and space-borne attacks. Their permits allow for Hawking engines, which means anything from proton cannon to battleship-grade mass drivers."

"How about a simple missile launch?" Lieutenant Sigurd offered. "Send a low-orbit bunker buster, let it cool in space for a while before letting it drop? Can't track it that way and a three ton brick can do a lot of damage."

Shepard shook his head again. "Shields. Nova-Prime Protectors, on the century plan."

Someone swore; he didn't blame them. Among the many defensive measures scattered throughout the galaxy, the Council Races opted against planetary shields, given the prolonged peace they'd enjoyed and prohibitive expenses involved. An enemy of sufficient determination could launch projectiles from outside a solar system and wear down most Council versions. Outer colonies couldn't afford the massive expenditures needed to set up shields the size of cities, and the planets closer to the main hubs didn't need them.

"How did they afford that?" Jensen spoke up. He was a man of medium height, trademark eye-shields resting on the top of his head. "Prime's run a good two mil for freighters, righ -?"

"Commander! Commander Shepard!" an excited female voice burst over his earpiece, loud enough for the nearest squad leaders to wince. Shepard himself doubled over in pain, hand slapping at the bit of offensive hardware. "Come to the lab! We –"

Shepard found the deactivation switch, shutting down the transmission – forgetting to turn it down after a session with the anvil was proving to be a mistake. For a moment he stood, eyes closed, just breathing. Then his eyes opened, glaring at the Delta Squad leader. "Thoughts?"

Nicholson, the nominal leader of a nearly all-quarian combat group blinked. "Um, you should report to Blue's bunk ASAP?"

Stifled chuckles filled the room as Shepard gave a stare blank enough to erase magnetic data strips. "About. The. Target."

"Oh. Yessir. Um. It looks like our only option is a ground assaul –"

The doorway slid open, aided in its limited journey by a dark blue field that strained the servos. Liara's form darted through the opening at the bare instant it became wide enough, her frantic head movements searched the room, locking on to Shepard. "Shepard! It's there! The proof! Come on!"

Before even Shepard's impressive combat reflexes could react, he was encased in a hazy field, and pulled out of sight. Tramping noises echoed back into the room, and a reflective faceplate popped into sight.

"Keelah, I'm sorry about this," Tali's head looked around the room, then twisted back in the same direction the departed asari scientist and Alliance commander had taken. "Uh … I'll tell Adams. We made progress on that probe. We'll get Shepard back to you as soon as possible. Keelah'Selai …."

The small group watched the tiny figure sprint away, then looked down at the twisted heap of four inch eezo-hardened metal. Jørgensen, Bravo Squad's commander, was the first to approach it, touching the edge with the tip of one gloved hand. She tapped it a few times, and stood up, sharing a look with Garrus. "I think," her warm soprano was in a contemplative tone. "I think I want her on my squad when we dig out those droid humpers."


Shepard found himself hauled without ceremony to the main deck, before a startled looking guard. The eezo nodules in his NightStalker harness flared beneath his command, but failed to fray Liara's impressive control. He pushed harder, driving the batteries into overdrive as he did so, only to realize the raw power that answered his call at norm was halved by the rest of the power supply locked into the hardsuit portions still in the locker a level down.

As the lightly-armored soldier reached to hit the general alarm, Shepard waved a hand in the common stand down motion as he drifted past. There was a certain relaxing sensation of floating – if one could ignore the simmering anger at being extracted by force.

Shrugging, the guard did as he was told.

"It's right here," Liara released him without looking, dashing into the laboratory past a startled looking Doctor Chakwas.

Shepard fixed the grey-haired doctor with a significant look. "Those batteries should have been enough to resist a Drell assassin. Thank you for that little lesson. Should I be concerned?"

Something happened on her face that he couldn't read. "Only if you hate being dragged around again."

Sighing, Shepard entered the small room. Scholastic debris lay everywhere, journals printed on recyclable hard-copy prints piled high in one corner, shoved there to make room for a device that looked expensive and complicated. The probe, heavy enough to necessitate two power-armored bulk haulers, hovered in another machine, a faint iridescent sheen covering its exterior. Shaped like a rounded cylinder, the device's smooth appearance was marred by a rectangular hatch, from which protruded a pair of thick cables.

He followed the cables with his eyes, to where they connected to an Alliance issue computing base, miniaturized for field work. He could identify one of the insulating sets arranged, but not the second. But that wasn't important now.

Shepard closed his eyes for a moment, ensuring he was in full control of himself. Satisfied, he folded his arms, taking the wide-legged stance and straightened shoulders of an irritated Sergeant. Under most circumstances he'd have waited until his silence drew attention – but with the two academics chattering away at each other, hours might pass before they came out of their self-induced tunnel visions.

"If." Words colder than the vacuum above the planet's surface rumbled from his chest. "You ever do that again, I will not be held responsible for my actions."

The asari stilled, a look of horror etching itself throughout her entire body. "I … I'm so sorry. I didn't think – I mean, you were just not responding, and I couldn't wait any longer. No that's not it, the probe, it …"

Shepard tilted his head to one side, popping its vertebrae. Warning delivered, he softened his stance. His voice though remained hard, if not quite the frozen tones of before. "It better be important. What can you tell me?"

Released back into her element, Liara exchanged looks with Tali, who stood on the far side of the table. "Of … of course. This probe, it is older than I had thought, Commander. Much older. It predates the Protheans by at least twice the span they occupied, as the galactic charts show so far."

His eyebrows rose. "Old indeed."

"Yes, but that's not the interesting point," Liara's hands wove a complicated pattern over a sensor. It flared to life, projecting an image of the Citadel. "Here, this was on its memory banks. There is a Quantum Entanglement device Tali recognized –"

"Defective," Tali added helpfully. "A micrometeorite broke the transmitter, and the backup never came online. There was a nanite repair reservoir – similar to what I've seen used on standard portable-repair systems – but it ran out of material before repairing the seal."

Shepard's head had come up at the word nanite, but relaxed. "You are certain it's clean?"

"Very," the asari scientist assured him. "I have been running constant scans on a molecular level, thanks to the equipment you brought me. There were several specimens I isolated here," she gestured at a heavy-looking container. "But they were inert, too much radiation exposure. The rest are particulates, gone in the Widow nebula, I believe. The Normandy is clean."

"Fine," he nodded. "Go on."

The projected image twinkled a little at her touch. "Here is the critical point: information. Records of what I believe are living conditions, and scattered references to some sort of cargo manifest, and then … nothing."

"Nothing?" his eyebrow came up again.

"Almost," Liara corrected herself. "It shifts to Prothean Sangwar Five, the oldest recorded script we have on Prothean literary recordings. Sang-Five was discovered on a derelict asteroid mining facility during the –"

"Liara," Tali's voice was chiding, yet amused. "Focus. The Commander is waiting."

"Oh. Sorry," a darker hue made it even more difficult for Shepard to see her face. "But it seems to be a data recording device connected to the Presidium, one that was linked to a massive computing source, bigger than anything I've ever seen. There were theories about it of course, but I've never seen anything quite like it before."

"Commander," Tali took over the explanation. "You know how the Citadel is considered the greatest achievement of the Protheans? So well-built that no one has identified its central processor, let alone the memory banks?"

Dots began to connect in Shepard's mind. "If this probe predates the Protheans …."

"So does the Citadel," Liara finished. One hand gestured at the floating object. "And I believe that this is why we have never discovered the secrets of the Citadel. They are not on the Citadel."

Shepard gave the device a skeptical look. It didn't seem large enough to fulfil the parameters needed for a space station. "How much memory would you say this unit has?"

The scientist paced to the wall and back, footsteps coming slow and thoughtful. "It is … difficult to say to be sure. The older Prothean memory drives are somewhat inconsistent when compared to the later specimens, and those utilize a different storage format entirely. As we discovered on Eden Prime, the Protheans encrypted communications with neural synchronization. Very difficult to quantify."

"I can see that," he tried to rework the question into a more academic setting. "What is the optimal average for known data storage across Prothean space, using this as a sample?"

Her shoulders relaxed. "Oh. Data cores like this would be sufficient for two Turian Dreadnoughts. I do not know the exact comparison, but it is similar to the Alliance battle ships, I believe. Unless you call your dreadnoughts battleships as well? Your people's computing parameters are significantly different from civilize– Council norms."

He ignored the near insult. Liara was naïve, but intelligent. She'd learn.

"Commander," the quarian engineer fidgeted, long fingers twirling against her abdomen. "The Flotilla may … possibly … have something like this."

Liara's head snapped around. "What?"

"I'm not sure…" Tali's off hand touched her omni-tool, which started to buzz to life before she moved her hand away with an exasperated motion. "I only saw it once, when I was just in my first suit."

Liara seemed puzzled, until the latter end of the sentence. "Oh. You were twelve?"

"I … think that is correct?" Tali's faceplate tilted upwards before coming back down. The small points of light within the darkened glass focused. "A-a-anyway. It was on the Nalotir, I think? An artifact drive, similar to this, but smaller. It wasn't as shiny though – I think it was broken at one point before repaired." She shook her head. "No one gives quarians new things, at least, not until we met the Alliance."

Shepard closed his eyes, pushing thoughts aside. "Back on subject. This can't be the only one then, not for something as big as the Citadel. There have to be more."

"Precisely," Liara patted the ovoid segment of a device Shepard couldn't recognize. "With the Quantum Entanglement system, they could theoretically be anywhere in the galaxy, or outside of it even, and retain immediate communication. I would doubt the majority are externalized so much however; what would be the point of sending memory systems out of reach? Plus, there is a … backup system of sorts here."

"Really?" Shepard looked at the innocuous probe. Its dull sides failed to reflect the light, absorbing it like a dark sponge. "Why? Cue-E's are only in the developmental stage back in the Alliance, but they're direct data transfer. Faster than light, faster than super-luminal velocities."

Liara glanced at Tali, who shrugged. "They're limited to one channel only. Even if you had a thousand of the quantum entanglers operating all at the same time, you need to have a thousand receivers, each connected to a central processing unit. Whoever designed the system wanted the probes to communicate with each other, and making enough entanglers for however many probes exist is just not efficient for the size. You'd have to give each probe a receiver for every other probe, plus a receiver for the main unit on the Citadel."

"Ah." He pondered that for a moment. "Interesting. I take it you want to find more of these?"

Liara nodded with vigor. "Of course! But I doubt the Council would allow such a thing to occur … they view the Citadel as a gift of sorts. A Relic from the Protheans to our race, although with the evidence here …."

"Subtle then," Shepard glanced at his omni-tool as it started to flash. He noted Tali's slight twitch, its invisible light seeming to be just within her species range. He'd have to adjust the settings. "I'll look into sending salvage teams around the Widow Nebula. Are you sure no one else has detected these probes? It seems rather obvious in hindsight."

Liara's slim shoulders shifted up and down. "There's always the chance someone has discovered another of these, and are not telling. Probable in fact. But there have been no publications addressing the presence of provenanced relics in the Widow nebula. In fact …" her voice grew thoughtful. "The Widow nebula is one of the cleanest in the galaxy, for debris. Almost as if it were cleaned on … a … regular … basis …."

"Reaper plots, perhaps?" Shepard put the idea aside. "Put together a report on the probe. I'll flag it top secret, kept in paper form only. If we find more, we can expand on it. Until then, I have an assault to plan."


Noveria's arctic climate swirled around Shepard, blasting his armor with thousands of ice granules with every gust. Equipment hardened against the cold required maintenance at twice the intervals other planets suggested, and complete replacement every two years. He could spot equipment made by the colder colonies, specializing in hostile mining conditions; the ancient Caterpillar company a prominent name in some cases. But unlike the hostile terrains of planets like Zakros and Alsages, Noveria contained a high oxygen content atmosphere, promoting rust. Even Volusian sub-zero colonies of methane could operate without steel being eaten away through the reddish grime, although they had their own share of difficulties.

"Sir." Lieutenant Jørgensen landed beside him, jets flaring a painful brilliance in the blizzard gloom. "Beta Squad is loaded up, ready to advance."

"Understood." Shepard scanned the readiness indicators of the other squads, too distant to send their heavier infantry over in the same way. One by one, their indicators flashed green. A feral grin spread across his face. Seeing that, Jørgensen twitched in what he assumed to be a return grin before lifting off through the swirling wind, displaying an almost uncanny control through the storm.

"All units," he flipped to the multi-squad channel. "Proceed. Watch your flanks and cover your corners. The geth don't breathe, blink, or lose concentration. Eliminate with extreme prejudice."

Affirming clicks responded over the channel.

Beside him, Wrex sniffed the air, a dark hunger evident in his motions. An old family heirloom set of armor decorated his torso, compliments of a side mission Shepard had authorized on the Normandy. It was mostly decorative, but held properties modern armor lacked. "About time. Getting old waiting."

A chilled turian voice emanated from the Mako's channel. "You can wait a century and still feel old. If I wait any longer in here, I'll freeze my mandibles off. Liara can't stop complaining about how the cold's affecting her delicate blue complexion."

"I did not!" an irritated voice cut back before Shepard could respond. "I merely suggested that prolonged exposure would force excess pigmentation in – ah – are we live?"

Shepard cleared his throat. "Shepard clear."

The echoing retort of a massive vehicle-mounted 155m cannon boomed over the howling wind. Shepard spun, jogging over the hard-packed ice. "Report!"

"Jensen here, Mako Five! Spotted the bosh'tets, set up a whole tower network on the main route. Requesting support, firing for effect!"

Another boom echoed through the air. "Mako Four, target spotted. Sending targeting data."

"Roger that, Mako One receiving targets. Requesting clearance to fire."

Shepard slapped his comm in irritation. Standing on ceremony helped in many situations, but against known hostile targets? "Permission granted. All units, fire at will."

A steady barrage opened up; he could see a line of M35's rolling to a stop, adjusting their main guns for trajectory. Shepard's HUD calculated probable trajectories, outlining target points with both the leading vehicle's data stream and the visuals provided on hand. He knew an instant before they fired where each projectile was directed, and watched the heavy recoil shake the vehicle's shock absorbers in a heavy lurch.

"Ultima ratio regum," he muttered under his breath.

"Eh?" Wrex tapped his earpiece. "Didn't catch that."

Shepard shook his head as the cannon fired. "Old French, human language. Final argument of Kings."

"Huh," Wrex considered it for a moment. "A bit late for that then."

He gave the krogan a questioning look.

"If war is the final argument," Wrex explained, "Then you don't have much to threaten with after that, do you? Nothin' like a good old war to get the blood pumping. Now something like genocide, that'll get people riled up. Well. Unless they're the losers. Then no one cares. Sure they'll cry and moan about how it should never have happened, but they won't do anything about it."

"Ah." Shepard considered the vehicles, which were moving ahead. "Genophage?"

A near-silent grunt confirmed his question.

Shelving the thought, Shepard unshipped his sniper rifle, conducting a slow scan of the surrounding terrain. Blowing snow made it almost impossible to see further than a few hundred feet in any clarity, yet he felt obligated to keep a sharp eye out. That's when he saw movement, to the left of their current position, high on the mountain.

"Bogey, nine-o-clock high," he raised the sniper rifle, peering through the scope. It detected the movement, zooming in on the point. Numbers scrolled down the rangefinder, jittering as his scope moved. "Geth armature, half a klick from the peak. Sending coordinates now."

"Roger that sir, Mako Two targeting now." A hoarse voice responded.

A fountain of snow and ice obscured the target, until the thermal imaging activated, showing the multi-legged construct still standing. "Repeat, target still mobile. Say again: repeat."

Another shot launched from the Mako's main gun, this time punching through the remains of the armature's shielding, eradicating the geth's processor in a lucky hit.

"Target down, confirmed." Shepard watched the frame for another moment, until satisfied it would not move again. Even mechanical monsters tended to stay down after losing the majority of both thoracic and cranial region …but everything had exceptions.

More explosions rocked the air, petering out as Shepard jogged forward. "Hostiles clear, Commander. Sending another drone up."

One of the large-wheeled vehicles stopped next to Shepard, letting him hop onto the sideboard. Most military vehicles boasted such running boards, sturdy enough to hold a soldier and his gear. If arranged well, a single Mako could transport a full 12-man squad, counting the roof rails. Shepard activated the magnetic clamp on his armor, locking him in place, all the better to wield the custom rifle he bore.

The small convoy crawled onward, multiple drone units making passes overhead. Soldiers wearing the Light assault hardware flitted past as well, verifying what mechanical eyes deemed 'safe', protocols contributed by the quarians in cross-training exercises.

Shepard eyed the remains of a geth turret as they passed. Unlike Alliance or Council models, typically by turian manufacture or asari design, these turrets seemed to place efficiency as their highest value. There were no access panels or maintenance ladders, what could be seen of the projectile launcher seemed to be a fused barrel to an armored dome, all made of high-quality armor. No openings were visible, apart from the massive gash caused by cannon fire, giving the appearance of a sleek beetle atop an impregnable pillar.

"Shepard to Normandy, please send a recovery team for geth turrets at my current location. Standard isolation protocol is advised." Shepard paused. "Also, please notify Port Authority that geth presence is confirmed. If they want parts for their research teams, they'll have to beat you guys out here … leave a few pieces for them, would you?"

A low crackle responded, turning into a static-filled Flight Lieutenant's voice "Roger tha … told Adams. He's … real … um … -aklin sight. Not for kids."

"You're breaking up Joker," Shepard frowned, checking his connection to a drone. "We're entering another jamming field. Stand by."

Ahead, another cannon boomed, soon followed by the explosive chorus sung by its fellows. Mixed in this timewas the higher-pitched retorts of the Power-Armor units, overseen by Chief Williams. Not quite the heavy, bone-thumping disruptions expected from Epimetheus – class mechs, but the lighter grenade launchers from the Menelaus platforms. It was a perfect response for the Armatures and Colossus units fielded by the geth, a true boon to any ground-pounding expedition.

"Hard contact Commander," Williams voice barked over the comm. Her power armor boasted a stronger communications array than most soldiers, and was much closer than the Normandy. "Walkers up … side. Flank … ng right."

As the Mako Shepard rode made the turn around another dog's leg bend, he caught sight of a small geth company. Drawing the rifle up, he sighted in, gave the mental adjustment for bullet drop as suggested by his visor, and began stroking the trigger.

The rifle shuddered against his shoulder, the massive round launching down range at supersonic velocities. Through his scope, Shepard could see the round strike true, obliterating the main sensor array the machine beings retained. Long conversations with quarian Wardancers shed no light on that limitation – if it'd been up to Shepard, a missing appendage would do nothing to stop a war machine. In this case however the machine fell, spewing ivory coolant in the subzero temperatures.

He shifted left, numbers scrolling across the eyepiece, and stroked the trigger again.

"Incoming!" a static-obscured voice warned.

Shepard abandoned a third target, and ducked. Plasma splashed against the far side of the Mako, rocking its powerful shock absorbers through the shields. He trusted in his mag-clamps though, rising back into the standing posture analogue. A few pressed commands reset the ammunition format into shield-penetration, rather than armor penetrating rounds.

"Targeting Colossus," he laid his crosshairs on the flashlight bulb, then raised it to account for drop, and over to one side in accordance to windspeed. "Firing."

Armored vehicles were designed against his precise intent. Layered ferro-ceramics dulled blunt force, and thick plates of high-tensile strength metals flexed rather than cracked. But Shepard's rifle was a prototype, a one-of-a-kind anti-material rifle. In his experiments it wasn't quite on par with the Widow-95, a weapon that had been strong enough to require augmented asari or strategic-minded krogan to wield. But it still carried a long distance, and punched like an angry prize fighter.

The Mako started moving again, preventing Shepard from witnessing the end-result of his shot. He didn't mind, the goal was to get to Peak 15, not destroy every geth unit between Port Hanshan and the research facility.

"Heavies inbound. Barrage in ten." William's voice came through loud and clear, startling him. "Nine. Eight. Seven."

Shepard caught another glimpse of his previous target – it reeled in drunken circles, the faceplate of its main lensing array smoking like an errant steamboat. Facts clicked through his mind, reviewing obscure points from the entire voyage his life had taken. There were times it was a marvel even to him how sane he was. For a given value of sane, of course. There were professionals in Alliance Space that were just as certain of his unhinged lunacy.

"Focus on the big ones, they're processing centers." Shepard detached from the Mako, landing in a shoulder-roll. The massive machine bounced over a rise, lifting jets designed for multiple environments lofting it over a rocket fusillade. "Can you hear me Chief Williams?"

A faint burst of static responded, before strengthening. "Aye Commander. Got the jammer offline?"

"So it appears," Shepard checked his HUD map, confirming its received data once again was interfacing with the entire company's sensory capacity. Red dots roamed the edges, skirting larger diamond shapes that had to be geth Armatures. "Focus on the largest, then work your way down. It takes them a while to re-integrate."

"As you say." The woman's voice clicked off frequency.

Cold wind buzzed past Shepard's bare ears. He wasn't wearing his helmet this time, against convention. The full force of the blizzard-like winds was taken by environmental shields projected by the armor, welcome reminders of happier days.

'Focus, Shepard!' his mind snapped past memories of white-covered hills and laughing children. His visor keyed another movement, to which he responded with a quick side-step, and a snap shot. It went wide, forcing him to dive behind the Mako once more. 'Missed it by a country mile. Getting distracted.'

Above the monstrous 155mm mass accelerator belched its payload, landing a shell in the center mass of a group of bipedal geth. The explosion threw them off their feet, damaging the chassis to unusable states. Shepard dropped his crosshairs on the one standing unit, and fired as it moved for cover. Mathematical precision focused on efficiency rendered the geth predictable, Shepard's round severing the cylindrical sensory cluster from the torso.

"That you Shepard?" Garrus's voice cut through the static. "Starting to show off now, are you?"

At first, Shepard was about to dismiss the comment; standard bravado between comrades in the heat of battle. But then he paused – when had he done much actual badinage with the others? Engaged in friendly combative exercises outside of the quiet trust that had developed over the course of the Mission? Turning his grin away from sight, he keyed the comm icon.

"That's five for me, Garrus. Four head-shots, one torso. What have you gotten so far?"

"Seven," smugness echoed across the link like a thick blanket. "Getting old for a human, are you?"

"How many were Colossus grade?"

Silence reigned for a full ten seconds, during which Shepard isolated another target, and eliminated it. The geth were learning quickly, appearing from behind outcroppings in brief flashes of blue-glowing orbs. Even the larger machines were taking alternate routes, ducking away from the Mako's main guns, only to encounter the Mobile Mechanized Infantry. Given their rate of data retention, it was surprising they'd taken this long to adapt, given his previous encounters.

"That still only counts as one."

Shepard uttered a short, barking laugh. "Tell you what: clean slate. Highest kill count by the time we get to the Normandy gets a free meal from the restaurant of their choice."

Quiet swept over the channel. Then a chorus of affirming chatter boiled over. He winced, slapping the volume down icon. He had to stop doing that.

"Uh, sir?" William's voice cut through on a different channel. "Does that apply to us as well?"

Shepard leveled his rifle once more. A geth unit was taking its time moving between cover – but his scope drifted left to target the other sniper focusing on himself, while he was supposed to be distracted by the ambling prey. It was instinct, a knack taught by years of hunting in the Traverse.

"Tell you what. Me against every squad." He swung back the two inches necessary to catch an eyeful of the first unit, and ended its existence as well. "In my squad, one on one. If any squad can get a higher kill count than me, I'm buying for every squad once we get back. Arcturus, the Citadel, doesn't matter."

There was a sudden roar as the Mako's main gun spoke, driving a shell into an Armature's carapace, the Geth's shields depleted by the near-silent mass driver. All around, the other Mako's were pushing forwards, taking riskier tactics than before – but the red dots on his miniscreen vanishing with gratifying speed.

He smiled. Motivation was as easy as offering a free meal. Why hadn't he started doing this sooner? But then he raised his rifle once more, preparing its payload of death for launch once more. It wouldn't do to give everyone an easy time, would it?


Shepard hopped off the Mako's passenger rail as it rolled to a stop. A few last explosions echoed across the odd topography making up the extended journey to Peak Fifteen, the result of Delta squad partaking in an enthusiastic denial effort. Geth turrets were formidable to individual targets, but needed more emplacements before becoming a threat to full military squads. It was fortunate he'd arrived when he did; there were over a thousand marked positions, already worked over with the strange cement the machine race used, lacking just the cylindrical components and the projectile hardware to become credible threats.

"Sir," Alpha squad's leader kept a wary eye on the surrounding hills. They were hardly mountains in the traditional sense of the word, more akin to landlocked icebergs. Glaciers were far more genteel, willing to connect in ways that allowed passage without rocket-boosting propellants. "I suggest we have Alpha and Delta keep the perimeter, while your squad takes care of things inside."

Shepard parsed the tactic, and nodded. He touched the comm icon. "Alpha takes walkabout, Delta stays close. If there's Geth inside, I want Delta ready as backup. Alpha, if anything comes near, give 'em hell."

It amazed him, how the two squads managed to coax as many metallic noises from their hardware as they did, considering the armor was mostly ferro-bonded ceramics. Yes there were metallic elements involved, but they were basically shiny bits of pottery, if one got down to it.

"Breach ready," Garrus stepped away from the person-sized door.

Shepard gestured, sending the squad into cover. "Blow it."

The turian was already in cover, and detonated the charge. Directional explosion opened the way, letting the cold sunlight enter through a spray of metal shards. Half of the door remained intact, drooping in its slot. A distinct lack of accelerated rounds made an appearance … an ominous sign compared to the hundreds of geth units destroyed en-route, and the unknown quantities still roaming the Noverian ice fields.

Shepard charged into the opening first, Mercy feeling solid in his grip. It was a good gun, the weapon his father had once used and immune to the hacking protocols geth employed. Nothing met his upraised weapon's iron sights, not murderous robots or even a groaning wind. The weathering barrier he'd passed seemed to be of high quality, letting air through without permitting strong breeze. Baffling technology, the experts loved to call it.

"Clear left," he called out of habit.

"Clear right," Ashley's bulky form boomed. "Not seeing anything worth mentioning. Kinda weird."

His instincts pricked upwards. The armored individual had a point. "No unusual weapons on the way over. No proton rays, nothing more than an oversized shield generator, and the lower half is offline already. Offline defenses, missing turrets."

"Yessir, but the generators over there aren't just offline, they're … melted?"

"Is there a reason we did not try to simply override the lock?" Liara spoke up from the back of the group. She seemed peeved, likely at being forced behind a krogan and a turian in protective formation.

"Standard hostile entrance," Garrus answered before he could. "Besides, who would want to interface with a computer the geth infected? Tali perhaps, but she's coordinating back on the Normandy."

Rhythmic stomping echoed down a smaller side hallway. All guns came up, facing that direction, except for Shepard's who turned away, scanning just in case this was a distraction.

Faint motion caught the ultraviolet light entering from the doorway. Then, his visor captured the infrared laser, originating from a corner of the massive garage. Reading his eye-movements, the optics outlined an anthropoidal form crouched in the ceiling region, splayed limbs flattened on the walls. As the camouflage layers grew less efficient under his gaze, he could see the pale plates flex. Espionage units under geth manufacture could lie in wait for years without movement, matching their surroundings down to light distortions – so an old Wardancer had told him.

His pistol came up, scomp-linked through physical contact in the handle, immune to the Geth jamming. The first shot hit well below the lurking sniper, making pockmarks up the wall in a straight line.

It moved, leaping away. At the same time a massive bipedal unit thundered into sight down the hall, pounding into a charge without stopping. Its arrival was met with Ashley's armored form, taking it in a judo flip to the ground. The Destroyer-class unit launched a plasma-burst into her armor, but it failed to penetrate the thick plate.

Shepard tracked the airborne geth, letting off the trigger, and stroked it once more when the flexible machine landed. He timed it to perfection, the heavy round penetrating the weakened shield, severing a synthetic connector at the shoulder. Loss of control appeared to not bother the artificial construct however; it changed targets from Ashley's power armor – which was currently stomping the former Destroyer's flashlight head into the permacrete – to himself.

Instinct guided Shepard's muzzle a hair left, years of dedicated practice paying off once more. He twisted right, tilting his head down so the shield generator based in the harness could protect it better.

A white splash of lubricant sprayed against the wall, highlighting the route the espionage geth took on its descent. It bounced, rather than clanked, confirming his hypothesis on its polymer base material. A quick scan revealed no further hidden enemies although a second, even more careful scan, revealed places that had once provided hiding places for such a mobile foe.

"Delta, Commander. I need you to pick up a new geth type. Espionage type. Think the boffins back on the Normandy would love a look-see."

"Roger that Commander," a prompt response came back. "Are we clear to enter?"

Shepard glanced around, taking another scan with the omni-tool. Professional forensic software hummed evidence of blood, strange fluids resembling arthropodic hemolymph, and spare parts were the only results. "Clearance granted. But keep an ear out."

"Roger that, Delta Lead over and out."

Waiting until the first of the quarians came into sight, Shepard gestured to the hall. Alenko took point, pistol in one hand while tangible static fields from his biotics causing hair to stand on end. Garrus went second, assault rifle poised at the ready; the turian was the best shot with an assault rifle, even better than Ashley, and she was not too proud to admit it.

The hall dimmed after a few steps inward, emergency lighting operating at half-capacity. Burn marks along the walls matched a distorted flooring, either due to incredible heat or some chemical agent. Shepard was worried – too many variables were unknown. Records on the projects in the research center were few and far between, not-transmitted to their own headquarters. It had uncomfortable similarities to Feros. The purchase had not yet gone through, but it was all but inevitable; leading ExoGeni personnel were already making overtures, hoping to retain their positions in the takeover.

A dark smile graced his lips, gauntlet tightening on his pistol's grip. Mercy? He'd give them Mercy. As much as they could stomach.

"Somethin's not right, Shepard …" Wrex's basso rumble caught his ear.

He slowed, holding up a fist, stopping the rest of the group. He turned an inquisitive look on the old Krogan.

"It smells … bad," Wrex drew in short, snuffling breaths. "Can't recognize it. Like bugs. A big hive, like those acid crawlers further out in the Terminus."

Shepard looked at the floor again. It did look as if a strong acid had gone over sections of plate, removing dirt and organic material, leaving the metal shiny and just a touch distorted. He ran some calculations in his head – any acid able to melt deck plating had to be stronger than corporate standard. Tiny score marks were all over as well, like tiny blades had stabbed the floor in small rows.

"Keep your eyes peeled," he decided. "Sing out if something's off."

Nodding, Kaiden pushed forwards, the low-intensity lighting making the dull biotic field replacing his normal shield glow a dark blue.

Nothing new appeared for the next few hundred yards, until they reached the safety of a courtyard. Thick transparent panes arched overhead, broken in places allowing snow to drift inside. Potted plants, brown and dead from cold, decorated corners of the room. But the clear hallways were what caught Shepard's attention. Holes were punched in the wall, plasma bursts by the half-melted edges. Other portions of the wall held tiny holes, and along the floor were depressions holding pools of water that did not melt in the sub-zero temperatures.

Garrus's omni-tool buzzed, chirping something in what possibly was an obscure Turian dialect, given the consonants. A three-fingered hand pointed at the nearest pool. "That's acid, Shepard. Diluted, probably from the snow. Some kind of hydrofluoric maybe? Nasty stuff."

Wrex's gasp put Shepard on edge. For once, the looming krogan didn't seem relaxed. His shotgun pointed at a nearby vent, head tilted to listen. "Rachni."

In front, Garrus froze. "No, they're extinct. Over a thousand years ago."

"Know of any other acid throwing, wall-crawling thing that smells like bugs?" he countered. "I'd bet my plate it's rachni, Shepard. We gotta stop 'em before they start breeding. No krogan army to hold 'em back this time."

Silent, Shepard waved them onward, taking point himself this time.

Every sensor in his arsenal was attuned to its highest practical sensitivity. Some of the arrays would need replacing aboard the Normandy, but it was a small price to pay. Getting back alive superseded a few paltry hours working on hardware.

Snow crunched underfoot, a deceptive blanket of softness. A steady breeze kept the air below comfortable levels, spreading the crystalline water in even sweeps across the floor. A careful eye could discern minor deviations, evidence of fallen bits of furniture, flat lengths of wall paneling, and sharp-edged fragments from the ceiling above. Smaller spots bore evidence of footprints, odd shaped indentations that proceeded sideways across the floor akin to miniature dunes made of snow.

Creaking below the metal deck brought the group to an abrupt halt. Faint clacking, little drumming beats of hard feet against harder metal grew louder.

"Scout." Wrex grunted. He aimed at the floor, shotgun whining a buildup.

"Wai-" Shepard raised an arm but the concussive force blasted through the floor grating, sending a fiery blast through its confines.

Wrex fired another quick charge, and growled. "Can't report what they can't see. Rachni don't talk, they see. Better keep moving, dunno if there's a Queen, but we're all meat if there is."

Irritated, Shepard gave a curt nod. 'Poison gas might've done the trick. Something quiet. Noisy kills attract as much attention as scouts reporting back.'

Ashley moved past, heavy armor booming against the floor. The Menelaus armor held some disadvantages when pitted against wheeled vehicles, but its capacity to enter buildings gave it a utility that could not be denied. Her rounded helmet peered down at the floor, thermal vision glowing a dull red to Shepard's visor; Liara moved behind her, nervous but confident. "Got 'im. Where too, Commander?"

Shepard checked his digital map, downloaded from a clerk that became convinced of the righteousness of Shepard's goal, and the potential penalties of hindering an investigation. "Straight ahead, to the elevator. Down five levels. That's the central command, if there are survivors, they'll be there."

"Better make that a secondary goal," Garrus commented from the front. His own eyepiece scanned the walls in unceasing persistence. "Rachni? The Council will lose their collective stercore if they're here."

"They're here alright," Wrex sniffed again. "Gramps always said you couldn't forget the smell. I didn't believe him."

From up ahead, Ashley's powered armor turned slightly. "Gramps? That was over two thousand years ago!"

He shrugged, big shoulders shifting the pauldrons. "He was a survivor. Don't know what happened to him in the end. Always heard he went a bit stir-crazy. Whatever. He's gone. I'm not. I intend to keep livin' too."

"Don't we all," Shepard murmured under his breath. The map vanished, and he pointed. "Elevator, but we'll take the access hatch down. Wrex, Ash, you'll need to anchor."

"Aye-aye," the marine responded. "Let's go."


The shaft was as utilitarian as one could hope, filled with ladder-rungs and emergency lights activated by motion. Peak Fifteen may have been the cutting edge of science, but at least they took excellent safety precautions. Shepard had seen worse places, at least. He suppressed the memory as best as he could; there would be time for that later. Yes, plenty of time, much later, say in fifty years after a strong memory wipe and new occupation.

"Clear," he detached the magnetic hoist, sending it back up. Alenko was just outside the shaft with Liara, maintaining a watch on the lower levels. Garrus was further out, taking overwatch – Shepard enjoyed having competent people watching his back. It was such a warm sensation, knowing that a trained professional took his job seriously. Teaching had its moments, but in the heart of a compromised bio-hazard site? Skill every time.

Wrex came down first, bulky form spiraling down the zip line with surprising agility. He grunted, almost gliding out the jammed doors, like some hunting cat on the prowl. His grace gave Shepard a moment of shock, before logic returned.

'Idiot. He's been fighting longer than humans have had space travel. Of course he's done this before.'

"Coming down," Ashley's Menelaus armor had a clip for vertical insertions, and a wall-clamp that helped regulate her speed. Her own armor landed in the area Wrex vacated, seconds later, servos whining at the momentum shift. "Safe."

He nodded, and moved back out. This time Garrus took point, already the furthest towards their intended direction. No more rachni had made their presence known, except for a few dead specimens that Wrex had taken an almost gleeful time smashing into paste. The acidic blood made an interesting pattern on his armor – not dissimilar from the patterns Shepard could see on his ancestral breastplate.

A shudder ran through his body. Slavers were bad, but being old enough to talk to family members that had witnessed literal monsters? Astonishing.

Moving onward, they began to see signs of habitation. Wet streaks along the walls, fresh-looking divots in the flooring. The lighting held full power instead of half-lit battery backups. The powerful little things were rated to last years at reduced output, but it was obvious these lights were either running off a generator – probable given the occasional flicker – or the main feed. That in turn suggested an active chain of command, which meant an authority figure who knew about the Rachni.

He frowned. The knowledge base was only possible – just enough wiggle room to allow people to excuse themselves. Every computer they'd passed had been wiped beyond all but a trained forensic.

'Suspicious.' Garrus thought so as well – as a trained detective with standard law enforcement, although not justwith the C-SEC group he'd found out, his instincts were still honed.

"That's close enough!" an unfamiliar voice called out.

Liara started behind Shepard, her control slipping just enough to make the prepared Throw dissipate. Her shoulders made a sheepish shrug in his direction.

From ahead, Garrus was talking, soothing tones that seemed half-successful. The irate voice was less than irate, but on edge. 'Natural. Invading bugs from ancient history. Some kind of horror novel … reminds me of New Calcutta.'

He reached them just in time to hear the human guard sputtering about another wave – and looked down. Enough acidic substances had spilled to warp the plating into deep ruts, bending towards the grates in deep curves. 'Bad. Very bad.'

"You can go on in, but don't cause any trouble," he heard the second guard caution. "They've got enough trouble."

Shepard moved past Garrus, nodding to the soldiers. They weren't really soldiers, despite the armor and weaponry. After what they'd gone through, perhaps they'd qualify, but police officers transitioning to region security seldom could be considered a fighting force on par with Alliance military professionals. Even fewer with an elite group such as his.

Hissing on damaged hydraulics, the door opened. Inside the floor appeared undamaged, but dirty.

Shepard went first, Ashley at his side, Liara standing behind his back, emanating pure biotic power. He glanced around, looking for someone in charge. An asari stood to one side, and a small gaggle of scientists in wrinkled, worn clothing. The stench of unwashed bodies filled the air, ripe from time and fear. It was almost as bad as the aura of palpable fear that hung over the room, filling its metallic expanse from wall-to-wall. He took another long look, noting the expensive laboratory gear shoved to the sides of the room, some holding bits of clothing in impromptu tents. Smaller doorways opened in the corners, with dimmer lighting casting shadows deep inside. Faint snores could be heard, and rasping coughs.

He shook himself. This solved nothing. Instead Shepard paced towards the asari, as the only one standing, watching them.

The asari's arms were folded across her chest, giving the impression of her looking him over before granting a slight nod of acknowledgement.

"Commander Shepard, N7 and provisional SPECTRE. Does this facility belong to former SPECTRE Saren Arterius?"

Her face jumped, out of focus. "Doctor Iallis, molecular biology. Um, sort of? He held an interest here, but ExoGeni is the sole proprietary entity."

"Excellent," Shepard let his teeth show. "I have warrants for Mister Arterius's arrest and confiscation of material. Show me where his data is, and I'll be out of your tentacles in no time."

Her arms went back, a quiet move designed to hide preparatory biotics. "I'm sorry?"

Shepard took a close step, reaching in to seize her shoulder with his off hand. Her natural reaction fired a biotic emanation past his shoulder, but his own experience evaded the shockwave with ease. In a heartbeat he brought his forehead down on her skull with a resounding crash, stunning the asari. He finished the job by applying pressure to the relevant carotid artery – on humans it was located behind the jawbone, but asari possessed their equivalent vessel along the side of the neck.

Letting her drop to the floor in a boneless pile, Shepard spun to the next nearest person, a volus that had watched them while doing nothing. "You. Where is Saren's data?"

A small gasp of air escaped the tiny being's breathing tubes. "Olar. *sst* Nice to meet you. *sst*"

Shepard exchanged looks with Garrus. Obviously, the little volusian was in shock. "Can you tell me where Saren kept his information here? It's not in Port Hanshan, the Board doesn't have it. It has to be here."

"Oh. *sst* That. You'll have to go to the Hot Labs and the Secure Lab. *sst*. Don't do that."

"Right. Thank you," Shepard ignored the little being, and raised his voice. "Alright everyone. Take a few to check out security. We move out in twenty minutes."


A/N: Brief news blurb: employed, adjunct professor teaching biology, and writing as I can. A little work done on my alt account, a little work done here ... but most of my time is now spent grading papers and writing lesson plans. I keep working on the story when I have breaks, and lo! Another chapter is born!

Thanks to Nightstride for his editing genius! Story suggestion: The Hero that Loved Me, by Random Equinox (id: 8161446). Enjoy!