A/N: Long chapter. Summer break! Lots of writing time. Finals done.

A lot of background here. Sorry if that's not your thing – next chapter (which will be up in a week, tops, yay summer) should be more action-packed. Or at least action-seasoned.

Shepard was a ruthlessly pragmatic woman.

That didn't mean she was a robot, however. She had her quirks and foibles, her preferences and things that bothered her just like anyone else did. Admittedly, she kept a better lid on them than most, but they were still there.

The same applied to her views on people. There were traits she admired, traits she put up with, and traits that grated on her. Most of them were related to her – after all, she was the most important person in the world to her – but she still respected and disliked others for what they did with their own lives, on the basis of the work required.

Captain Anderson was one such man. She respected his ability to lead, the devotion he carried to his principles, and his persistent idealism in the face of a galaxy that didn't care one whit about what he wanted. It was rare, very rare, to find someone with such a strong set of principles combined with the ability to make them a reality.

He wasn't without his flaws, of course. His obsession, whatever the cause, with the turian Saren was dangerous. Not only, she felt, did it blind him to any possible alternative explanations for what was going on with the geth, the protheans, and the invasion of Eden Prime, but it also made him appear to the other races of the galaxy as a raging lunatic.

Shepard had worked very hard to present a specific image of humanity to the galaxy, and "prone to promoting raging lunatics to positions of command" wasn't one of them.

She was acutely aware of the irony.

Irony or no, the man's obsession was still a problem, just like Pressly's xenophobia. If humanity was to survive the coming centuries – or even the coming months, if her suspicions about the invasion of Eden Prime were correct – it would need far more goodwill than it had managed to garner so far. There were times when threats of violence and the promise of unpredictability were appropriate, but the Systems Alliance had vastly overplayed the "prickly and dangerous" card. Possibly fatally so. One needed carrots as well as sticks.

In addition to the things major flaws the man had, there were also the minor, much more excusable failings. Most of the time, they weren't a problem, but sometimes a lack of foresight on one man's part could result in frantic panic on the part of many others.

Like now, for instance.

Anderson had ordered Shepard to bring Alenko and Williams along to the meeting with the human ambassador and potentially the citadel council. At the time, she hadn't been sure whether to laugh or politely explain why that was a terrible idea. In either case, he hadn't been interested in listening to her arguments, and had sent her off to get the two prepared for a formal meeting with what amounted to the heads of state of the largest nation in the galaxy.

She wasn't worried about Alenko. The man had obviously moved in political circles before, and knew how not to step on toes. He also almost certainly had appropriate attire, an understanding of protocol, and a modicum of self-control.

Williams, on the other hand...

She let out a sigh as she walked briskly toward the sleeper pods. She hoped the woman was more resilient than she'd seemed earlier, or this was going to end poorly. She had too much to learn, and nowhere near enough time to learn it in.

"Williams!" Shepard half-shouted at the occupied sleeper pod. "Up and at 'em!"

Ashley was awake and at least partially responsive in seconds. The sleeper pod hatch opened and a disheveled gunnery chief squinted into the dim lights of the pod bay. "Ma'am?" she asked groggily.

Shepard snapped her fingers on front of the woman's nose. "Time to get up. Anderson wants the ground team from Eden Prime with him when we meet the ambassador," she said. "In an hour."

Ashley blinked twice before swearing. "Oh, shit," she muttered, flinging a leg over the edge of the pod.

Credit where it's due, Shepard thought. At least she knows it's a bad idea.

"I brought you Lowe's dress blues," Shepard said, handing a neatly-folded stack of navy blue clothing to the chief. "You're borrowing them. Get dressed ASAP and meet me in the comm room."

Williams hopped out of the pod with a thud, rubbing sleep from her eyes with one hand as she reached for the offered pants with the other. "Aye aye, ma'am," she acknowledged.

Two minutes and thirty seven seconds (Shepard checked), a hastily-dressed and still blinking Gunnery Chief Ashley Willaims stumbled into briefing and communications room behind the CIC.

"Good, you're here," she said without preamble as the door closed behind Ashley. "We're scheduled to meet with Ambassador Donnel Udina in less than an hour an I don't think Anderson thought this through completely."

Ashley smiled weakly. The level of informality – and the frankness that people used to assess the strengths and weaknesses in each other – expressed by the crew was still something she was getting used to, and hearing the executive officer bluntly say that the captain didn't get something would have been heresy in her old unit.

Here, it was treated as a simple fact to be dealt with like any other, with no stigma attached. She definitely liked it, but... old habits were hard to change, and there was a deep sense of institutional guilt that flooded her when she nodded her agreement with the commander.

"Well, we'll do what we can," she said with a sigh. "Now, I mean no offense, but we don't have time to beat around the bush with this and it's important."

"Ma'am?" Ashley steeled herself, bracing for... she wasn't even sure.

"Your last name is Williams," she commented almost casually. "Are you related to the Williams, of Shanxi?"

Ashley's shoulders drooped. She'd been hoping that nobody would make the connection. Evidently, the commander had. "Yes, ma'am. He was my grandfather."

"I see," Shepard said with the same almost irritating lack of inflection. "A lot of people related to the veterans of the first contact war have issues working with aliens. We're going to see the ambassador, possibly the citadel council, and we're going to be encountering and working with a lot of them. Is that going to be a problem?"

Ashley bristled slightly that Shepard thought she would even need to ask the question. "No, ma'am. You tell me to jump, I'll say how high. You tell me to play nice, I'll play nice. You tell me to kiss a turian," she gave the commander a cold smile, "I'll ask which cheek."

Shepard chuckled quietly. "Not sure they have cheeks, Chief, but that's good to hear. Now, your personnel jacket-" she tapped a data slate for emphasis, "-says that you've had mostly groundside postings. Have you ever worked closely with aliens before?"

She scowled, thinking back to her various dirtside assignments. "Aside from an asari tourist or two... no, ma'am," she answered. "Not a lot of traffic on most of my bases."

Shepard let out a long, slow breath. "Then you get the crash course."

She blinked in confusion. "Crash course, ma'am?"

The commander smiled. "Crash course in alien relations," she said. "How to avoid unintentionally offending anyone."

I guess that makes sense. No reason they'd move or think like we do, Ashley thought as she nodded. "I'm all ears, Commander."

"Right!" Shepard brushed her hands together as she organized her thoughts. "First, diplomatic basics. Speak only when directly spoken to. Salute anything that moves or scowls, or whenever I do."

Ashley nodded. "Same as usual for dealing with politicians?"

"Pretty much. Now, the asari. The big thing about them is to not flip out if they try to touch you. Touch is a big part of asari greetings and communication. The polite ones won't do it to humans, but a large portion of the citadel population is asari, and we might run into some who don't know it's not normal for humans."

"Touch me how, ma'am?"

Shepard shrugged. "It varies. Usually they'll try to run their hands along the side of your face or hair, but another common greeting is for them to lift both of your hands in theirs while stepping close. Here, like this-"

Shepard stepped close to the Ashley, lifting her both of hands just beneath her breasts before lowering them and stepping away. "Like that. It's a little closer than we usually get to strangers, but they mean nothing more to it than we mean by a handshake."

Ashley shook her head. "Why do they do it, ma'am?"

Shepard shrugged again. "My instructor told me it's part of how they pick up on the mood of the person they're greeting, like we read body language. I've never asked beyond that."

"Okay, so don't be alarmed if the blueberries touch me. Anything else?" she asked.

"Aside from not calling them blueberries?" Shepard shook her head. "Little. Asari are hard to accidentally offend, especially the ones working with the public. They have a lot of patience and are fairly empathetic."

"Right, freaky mind stuff."

"More culture than biology, but yes, that plays a role." She put her hands on her hips. "Now, turians."

"Ma'am," Ashley said flatly.

"Turians are very difficult to read," she said. "They do a lot with sub-vocalizations in their speech, positioning of the head and eyes, and the like. We're actually supposed to get a translator patch that helps with some of it soon. Luckily for us," she smiled, "the broad strokes are easy. Don't stare them in the eye or look down on them unless you're trying to challenge them, and bob your head to show deference."

"That's it?"

Shepard snorted. "The OCS offers entire classes on turian body language and social interaction. This is the basics, like 'how to not flip them off in the street, or apologize if you do.'"

"Nod at the turians. Check."

"The volus can be prickly, and they don't take insinuations that they don't contribute well at all. Also, keep a good distance when you talk to them – at least a meter and a half, if not two."

"Because of the suits?" she asked, curious.

"Partially," Shepard said with a nod, "but also because they're short, and they can't look you in the eye if you're looming, and that's important to them."

"Stay back from the volus, don't belittle them. Heh. Belittle," she said with a smirk.

"Pretty much," Shepard said with a roll of her eyes. "Now, the hanar are unerringly polite and considerate, so you're not likely to offend them even if you tried. Just don't touch them."

"Don't touch the jellyfish. Understood."

"And don't call them jellyfish."

"Yes, ma'am."

She smiled. "The elcor... just treat them like you would any human."

"The elcor? The four-legged emotionless ones? Treat them like I would a human?"

Shepard laughed. "They come from a high gravity world, chief. All of their body language is incredibly subtle, and a lot of their communication is scent-based. You can't hide your body language from the elcor, and any of the ones we run into are going to know human tendencies."

"Huh. Okay. I don't have to worry about accidentally offending them?"

Shepard shook her head with a smile. "Not really. They're very patient, not particularly aggressive, and very self-aware. That makes them difficult to offend."

"Understood, ma'am."

"Let's see... we probably won't run into any krogan or batarians on the presidium, so don't worry about them... oh!" she snapped her fingers, "I almost forgot. Don't grin."

Ashley blinked. "Ma'am?"

"Don't grin."

"I can't smile while I'm there?" Ashley said, confused. "Why not?"

"You can smile all you like, chief, just don't grin."

Ashley shook her head back and forth. "You'll need to explain that one, ma'am, because I'm not getting it."

Shepard huffed and set her hands back on her hips. "If a wild animal on earth bares its teeth at you, Williams, what emotion is it likely expressing?"

"Well... that depends," Ashley hedged. She had fond memories of a family dog when she was young. "I had a dog..."

Shepard waved her hand dismissively. "If you come across a wild creature in the woods, and it bares its teeth at you, do you think it's pleased or angry?"

"Angry."

"Same logic. Of the known sentient species in the galaxy, guess how many openly bare their teeth as an expression of happiness or pleasure?"

"I couldn't say, ma'am."

"Three. Humans, batarians, and krogan. Don't grin. Most of the people on the presidium will understand the expression, but some might not, and among other races it's reserved for an expression of rage, not enjoyment. So keep your mouth shut, Chief. Literally."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good." she glanced at her omni tool and sighed in frustration. "There's more to cover, but I still need to get geared up and Alenko's busy with the captain. This will have to do," she said, clapping the other woman on the shoulder.

"Yes, ma'am," Ashley repeated, then scowled. "Er... geared up?"

Shepard let her hand fall and laughed. "I forget you're not used to working with Vanguards," she said as she headed for the door. "We're always armed and armored. Go finished getting prepped, Williams."

"Aye aye, ma'am," Ashley said as Shepard walked through the hatch.

Great, she wondered in the empty room as she straightened her uniform, but what the hell is a vanguard?

Between the written reports from the ground team, the video presentation that Alenko had been working on, the sensor logs from the Normandy, and the corpse of Nihlus, there should have been plenty of evidence to implicated this... Saren... in the attack on Eden Prime.

At least, that's what Ashley figured.

Which was why she was more than a little confused at her presence among Anderson, Shepard, and Alenko in the Normandy's decontamination airlock waiting for the sterilization field to sweep across them for the umpteenth time.

She was a good soldier, she reminded herself. She fought hard, didn't question orders, and when told to jump, she asked how high. Still, she couldn't figure out why she was in borrowed dress blues being taken to a meeting with humanity's seniormost diplomat to the citadel council, along with one of the most skilled human biotics, a famous war hero, and an infamous war hero.

Yes, she had been on Eden Prime when the attack came. No, she didn't have the first clue what had happened. Yes, she'd fought against the geth with the Commander and Lieutenant. No, she didn't have an explanation for the zombies. Yes, she had seen the dead body of the Spectre. No, she was sure she didn't know what was going on, and hadn't they already asked her that question?

She bit back a sigh as her imagination ran rampant.

A muttered curse snapped her out of her mental rut as Shepard tugged on her assault rifle's back mount.

"Chief?" The N7's voice was resigned. "Can you get this damnable thing a shove? The armor doesn't let me bend far enough to to lock it in place, and it's stuck."

"Of course, ma'am," she said and began working the folded rifle into its latched position. "Do you mind if I ask you a question?" she said to Shepard's backside as she wiggled the rifle back and forth against the jammed latch.

"Go ahead," Shepard said as she held on to the airlock wall to brace herself.

"You said earlier that you were in full gear because you were a Vanguard. What's a Vanguard?"

"It's- oof," she grunted as her grip slipped and half fell against the wall when Ashley pushed on the rifle. "Alenko, you mind fielding this one? Chief's trying to shove me out the airlock," she joked, and Williams blushed.

"Of course, ma'am," Kaidan said from the opposite wall as Williams sheepishly pulled Shepard upright. "Chief, Vanguard is one of the six specializations that the ICT program members pick from when they finish their first advanced training courses. It's sort of like another MOS."

He folded one arm across his chest, gesturing with the other as he slipped easily into the lecturer's role. "Each specialization – call it a class – has its own set of training doctrines, combat scenarios, and preferred equipment."

Ashley gave up trying to finesse Shepard's shotgun into its mount and gave the weapon a swift slam, shoving it into place with a loud click. Shepard leaned away from the wall and nodded her thanks.

"Vanguards are the front line," she interrupted. "We're all strong biotics, although not necessarily the most precise ones. We're the first in the door, and our standard MO is to disrupt lines of battle, destroy high priority targets, and keep an enemy force off balance. We sow chaos, fear, panic, and confusion in addition to blowing things up," she finished with a predatory grin.

"I get the whole shock and awe thing, ma'am, but that still doesn't explain the armor," Ashley said, feeling a little bit like the kid in school that everyone made fun of for not getting a simple concept. "I mean, unless you're expecting trouble..."

"I'm always expecting trouble," Shepard replied in a dry echo of Nihlus' earlier remark. "But that's not why I wear armor everywhere. Tell me, Chief, what's the job of a soldier?"

"Ma'am? I suppose it's to kill the enemy," she answered doubtfully, and Anderson smiled.

"Close," Shepard corrected. "It's to neutralize the enemy. You don't need to kill them to do that."

Ashley raised an eyebrow. "Fair enough, ma'am, but how many chances do you really get to accept surrender?"

"Frankly?" Shepard shook her head. "If you're fighting right, quite a few."

She pushed off the wall and gestured past Anderson to the closed airlock door. "Out there are hundreds of thousands of aliens and humans, sentient creatures like you and me, living together in relative harmony. They come from different worlds, different religions, different philosophies, and yet almost all of them have something in common: They don't like dying."

"We can take advantage of this."

"A concealed pistol or compact service rifle lets me kill people. A full battle kit lets me show people that I kill people. It delivers a message that a concealed weapon doesn't. My identity and reputation – and the reputation of the people that share my uniform – is as much a weapon as the guns I carry or the powers I wield. Sometimes, if I'm lucky, I can end a fight simply by making my presence known... and an enemy that won't fight is an enemy I don't have to kill."

She paused, letting her words sink in. "And an enemy I don't have to kill is one fewer friend, or comrade, or family member that will come hunt me down later."

"So that's why, Williams," she said as she patted the arsenal strapped to her back, "I wear full kit whenever I go anywhere public. Make sense?"

"I guess," Ashley said doubtfully, "but-"

The airlock chimed, and Anderson slapped the door panel open almost immediately.

"Finally," he said as he stomped out. "Let's go. I don't want to miss our appointment."

"Captain Anderson," Donnel Udina's desert-dry voice said as the four of them stepped inside the ambassador's office on the presidium, "I see you brought half your crew with you."

"Just the ground team from Eden Prime," Anderson demurred, "in case you had any questions."

"I have the mission reports," he shot back. "I assume they're accurate?"

Anderson nodded curtly. "They are. What about the council? What did they say?"

Udina's face softened, and he sat down heavily in his padded office chair. "They cannot comment on an ongoing investigation," he said with an explosive sigh.

"So they are investigating," Anderson said, triumph in his voice.

"They are," Udina confirmed slowly. "Unfortunately, it takes more than hearsay and spotty evidence for them to toss meetings that have been scheduled months in advance out to formally hear our claims," he said finished bitterly.

"But the evidence-" Anderson began, and Udina slammed his fist into the desk, cutting him off.

"-Is not enough!" he spat. "The badly edited testimony of some two-bit smuggler from a helmet cam? The corpse of a spectre shot in the back of the head? Mission reports from a whole three soldiers, all of them members of your crew? The beacon destroyed? You're lucky they can't deny the evidence of the geth attack, or they'd be hauling you all up there on a list of charges longer than the bloody station!"

"What?!" Anderson thundered, slicing his hand through the air. "That's ridiculous."

"Eden Prime was a chance to prove you get the job done, Anderson! Instead, we get this. Wild accusations about the Council's top agent from someone with a history with him, a Spectre dead, and the mission a failure. Nihlus' recommendation or no, this will seriously jeopardize your candidacy for the Spectres, Commander. "

"That's Saren's fault, not hers," Anderson protested.

"Then you'd better hope the C-Sec investigation turned up evidence to support your claims," Udina snapped back.

He sighed and rubbed his temple before glancing at his desk clock. "I scheduled a teleconference with them in a gap between their next meetings," he said in a calmer tone. "Anderson, you're the one with the accusations," and as a result, Shepard thought, the one taking the fall if they turn out to be unfounded. Clever ambassador. "so I want you there, and I have some things to discuss with you before the meeting."

He glanced meaningfully at the trio of soldiers, and Anderson sighed. "The three of you, dismissed," he said. "Don't get into trouble, and keep your commlinks on."

Shepard snapped a salute and silently left the office, Alenko and Williams trailing behind.

"And that is why I don't like politicians," Ashley muttered under her breath as the door hissed shut behind the pair.

"It doesn't make him wrong," Kaidan said to her. "Look, I'm not a fan of the man myself, but you have to admit he's got a point. If your goal is to not listen, there are holes in our evidence you could fly a shuttle through that will justify it."

"I- dammit," Ashley swore. "What now, Commander?"

Shepard paused, running over options in her head.

None of them were good.

She shook her head. "Udina's right," she said. "We're relying on a C-Sec investigation to turn up evidence of wrongdoing to get a hearing. C-Sec answers to the council, and is bound by their rules. They'll turn up whatever results the council wants."

"That's an awfully cynical view of C-Sec, ma'am," Kaidan said.

She shrugged. "They don't have much of a choice. All the council needs to say is 'that's classified' and C-Sec won't be able to do anything."

"Bastards," Ashley muttered.

"Easy, Chief," Shepard said, placing a hand on the woman's shoulder. "Look, you're both time lagged to hell. Go catch some shuteye in the lounge. You'll be on hand if Anderson or Udina needs you, and you'd be hard pressed to get in trouble napping."

Kaidan brightened at the suggestion, rubbing his neck. "That's right, they have a lounge here, don't they."

Ashley shifted from foot to foot, ducking out from under Shepard's hand. "Is it going to be a problem, ma'am? I mean..."

Shepard shook her head. "It's meant as a quiet place for visiting dignitaries that need a break. Nobody will think twice of two officers catching a nap on the couches. You didn't have fifteen hours of shuteye in the medical bay," she reminded them with a wry grin.

"Plus," she said, gesturing at her armor and guns, "do you think anyone is really going to want to start trouble with me?"

"Point, ma'am," Ashley murmured. "What are you going to do?"

"I have a few errands I need to run while I'm here. You have the frequency and encryption code?"

"Yes, ma'am," she answered. "Alenko gave it to me."

"Good man," Shepard said with a nod at the Lieutenant. "Now go get some rest, both of you. I'll be back in an hour or two."

For all the Commander Shepard was clever – more clever than most – she was still quite poorly educated. Growing up on the street without spending more than a few weeks in a classroom before joining the military did that to a person.

Her remarkable command of the English language stemmed from long days taking shelter in the local public library as a child, and what few other formal skills she had were taught to her by the remedial course the Systems Alliance had put her through.

The course was interesting in that didn't try to replace fifteen years' worth of classical education in the school system. Rather, it aimed to teach her enough to not appear an idiot in public while showing her where to go to find out specific things if the need ever arose. Usually, when in the military, this boiled down to "ask a specialist."

In the wider world, it was slightly more complicated.

First step: Define and analyze the problem.

After making sure that Kaidan and Ashley weren't following her, she hopped on board a public transit system.

I need to find out if the images in my head are hallucinations caused by a blow to the head, or really a message planted by the protheans.

Second step: Develop a plan to solve the problem.

That narrowed the field down considerably. The blow to the head and hallucination aspect meant she probably needed a medical professional of some kind, or at the very least somebody with a lot of experience with traumatic brain injuries.

Alternatively, she thought as she tapped her finger against her jaw, I could approach it from the other side. This cannot have been the only communication beacon left behind by the protheans, and some record of their function must have been recorded elsewhere.

So. Two solutions, then. She could find a medical examiner with a limited curiosity who wouldn't be missed if she asked too many questions or risked talking... or she could try looking up more information on the protheans.

Not really much of a choice.

Third: Implement the plan.

She stepped off the mass transit shuttle and looked up at the high glass walls of the citadel public library with an anticipatory smile.

It was definitely a classy library, she thought as she stepped up to the polished front desk staffed by not one but three real librarians. Most of the libraries she'd been in had a reference librarian and a security guard.

Of course, this was a far cry from the run-down old building she'd hidden from the rain in as a child.

"Hello," she said with a friendly smile as she walked up to the front desk. The armor and weaponry she carried were a double-edged sword, lending an tense undertone to even friendly conversations.

"Hello, miss," the asari at the desk said politely. "How may I help you?"

"It's my first time here in the citadel library," she explained to the librarian, "and I'm trying to get some information on the protheans."

The asari smiled, her shoulders dipping slightly as the tension that had been in them faded. "That's a fairly broad topic. Is there a specific aspect you're interested in?"

Shepard nodded. "I'm trying to find details on prothean communication systems. What they used in place of our comm buoys, how they send messages, things like that."

The asari called up several new holographic terminals, tapping a few commands into each one before looking back up at Shepard while the query was processed. "And who are you with, miss?" she asked.

"Nobody; this is for my own edification," she said. That sentence alone conveyed more meaning than Shepard would have preferred, but at least here on the citadel it was common for newcomers to ask about the protheans.

More importantly, however, it also indicated that she didn't have research paper access through any corporate or educational institution, and that results from the various scholarly journals would not be useful.

"I see," the asari said, flicking several of the windows closed. "I'm afraid that most of the advanced studies and articles are restricted," she said apologetically. "If you want access to them, you'll need a license with appropriate access tokens."

Shepard waved a hand back and forth. "The summaries should be enough to get me started," she said. "If I need more detailed information, I can always pay the one-time access fee."

"Of course," the librarian said, tapping another button before handing her a small data drive. "Just plug this in to any open terminals, it will call up some good works to get you started on."

Shepard took the small chip with a polite nod of the head. "Thank you."

"Let me know if you run into any issues, and welcome to the citadel library."

Two hours later, Shepard was thoroughly tired of reading through summaries of academic papers.

It was bad enough that she had to constantly cross-reference to works and papers that she didn't have access to, but not having spent a decade or more of her life in the academic world slowed what should have been a quick search to a crawl.

It didn't help matters that most of the papers were dedicated around adapting prothean technology – which apparently everyone in the field already understood the function of – to new purposes, or studying the effects it had, or offering suggestions as to its purpose.

Nobody bothered to list what any of it actually did.

She rubbed her eyes. What I really need, she thought blearily to herself, is a prothean primer. Wait, hold on...

She stopped scrolling past the articles whose complete contents were available to the public. Usually, these pieces were worth about as much as one paid for them – which is to say, nothing – but the title on the paper caught her eye.

Mechanisms and functionality of prothean communication network terminals, by Dr. Liara T'Soni.

She didn't recognize the name, although it sounded asari. She downloaded the paper and began reading through it. Credentials, authors... only one author? That's not a good sign, she thought, her excitement waning. Contents, preamble, data, diagrams... come on, where's the detailed summary... ah, there it is...

"While no functioning samples of long-range prothean communication relays have been discovered, the damaged systems recovered in the cache on Nonuel have all but proven that the protheans must have possessed some kind of technology to transfer information without a typical user interface, possibly by a precise system of transcranial magnetic stimulation or other 'experience transfer' mechanism. Analysis of the replacement parts discovered by Doctor Batua Atan Swa Taroo Eadi Tol Soonarin indicates..."

The pit fell out of Shepard's stomach.

It was real.

It wasn't – at least not entirely – the deranged imaginings of an impact-battered mind. The protheans had left behind a message in their beacon, and it had been transmitted, at least partially, to her. On the wake of the surprisingly relieving reassurance that she was not, in fact, losing her mind came a sense of dawning horror at the scope of the problem before her.

There was a turian who had apparently turned traitor, working toward unconfirmed ends, flying around in a ship built by the race that the protheans left behind an apocalyptic warning about. His methods were ruthless, his final goal unknown, and his allies profoundly unsettling.

Still, better to know... Shepard thought to herself as she downloaded a local copy of the doctor's paper and signed out of the terminal and headed for the door.

"You were reading a long time," the librarian from earlier called to her as she passed by the front desk. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

Shepard smiled and handed the carefully-blanked reference chip back to the librarian. "I did, thank you. The summaries for those papers can be a bit of a slog to read through."

The asari took the chip, nodding sympathetically. "Especially if you're unaccustomed to it. I'm glad you found what you were looking for."

"Me, too," Shepard said. Although if you knew what my success meant, you'd probably want to throw a few extra prayers to your goddess.

She walked out of the library, already tapping her omnitool for a cab.

She had scarcely settled in the front seat when her omni-tool beeped, a soft chime alerting her to an incoming call. She glanced at the identifier.

Systems Alliance Ambassador Donnel Udina, Citadel Embassies, Building 3

She tapped the "accept" button.

"This is Shepard," she answered tersely.

"Commander," the ambassador's tinny voice replied in kind. "The C-Sec investigation's finished. You need to meet us at the tower."

She sighed into the comm. "No investigation ever finishes that fast," she said.

"You think I don't know that?" he snapped. "Get to the tower quickly. I've already called Williams and Alenko up. A C-Sec investigator will meet you with his results."

She quirked an involuntary eyebrow. "We don't get time to review the findings?" she asked.

"Don't remind me. I have to go brief Anderson. Move fast."

She sighed as the call terminated, and punched a new destination into the cab's navigational computer.

"-investigation is over, Garrus," Shepard's translator supplied with a warning beep that sound levels were too low for a guarantee of accuracy. The deeper-voiced turian stalked off without a word, not even glancing at Shepard as he passed.

"Commander Shepard?" he asked with a polite bob of the head, "Garrus Vakarian. I was the officer in charge of the C-Sec investigation into Saren."

Shepard returned the nod. "Did you find anything we can present to the council?" she asked.

He shook his head. "No. He's a Spectre. Everything he touches is classified or so heavily redacted it might as well be. I've got nothing susbstantial. He's slimy, though... I know he did it. Like you humans say, I can feel it in my gut."

Shepard resisted the urge to roll her eyes at the turian. "Gut feelings" didn't exactly get one very far in a bureaucracy that was dead set on not letting you proceed. Still, it was a turian that thought outside the box, which was a rarity – at least in her experience. Even Nihlus had been a fairly by-the-book character from what she had seen, and him from an organization of supposedly unconventional thinkers.

She instead nodded politely and filed away his contact information, listening to his promises to call her if he turned up anything on his own time.

"Commander!" Kaidan's voice called from an alcove on the side. "There you are. The council's ready for us."

Next: The citadel council meeting, and the hunt for more evidence. Probably two chapters, given that my hunt ties in a few extra side quests that the original doesn't. This is a good (albeit cliffhangeresque) stopping point for now.

After that, it's Spectre time, and then out into the greater galaxy!

Side note – I may be getting a beta soon! Talks are ongoing. Hopefully this will lead to an increase in quality and a decrease in errors. As always, feedback is welcome, and I'm not offended in the slightest if you correct my mistakes. One of these days I'll even fix them!