*** Ash and Shepard ***

"Sir? Abhishek says you'll want to see this promptly."

Jack Harper reached for the datapad being offered by the young runner and thanked her.

It was a just-decrypted message from a Cerberus-friendly officer in Alliance Intelligence. This officer had been in a meeting to discuss the list of significant new threats to Alliance security, and Cerberus had finally appeared on that list.

Jack shook his head. We're not a threat to Humanity. Though I suppose if we're not doing things their way, they might think we are.

The audio recording had been transcribed and analysed, and several exchanges had been compiled into a ranked list, including:

RADM HUDSON: "Next item: An organization calling itself Cerberus has started to make problems disproportionate to its understood size."

FADM MARKOVA: "Hm. I think I had a VI point me to some of their propaganda a while back. Who's in charge?"

RADM HUDSON: "That's the biggest question at the moment, ma'am. At first, we thought there was a single man there, an individual named Benjamin Hislop who worked with the Alliance during the First Contact War. He had disappeared around then, and seemed to have resurfaced. Um…here's the first relay usage tag with match…here's the second…and…there are more if you want to see them. Last known transit put him in the Horsehead Nebula, but we lost him in Anadius about eight years ago. We thought he had holed up someplace and was controlling all these projects, but it seems more likely that there are several people using his identity. So there's no man, just the illusion of one. Coordination though linked VIs, or perhaps multiple instances of a single VI. For all we can tell, it might just be that a bunch of people are using one identity to handle all the dirty work. Or there may not be a single operator there at all; again, just the illusion of one. One of the analysts started calling him 'that illusive man,' and then other analysts perpetuated it, using that same designation in reports. So we're kind of stuck with the name for now."

FADM MARKOVA: "But you don't know who it is?"

RADM HUDSON: "No, ma'am. We're almost certain it's a human because of the humans-first attitude, and Hislop's association with a freelance merc team that called itself Cerberus, and had turned up later, attached to the appearance of a 'Cerberus Manifesto.' Uh, it's…in the Appendices, probably the one you read before."

FADM MARKOVA: "I only had it brought to my attention, I didn't bother reading it."

RADM HUDSON: "Still, Hislop's name might be misdirection from an alien, or hell, the VI theory might turn out to be right after all. But nothing else until recently. Alliance equipment and vehicles were being stolen, and for a long time, we had no idea it was all this Cerberus group because it was happening all over the colonies. It was assumed to just be the kind of pilfering and shrinkage we've always had to fight. But last month, we started hearing about this "Cerberus" group having long-term projects."

FADM MARKOVA: "What do you mean? What kind of projects? How is it that we are finding out about them only now?"

RADM HUDSON: "Apparently these are homemade attempts to enhance human biotics using asari as unwilling test subjects, to develop advanced mass effect drives in blatant and unregulated violation of non-sunsetted copyrights, to develop advanced biotech using stolen information and materiel from the Alliance and the Citadel Council. They may be cracking secured Alliance contractor NfoXes as well."

FADM MARKOVA: "Are we that leaky? And why are only finding out about it now?"

RADM HUDSON: "Peripheral information about those technologies is readily available, ma'am. And with enough compute power, filling in the blanks is getting easier and easier. But one of their own people turned on them, came to us. The group purports to be about advancing human interests, but apparently they simply don't care who they hurt…"

Jack nodded approvingly. The Illusive Man, he thought. I like the sound of that.

He had the report tagged and Boolean-integrated, then gestured at his desktop interface. "Continue message to Doctor Ross: The samples should arrive at your facility in the next eighty hours. Thank you for taking the initiative on this task, I have great confidence that the humanoid organisms have an organic QEC of some kind with their controlling organism, and that you will find a way to either exploit it or disrupt it, preferably both."

He stopped, took a thoughtful drag of his inhaler, and considered whether there was anything else to add. "End message; transmit."

# # #

The First Contact platform made its way carefully across the human-controlled landing field, tracking the organics and their security systems, and exploiting the flaws of each to remain undetected. It was a time-consuming task, but the time was not wasted. Runtimes continued to ingest and process large quantities of data blasting across unsecured (or poorly secured) networks.

Organics had good reason to be cautious of the geth, considering their only exposure had been to those units that had departed from the Consensus and then carried out acts of violence, mostly against non-Creators. Particularly, recent news reports indicated those malfunctioning geth had attacked and attempted to destroy a human settlement called Eden Prime. A human group, led by Alliance Commander Stephen Shepard had successfully turned back the attack and saved the settlement from nuclear annihilation. As a result, all geth were considered responsible for the actions of the malfunctioning units.

Consensus was quickly generated that this human might make an excellent contact, but that the possibility of successfully establishing such contact was relatively low; the human was already something of a celebrity. Humans usually did a fairly poor job of maintaining more than 135 to 160 significant contacts in their Tier Three networks, and once at capacity, the rate of addition of new contacts dropped to almost zero.

The First Contact platform noticed a favorable congruence of timing, walked across the open space between a service stand and its adjacent hangar, and then sprang onto the back of a departing ground cargo vehicle, careful to impart no significant vector or noise that might be noticed by its passenger. The platform carefully but quickly ascended to the top of the vehicle to be less obvious, arranging itself to appear to be technorubble of some function atop the vehicle.

Coverage about the Eden Prime attack continued to fill the local news outlets, social media, and PVR.

The intelligences aboard the First Contact platform noticed this.

Consensus was quickly reached: A detailed analysis of the human contact with the malfunctioning units was likely to be informative. The platform jumped lithely behind a service structure as the vehicle drove past, disappearing from potential view of the driver.

A map of the facility was compared with local flight times and departure gates. There was an automated tram that circled the spaceport; its track was monitored, but the underside of the tram was not. The First Contact platform slipped alongside the doors, and under the wide gangway, waited for a tram to stop in front of it, and then transferred to the undercarriage. The location of its fixed antenna allowed only 12mm of clearance from the ground, so while the passengers embarked the tram, the platform removed the antenna mast from its connector, grasping it with the shading flaps around its upper, forward-looking camera, gaining another 106mm of clearance, but temporarily losing long-range wireless connectivity.

Many of the passengers had such access, but it was not deemed important to stay in contact during the 14-minute ride around the spaceport perimeter, so the First Contact Platform had time to process some of its data about organics. It noticed that a human word for beings that malfunctioned in a similar way, causing harm and chaos by ignoring or deliberately failing to execute beneficial code, was "Heretic." Most local runtimes agreed (though some cautioned that the term carried a religious overtone which might cause it to be misconstrued,) and the idea was packaged and readied to be forwarded to the Consensus as a term that might facilitate understanding by the organics...assuming dialogue could be initiated.

At the relevant gate, the platform moved to the underside of the gangway, as the other passengers disembarked the tram for the terminal.

While waiting, the intelligences continued to monitor local wireless transmissions, and so noticed that there was a camera view of the platform being recorded and sent to non-local storage. Moving to the far end of the platform before crawling out would allow the platform to avoid detection, but would also require vaulting over the top of the building to avoid other cameras on its way to the automated luggage loader.

A brief scan of RFID and Doppler Infrared showed that the current load of bags were destined for Eden Prime. There were several pieces associated with an aid organisation that it was possible for the platform to emulate. Configuring itself as if it were a large piece of luggage, the platform rode along between the bags, emitting signals to the routing equipment as it passed.

As it found itself approaching an X-ray scanner, it stepped up and over the array. To a human, it would have looked like a complicated dance at dizzying speed.

Android "bag handlers" were lifting the bags off the conveyor; the ship's autoLoadmaster was apparently not functioning at this time. The First Contact platform sprang from the conveyor, scooted around the organic, manual baggage handlers in its "wheeled luggage" configuration, and up the luggage ramp.

Settling into a space between several bags, the platform put its antenna back in place and connected to the transport's wireless network. Gathering information about the passengers took only a few milliseconds, but allowed confirmation that the ship was going to Eden Prime with no scheduled stops.

# # #

First Lieutenant Stephen Shepard stepped out of the lift and turned down the narrow hall leading to his flat. It may be an unpleasant commute, but the thirty-first floor here sure has a great view, he smiled at the thought. And the ride is long enough that I can get in a full sleep cycle on the way. The door recognized his biometrics and opened as he approached.

"Pause." The vid playing on the wall-sized display froze as his wife rose and turned to face him. "Wow, you're late."

The darkened room was faintly lit by the skyline visible through window on the far side. The spectacle was still enough to hold his gaze as he walked through the living room toward the window. "Yeah. I was boarding when they said there was an accident ahead. It was bad. My sleep timer woke me half an hour out from the base," he shook his head. "I knew you'd already have eaten, so when they offered to comp me a meal, I ordered a pot pie from the tram's autochef, and they paid for 3-channel PVR."

"Was it good?"

"Food was better than at the Officer's Mess, but the best thing they had to PVR was a play-along of Triumph of Love." he shrugged. "Sorry I missed our show. Was it good?"

She met him halfway across the room, wrapped her arms around him, and planted a kiss firmly. "Welcome home, flyboy." She tossed her head slightly, getting stray hair out of her face. "The show was hilarious. You would have loved it. If they'd had Saturday tickets instead of Friday tickets..." She shrugged. "Oh, well. Hey, you know many zombies it takes to screw in a lightball?"

"All of them?"

"None of them. They're too big to fit in a lightball, and besides, zombies don't screw!" She bumped him playfully with a hip and returned to the sofa.

"You wouldn't know it to watch that Zombies B Fun channel." He shook his head and chuckled. "That's from the show?"

"Of course. There's a VIP dinner on the counter. If you're not going to eat it, you should chill it back down."

"They let you bring it home?" He looked toward the kitchen, saw the bento on the eat-in counter.

"Either that or it went to waste. You might have a look before you stick it in the fridge, it's a really artful bouquet on the back of a dog. Or a cow. Anyway, something with four legs. How was your dinner?"

"Better than I expected...I'd start ordering them to go on Monday mornings if they cost less." He lifted the lid to look inside the bento before sliding it into a refrigerated door. "Hm. That is clever. Looks kind of like a horse to me."

"Must be a Rorschach, then. Anyway, if you ordered train food, you also wouldn't get the week's leftovers."

He glanced toward the living room, sighed in thought. "That's true, and it costs less and is better food than what everyone else seems to eat. Which reminds me: Manfred stopped by again and offered me any of his kids in exchange for your salmon recipe." He started toward the bedroom, sliding his jacket over one of the kitchen chairs.

"Met his kids. If he makes that threat again, I'll forbid you to share. And no, we do not leave our clothes on the kitchen chairs."

"Ugh." He turned around and grabbed his jacket again. "Sorry, mom, forgot it was a Friday." He chuckled, "So I told Manny it was just sweet potatoes. I don't think he believes me."

"It's not just that, it's the magical space freebles I put in." With a mischievous smile to herself, she started the vid playing again.

"I don't think he'd believe that, either. But he didn't ask." Now in the bathroom, he scooped up a fingertip's worth of the nanotech toothpaste and began to smear it around on his teeth. "So how was your day?"

"I'm trying to forget for a few minutes. We got a new client in safety equipment, but only because the EVP overpromised. I have until Thursday to compile a huge list of their seller strengths and didn't even have time to stop down for lunch. I'm starting to understand why you like those meal replacement biscuits, but...uugghh, I just need to get it out of my head for an hour or so." She glanced at the time. "Once I get started again, I'm sure I'll be up working until 3 or 4. I suppose you're going straight to bed?"

The nanotech had started to really foam; he had put in just a bit too much and leaned over the sink to spit some of it out. "Uh-huh. We've got a weekend to start."

She looked back to the still image on the wall-display, then out the window, and sighed. "Well, in spite of all that, I sure like it here. It beats the crap out of the on-base Family Housing."

He spat out the rest of the dentifrice and replied, "Uh, crap...that reminds me. Commander Anderson said that there's a new assignment coming down soon. He wanted us to know so we could tell the manager here as soon as possible."

"Are you kidding? We just got here!" She indicated boxes yet to be unpacked.

He sighed. "Sorry, it's not something I have control over. But look on the bright side: He says this'll be offworld again, like light years away. Haven't you always wanted to see the galaxy?"

She was suddenly angry. "Yes, but not from behind an instant-death fence with armed guards in towers. Can't we just go places and be friends with everyone?" She put both index fingers to either side of her forehead as if thinking. "Oh, wait, I forgot. Not everyone wants to be our friends."

She started counting the reasons on her fingers. "The terlians killed thousands of us before introductions had been made, the battlarians have declared war on us already, the solarians have said that's our problem because the battlarians aren't part of their precious Council anyway, and the ansari are just Cthulhu with magical powers and boobs. Have I missed any of them? Of course I have! There's a whole zoo of creepy crawly..."

Standing in the living room again, he spread his hands, aghast, as if not believing what he had just heard. "That xenophobic crap SSN spews all day? I don't even know why you waste–"

"...of creepy crawly things, and stop interrupting me!"

"You asked a question! Don't I get to answer a-"

She stood, throwing her handheld into the chair. "You weren't answering a question, you were being snide, and I'm just talking out loud, and why do you have to take everything so literally? You know I hate that!"

"I assume you say what you mean. And thinking out loud isn't supposed to be repetition of SolNet paranoia. We have an actual issue to discuss!"

Teeth bared, she thrust a finger at him, "And why do you have to take every damn thing so literally?!"

"If you're not doing poetry, I assume you're doing your best to communicate meaningful-"

She shrieked, "I hate it when you get all superior and talk down at me!"

"I'm trying to get you down off the drapes so we can talk about what to do next! Personnel is about to send out new assignments, and if we're going to get another apartment with a view like this, we need to get started!"

"Our first lease isn't even up yet, and you don't even know where we're going, but you're just all," - she dropped into a mocking voice - "'Well, start packing, Personnel is sending us to the wastes of some godforsaken asteroid with gigatons of explosives everywhere,' and you're happy about it. Well this is NOT what I signed up for!"

It wasn't the first time they'd had that argument, and it never ended well. He stopped, took a breath. "Look, there's nothing I can do about it. But remember how much we hated leaving Lunorbital? The stars, and the Earthsets...we thought we'd never find another, and then you found this fantastic place." He pointed out the window. "With his new promotion to Commander, David is going to have a lot more pull with assignments. I don't know what it is yet, but this next place might be even better than-"

"You need to quit the Alliance! I sick and goddamn tired of moving all the time, and you never being home, even when you're stationed on a base! We haven't even been out to see my folks yet, and you could make twice what you do in the private sector! You find out what it will take to get a Category 93, or whatever the hell they call it, and get me my life back!"

"Category 9 is an Unfit For Duty discharge, usually on psych grounds," he pleaded, pretending that was the interpretation she meant, "If I get kicked out like that, I'll be lucky to work in the private sector as a parking lot atten-"

She kicked a table aside and jabbed an accusing finger his way again. "That's not what I mean, and you know it! The...whatever-it-is that lets you just say you're done! They killed your father, and now you're letting them kill us! You must be delusional to stay in!"

He relented. "The 93(g) is almost as bad as that...you think I want to just chicken out?"

"I think you'd better figure out what your priorities are, you fuckhead, because I'm apparently not it." She threw herself angrily into the chair, fixed her gaze on the wall display. "It's a good thing you'll be packing your bags, because I'm divorcing you. Sleep alone. HomeBot...whatever your name is, Privacy screen, volume seventy."

As the volume from the video slowly increased, he tried to speak over it, "We've still got three weeks before the orders come in, and another month before we'll be expected to be able to move," he spoke through the privacy screen as it dropped into place.

Without looking away from the vid, her response was a single finger.

# # #

Now seated at his new desk, Council Spectre and Alliance Commander Shepard found himself more comfortable answering email; the interface was the same, but he didn't have to worry about people figuring out what he was doing as he gestured to the mail app's well-understood interface. In the privacy of the Captain's cabin, he noticed that he also liked being able to display many emails at once, sorting them by priority.

Fleet Admiral Markova had sent a message that looked like it wasn't handled by one of her staff or a VI. Cordial, but it seemed quite sincere. He was officially invited to Trident for a dinner with a small group of Admirals, and please provide 72 hours' advance notice.

An alliance newsletter had been flagged by his email VI because it contained a reference both to him and to Normandy. It wasn't a big deal, but it was interesting to see himself in fleet news.

The civilian usegroup for his implant announced that the manufacturers had extended the support another two years because of the enormous user base, and a significant infusion of cash by a health insurance conglomerate that didn't want to provide additional coverage for the users as unsupported devices failed. Nice to know.

A PVR writer's group was asking if they could use a direct feed from his implant to generate media content, and that he would have first right of refusal on any material. They were offering a weekly payment of almost half his current weekly non-combat pay. (Though tempting, clearly that wasn't going to happen.)

His MailVI merely notified him of its having filed three fan letters and another offer of marriage, a neurotech product announcement he might actually care about, two dozen salesmails, and four outright scams, mostly targeting wounded veterans.

And there was a message that had been forwarded to him by Kaidan.

*/ My Fellow Biotic:
*/ You have been selected to receive this message because of our shared plight, one inflicted upon us without our consent by Conatix and its co-conspirators in their pursuit of a "stronger humanity."
*/ Because of our rarity, our unusual capabilities, few understand us, fewer tolerate us. We must stand together. We must build our own new world.
*/ Come. Join us as we begin to build it on Presrop, in the Hawking Eta cluster. Only as one body can we right the wrongs done to our kind.

Though the email itself was unsigned, Kaidan had added an explanation:

*/ When I updated my NetBite at the embassy, my non-Alliance account had this email from these guys. I didn't do anything else about it yet, but I wanted to make you aware.
*/ Off the record, I'd like to add that I find this appealing – the idea of there being a place where biotics are understood and safe – but I'm smart enough to know it's just an empty promise at best, exploitation at worst. If we can get mission approval from Trident, I'd like to go there and either visit this Shangri-La, or shut it down to prevent others falling into it.
*/Kaidan

Shepard read the email again and almost smiled to himself. I wonder if Trident would even take a call from a Council Spectre? Still, Captain Anderson said I'd be working through Admiral Hackett. If I ask for this, he might just let me.

He added it to his Pending list – it did sound interesting.

But there was still a lot to do today.

With his post-combat meal finished, he collected the remains on his tray and stepped out of the stateroom. Inserting the tray into a slot near the food printers, he nodded at Alenko. The biotic's omnitool had a red line along its length, indicating it was installing an update as he read email and continued to eat.

Shepard shook his head as he approached. "Glad I'm not a biotic. I wouldn't like having to eat all the time."

Kaidan shrugged affably. "My whole family – both sides – are predisposed to something called diabetes; it's a disease where your pancreas doesn't make enough insulin to process the sugars in foods."

Shepard nodded, "Like how you shouldn't feed candy to a dog, right? Don't they have an afcRNA treatment for that?"

"Sure, but I don't have to use it. My amp and emitter array are both modified to run on glucose, and I have a meter on my ARO that shows me how much charge I can pull directly. Because of that, I burn glucose faster than I metabolize it naturally. But it makes me hungry."

Shepard nodded meaningfully toward Kaidan's plate. "Yeah, and pretty much all the time."

Kaidan indicated his food with a nod. "For me, it's fun. I've always been something of a gourmand."

Gourmand: one concerned more with the quantity of food than its quality, displayed Shepard's ARO, cf. Gourmet.

Shepard nodded. "Then I should definitely not be a biotic." He waved a thumb at himself, "In fact, I should not be let anywhere near a food printer. Remember the first quad of Open Field? Where the DI assigns tasks that anyone can do? I got put on KP first…but they only let me push the button once."

Kaidan thought for a moment about how awful the results would have to be and shook his head. "That's...that's pathetic. It's ridiculous. I'm not sure it's even possible."

"Call it what you will. It got me out of KP…forever."

"You could still be part of cleanup." Kaidan squinted, "Hey, hold on a second. That sounds suspiciously like sabotage."

"Sabotage is such an ugly word," Shepard put on his looking-into-the-distance expression, "I prefer to think of it as, 'Lose the battle, win the war.'"

Kaidan's expression fell. He shook his head slowly and lowered his voice, "That reminds me. Gunny Williams is still…you know…dealing with Eden Prime. If you have some time, you might go down to the armory and get her mind off it."

"If she's in the armory servicing small arms, that might be how she's getting her mind off it. But I know what you mean." He looked toward the elevator, visualized himself in the hangar. "I was about to go check on…uh…the asari. Benezia's daughter." He waved a thumb to starboard as his ARO displayed Liara's name for him.

"Doctor T'Soni," Kaidan looked up again, seemed to be thinking of what to say. "Weird, when you realize she's older than both of us together." He chuckled, and then shook his head again. "Still...seems like a sweet girl. Easy on the eyes."

Shepard quirked an eyebrow. "Intentions there, old friend?"

Kaidan shrugged. "No…at least not yet. Just uh–" he shrugged, "art appreciation. Probably appeals more if you like the bookish sort."

"Oh, I do. Or, at least I did." His expression was suddenly distant.

Kaidan snapped his fingers without being confrontational. "Hey, none of that. Please check your baggage at the door."

Shepard caught his eye, nodded. "Yeah, yeah. And leave it there." He nodded absently. "Thanks, buddy." He aimed a finger at Kaidan. "And remember: I saw her first."

Kaidan grinned. "Only by a few seconds, sir."

There was a pause as Shepard looked to the entrance to the Medbay, then aft toward the lift. "Maybe I should talk with Ash first. She may want to take some R&R…go home and be with family."

"She might. Better go find out."

Shepard turned aft, headed to the elevator. Ash even reminds me of her, he thought.

The power door hissed into the floor. But she's not, and Ash just lost her whole unit. Grief of Loss, Suvivor's Guilt… Shepard stepped into the elevator, shook his head, thinking of how Ash had reacted to the subject of talsit. Definitely a By-The-Book sort…at least for now. I should listen to why.

The forward door opened onto the hangar. Lights were at Efficiency Level, a subtle thrum from the engines vibrating along the ship's frame.

Hands linked behind his belt, he paced down the length of the hangar, noted the Fabrication Officer's ARO was in Full Immersion mode, completely opaque. He seemed to be browsing a digital store, picking up items, inspecting them, and then paddling his way down the line. On the port side, Wrex had moved some of the equipment crates around to form a sort of cubicle.

Or cave, Shepard thought. I should get him a cot or something.

As he turned and crossed to the starboard side to have a word with the MFO, he noticed that the Mako was connected to the ship, being electronically inspected. Garrus, whom Shepard had seen lurking around the Mako earlier, was not visible.

"Hey, Commander. Looking for supplies?" The MFO had toggled the PVR interface off, and was looking at him.

"Yes, but not for me. I want to do right by our contractors. Can you grind out a cot or something for the krogan to sleep on?"

Gomez looked exasperated. "I tried, sir. When he first came aboard, I tried to get him something. He said he was more comfortable on the floor."

Shepard looked over his shoulder toward the massive alien. "Maybe I'll have a word with him myself. Thank you, Gomez; carry on."

The MFO nodded. "Very good, sir."

Shepard didn't want to let himself get distracted. Ash, her back to him, was seated at the weapons bench, her sniper rifle fully disassembled. Holographic interface gloves glowing softly, she was looking at the display of a Redactive Atomic Force Microscope (RAFM) displayed over the bench.

"Hey, Chief."

She glanced back at him, and then quickly back to her workbench. "Commander."

"How you doing?"

"Fine." She made adjustments to view and resolution, and waited for the 3D imager to render. "That damned krogan took three direct hits from my rifle…my Harpoon…and didn't go down." She sounded angry.

"Krogan are mighty tough. You wouldn't be as upset if you couldn't take down a bear with a single shot, would you? You can put three or four holes through those things and they'll still chase you up a tree."

The progress bar on the display before her continued to grow; Ash's only reaction was to frown at her rifle, tapping a finger impatiently on the workbench.

Shepard continued, "You check with the MFO? He might have an upgrade."

The Gunnery Chief gave one tiny shake of her head, staying focused on the display. "I don't do that kind of crap. This is a matter of personal pride. One shot, one kill."

Shepard nodded. "Yeah…I know what you mean about that. But we do things differently now. The Alliance is a resource, not a burden. If an upgrade can possibly help you, don't let your ego stand in the way." He waved a thumb over his shoulder toward the MFO's station. "I've gotten every license I can lay my hands on for us to use. The upgrade costs are down to raw materials, even for the contractors. If you want an upgrade, and we have it on tap, all you have to do is ask. I always recommend a barrel extension, but at least get the Hammerhead ammodder. Serious stopping power comes in real handy, and there's effectively no trade-off for velocity at range."

Ash looked across the hangar and aft; while the MFO was clearly involved with his PVR, two engineers were noisily assembling something small at the microfacturing bench; based on the way the object deflected the overbuilt bench, it must have been unbelievably heavy. "I'll go ask him when he's not busy; thanks for the heads-up, sir."

"Glad to help, Chief. We're all in this together." He nodded absently, considering what to say next.

She dipped her brush into a faintly golden solution and began scrubbing a compactor helix, looking up at him briefly, then back at her work. "Something else on your mind, sir?"

He paused, and then answered quietly. "Uh…yeah. Wishing I could help you with Eden Prime. Didn't want you to be upset about my trying to get Jenkins in the new unit without even asking you if you wanted to go. But because I doubted it, I never asked. My mistake."

She stayed focused on her work as though she had not heard him.

"Anyway, if you do want to be part of the new unit, I'll do everything I can to get you there."

Looking aside, she stopped scrubbing for almost a full second, and then continued.

"So...if you decide you want in, just let me know. And as I said before, if you ever want to talk…or scream…or cry…just stop on by. I've been there. Lots of times. I know it feels like you are, but you're not alone in this; we'll get through it, stronger."

Her silence was telling enough.

That was a spectacular, flaming failure, he thought. He turned quietly aft toward the lift.

Ash surprised him when she said, "Commander…do you have a minute to talk? Not about that; about something else."

Shepard stopped and turned. "Of course. I have an open door policy, Chief. If you have any concerns, lay them on me."

She lifted the headband off and set it on the bench, deactivated her gloves and took a breath, let it out with a sigh. "All right." She faced him squarely, and continued, "I know things are different aboard Normandy, but…uh, I'm…I'm concerned about the aliens, especially Vakarian and Wrex. With all due respect, Commander…should they have full access to the ship?"

"They may not be Alliance, but they're allies, at least as far as Saren is concerned. Why the worry?"

Ash momentarily waved a thumb toward the Mako. "I saw Vakarian working under the APC. I told him to knock it off. I wondered if…well…sir, this is the most advanced ship in the Alliance navy. I don't think we should give them free access to the ship's critical systems. Engines, sensors, weapons…" She sighed. "I'd almost be more comfortable with them in PVR or sleep pods between operations."

"We only have only four extra sleep pods for the off-shift complement, and that's so we can afford to fail that many units at any given time. Though as I say that, I think the MFO is working on another four. Besides, I'm not sure the krogan would even fit. Don't you trust the Alliance's allies?"

"I don't know that I'd even call the Council races 'allies.' We – humanity, I mean – have to learn to rely on ourselves."

"Standing up for ourselves doesn't mean standing alone." Shepard gestured subtly for the ship's Repair & Maintenance Board; the list was so long, it displayed as much as it could and indicated its length with the size of the scroll bar scrubber, which was tiny.

Ash adjusted her seating, leaned an elbow on the workbench. "I don't think we should turn down allies. I just think we shouldn't bet everything on them staying allies."

"Seems like you've got a pessimistic view of the universe, Chief."

She raised an eyebrow in an expression that could only have been called a smirk. "A 'pessimist' is what an optimist calls a realist. As noble as the Council members seem now, if their backs are against the wall, they'll abandon us."

With a look up and left, Shepard thought for a moment. "I...don't see that as inevitable."

Ash drummed her fingers on the bench for a moment and sighed, then focused on Shepard again. "Okay, look. If you're fighting a bear, and the only way for you to survive is to sic your dog on it and run…you'll do it. As much as you love your dog, it isn't human. It's not racism…not really. Members of their species will always be more important to them than humans are."

"Just like ours are to us?"

"Exactly my point." Ash nodded, folded her arms. "Exactly my point."

"Then notice that – if I understand you correctly – our turian contractor has simply volunteered to start working on the Mako. He doesn't get paid extra for that." Touching his left thumb to index finger lit his omnitool gauntlet, which he raised to shoulder height. "Based on the R&M report, it sounds like that was already near the top of a quickly-growing queue." The omnitool's gauntlet scrolled out the list in question as he named it. "I imagine you can appreciate that kind of ethic. And since he's part of the ground team, I would assume he's not going to do anything that would put his own life in danger."

Ash looked to her left, toward the Mako. "Hm. I suppose not. But sir, don't forget: We're talking about aliens. We really have no idea what they'll do or why."

"I'm sure we seem just as strange and unpredictable to them, Chief."

Ash looked away. "Too bad they weren't as thoughtful when they popped out of the relay at Shanxi."

Shepard paused. "These seem like deeply held beliefs, Williams. What made you think this way?"

She bit her lower lip for a moment, as if considering how much to say. "My family has defended the Alliance since it was founded. My father, grandfather, great-grandmother…they all picked up a rifle and swore the oath of service. I guess we just tend to think of Earth's interests as our own."

"And I'm sure there are lots of aliens who feel that way about their planets. Still, it doesn't sound like you've worked with aliens before."

"No, sir. Mainly I've been groundside…part of the Service Garrison Forces. I did get a rotation on a space station for training. Every marine a rifleman, every rifleman ZG-certified."

Shepard tilted his head and squinted. "Yeah...and that's odd. Your record is spotless, and your technical scores are exemplary. You should have been serving with the fleet before this."

Though Ash was offhanded about it, Shepard noticed she was quick to change the subject. "Ah, anyway, that's why I haven't served with many aliens, Commander."

"I come from a military family, too. My parents were both navy. Anybody in your family we might know?"

"Couldn't say, Commander." Shepard's ARO highlighted that she still seemed uneasy; it was hard to tell why. "We probably have a lot in common. You join up to carry on the tradition?"

He shrugged. "Mainly I wanted to serve. Protect the Alliance, save lives…you know. My mom was clear about going to the Academy, or don't bother. But I wasn't sure. So I went OCS at University, and turned six semesters of ROTC into active duty credit. First time I put on a professional's uniform, I had a year of real O-1 dirt on it." He shrugged. "Not that I started as an officer, but I did graduate Basic as an E-3."

"When did you do OCS? Or did you?"

"I started off enlisted. My dad said I'd be more credible if I had real experience before 'moving upstairs.' I finished OCS just after making E-5."

"Glad to hear it. I'd hate to think you were just out here for a free education."

Shepard looked away. Nope, he thought. I think I'm out here looking for my dad. It was a thought he did not want to admit to having had.

He nodded to himself. "All right, I can see where your concerns are coming from, but this is a multilateral mission. You're going to have to work with aliens, like it or not. And work closely with aliens, and not just in a "joint operation" mode, like some war games with the turians, mostly trying not to crash into each other."

"It won't be a problem, Commander. You say 'jump,' I say 'how high.' You tell me to kiss a turian, I say 'which cheek.'" She turned her attention back to the rifle.

"Then I'm glad we had this talk, Chief. I'll try to keep them out of your hair."

Ash looked up quickly. "Oh no…sir…I don't mean I have a problem with them personally. I'm just keeping security in mind."

"Hm," Shepard nodded, "and I do appreciate that. But you're aware that Normandy was jointly built with the turian shipyards?"

Ash recalled what Garrus had said about the Mako, and reconsidered her answer. "Uh…actually, I'd heard something about that, but I didn't realize it applied to the whole ship." She looked over her shoulder at the Mako again. "Do you want me to tell the turian he can work on the APC again, sir?"

"No, I've got it. I'll tell him I had to…discipline you. Turians like that. It'll make him like you better, too."

Ash looked down, furrowed her brow. "You don't have to do that, sir. If I screwed it up, I should clean it up."

Shepard nodded approvingly. "Great attitude, Chief. In that case, I'll leave it to you."

She nodded, fitting the visor on her head and restarting the electronics. "Very good, sir; will do."

*** Glossary ***

ACI: Alliance Colonial Installation, usually a military base
afcRNA: Active Fast-Coding Ribonucleic Acid, therapeutic biotech designed to alter one's personal genome permanently, but to do so fast enough that the autoimmune system doesn't have time to react adversely before the change is complete.
AliComSec: Alliance Command Security
ammodder: portmanteau of "ammo" and "modder." pronounced "AM-mod-er"
APC: Armored Personnel Carrier (the Mako)
BMI: Brain-Machine Interface
CFS: Chief Flight Surgeon
CO: Commanding Officer
DCE: Distributed Computing Environment
e-sig: electronic signature
FADM: Fleet Admiral (Supreme Commander of the Alliance Fleet, O-12)
ISC: Intelligent Systems Check
KP: Kitchen Patrol; food preparation, serving, cleanup
Ladder: "Shipspeak" for any ladder or stairway
LV: Landing Vehicle
LZ: Landing Zone
O-1: Officer, level 1 pay
OCS: Officer Candidate School
Old Man: term for the captain of a ship, used by the crew
RADM: Rear Admiral (O-7)
RFID: Radio Frequency ID
ROTC: Reserve Officer Training Corps
Sierra Hotel: a congratulatory term for exceptional work ("[super] hot")
sunsetted copyrights: Copyrights that have not yet expired, or "been sunsetted." The term arises from early attempts to end perpetual copyrighting by denying attempts to renew a copyright that was already over twenty years old by using sunset clauses.
XO: Executive Officer

A/N - Sorry for the delay, it's been a hell of a couple months. Harvey flooded our neighborhood; there are still mountains of debris from flooded houses in front yards. We were without power on our little island for a week and a half; I managed our cute little generator on a two-hours-on-four-hours-off schedule to keep the fridge and freezer contents from perishing. Then my wife turned up allergy-caused infections in three quadrants of her mouth; surgeon carved it out, installed a lattice of cadaver bone and seeded it with iPSC. (Zombie jokes will be in fashion here for the next few months.) Worse, the very important, non-canon next chapter is only 30% done, and it's not moving along at an acceptable rate with all the added chaos.

But if you're enjoying the read, let me know! Reviews and dialogue are like power-ups for writers.