Author's note: I have been wanting to finish this story/series for a really long time but I've had such terrible writers block. So I've finished the ME:LE and am going to update this story's existing chapters in order to make it a little easier. Looking back on old work is tough, and I think now that I'm a little older and a little wiser, I can make this a little better. There's no timeline on this, but I hope ya'll are still around to read and enjoy.
"Home is people. Not a place. If you go back there after the people are gone, then all you can see is what is not there any more."
There's an ongoing debate amongst humans about whether the events surrounding a person's life shape them towards greatness, or them accordingly. Although the word 'great' has been following my name for the better part of a half-century now, I can tell you with utmost certainty I was not born into greatness.
I was born on Mindoir, a human farming colony in the Attican Traverse on April 11th, 2154. Humans had only discovered mass effect physics in 2148 and my father and mother Jack and Stacia Shepard were one of the early 'pioneers' of human colonization efforts outside the Sol system. The story they always told us kids was one of them meeting, having a courtship lasting several weeks, then my father proposing they get the hell off Earth and chase new opportunity. Life on Earth was, as it still is, difficult. Too many people all vying for the same resources made it a pressure cooker where only the wealthy could thrive. The Systems Alliance gave my mother and father 2000 acres of untouched farming land, money to build a home, and an opportunity elsewhere, and they figured themselves fools not to take it.
My mother was a biologist who specialized in agriculture and my father was a mechanic who owned his own shop in Toronto. Both wanted a family, but they both also saw that life on Earth for future generations would only become more challenging. There were too many people, every scrap of land was bought and owned either by corporations or generational wealth and the opportunities afforded to them were limited. Mindoir offered nothing but freedom and opportunity, and also excitement of being the first of something. The danger of colonizing at the edge of the Traverse entered their minds, but they always believed the Systems Alliance would protect them, as the farm land was extremely valuable to Earth.
My parents had always wanted a larger family and they were fortunate in that regard. A few short years after arriving on Mindoir, they were blessed with my brother Jack Jr. (J.J.) and my younger sister Stephanie. I was the middle child between them.
I had a pretty regular childhood, though it was spent cramped inside of a prefab farmhouse. I attended school and worked on the farm in the after hours. My parents were loving, attentive, and normal by all standards of measurement. We were a typical colonial family caring for the land and contributing to a greater humanity throughout the universe.
I don't wish to compare my family to the early settlers of Earth, as farming was made exponentially easier with the advent of new equipment and technology. Our farmland was tasked with producing soy, a commodity shipped throughout the universe and used to sustain life throughout the colonies and beyond. My family also maintained fruits and vegetables for personal consumption, as well as a small hobby farm for milk and eggs. Large farming operations were limited to a few select corporations on earth, where many individuals managed the colonies. It was almost a return to the old ways of earth and my parents loved the freedom it afforded them. As a child, though, it wasn't at all pleasant.
There is one memory that haunts me to this day. I was very young, probably les than 10 years old, and we had a sow giving birth to a litter of piglets. I watched as my father did most of the work, showing me each piglet before placing them down, and explaining the process in great detail despite my pleas to stop. Then one of the piglets became stuck in the birthing canal. My father looked at me without flinching and said, "You've got small hands, get in there, boy!" He stood up and forced me down and before I knew it he was shoving my hands elbow deep in the pig, and verbally guiding me as fearful tears streamed down my face. Hundreds of years of farming technology available, and it seemed there was still only one way to deal with a situation like that. I freed the piglet and birthing continued as I held the squirming animal in my hands, a little stunned that I had made that moment happen. When I calmed down Jack told me that I had saved more than one life and that made me feel a little better. I named the piglet "Piglet".
A few years later and a few more traumatic moments behind me, my dad brought a tiny turkey chick home and gave it to me to keep warm and look after. I named him Turk (are you seeing a pattern?). Turk and I became fast friends and I would often rush home after school just so I could see him. I'd try to teach him tricks that never seemed to take. I fed him and I took care of him and I loved him.
Although the meat industry had all but eliminated the need to kill live animals for human consumption, the colonies were well behind Earth in those early days. Shipment of lab-grown meat was preferred, however live poultry was considered somewhat of a luxury in the early days of colonization. So when my father told me that Turk was too old to live on the farm and that his meat could be used to feed our family, I was confronted with a bit of a crisis.
Turk was my friend and I didn't want him to die. I had always pictured his death as being peaceful. I had always been taught that hurting animals was wrong. I had a great deal of trouble reconciling these teachings with my father's assertion that Turk could and should be killed and eaten.
When my friend the turkey was killed to make dinner, it was my first real confrontation with the concept of death. I had to say goodbye to a friend and beloved pet and I was incredibly sad and refused to eat any of the meals that came from him.
My parents tried to explain that colonial life demanded some of these sacrifices. Even though our animals were our friends, they had a purpose even in their death. We couldn't afford to cremate them without profiting from their resources.
"If we were to die and our organs were still useful, we would want them to help another human, wouldn't we?" My mother posited.
I couldn't disagree. If I were dead, my heart was of no use to me. It didn't make it easier but I could at least understand it. Each time an animal I loved would have to be put down, either to be harvested or cremated, my mom would hug me and remind me it was okay to be sad, that grief was normal and tears helped us feel better in the long run. I missed her presence greatly growing up.
Colonial life was about sacrifices. I cried every time I ate a piece of meat that once lived on our farm, I worked my hands bloody picking potatoes and other vegetables from the ground, and I felt a little jealousy thinking of all the kids on earth enjoying bowls of protein made from soy we had spend evenings and weekends harvesting.
As the years went on, I developed into a pretty regular teenager. I had average grades, a few close friends and a couple hobbies in my spare time. My siblings and myself had each been 'blessed' with the strong Shepard genes. We all had jet-black hair, and were built tall and strong. Broad shoulders, dark eyes, and a bit of a quick temper too. My sister Stephanie had no trouble keeping up with farm duties and she often bested both J.J. and I in a lot of ways.
My sister and I were closest in age and in personality. We often made the kilometers long journey to and from school together without my brother. J.J. was the stereotypical, type A, athletic, handsome, all around great guy in high school you've seen in every movie you've ever hated. He was my big brother so I looked up to him, but I was also resentful of the high bar he set for me. He would be graduating and moving onto an engineering and business degree with the ultimate goal of assuming ownership of the farm. It seemed destined that I would one day become his employee. Sometimes I find myself wondering what would have happened if he had lived and I had died, what the world would be like. I always conclude that it would be better.
He wasn't always the perfect one, though. Growing up, he took the traditional role of big brother very seriously when it came to 'breaking me in.' We'd fight, for fun and out of malice, but we'd always be friends afterward. He taught me how to jimmy open the liquor cabinet, and hot wire the tractor. He gave me my first cigarette, and totally sold me out when we got caught. My brother was my other self. My grander, sadder, braver, shrewder self. He was my most severe judge and my fiercest defender. I looked up to him. I wanted to be him.
My sister was just a year or so younger that I was, while J.J. had a solid two and a half year on me, so Stephanie were always a little closer. She was funny and kind and incredibly strong-willed, much like my mother. She always wore her long black hair in a loose and lazy ponytail, never wanting to spend more than five minutes getting ready in the mirror. Whatever make-up or styled clothing she wore was always just for her, with no thought towards potential suitors. Despite that, boys were always calling after her.
My mother was a force. She was kind, nurturing, loving, and unlike my father she was never afraid to show it. My dad was never one for "I love yous", or hugs and kisses, but he always showed he cared in other ways. He was over protective and always teaching us ways to be more independent and resourceful.
I think the thing I miss the most about my family is the ability to talk about them, with them. I can't turn to my brother or sister and say, "remember that time we took the tractor on a joy ride and crashed it through the fence. Only to repair the damage, fill the fuel tank, clean the thing to cover our tracks…and then take it for another spin that would finally get us caught?" And we'd laugh and have a drink remembering the look on my father's face.
I can't watch my parents dance at my wedding remembering when I was a kid, watching my dad's softness in my mothers arms as he slowly swayed and sang her 'Love me Tender' in the most hushed voice I could imagine.
They'll never meet my spouse or my children. I wanted to show them that I found this beautiful person who was perfectly willing to stand by me through literally everything I threw at her. Someone who had seen all the worst parts of me, all the horrible things I've seen and done, and loved me anyway. I like to think my parents would have been proud of me for finding such a partner.
The story of their murder is not an easy one to tell. It was years before I was stable enough to even start talking what happened. Even Liara wasn't granted access to those particular memories immediately. It took a while to let her in, because it meant having to experience them again. I lost more than my family that day. I lost myself.
On July 18th, 2170, my life was forever changed….