Acronyms:
Charlie Foxtrot – Clusterfuck
PMC – Private Military Contractor
DD – Dishonorable Discharge
CHAPTER 12: THE END OF THE BEGINNING
Lieutenant Commander Layla Shepard shot awake with a gasp, the landscape of a burning planet suddenly snapping back to officer's quarters on the Normandy. She lay in bed for a few seconds to allow her pounding heart to slow, taking a few deep breaths before looking at the clock.
To her surprise, given how long it had taken her to fall asleep the prior evening, she realized that she actually got more sleep than the night before, despite the beacon's visions once again denying her those couple extra hours she would need to be fully rested. She then quickly remembered what was happening today, and she was struck with a wave of nervousness and a hint of dread at the thought. She went to make a large meal from the mess, as well as a pair of barely edible biotic supplement bars. She had a couple bites of breakfast before starting to eat the bars, mixing it with the food to make the taste slightly more palatable.
She absentmindedly wondered if she could use some of her upcoming influence to make the "biotibars" not taste nasty. The biotic figured that it shouldn't be hard to at least make them taste like something marginally edible. She had never eaten cardboard and never would, but she presumed that wet cardboard tasted better than the bars. Finished with breakfast, she took her formal uniform out of the garment bag and made her way to the bathroom.
The warm water and steam cleared her head from the vision, and the shampoo in her hair felt refreshing and invigorating. It was going to be a very long day, she knew. She stepped out and toweled off, drying her hair and making sure it was styled properly. For once, her hair actually decided to cooperate this morning, and she finished with it faster than she thought. That allowed her to spend extra time on her makeup, since there would sadly be cameras all over the place today. She buttoned up the short sleeve blouse and put on the skirt with a frown. She tried to focus on the reminders of the protocol officers, but found her thoughts returning to the silliness of the ceremony and situation.
All just to keep up appearances. The embassy just can't help itself. They have to parade me around for the cameras, even though I'm just the most visible part of a very large team. She sighed at the thought as she put on the tie tab and continued her prep. And of course, even though people tried to kill the three of us in the Presidium, I can't wear armor for protection. Nope, formal or service dress only. It's all about appearances, she thought sourly. At least we can take a skycar directly to the embassy. A minute later the commander saw Ashley enter the restroom.
The chief looked at the commander's face, noticing the well-styled hair, a bit more makeup than usual, and the whites, then asked with a raised eyebrow, "Uh oh. Will this be a pretty big ceremony?"
"I don't think so." A sigh. "I hope not."
"Will there be a lot of cameras there?" the chief asked, already guessing the response.
"Maybe," the commander responded as she continued to review her appearance in the mirror to ensure everything was straight before grabbing the jacket. "Probably."
"Have you been told what to expect?" was the next question.
"Not really." Another pause. "No." Another sigh. "It's being set up by the embassy. I suppose we'll find out when we get there," the commander replied apprehensively.
"'We?'" Williams asked. Now she was nervous as well. "Uhh…I don't have whites, and I'm not getting a SDU until later today. I'm not supposed to be at the ceremony…am I?" she asked skeptically.
"You're fine in armor," Shepard reassured her. "I don't think they'll have you in the ceremony. Probably just a few embassy personnel, the Council, some diplomats, and a reporter or two. And I don't think you'll have to worry about keeping an extra set of eyes on me from assassination attempts. I mean, I guess someone there could try to choke me with a martini olive or a hors d'oeurve, but I can't think of a faster way to receive a biotic punch to the face." The remark was delivered without the usual grin or laugh that Williams had been used to seeing from the commander the prior evening.
The chief burst out into laughter, trying to picture the utter ridiculousness of someone trying to assassinate a target at a ceremony by shoving a martini olive down their throat… "EAT THIS ASSHOLE!"…nope. Her laugh faded as she saw her XO's expression. She's pretty nervous about this… "I don't know. I heard there are some pretty shifty elcor chefs out there in the galaxy."
Shepard didn't respond verbally; only the corners of her lips twitched upward. At least she made a joke a few seconds ago…
"All this, and three days ago they wanted you discharged," the chief continued.
"We didn't have evidence back then, only a bunch of unfounded accusations against Saren." She didn't take her eyes off of the mirror, and she turned to both sides to make sure that her uniform was in order. "And the Council has to realize that if they don't do anything about Saren, this information could very easily be leaked to the media. That would make the Council look really bad."
"At least the ambassador will be less of a dick to everyone now."
"Oh, he'll be a really happy man. He can take credit for the first human Spectre," Shepard said sourly. "The fact that he doesn't care for me one bit will be completely overshadowed once I become Spectre. At least for today, he'll want to be best buds."
"Odd, considering three days ago he hated your guts."
"That's politics for you," the commander said with a shake of her head.
"I still can't believe the ambassador is such a dick to both you and the Council," Williams said.
"We opened the mass relays to discover that we're at the bottom of the galactic ladder. It's a bit of a tough pill to swallow. Our ambassadors have always been of the mindset of the squeaky wheel gets the grease. But to other races, we appear childish and pushy. Personally…" Shepard paused for a moment as she continued to look in the mirror. "I think that we should adopt a more cooperative and diplomatic approach with the Citadel species and the Council, but I'm just a junior officer," she finished with a shrug. "I don't make policy, I just follow orders."
"Rely on other species?" Williams asked skeptically. "They haven't done a whole lot to help us out. Just look at the past few days."
"They gave us an embassy after just eight years in the galactic community, and allowed us to settle the Attican Traverse. Both of those are enormous concessions for a species so short on the galactic stage. But on the other hand, you're right. They haven't done anything in response to Eden Prime, despite the prior assurances and even treaties. A bit of dichotomy, there." She turned again and looked over her shoulder to make sure the jacket was straight from the back.
The chief chuckled slightly, appraising the commander for several moments. "Don't worry, everything's on straight. Nothing's on inside-out, for example."
For the first time that morning, the commander actually smiled slightly. "Thanks," she said softly.
"You heading to the mess?" Williams asked.
Shepard shrugged. "I've already eaten. I was going to read some classified briefings to pass the time. I can head there with you, though."
They both took a seat at the table. The chief had grabbed a meal, while the commander had taken a glass of water.
Ashley didn't know the commander all that well, despite the informal conversations last evening, but the chief could tell that this was more than just simple jitters. "You alright, Commander?"
"Yeah." Another sigh from the XO. "It's just…I had hoped to put most of the public scrutiny behind me after Elysium. I'm not too enthused about another round of it."
"You think there will be a bunch of scrutiny now?" the NCO asked.
"Oh yes," the O-4 said quickly with a nod of her head.
"But you've already been through the publicity."
"Not like this, though. There's going to be a lot more this time around, since Elysium was a mostly human event. Being made a Spectre is something that affects the entire galaxy. Most of the time the identities of Spectres isn't public knowledge, but I'm the first human, after a long campaign by the ambassador to get one. I can't say I'm looking forward to having everything I say or do examined repeatedly under a microscope." She paused for a couple moments. "This time, though, I probably won't have to deal with the press near as much at the start, since…well, I suspect they'll be sending me after Saren. If the Council doesn't do that, then they're…well…"
"Idiots?"Williams finished.
Shepard shrugged, the hints of a grin finally appearing on her face as she held up her hands. "Your words, not mine."
"I don't think you'll be able to escape the media forever, though," the chief said with a chuckle.
"Don't remind me," the commander responded with a frown. "The vid media has a pretty short attention span. Given enough time, there will probably just be a more formal ceremony and interview or two."
The two women continued to chat for several minutes, then Williams went to change into armor. Kaidan then emerged from the elevator, armored and ready to go.
"Hello Alenko," Shepard said to Alenko, and out of the corner of his eye he could see she was giving him a small, nervous smile. "Are you about ready to go?"
"Yes," he replied after a moment's pause, taken slightly aback at how good she looked in whites. "I'm going to grab a meal before leaving."
"Williams is suiting up now, so she should be here soon. Then we can head out." She let out a sigh as she apprehensively rubbed her hands together. "I'm far more focused on them kicking out Saren and then doing something to stop him. I could live without all the pomp and circumstance of being the first human Spectre."
Williams arrived a moment later, and Shepard decided to wait to read up on the briefings. The two marines grabbed meals and sat with Shepard at the table. Alenko wondered how she would be assigned after officially being made a Spectre, knowing that she couldn't just be sent out by herself. Not when Saren had an army of geth and that ship. Just thinking about that massive ship from Eden Prime seemed to suddenly chill the room.
"So…how is this exactly going to work? You being a Spectre, but still being in the Alliance," Williams asked, bringing Alenko back to the present.
"Yes," Shepard responded, then a small, brief grin appeared on her face. "Honestly, I have no idea. That's going to have to be sorted out by people that are paid far more than me. If I had to guess…administratively, I'm part of the Alliance, but operationally, I take orders from the Council? Or something? Maybe?" She shrugged.
"So…I've been curious. What postings did you have after Elysium?" the chief asked after she had taken a bite of food.
"They put me in Intel, but really it was just to give the Press Corps easy access to me." She briefly filled the chief in on what she had told Alenko. "Then assigned to a frigate. Get more familiar with sensors, navigation, weapons, things like that. I also went groundside a fair amount in that patrol. Then N-school and promoted to O-3, and then…did some operations for a while," she said.
"Ah, and the press speculates what you were up to, since you dropped off the grid for all that time," the chief grinned.
"Exactly," came the return grin, then it quickly vanished. "And you can speculate all you want. I can't say and I'm not saying. After that…well, they put me in command of a frigate," she said.
"What?" the chief asked in surprise. She couldn't ever imagine an O-3 commanding a ship, even if it was a small, obsolete frigate.
"Yep, the Concord," the commander replied.
Alenko chuckled. "Wait, wasn't she one of the old Leyte-class?"
Shepard grinned in response. "Yep! The Ol' Smokeys." Leytes were the first frigate class developed from the knowledge of the prothean data caches on Mars. Slow, underpowered, and underarmed, their first generation of mass effect-based propulsion produced ugly black exhaust when in atmosphere from impurities from the relatively low-quality and inefficient engines – hence their name. "And we thought at the time they were pretty good ships, but they were obsolete in just a couple years when we decrypted more data from the prothean data caches from Mars."
"Most of the Ol' Smokeys had been decommissioned, and the rest mothballed, right?" Williams asked.
Shepard nodded in confirmation. "The Navy for close to three decades had focused on more, larger, and harder-hitting guns, irrespective of what the Marines might need. When Elysium happened…well, Fifth Fleet had to land marines to flush out the rest of the batarians hidden in buildings. Until Normandy, GARDIAN isn't that efficient at penetrating cover and can't be really used for fire support. All the guns on the ships were for antiship warfare – big and powerful. So our only tactical options available were 'send in guys on foot' or 'level a couple square kilometers at a time,' since there is a minimum power needed for each shot. Otherwise there's a risk of the round contacting the gun barrel." She shook her head and laughed slightly. "Just like those action vids or video games. The villain has doomsday weapons, but he can't use them because the heroes are in his base, so his goons are forced to use small arms or swords or fisticuffs. Or something." She shrugged. "Then the heroes stop his diabolical plot."
"But how many of those vids would end after five minutes if the villains just used the superweapon at the start?" Alenko protested.
"Pretty much all of them," Shepard grinned at him. "How did we even get on this topic? Anyway, after some operations while I was a staff lieutenant, I was then made CO of the Concord. They retrofitted her old guns to fire several different sizes of rounds without using element zero, giving them a much lower muzzle velocity. So you could now use them to take out a structure, or a tank, or a squad, without having to flatten everything else within a half-kilometer in the process." She looked down for a moment, seemingly slightly embarrassed. "Sorry…I can tend to talk ad nauseum at times. If I do that again, please just tell me to be quiet."
The chief quickly glanced at the lieutenant. "Don't worry about it," Williams replied. She's calmed down a bit, but she's still pretty nervous. Apologizing when she did nothing wrong… Ashley chuckled briefly. "Commanding a frigate, some operations, Intel, PAO…you must have your share of MOS codes."
A small grin appeared on the Spectre candidate's face. "I do have a rather…unusual list."
"It seems like they they've been grooming you for a while," Alenko commented. "Have you get experience in several different areas."
Shepard nodded agreement. "Looking back, that's exactly what they were doing. A bit of time learning Intel, posted on a ship, in NAVSOC…have me command an old ship that will never see a ship-to-ship engagement, and will only be providing groundside fire support." She smiled slightly, apparently at the memory. "Had a great crew, but the Normandy's crew is hands down the best that has been put together on a ship. After Concord, I got promoted and moved into a staff position for only a couple weeks before landing here." She stopped, then shook her head slightly with a small grin. "I'm tired of always talking about me. I want to hear more about the two of you," she said as she glanced at both of them.
The chief smirked. "You're just more interesting than the rest of us."
Shepard laughed in return, shaking her head in the negative. "I'm really not. PAO just makes it seem that way."
"We've all seen you in the news and those PAO Profiles in…well, whatever those were called. We want to hear about the real you," the chief prodded.
"And you've already heard plenty of it, now," the commander said. "Now it's your turn. Which one of you wants to go first?"
Commander Shepard looked around apprehensively at the Council chambers. Someone, probably the human embassy, had added a few extra human-themed decorations for the event. She nodded as the protocol officer reviewed what would occur at this ceremony, studiously trying to ignore the several dozen sets of eyes that examined her as one might examine a newly arrived curiosity.
It made her feel like an animal in a zoo.
"Ready, Commander?" Captain Anderson asked.
No, sir. A deep breath. "Yes, sir," she replied slowly. "Thank you for doing my intro speech," she said quietly, with a nervous, small smile. She looked around to make sure no one was nearby. "I…um…really didn't want it to be the ambassador," she said quickly and quietly, with an amused look.
The captain laughed loudly and started to respond, but Udina showed up before Anderson could reply. There were perhaps three dozen people here, with nearly all species in Citadel space having a representative. The protocol officer whispered something in Captain Anderson's ear. Her CO nodded, and walked towards the podium. It was starting.
As usual, Captain Anderson gave an engaging speech, and halfway through even a couple of the bored-looking diplomats looked moderately interested in his words. She wished he would lay off some of the praise of her, though; she had just been doing her job. She simply completed the assignments that were given to her. And in several cases, she was simply trying to stay alive. That would never make the news, though.
He finished his speech, and after the applause settled, Shepard felt all of the sets of scrutinizing eyes settle on her again. The combined political power of the individuals that stared her down made her more uncomfortable. Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh SHIT
Why did she ever agree to this!?
Because it's what's needed to stop Saren, the geth, and get answers for Eden Prime. Those reminders did nothing to ease her nerves, however, as one simple question lingered in her mind.
She slowly walked forward to the podium, the only sound being the click of her heels on the metal floor, her heart beating like a rabbit running from a pack of wolves. She had known the enormity of the position and responsibility placed on her, but she conveniently had pushed aside many of her worries as future problems. Now, they weren't future problems. They were the problems of now, and the now took the form of the three councilors that stared her down.
"Lieutenant Commander Layla Shepard: It is the decision of the Council that you be granted all the powers and privileges of a Special Tactics and Reconnaissance agent of the Citadel," Councilor Tevos said formally.
"Spectres are not trained, but chosen. Individuals forged in the fire of service and battle, those whose actions elevate them above the rank and file," Councilor Valern said.
"Spectres are an ideal, a symbol. The embodiment of courage, determination, and self-reliance. They are the right hand of the Council, instruments of our will," Tevos continued.
"Spectres bear a great burden. They are the protectors of galactic peace, both our first and last line of defense. The safety of the galaxy is theirs to uphold," Councilor Sparatus said, all traces of his prior hostility towards her now gone. Shepard knew that just below the surface, the hostility still remained, just waiting to reemerge in full force at her smallest mistake.
"Commander, please raise your right hand and recite the oath after me," Tevos said, and Shepard repeated the oath back to the Council. It was short, simple, and wasn't all that different in meaning from the oath she took when she was commissioned. She only had to focus on the asari's words, and she succeeded in keeping the tremor out of her voice. She only realized after she finished the oath that the Council had adopted the 'raise the right hand' convention from humanity for this event.
"You are the first human Spectre, Commander. This is a great accomplishment for you and your entire species. Congratulations," Tevos said.
"I'm very honored, Councilors. Thank you," Shepard said with a smile and slight bow, thankful that her voice wasn't quavering, and praying that the sensitive microphones hadn't picked up the fact that her heart that felt like it was about to explode out of her chest.
The room then broke into applause, and Shepard continued smiling for the cameras, waiting for the dreaded things to shut down and go away. After what seemed like an eternity, the drone lights flicked off and the annoying machines zipped out of sight. Only then did she close her eyes and let out a deep sigh, one that came out louder than she would have liked. Well, that could have been worse, she realized, given the embassy did only a few practice runs of the ceremony.
She walked off of the dais, and her CO was the first to greet her. "Congratulations, Commander," Captain Anderson said, a proud smile on his face. He started to extend a hand, but instead pulled his protégé into a hug.
"Thank you, sir."
Other attendees approached her, offering their congratulations. Another drone zipped around, followed soon by another, flashing pictures every few seconds. Shepard now truly appreciated the simple ceremony; if it had been an elaborate one with alcohol, after a couple drinks she would have considered using her biotics to crush the obnoxious devices into unrecognizable heaps of scrap metal.
The Council arrived a few minutes later. First Valern, then Tevos shook her hand. Last came Sparatus, who had an obviously forced smile on his face as he took her hand. "Congratulations," he said through clenched teeth.
"Thank you, Councilor." This time, however, her smile was genuine, but for a much different reason than being selected as the first human Spectre.
Councilor Sparatus moved off, and other diplomats moved in to congratulate Commander Shepard on her new role. She continued to force a smile, say the usual platitudes, and wait for the ceremony to end so she could get to work.
Williams and Alenko watched as the quick ceremony concluded. All but a couple dozen of the dignitaries dispersed after a half hour or so of socialization. Finally only Anderson and Shepard remained. They talked for perhaps five minutes, then embraced. The act brought a thought to Alenko's mind. Anderson was an N7 commando who had turned down promotions, and he was known to function as a mentor to a number of talented young officers, but he suspected that wasn't the full story here. At times, Anderson's behavior around Shepard seemed almost…paternal.
The captain departed, and the commander waved at Alenko and Williams to approach. Shepard shook both of their hands.
"Congratulations, Commander," Alenko said.
"Congratulations, Commander," Williams said. "That ceremony was quicker than I thought."
"Thankfully they didn't have time to set up something more elaborate. Honestly, do you want to know the only part of the ceremony that I liked?" Shepard asked, then her face broke into an evil grin as she rubbed her hands together conspiratorially. "Councilor Sparatus had to shake my hand and smile for the cameras. He's probably in the bathroom retching up his breakfast right now."
Alenko broke into uncontrollable laughter at the thought of the turian councilor sprinting to the bathroom and crouching over a toilet… "So that wasn't a fake smile, then?" he asked with an amused smirk.
She put a hand on her waist with an expression of mock indignation as she leaned to the side. "Are you suggesting that I always have a forced smile on for the cameras, Staff Lieutenant?" she asked with mock gravity.
He held his hands up in surrender. "Of course not, ma'am! I am insinuating nothing of the sort!" he replied innocently.
She couldn't help but break into a grin. "But yes, all of those smiles in were fake, except for the one with Councilor Sparatus. I was trying not to break out into laughter, or worse, giggles, while he congratulated me," the first human Spectre replied. "And the important thing is that we stop Saren. We have a lot to do here before chasing after him. I don't want to linger here much longer; otherwise we might not make it back to the Normandy for a week. Sadly, the embassy will soon have a press release out, which means the reporters will soon follow."
Alenko and Williams followed Shepard as she set up Spectre accounts and purchased a few sets of infantry weapons for the team, and finally was able to leave the Citadel tower after a quick briefing. She didn't make it far, however.
"Hey, Commander Shepard! Remember me?" a man exclaimed excitedly as he hurried over to the commander, weaving his way through a dozen residents of the Presidium.
Shepard turned to the source of the sound and let out a surprised gasp as her eyes widened. "Conrad. Yeah, we…we talked a couple days ago," she replied, visibly uneasy about the situation as she scratched the back of her neck nervously. Alenko and Williams became very alert very quickly. Williams even had her hand on her pistol, ready to draw it at a moment's notice.
"You remember me? Wow! Guys must try to talk to a lady like you all the time, but you remember me! That really means something," he said, taking a small step forward. Layla took a larger step backward.
She cringed at herself for not just playing dumb. Conrad probably wasn't an assassin, but he seemed to know just where to find her, and he had already heard about her Spectre promotion. Just those two facts squicked her out. I don't remember you any GOOD reason.
"I just heard on the news that you've been made the first human Spectre! That's incredible!" Conrad exclaimed.
"Being a Spectre is an enormous responsibility. I just want to make humanity proud," she replied in a canned response, glancing around and finding relief in the fact that both Alenko and Williams were very alert.
"The vids are all talking about 'Commander Shepard fighting for all of us back home.' And your grace and skill have inspired a whole legion of followers, too! Hey, could I get your picture?" Conrad asked suddenly, oblivious to the commander's unease.
"I…normally don't have a problem with it, but…why?" she replied, an obvious sense of unease in her voice now. Her eyes were wide with concern, and dark energy faintly swirled around her hands. She prepared to throw him and charge away, in case he drew a weapon –
"Are you kidding? Nobody will believe I talked with the beautiful Layla Shepard unless I get a picture!" he exclaimed, entirely oblivious to her tone and the wisps of dark energy swirling around her hand.
She blinked several times as her mind had to reset itself at what she just heard, the reminders of the protocol officers over the years constantly echoing in her head. "Be polite." "Be nice to people that approach you." "Accommodate their requests." "Just remember, you're the representative of humanity and the Alliance." To make it simple for the young officer who had suddenly found herself suddenly thrust into a frenzy of reporting, Anderson had once condensed all the advice into a simple "No biotic punches to the face." "Okay, sure…" she said slowly.
Conrad didn't hesitate. "Great! Just one moment…" he said as his camera drone armed. It hovered a meter away as Conrad stood next to the commander, putting his hand on her back, causing the commander's eyes to shoot open in surprise as her corona slightly flared, a subconscious reaction to the unwanted contact. Conrad didn't notice. After a deep breath and a moment, she was actually able to change her facial expression into that of a fake, slightly tight smile rather than a look of concern, frustration, and growing anger. "Perfect! Thank you, Commander! I'm going to hang this in my living room! My wife will love it!"
She nodded, the expression far more charitable than she felt right now. "If you'll excuse me, Conrad, I have a lot to do right now. Go spend some time with your wife." A thought entered her mind. Despite what PAO had constantly told her, she could just biotic punch him, or stasis him, or biotic pull his creepy ass back to the embassy MPs. Or just biotically smear him on the wall. She was a Spectre now, after all, and –
"Oh, she's off traveling right now," Conrad said flippantly.
So does that mean your wife simply a metaphor for sanity, or have you actually created a personality for her? Shepard thought.
"But take care, and good luck on your super secret missions!" he exclaimed as Shepard walked off.
After a few seconds she stopped and turned to the side, pretending to check her omni-tool, but really making sure that he indeed left and wouldn't be following them anymore. Alenko moved after him, and the lieutenant saw Conrad walking away from Shepard, turning a corner and disappearing out of sight a moment later.
"I…think you have a stalker," Ashley said finally after a long silence.
"Remind me to never meet that guy by myself," Layla agreed, before frowning. "Ugh."
"Yeah, that was just a little creepy," the chief said sarcastically.
"It seems he's quite the, uh…fan of you," Kaidan said.
"You're a Spectre now. Just use your biotics on him," Ashley told her.
Shepard actually let out a quick laugh. "Trust me, the thought crossed my mind. Multiple times."
Alenko chuckled. "Ah, I can already see the headlines. 'Minutes after being made a Spectre, Commander Shepard kills an innocent civilian.' 'Innocent Citadel Civilian Pulverized by Commander Shepard's Biotics.' 'Spectre Shepard Splatters Superfan.'"
Shepard glared at him, but hit him playfully in the shoulder. "Oh, nothing about him is innocent. Ugh, how much do you want to bet that he has a shrine of me or something. And his 'wife' is probably a creepy mannequin or blow up doll or hologram or VI. His skycar is probably chock full of cholorform and duct tape. I've seen a few of those cheesy kidnapping vids, I bet he probably wants me to follow him. Then I'll end up bound and gagged in the trunk of his skycar." She frowned. "Ugh. Biotics sure make a girl feel safer with stalkers like him around."
"Didn't you say something yesterday that it would be a stalker this time?" Williams asked.
She sighed. "I know, and look what happens. Pure squick." She mostly suppressed a shudder.
"You don't run into too many people like that? Stalkers, or creepers?" Ashley asked.
"Not really," Shepard replied, her expression darkening. "Biotics seem to scare most of them away. It also really helps to be either deployed or staying on military residences. I'll have someone look into him, though, just in case." She shrugged and sighed. "I mean, how does he even get into the Citadel Tower? Let's just get back to the embassy."
To Shepard's surprise, upon her return to the embassy, Garrus and Tali waited for her while Captain Anderson watched. The turian approached her first and offered his hand. "Congratulations, Commander."
"Thank you, Garrus."
"Commander, I'd like to help you in the hunt for Saren," the turian said. He made his case, and it didn't take long for Shepard to be convinced.
"I'll need all the help I can get," she said, extending her hand.
Tali approached next, and made the same offer.
"Tali, you're the Alliance's expert on the geth. The Alliance will take all the help we can get," Shepard replied, glancing over to Captain Anderson to confirm his approval.
He nodded. "It's your decision, Commander."
Puzzled, she blinked a couple times. It felt that she was certainly missing something important, but the emotional swings of the last few days, coupled with the fatigue, prevented the lightbulb from going on. "Of course, Tali," she replied, turning back to look at the quarian, then back to the captain.
"Lieutenant, Chief, could you help Garrus and Tali get acquainted?" Anderson said. The commander felt even more confused; it was a question, not an order. She looked up to her mentor, her brow narrowed in puzzlement. "Commander, please follow me," he told her.
He led her into a small room and closed the door.
"I've set up Wrex to work for you. The Alliance works with him very frequently." He briefly explained the decent number of times Wrex had been hired to eliminate various miscreants in batarian space, jobs that were considered too dirty for the Alliance, even its N7s, to get their hands on. She was still a bit nervous about working with a mercenary, but Anderson showed her the dossier on Wrex. He had worked on the side of the law, except when working with the Shadow Broker, and the Alliance knew he could be trusted. "Wrex'll work with you. He knows the rules," the captain assured her.
She wished she had gotten a good night's sleep; despite both the newfound energy and the newfound stress at the new role and freedom, the fatigue still slowed her thinking and she wasn't quite seeing the full picture. "Sir…you have been saying 'it's your decision' and 'he'll work with you'…what else has been going on that I don't know about?" she asked quietly, almost a whisper.
The captain took a deep breath. "I'm stepping down. You have been promoted to the new commanding officer of the SSV Normandy. Congratulations, Commander," Anderson told her formally. He knew the young woman well enough to know the exact response that would follow, though it might take a couple seconds for her to get over the surprise.
Shepard was silent for a couple seconds as she went wide-eyed and slack-jawed. "Wait what!? No, this isn't right! The Normandy belongs to you!" she exclaimed in shock, surprise, and protest.
"She's quick and quiet. Perfect ship for a Spectre," the captain assured her.
"Sir, she's your ship! You've been the CO since she was completed! I've been XO for what, a week? I don't know the crew, I don't know the systems, I don't know the capabilities! I'm nowhere near ready to take command of her!" she protested.
"You have the best crew around to run her. You have great, experienced enlisted crew, and all of the officers have been involved in the ship's fitting out. They're the best in their fields. Lean on them and trust them. Just remember: you are the commanding officer now. I know your leadership style has you act like you're just one of the crew, but there are times they need to see you as their CO."
"S-s-sir…" she stammered. After the last few days of surprises and emotional swings, this last one was too much for the newest Spectre to process. She shook her head. "No. I can't…I'm not ready."
"You are ready. You're a Spectre now. You need your own ship," the captain reminded her. Shepard had been the CO of a very small, dated frigate before for its final stint before its decommissioning, and had served with distinction. But the Normandy was a brand new, state of the art ship…
Layla remained silent, still in shock. "David…" she finally said. This was just too much for her to take. "This isn't fair to you."
She saw her CO's face take on a heavy, tired look. He let out a long sigh as he closed his eyes. "I had my chance when I was under consideration for the Spectres. Now it is your turn to succeed where I didn't." He paused for a moment. "You need your own ship. A Spectre doesn't answer to anyone but the Council."
"David…that's…" she said.
"How things need to be," he said with conviction. "As always, my line is always open. You can reach out at any time, but I know you won't need to," he reassured her. He let out a deep sigh. "Let's get going. You've got a rogue Spectre to catch."
"Thank you, sir." She saluted him.
He returned it, then embraced her. "Good luck, Commander."
"I won't let you down, Captain."
Alenko and Williams waited outside the office for the commander to exit the room. It took longer than expected, and when she finally did emerge, she stared straight ahead, eyes wide. She looked at both of them for a moment before taking a deep breath, finding and taking a seat in the nearest chair, in a row of several surprisingly cheap-looking seats in the embassy complex. She hunched over, staring at the ground.
The lieutenant approached her, who made no effort to stand or even move. "Commander?" he asked after the silence became unbearable.
She picked her head up after a few moments, but didn't make eye contact, remaining silent even longer before speaking quietly. "It's…they're putting me in command of the Normandy."
"What!?" both Alenko and Williams exclaimed in near-unison.
"Yeah…that…was my reaction too," she said slowly, followed by a deep breath. She finally sat up, nervously twirling her hair around her index finger.
The two marines shared a look. Both had figured she would be reassigned, but…neither had expected her to be put in command of the most advanced ship in the Alliance. "But…Captain Anderson…" Williams began.
"Is being reassigned to the embassy staff, to be a military liaison between the Council and Alliance. That's…just a fancy way of saying he's going to be running interference for me," Shepard said quietly as she continued to twirl a few strands of hair.
"Ma'am, that's…it's…"
"A shock. Yeah." She still hadn't made eye contact. "We need to get back, but…I need a minute…or two."
"Completely understandable," Alenko agreed. "Congratulations, Commander," he said after a pause.
She finally looked up to him for a moment. "Thanks…I think," she said quietly.
A few deep breaths and a minute later, she finally stood, seemingly in better command of her thoughts, and the newest Spectre and the two marines returned to their ship.
Just minutes after the Normandy had departed the Citadel, Captain Anderson returned back to his new office in the embassy, dropping down into a chair with a long sigh. He closed his eyes and sighed. The feeling was bittersweet; the Council had atoned for the sins of the past, but it had taken them eighteen years.
His door swished open, and Anderson's eyes opened as he saw Fleet Admiral Hackett enter, an expensive bottle of scotch and two glasses in hand. "Admiral," Anderson said.
"Captain," Hackett replied.
"Not exactly how we would have liked everything to turn out," the Normandy's former CO stated.
Hackett pulled up a chair. "But it turned out in the end." The admiral poured a generous amount of scotch into each glass, handing one to Anderson.
"Yeah." They clinked their glasses together and drank. "Finally got that bastard kicked out."
"Which bastard?" Hackett asked. "Saren or our own?"
Anderson snorted. "Just Saren at first, but both of them really. It took eighteen years to take the first bastard down, but he's finally gone. And for the second bastard, personally, we shouldn't sweep it under the rug, but…"
"I agree with you, even with the shitshow if it went public. Given the chance, I would have killed him myself," Hackett said without hesitation or doubt.
"Me too," Anderson agreed.
"But unfortunately, it wasn't our call to make, as much as I wish it was. It's done now," Hackett replied with a sigh.
Anderson nodded grimly, having to remind himself that the particular issue wouldn't be a problem anymore, just like the other sins of the past that they had buried in the dark corners of time.
He couldn't have been more wrong.
Hackett let out a long sigh, bringing Anderson out of his thoughts. "We'll probably never know what other shit Saren pulled, how many other innocents he sacrificed, in the name of the mission," Hackett agreed sourly.
Anderson shook his head. "Now with Shepard as the first Spectre…"
The admiral sighed and took another long pull on the scotch. "Brad Walters probably wouldn't have survived the beacon like Layla Shepard did. Chakwas said that whoever used it was incredibly lucky to survive, and even more lucky to not be in a persistent vegetative state."
Anderson nodded grimly, remembering Chakwas' first report after the commander had interacted with the beacon. He had been horrified at the thought that his protégé would never wake, but the doctor had assured him that the commander was merely unconscious, that she still had significant cerebral cortical activity. The commander had stirred significantly while she was unconscious, and she actually showed elevated brain activity, prompting Chakwas to both treat and study the commander's mysterious and sudden condition. "Yeah. Karin said it was Layla's…" he stopped, letting his voice trail off.
"Yeah," Hackett agreed without saying any more words. He shook his head. "And to think that we put her in that position..."
Anderson painfully nodded. His conscious about selecting Shepard as the candidate had denied him any sleep when he learned what happened with the beacon, and it was only after Chakwas' assurances that she suffered no permanent damage, and would wake in time, that began to assuage it. But, as with all things when he talked with or thought about Shepard, his guilt remained.
"How'd she handle the change of command?" Hackett continued.
"Still in a bit of shock," Anderson replied, taking another pull of scotch. It was really good stuff. "Can't say I blame her in the least."
Hackett chuckled. "It's a lot for anyone to process. Recent promotion, rapid transfer to most advanced ship in the galaxy, the Charlie Foxtrot on Eden Prime, inducted into the Spectres…"
Anderson nodded, but a smile didn't appear on his face. "Star of Terra, Spectre, N7, and everything else, I…I still can't help but think of her as that terrified sixteen year old girl we found shuddering on Mindoir," he said quietly. "Then I think how close it actually was, and how many people we didn't find in time…"
Hackett let out a long sigh. "That's why we run those operations against the batarians," he agreed. Sometimes with limited oversight, he didn't add. Alliance Parliament had insisted to cut back on special operations in the Traverse now that slave raids had drastically decreased, not comprehending or caring that the reason raids had decreased was because of a bevy of clandestine operations. NAVSOC and MARSOC knew which parliamentarians to go to for authorization – the few that understood the unpleasantness of the Traverse.
"Yeah." Just one slave raid is two too many, Anderson thought. He had seen his share of the aftermath of attacks – sixteen year old Layla Shepard was sadly just one of many civilians that needed rescue from slavers. And there were many more that never got saved, he knew.
"She really has come such a long way since then," Hackett reminded Anderson, then an amused look appeared on his face. "I bet you never thought she'd be where she is today."
This did bring a slight chuckle to the captain. "Anyone who suggested it even just a couple years ago, even after what she did on Elysium, even after becoming an N7…I would have taken them get drug tested immediately. Someone's snorting something they shouldn't be."
Hackett himself snorted in response, pointing his finger at Anderson theatrically, speaking slowly and deliberately as if teaching a lesson to a disobedient child. "'And that's why you don't snort powdered turian.'"
Thankfully Anderson hadn't just taken a drink of scotch, otherwise the liquid probably would have been snorted out of his own nose. He laughed for a good ten seconds before he took another long pull of the drink, his expression turning serious again. "My first thought was we need to keep a close eye on her; she's an undocumented biotic. I soon learned that her parents, and her entire extended family, were killed. Then I kept thinking about when we found her."
David Anderson shook his head, a pained look on his face, a look that literally only a handful of people had ever observed. Ever the mentor and father figure to Shepard…even she had never seen Anderson like this.
Anderson closed his eyes. "It was the look on her face, Steve…so scared, so…vulnerable. Everyone she knew was dead, or kidnapped. Barely escaped the slavers herself. Then I learned that she would get sent to an orphanage. Just one of many sad stories in the aftermath of a slave raid. To this day I'm not sure what caused me to do it – other than I kept seeing her terrified face every time statistics about the Mindoir raid were updated, as the dead and taken counts kept increasing – but for some reason I looked her up a few days later. Guess maybe the fact human biotics were so rare, and she was undocumented." He sighed, taking another drink from his glass.
"To learn that the other orphans had beat her senseless, and she had been checked into an ICU," Hackett finished.
The captain nodded sadly, pausing for a couple moments before speaking. "There's more. Something that I've never brought up since." He finished off the scotch in his glass, glanced at the empty tumbler, and poured himself a generous amount from the bottle. "Good a time as any, I guess." If he was going to tell this story, might as well pour another stiff drink.
Hackett adopted an inquisitive expression.
"There was a disagreement at the hospital." Anderson's expression darkened considerably. "A doctor and a nurse wanted to euthanize 'it'," he finished with air quotes. "While the rest of the medical staff were trying to save her life, a doctor and a nurse come in with sodium thiopental and the bromide solution. They were going to inject those into her IV right then and there."
Hackett's glass slammed down on the table in surprise. A few drops of scotch splattered out, but the admiral never noticed. "What!?" the fleet admiral roared, the mask of his face transition from calm to rage in a flash.
"She wasn't a person to those two. Just a thing, an animal to be put down," Anderson snarled.
"Then people wonder why the hell biotics lash out. What did you do?" Hackett asked angrily, not at Anderson, but at what had occurred. Despite the admiral's anger, his voice held a bit of anticipation at the punishment that his friend would have unleashed.
"I reacted exactly like you'd expect a man who had seen the aftermath of eleven slave raids during the last six months in the Traverse. I'll spare the details, but I threatened that particular doctor with bamboo shoots and a first-person view of certain parts of his interior anatomy. I'm just glad someone on the staff asked what the doctor was doing, then that the rest of them objected so vigorously. He was the senior doctor present, after all. The two were arrested on charges of attempted murder. I heard what happened, and paid him an 'informal' visit to the doctor in his cell."
"I would have been tempted to shoot him," Hackett said coldly.
"I should have," Anderson replied, another pained expression on his face. "Guess where that fucker ended up."
The admiral's mind took about three seconds to answer the question. When he did arrive at the answer, his eyes widened in disbelief and a single word finally escaped his mouth. "No."
Anderson snorted. "Yes. Shouldn't be surprising. A doctor with absolutely no morals and those Cerberus assholes, they're a Goddamned match made in heaven," the captain scowled. "Doctor Wayne got out of charges on a technicality, then drops off the grid a week later. No family, never married –"
"Wonder why," Hackett snorted.
"And he left everything behind."
Hackett let out a long sigh and shook his head. "Wouldn't surprise me if those bastards had something to do with that technicality. We need to start rolling them back, now that we have a Spectre to deal with them outside of the Alliance."
"But we still don't know how bad we're penetrated," Anderson pointed out. "And she hasn't even been briefed on them yet."
"We'll do that soon. Saren and the geth are still the priority," Hackett said. "We'll send her after them if we have no leads on Saren or the geth. If AIA can pinpoint the location of a couple of Cerberus bases." Hackett finished the scotch in his glass, then poured another drink.
"What concerns me most is where they get their funding. We know they have a few facilities, but hiding facilities on backwater planets is in no way cheap."
"You're right, but Saren worries me far more, though. And the Council doesn't seem to think it's a big deal. Any one of these things – a Spectre going rogue, a geth attack on any colony, a Spectre allying with the geth – is something that I would have thought would light a fire under their asses. The Council does nothing after a geth attack, and it takes a shitload of luck from Shepard and that quarian Tali, plus a shitload of data from the Shadow Broker," Hackett said.
"Wonder how steep the price of the Broker's eventual bill will be," Anderson sighed.
"More than we can afford," Hackett replied. "And there's that ship…hell, no one other than Shepard brought up that ship to the Council. Not the ambassador, not even Pallin."
"You mean it's not something BROADSIDE has been cooking up?" Anderson snorted. They were drinking really good scotch, and today had been a monumental day. To spend it commiserating about problems, and sins of the past, seemed like a waste to the captain.
"It's not one of ours. Not even close. Most of the tech from BROADSIDE went into the Normandy," Hackett replied, then he started chuckling. "Don't want to talk about depressing topics when drinking good scotch, huh?"
"I prefer cheap bourbon for those topics. Figured you'd know that by now," Anderson responded with his own chuckle. "All in all, today's been a good day."
"It has." Hackett paused for a moment before asking his next question. It was a question that needed to be asked, and the admiral wanted to ask before they shifted away from serious discussions. "You and Kahlee taking some time off soon?"
"Yeah," Anderson replied, an incredibly rare hint of uncertainty in his voice. "Probably."
"Take time off. Go somewhere…tropical, alpine, urban, wherever. Just get away for a week, or two," Hackett advised. The widower placed his left hand on the table, his wedding ring making an almost imperceptible clank on the metal surface, as he looked at the younger man with an unusual look of sadness on his normally calm, stoic face. "Take it from me, there's no such thing as enough time with the ones you care about."
"I will." Anderson sighed. "But both of us have our careers. Her office practically shuts down if she leaves for a day, and until a few hours ago I was CO of the Normandy."
"You're not doing that anymore. I can cover for you here," Hackett stated quickly. "Besides, I'm less likely than you to tell the Council or the ambassador which accoutrements they can shove into which of their orifices, anyway." This got a long laugh out of Anderson. "And to be blunt, it sounds like she needs to get better at delegating."
"She's tried. There aren't many competent people in her specialized field."
"So find some. I'll call around to see who I can dig up. But you're going to take a bit of time off with her and go someplace nice. Don't make me order you, David," the admiral told his friend sternly.
"Alright, alright," Anderson chuckled quickly as he held up his hands in surrender. "Once the fallout of the last few days calms down."
"Good. Remember, I can cover for you," Hackett reminded him. The admiral had made his point to the younger man.
About two hours later, the two men had gone through nearly the entire bottle – now in a less sober state for telling less sobering stories. Hackett picked up the last of the bottle, pouring about an equal amount into each of their two glasses. Their glasses clanked together one last time.
"To the first human Spectre. Commander Shepard," Hackett said.
"To Layla Shepard," Anderson said. "Godspeed, Commander," he finished quietly.
As was common for a man in his current lot in life, he sat in a bar. Specifically, he sat in the corner of the bartop in a dive bar. From the number of drinks he had consumed, one would have thought he would have passed out hours ago, but being biotic did have its benefits. Due to his extreme metabolism, he remained in a state of limbo; not completely sober, not completely drunk.
"Another," he growled to the bartender, who complied quickly, pouring another generous amount of whiskey into the glass, not bothering with ice. The man swirled the whiskey around once in the glass, pondering the tiny vortex of brown fluid for a moment instead of the most ridiculously fucking stupid turn his life had taken in the last two weeks. Two weeks ago, he stood at the top of his profession, a man without peers. Not even the legends that preceded him could stand up to his stature. Now, here he was.
He had made a few mistakes, he had to admit. Mistakes that, in another time, a few centuries earlier, would not have resulted in this. But despite everything he had done, all he had lost…he had been cast out, by those who had used him for years to accomplish their dirty work. They hadn't even given him a chance to appeal, like was required. There wasn't even a trial, just a summary judgment. They just kicked him to the curb, wanting to sweep everything under the rug. That his actions should have resulted in far worse punishment never crossed his mind.
It should have been him, he knew. If it had been him, the clusterfuck on Eden Prime never would have happened. A Spectre would never have died, as the media had reported, and the mission, whatever the fuck it had been, wouldn't have been regarded as a failure. He would not have failed, and now he would be the one with that honor. After all, his prowess – in many areas – was unchallenged and unmatched.
The vid screen returned from a commercial break, returning to the breaking news that had been plagued every media outlet for hours, showing an endlessly nauseating stream of images and vids. That should have been him. His name should have been spoken – and feared – throughout the galaxy.
He scowled in disgust as the face he so reviled now appeared yet again on the screen. Instead of him, it was this stupid bitch. Always being polite and smiling, showing weakness when one should be showing strength. It was fear that commanded respect and obedience, not manners. How did it get so fucked up? How the hell had she ended up in this role? No doubt she had let some guys fuck her for this position. She looked so soft and tiny, one wondered how she even joined the Alliance, biotics and so-called 'heroics' be damned. No one could take her seriously. And now no one would take the Alliance – or humanity – seriously.
The news report then started to list her alleged 'accomplishments,' conveniently leaving out the fact she had no doubt slept her way into the role. He had to admit she was pretty, which was probably the only thing the fucking embassy considered when making the selection.
He had enough. Cute as she was, he couldn't look at that Goddamned face anymore. "Change the channel," he snarled at the bartender, who immediately complied. The man tossed back the full shot of whiskey, slamming the glass down on the table. "Another." This wish again became reality in moments. He swirled the whiskey again, staring emptily into the small vortex in the bottom of the glass.
His highly trained mind automatically processed and tracked every person in the bar, including people that entered and exited. He paid them no further heed. None were threats, and none were targets. However, he did notice a man enter with purpose in his stride, and approach his little quiet corner of Hell.
The newcomer – inconspicuously dressed, unarmed, very fit, late thirties – took a seat next to him. "Same thing he's having," the newcomer said to the bartender, flipping a large denomination chit. "And leave us alone." As before, the bartender quickly complied, continuing to look with apprehension at his patron for the last several hours despite the money that had been spent.
The newcomer took a sniff of the whiskey – pretty cheap stuff – and took a swig. He said nothing for close to a half minute, waiting to see the man's reaction.
The man finally spoke up. "You can't see the hints that a man wants to be left the fuck alone?"
"I can, because I've been there myself," the newcomer replied sincerely. "I once crawled into a Goddamned hole with countless bottles and never wanted to climb out."
"Yet you're here bothering me," came the disinterested, angry response.
"You're here because you think it's the only course of action left for you. That you have nothing left in your life. That's where I was, too. But after a while, you start to realize you need an objective. You need a mission. You need purpose."
"I had a fucking purpose," the man snarled at the newcomer. "They kicked me to the curb, and put that fucking whore in my place! That should have been me!"
The newcomer knew this man's reputation, that he should probably be afraid. After all, the newcomer was unarmed, and had no biotics. He knew, however, that he was fundamentally safe from the biotic man next to him. The newcomer knew that someone else was supposed to be having this conversation with this man. But despite her own very potent biotic abilities, she had adamantly refused to anywhere come near this recruitment target, so the newcomer was sent instead. "Life isn't fair," the newcomer replied, sounding as agreeable as he could to this man. "Your talents would have been far more valuable to retain. But those politicians that made that choice, they're too small-minded. They don't really know anything about keeping humanity safe. About what's coming."
"And you do?" the man scoffed back. An almost imperceptible amount of interest in the man's tone. Good.
"I would say I know more than those political idiots, but that's not saying much," the newcomer said. "I know more than most. I know that they made a mistake discharging you. I know you and your skills are far too valuable to cast aside." The man's eyes had an almost imperceptible change.
Another scoff. "And I'd use them for who? A PMC? They don't take DDs, even N7s. And forget the Blue Suns, even when they dumped that law-abiding shit once Vido took over. Another merc group? They're shoot on sight with me, given how many of them I've killed over the years."
"No, but there's other organizations that have use for your talents," the newcomer replied.
The man let out a snort of amusement. "What, now you're going to tell me the Council will secretly make me a Spectre? I've killed people for less bullshit than that."
The newcomer gulped. But he had to keep his calm. "Of course not," he replied emphatically. "The Council is both foolish and xenophobic. Humanity has to look out for our own interests. This geth attack shows it. Not even a single ship to help defend our space." The newcomer gauged the man's reaction closely. "Humanity is both new to the galaxy and naïve. If we want to survive, we have to look to our own interests, not rely on the infrequent goodwill of other species."
The man finally made eye contact after several moments of silence. "The Alliance sure as fuck doesn't see it that way," he responded slowly. "They'll just parade that useless, pretty bitch in front of the cameras to act like they're doing something, instead of putting someone in that role that can actually get the Goddamned job done."
The newcomer wholeheartedly disagreed with the two of the three words of the man's assessment. She certainly wasn't a 'bitch' or 'useless', though she certainly was pretty. He idly wondered to himself if she was on the list for eventual recruitment. Highly unlikely. She seemed too idealistic, too…paragon. He certainly wouldn't mind taking up the task of recruiting her, though, especially if seduction could be involved in the recruitment process. That would certainly be a pleasant assignment, in more ways than one. He kept his thoughts to himself, though. "I represent an organization. An organization that advances the interests of humanity, and that answers neither to the Alliance or the Council."
The newcomer continued his 'prepared speech,' not dropping his organization's name once. Better for security, just in case. But he knew he had the man.
"Take some time. Think about it now. And think about it when you have a clear head." The newcomer normally would say to go relax, maybe go get laid, but certainly would never say the second part to this man. "Think of what happened to you not as the beginning of the end, but as the end of the beginning." A bit theatric, and the newcomer had no doubt that the originator of that particular phrase would no doubt have his skin crawl at the use of his words in such a way, to such an audience. "If you do decide you are ready, you know how to reach me."
The newcomer left the man, paying for his own tab, and leaving more than enough chits for the man to cover however much more he decided to drink. He left the bar, knowing that this man would accept the offer. Part of the newcomer was pleased with another successful recruitment, but part of him felt nauseous for recruiting a man such as that, skilled assassin as he might be.
The man continued to sit alone at the bar for some time, continuing to drink. This time, however, he found himself more focused on the future than on the past. That reviled face kept appearing on the vid screens, but he didn't ask the bartender to change the channel again. His mind began to focus on a new idea: revenge. A new set of far darker and sinister thoughts formed in his mind. He had a good idea of which fucker was primarily responsible for his discharge, and he knew that person had been responsible for installing that bitch as the first human Spectre. That bitch that had stolen the position from him.
He would have purpose again.
He would show them just how wrong they were to cast him out.
And then, he would have his vengeance.
A/N: This concludes the first section of Minutes to Midnight. I hope you all have enjoyed reading it. I always appreciate feedback, with things you liked or didn't like.
The next set of chapters will cover Therum and Noveria, as well as a bit of space combat sprinkled in.