Cenotaph I: The Morrow

by Rob Sears

Roahn'Shepard was always doomed to an abnormal life. As the daughter of John and Tali, she would always be overshadowed by her parents' heroics, but at home... her father is no hero. He is distant. Withdrawn. But when a new threat arises, she and her father are forced to confront their differences and Roahn will soon discover what it means to be the daughter of Commander Shepard.

19. Chapter 19: A Return to Quantum

Council Apostatizing of Human Military Forces (CAHMF-1) Bill - Set 1
Article 3 – Grievances for Secession

a) Disciplinary action and consummate amercements have been unevenly distributed despite objective evidence that Council charters have routinely been violated by its fellow members (re: Asari Republics, Salarian Union.) Please see Section 4, Paragraph 4 for specific examples.

b) The Ministry of Finance has failed to disperse adequate reparations garnered from the damages incurred during the Reaper War. Estimated percentage of damages that humanity suffered currently amounts to 65% more than the next heavily damaged Council member. Calculated remainder to be paid: 291.04 trillion credits.

c) Individual intelligence groups (STG, Asari Command, et al) have subsequently declined to disseminate proper and requisite data pertaining to widespread repercussions. The withholding of such information has jeopardized the direct impact of military forces stationed in specific areas, leading to the catastrophic loss of life and the destruction of property. Appropriate reasoning for this concealment of data still have not been provided, despite prompting.

For failure to abide by the tentpole and sacrosanct pillars upon which the Council was formed and advertised, the Systems Alliance formally announces its intention to secede from the Citadel Council.

The timeline for this process to be complete will be set five years from the ratification date of this bill.

---

Earth
UNAS State of California

Wearied shock absorbers bounced and creaked as the sleek coupe wound its way through the forested hills of Santa Cruz. A throaty growl escaped from the rear of the vehicle, out the exhaust pipe, the culprit of the noise being the massive twelve-cylinder gas-guzzling behemoth of an engine sealed tightly away in the front of the car. Radial tires gripped the road nicely, sticking quite easily to the asphalt surface despite it having just rained a few hours ago. Pop-up headlights cut low beams through the steam that rose up from the highway, creating a shallow veil of mist that, in this low light, looked like smoke.

In the front of the vehicle, Sam McLeod was tapping his fingers erratically as he gripped the wheel tightly, a rather befuddled expression having been etched onto his face since he had made planetfall. Next to him, in the passenger seat, sat Roahn, who was positively glued to the window, wide-eyed, as the redwoods of Santa Cruz whisked by at cruising speeds. In fact, Roahn's attention had been pulled in multiple directions ever since she had stepped out onto the surface of Earth for the first time in her life, most of it directed towards this rather strange contraption that Sam was now driving. She had never seen anything like it before.

Sam had called this particular transport an "automobile" or simply a "car" as a form of shorthand. Apparently its full designation was a BMW 850Ci, but Roahn had never heard of BMW before nor did she understand what the number 850 was supposed to represent. The car itself was not really luxuriously equipped, on the other hand. The only accoutrements that came stock with this thing were the air conditioning and the radio head unit, both looking archaic. The amenities, or lack thereof, was not a trifle that Sam appeared to be concerned with. He would rather have this care as accurate to the day it was made than ruin it with a few anachronisms.

Unlike most ground transportation vehicles, the BMW did not run on hydrogen fuel cells but on unleaded gasoline, a fluid that had apparently powered most vehicles on Earth a rather long time ago. What was most interesting to Roahn was that Sam had indicated that this particular vehicle she was in dated from the year 1995, which made this car more than two hundred years old. The doctor had said that he had initially installed a fuel cell engine in the car upon purchasing it, but after it had been in an accident some years back Sam had professed a desire to get the thing back into showroom condition, which meant that he had gone to a great deal of money and trouble to procure two-hundred year old parts to put into a two-hundred year old car. Roahn was not at all familiar with the painful labors it takes to restore a car but she was able to glean from Sam's tone that it probably took a great deal of effort.

Sam's other passengers, however, were considerably less comfortable than Roahn. The BMW was only a two-door car, and even though it had five seats, Shepard, Garrus, and Liara looked painfully squashed as they struggled to move themselves into the most convenient position possible without incurring any cramps or tightness in their limbs. Truth be told, the three seats in the rear of the car were more of an afterthought than anything else as the headroom was poor and the legroom rather pitiful. The three of them had to clamber all the way into the back upon entering the car, something that was easier said than done and perhaps more comical than it should have been—Shepard and Garrus had taken the window seats while Liara was helplessly mashed in the middle, as she was the thinnest out of the three of them. They had given the front seat to Roahn out of politeness, which was why they were not openly griping right about now within the girl's earshot.

Roahn returned her attention back to the outside world. The forest that they were currently driving through was filled with these massive trees as tall as skyscrapers. Sequoia trees, Sam had called them. Trees that stayed green throughout the entirety of the year. They had a very sharp but pleasant smell to them. Pine. Juniper. Sweet sage. Springy juniper. A wealth of botanical aromatics—a delight to the senses. There was even a slight tinge that her nostrils could pick up that was indicated to be a telltale sign of eucalyptus trees.

Thick and leafy ferns coated the springy ground, obscuring the damp soil. Water from the rain dripped off of the textured leaves, quickly being absorbed by the roots as the ground eagerly soaked it up. Dapples of sunlight, cut to ribbons by the high-reaching branches, felt thick and weighty from the moisture-soaked air. Scatterings of birds hopped from tree to tree, chirping their songs all the while. Roahn's hands pressed themselves flat against the glass of the BMW's windows, her visor nearly tapping upon it as she became absorbed into the density that the redwood forest offered.

Wow, this was an incredible place! So, this is where humans came from.

Meanwhile, no longer able to contain himself, Garrus futilely attempted to shift his hips in an effort to not to become so tightly pressed against the side of the car. He failed, obviously, and he let out a groan in the wake of that failure.

"It's a good thing that no one in your family is fat," he grumbled to the human driving the car.

"I'm so sorry, princess," Sam snapped from the front, briefly turning his head but keeping his eyes peeled to the road. "I didn't expect that I'd have to carpool four people after work today. I mean, if I had a little more warning…"

Unable to effectively talk and drive at the same time, Sam just gave up and went back to concentrating with steering the car.

While the accommodations to the trio in the back were less than ideal, Sam was the more correct in terms of being morally responsible. His house was on Earth, located in the hills above a well-populated community known as Santa Cruz. He drove to the spaceport every day and used his own personal ship to commute back and forth to the Citadel, where he worked at Huerta. He had clung to this routine for at least ten years, so Sam had no reason to expect to deviate from it on this particular day. It was true—there was no way he could have known.

Garrus did not react to the sting by Sam. He had entered into enough conversations with the man to realize that the human naturally reserved a tone of acidity, but it was mostly utilized as a form of endearment. One just had to learn to tolerate it after a while. Despite the biting comments being occasionally traded between the two, Garrus had apparently trusted Sam enough to help them out with getting to Earth's surface, as Sam had revealed to Garrus years before that he had a ship and that he had a house on the planet. Since Shepard and company needed both a ship and a place to temporarily lay low, Sam McLeod had become their new meal ticket in that regard.

Sam had seemed less than thrilled at the prospect of helping the four out at first, but that annoyance had been derived from the spontaneity of Garrus' request to use him to ferry them all down to Earth's surface. The doctor had quickly softened from the nature of the request and, courteously enough, had signed out from the hospital immediately, offering them all safe passage on the spot. Evidentially, Garrus' instincts had been correct; Sam respected Shepard and his crew too much to even consider selling them out and would therefore drop everything to assist them in a time of need.

The voyage down from the Citadel had only taken a measly ten minutes. Shepard did take note that Sam's ship, some vessel with an overly eloquent moniker of The Monterrey Obtruder, was a well-stocked crate with enough interior volume within to rival even his own craft. Shepard's ship, speaking of which, had been left in dry dock over at the Citadel to gradually accrue docking fees every day. He would not need it where he was going.

Santa Cruz had a small spaceport within the city limits by the beach, which was where Sam tended to park his ship. His transport, the cramped two-door, had been waiting in a nearby lot, not at all suspecting that its suspension would soon be tested with a full load of people. With little fanfare, the five of them had disembarked from the grounded craft and had stuffed themselves into the car, whereupon Sam had proceeded to drive north, into the forested mountains, where his home ostensibly lay.

"How much further?" Garrus piped up again, but with a tightened smirk on his face. Now he was just trying to annoy Sam with his banter.

Sam just spared a half-second to glare at Shepard, ignoring the bait. "Would you object if I just threw him out?" he spoke to the other human in the car as he jerked a thumb behind him to the wide-eyed turian.

Shepard just reclined back and slowly glanced up and down at Garrus, analyzing the possibilities. "It would give us a lot more space back here," he considered.

"Shepard, you wouldn't," Garrus pleaded.

Sam just shook his head in mirth from the front seat. "It probably wouldn't do much good. We're just about there, anyway." He looked over at Roahn and cracked a smile. "Maybe next time, eh?"

Roahn similarly laughed, a sound which served to fully snap Shepard out of whatever light reverie he had placed himself in. There was a distinct sort of confidence that Sam exuded when he had addressed Roahn, the kind born from experience of talking to children Roahn's age. Right, Shepard realized, Sam had mentioned during their first meeting that he had a daughter himself. Regardless, the doctor seemed to be unusually adept with talking to a quarian—most humans were actually still a little put off with having to talk to someone sealed away in an enviro-suit—but Sam seemed to disregard that aspect entirely.

Or… Shepard was overthinking the entire scenario, which was probably the most logical answer.

A few minutes later, Sam began to slow the car and gently turned off onto a smoothly paved drive that cut a thin path through a dense cluster of trees. Twin stone pillars flanked the entrance, each one accompanied by smooth iron gates. The coupe drove between the gates, proceeding at a more methodical pace now that they had left the main highway.

Sam's home was revealed through the array of topiaries moments later. Truthfully, Shepard had been expecting something along the lines of a simple lodging, given the rustic location. What greeted them instead was a rather sleek abode, formulated by the smart and angular lines reminiscent of the Mid-Century Modern style accompanied by tasteful and delicately applied curves that hinted at a more Contemporary look. Neo-Revisionist, Shepard assumed, was the main style inherent in the house's design. Spacious, luxurious, but also quite separated from the modern world. In many ways, it reminded him of his own house back on Rannoch. When he had a home there, at least.

Sam pulled the car up to the front door—a thick slab of dark wood with black steel handles that ran from the floor to the ceiling—and parked it. Another vehicle, this one a more recent model, was parked near the garage, a fact that caused Sam to pull a face of anticipation.

"Okay, look," Sam explained once everyone had extricated themselves from the BMW, itself not an easy feat, "my wife's working from home today and she doesn't know you guys are here—"

"You didn't tell your wife we were coming?" Garrus interrupted, still cheeky.

"You specifically said to keep any mention of you all off of the wavelengths!" Sam shot back in a hushed tone before he calmed himself. "I have no idea how she's going to react so just… be quiet for now while I take over, okay?"

All three mumbled an agreement to which Sam had to concede was acceptable enough. The doctor then led them up to the heavy door, to which he grasped the handle, allowing the hydraulically-assisted hinges to spring forth and open it automatically to his touch.

"Honey?" Sam poked his head into the house, his voice taking on a noticeably lighter affect now that he was in the presence of his spouse. He sheepishly treaded inside, tugging at his collar while Shepard and everyone else followed closely behind, now stepping upon polished black tile flooring. "I'm back from work!"

"You're home rather early!" a voice, the person unseen, carried around the corner. Shepard swore that the voice carried a distinct warble that was inherently familiar to him, but he wrote it off as the acoustics of the room messing with his hearing. "They didn't fire you at the hospital, did they?"

"No, no, they didn't!" Sam continued to assure as he hung up his jacket on a nearby hanger. Taking panicked glances at his houseguests, the doctor chewed his lip before calling out. "Listen, dear, I really need to talk to you about—"

"Well, it's actually really good that you're home at this time," the voice of Sam's wife continued. "I could use some help for dinner and Taylor is having some trouble with her grammar assignment. Not math. Grammar. This is the same girl who has aced every single one of her math tests this year and yet she gets tripped up in school by punctuation and sentence structures. Bizarre. I still think she's faking needing assistance to spend more time with you, though."

"I'd certainly love to help," Sam called, "but I think there's something that you should know first, dear. We… sort of have guests with us tonight."

There was the distinct clunk of someone setting a large object on the counter followed by the rapid sounds of footsteps as the person was walking over to confront her husband. "Guests? Now? Sam… why didn't you tell me sooner? I mean… ugh! Do you know how inconvenient it is to have this sprung upon—"

As Sam's wife finally came into view, both parties, save for Sam, were subject to a rather peculiar and precise sort of shock. In terms of visceral reactions, Garrus, Liara, and Roahn all gave the same sort of confused blink and tilt of the head, a synchronized movement that was somewhat comical in hindsight. Shepard, on the other hand, simply reared his body back an inch, looking back and forth from Sam to the newcomer in their midst. Suddenly, a whole wealth of things were starting to make sense to Shepard. Apparently there was a reason why Sam had not exhibited any unease to Shepard's marriage to Tali as well as how easily Sam had seemed to be able to initiate conversation with Roahn.

The person standing across from them gave a similar sound of surprise, followed by a crashing sound as the glass she had been holding had slipped from her hand. She was draped in a very familiar looking suit—jet black—and twin glowing motes slipped through a translucent sheet of blood-red glass—eyes slowly widening as she understandably recognized most of the individuals that were gracing her foyer. For someone like her, not being able to recognize three of the galaxy's biggest heroes right off the bat was simply an impossibility.

Sam's wife was a quarian.

"Everyone, meet Nya," Sam introduced, his abashed face merely increasing in the wake of his wife's surprise. "Nya, meet—"

"I know who they are," Nya nodded frantically as she carelessly swept away the remains of the glass with her foot. She was a very striking looking quarian, Shepard had to admit, with the careful application of crimson accents that seemed to cut vivid lines across the hexagonal textures of her enviro-suit. She had a slightly deeper voice than Tali's, while being just a tad more breathy. Quarians in general were not all that dissimilar in terms of body type, as their characteristic of having a high metabolism was ubiquitous across every single individual. Every one of them was thin as a result, sharing a very narrow range of variation in body mass. "I wasn't just born yesterday… dear."

"Oof," Sam winced. "I knew this was going to be awkward."

"You're damn right about that." Nya beckoned to Sam with a finger as she desperately tried to tear her eyes off of the legends while trying to be as calm and composed as possible. "Can… can I talk to you in private for a second?"

---

Nya shoved Sam into a nearby bathroom and locked the door for good measure behind her. Sam was desperately trying to erase his hasty grin from his face, but the sequence of events had simply been so ludicrous that he could not get his wife's reaction from seeing their guests out of his head. If anything, having to peer at his stupid smile was merely serving to annoy Nya even further.

"Sam, why the hell are Commander Shepard, Garrus Vakarian, and Liara T'Soni currently standing in our house?" Nya urged in a hushed voice. "Why did you not tell me that you were going to invite them all over until they had stepped through the front door?! I just… ah, keelah, they saw me break that glass, didn't they? I can't believe I did that. And… wait… how did you even meet them in the first place? When were you going to tell me that you're on speaking terms with Commander Shepard?"

Clearly Sam had a lot of explaining to do and this was precisely the sort of thing that he had been dreading ever since Shepard and his friends had barged into his office back on the Citadel. For the past few hours, he had been frantically trying to run through every conceivable option on how to break this sort of news to Nya in a gentle but firm manner. Apparently gentle was not going to cut it anymore. Not even close, evidentially.

Sam ran his fingers through his hair, showcasing his own agitation. "Nya, dear…"

"Sam, whenever you 'Nya, dear' me it makes me think that you're about to say something I don't like."

"I… ehh… I sort of had no choice," he mustered a shrug, which was admittedly a rather feeble motion. "I had to promise not to let this slip to anyone. They're a little fastidious about their privacy… and their need to remain incognito right about now. They kind of needed my help, Nya."

"Your help?" Nya looked stunned. "You're telling me that Commander Shepard enlisted your help?"

"What, you think I'm not worthy of it? 'O yea of little faith?'"

"Well… if he wasn't in our house right about now I'd say that you were full of it. But what did you mean when you said before, that you had to promise not to let this slip?"

"That's part of the trouble I mentioned," Sam said. "From what I've been told, and don't quote me on this, but it seems like Shepard and his daughter are being chased by Alliance operatives… or private contractors… or something to that effect, I'm not really sure. They're rightfully paranoid that all their communications were being monitored, so I could not give you a heads-up call to alert you that we'd be having some company, even though I wanted to. I'm sorry, Nya, but my hands were tied on this one." He held up his hands to gesture towards his innocence. "Swear to god."

Nya did a double-take and pointed a finger back towards the door. "Wait, that little girl in there is Shepard's daughter?"

"Shit, did I not mention that?" Sam was having trouble managing all these revelations, apparently.

"She's his daughter?" Nya repeated. "I… I didn't know that he had a child with Tali'Zor—er, Tali'Shepard!"

"Unless he stole that kid off the street, I'm pretty sure she's his," Sam replied sardonically as he too looked back the way he came.

"What's her name?" Nya bounced on her toes. "Did you get that girl's name?"

"Of course I did! I'm not as much of an idiot as you think I am, honey." Sam smirked as Nya lightly punched him in the arm for that, enamored yet aggravated by his facetiousness. "And her name's Roahn."

"Roahn…" Nya considered the word, lightly sounding out the singular syllable. "What a nice name."

---

"Sorry about that," Sam said as he reentered the living room, Nya at his side. "Had to sort out a few things with my wife."

Liara, knowing how important first impressions were, kindly smiled as she stepped over to shake Nya's hand in greeting. "I know it must have been quite a surprise for you, but you have no idea how thankful we are for your family housing us here."

"No, no, it's not any trouble at all!" Nya dissuaded with a rapid shake of both her head and hands, starting to get rather flustered from the knowledge that one of her own idols was now somehow indebted to her. She politely laughed as she placed a hand upon her sternum, signifying that she needed to catch her breath. "I understand now that you needed some… discretion. I'm quickly getting used to it, actually."

"I'm glad," Liara wilted in relief. "The last thing we would want is to be a burden to you."

"A burden? You? I don't think that could be possible," Nya pointed out and both women lightly chuckled in unison.

At the same time, Shepard and Roahn silently took in the living room and kitchen area as they slowly treaded their way from the onyx tiles to the soft carpet. The room itself was furnished rather handsomely—a thick rug lay underneath a large leather couch, a smooth stone hearth bordered a sooty fireplace, and an elaborately constructed stainless steel sound system flanked the edges of a broad high-definition holo-screen (Sam was apparently one who prized his home entertainment setup.)

A few blown glass vases of many varying colors adorned the spare countertops of the kitchen, adding a vibrant touch to the place. Not only that, but a few paintings that looked like abstract smears of searing hues were elegantly placed upon the walls of the house. Shepard found that he was spending a lot of time simply staring at the pictures, trying to glean a message from the seemingly purposeful chaos within the frame.

A glossy yet simple piano was situated in the corner next to what looked like an audio workstation. Shepard was always bemused at the cliché of someone owning a piano in an attempt to seem worldly, but it seemed like Sam actually dabbled in it a bit more frequently than most judging by the amount of notes and other stray bits strewn around the area. Shepard then realized that those who live in glass houses should not throw stones because he had technically owned a grand piano back when he had an apartment on the Citadel—even though it was purchased by Admiral Anderson, it still became his once the title to the place had transferred over.

At the end of the living room, by the glass window that separated the house from the balcony, Garrus was standing right up to the clear partition, taking in the view. Apparently, Sam's house sported quite an impressive panorama—because the structure itself was built upon an incline, the occupants inside were easily able to peer down the mountainside, over the sprawling conifer trees, and towards the fog-wreathed ocean down below. Even the apparent sound of crashing waves could be heard at this distance, especially since the foaming white crests could be glimpsed on a clear day. There was also another noise that rose above the din, one that Garrus could not place. Sounds of… barking?

Roahn heard it too and she scampered on over to the window, nearly pressing herself prostrate against the glass in an effort to discern the sound.

"What is that?" she asked, referring to the repeated woofs that carried up from below.

"Sea lions," Nya explained as she made her way over, her eyes tilted upward in affection as she looked upon the girl, struggling to ascertain the very fact that this was Shepard's daughter. "Rather large aquatic animals native to Earth. They come up onto the beach to nap, but when they're not asleep they tend to raise quite the ruckus. If we lived any closer, the noise would keep us up at night."

Garrus, meanwhile, had moved on from the window and was now perusing the state of the McLeod's kitchen, noting (only slightly to his chagrin) that it was much nicer than what he had in his own apartment. He could only stare at the polished counters and bemoan his current situation for so long before he remembered his manners and moved to shake Nya's hand, as Liara has done.

"Sam's always been able to share fond memories of you whenever I had to go in for appointments with him," he dipped his eyes to the ground briefly. "Sorry about barging in like this, once again."

"I don't… it really is no trouble," Nya emphasized as she tried to steady her hand as she linked appendages with idol number two.

"You might have to get used to us apologizing," Shepard said graciously as he as well offered his hand to shake. Nya stared at the presented limb, suddenly feeling very hesitant as if succumbing to temptation would in fact merely serve for her to fail an unsaid test. Warily, she accepted it and found warm flesh in response. Giving an unheard sigh, Nya's smile cracked wider as she felt her hand encapsulated by the firm grip of the galaxy's greatest soldier.

"You might have to get used to Nya's fawning," Sam chortled in the background, no doubt enjoying being a witness to his wife's nervous state.

"Sam!" Nya hissed in reprimand, but she was trying not to laugh. Her efforts were all for naught as everyone in the room, even Roahn, began to snicker in varying degrees of amusement. It was Sam, however, who was laughing the most uproariously, which therefore earned him a smattering of blows upon his frame as his embarrassed wife, teasingly eager to save face, hurled a bevy of easily disregarded abuse his way. That only made him laugh harder which caused Nya to frustratingly quit her efforts, no doubt blushing furiously behind her mask.

"I don't mean to be rude," Shepard began after he wiped his eyes, "but… it's just that I'm wondering—"

"Wondering why I married a human?" Nya finished for him before turning to Sam and quipping, "Well, we all make mistakes, don't we, dear?"

Shepard was fearful of the loud wheeze he had made in response to Nya's searing statement, wondering if he was not supposed to have reacted that way. Apparently, though, it was all right as Sam was laughing once more, as was Nya, who proceeded to give her husband a brief hug as an apology for her barb. Evidentially, Shepard realized, Sam and Nya had a peculiar sort of dynamic that went along between them, one that was deliberately meant to be esoteric to everyone else. In a way, it was rather refreshing to not have the two censor themselves in front of their guests. It reminded Shepard of how he and Tali used to talk to each other years ago.

Taking several deep breaths, Shepard tentatively tried again. "If you think I'm being too forward—"

Sam simply waved a dismissive hand. "No, it's fine. We're used to it. A lot of people ask us as to how we met. It's a long and complicated story, mind you. Hell, between me and her, we could probably fit our life story together to fill a book or two."

"Or three," Nya added impishly.

"Or three," Sam nodded before glancing at Shepard. "Let me guess, you haven't really met any other human-quarian couples before, have you?"

Shepard shrugged in response. "Truthfully, it's not something that I've come across before. Other than… well… Tali and I, but that's just my experience." He then rubbed his chin as he considered the odd pair. "To be honest, when you had mentioned that you had a wife earlier, Sam, my assumptions took over and I imagined you with a human for a partner."

"The thing is that I completely understand," Sam agreed. "The same thing happens to me sometimes. My radar for sniffing out inter-racial marriages is, by and large, awful. It's funny, isn't it? One would think that I would be able to put that aside, seeing as I'm married to Nya and all," he threw an arm around his wife's shoulders, squeezing her once for emphasis, "but there are still some predispositions that I can't seem to shake. Go figure."

"So… how did you meet?"

Sam looked up towards the ceiling as he gathered his memories. "Pure luck and circumstance, mostly. Also with a little bit of idiocy on my end."

"Oh? How so?"

"Well, the first time we met was under a less than ideal situation," Nya piped up mirthfully, her husband's arm still around her shoulders. "Like Sam, said, the entire tale is somewhat on the lengthy end, but it was back on the Citadel around 2182 that we ran into each other in the beginning. Maybe 'ran into' isn't the best way to describe it, honestly. We actually met in some nameless alley in a dark corner of the Citadel. I had been cornered in that alley after a few thugs saw me and, seeing as racism against quarians was a bit more prevalent at that time, decided that they could get away with beating me up."

No one noticed that Shepard's hands, clamped on the counter, were slowly starting to tighten upon the slippery corners nearly hard enough to crack the stone. He had always had a soft spot for the quarian people and the mere mention of casual violence against them was enough to bring his blood to a boil.

"It was dark and the goons felt that they had the whole place to themselves," Nya continued. "After all, I was but a lowly quarian. I was on the ground, having forgotten everything about my defensive training. I could only curl into a ball and hope that the thugs would get bored with kicking me and leave. Then all of a sudden, this fool walks in, having been drawn from the commotion," Nya nudged Sam in the ribs, who pulled a guilty face, "pulls a gun and demands that the lowlifes quit beating up on me."

"Ah, the hero swooping in to save the day," Garrus glided in as he made a whooshing motion with his arms. "I love this part. So, what happened? You beat up the bad guys and get the girl in the end?"

Sam guffawed. "What? Hell no! I got my ass beat, that's what happened."

"Oh," Garrus simply said, crestfallen.

"It worked out in the end," Nya leaned her helmeted head against her husband's shoulder, looking up at him in affection. "He did manage to stab one of the lowlifes bad enough that they lost all interest in attacking us. The both of us had to be hospitalized, mind you, and we parted ways soon after without sharing many words, frankly. After which… I guess fate decided that we needed more opportunities together and we kept on managing to find ways to meet up over the years. Afterward, it turns out that we didn't see much of a future without each other in it, and… the rest is obvious."

Nya lifted a hand to indicate that she was finished. When Sam did not make an effort to offer anything else that was particularly substantial, Shepard could not help but give a little start at how abruptly the story had ended.

"That's it? That's all to it?"

"That's the simple version," Sam explained. "We're not about to go over the complex version, believe me."

"I see," Shepard said, even if he did not really see.

"Trust me. You wouldn't believe me if I told you the long version. We also don't have the time for it."

In the next instant, the distinct pitter-pattering sound of feet running upon carpet briefly reverberated through the house and a small shape—the source of the noise—came barreling out from the corner of a nearby hallway, barely as half as tall as Sam was.

"Daddy," the small thing squeaked out. "Have you seen—?"

Now Shepard had clearly lost count of just how many times he had been surprised in the last ten minutes. At this point, he might as well have ceded all semblance of control in his life. At the very least, there were now too many resemblances for him to keep track of, because this most recent intruder also happened to be a quarian—one at a very young age—who was a girl perhaps just an inch taller than Roahn. And she had just called Sam, "daddy."

Was this Sam's…?

There was no time for anyone to say anything else, for the girl suddenly became aware of the fact that her family was no longer alone in her house. Immediately, she straightened her posture, eyes managing to ward of the shock admirably behind a goldenrod-colored visor, and moved to greet the guests. Her parents must have dutifully taught her all the customs of how to treat unfamiliar strangers. Politeness exuded from her and the girl would probably have embarked upon a well-rehearsed introduction were it not for the fact that she suddenly realized that several of the people in the room here were very familiar. Suspiciously familiar.

"No… way," the girl breathed before she timidly moved towards the closest individual, which happened to be Garrus, and tentatively pointed a finger at him. Garrus would not be an easy person to pick out of the crowd ordinarily, but it just so happened that his heavily scarred face plus his maddeningly strict tendency to never leave home without a tactical eyepiece made his visage all the more apparent. "Are you…?"

Garrus, never able to resist a fan, broke out into a grin (at least the closest equivalent to a grin) as he took stock of the young girl. "I'm pretty sure that I am," he wisecracked. "And whom might you be?"

"Taylor!" Sam called over the kitchen counter as he quickly headed over in her direction. He knelt down to her height as he gently looked upon her, partially blocking her view. "I… ah, this is not what—"

"Daddy, you know Garrus Vakarian?" the quarian named Taylor whispered, her neck craning over Sam's shoulder as the adults all towered over her. "And… Liara T'Soni? And… is… is that… Commander Shepard?"

Like mother like daughter. Taylor's reaction was eerily similar to Nya's upon realizing the importance of the figures that were now nestled within their abode. However, unlike Nya, Taylor recovered rather quickly upon seeing the one person she had not yet gazed upon in detail yet.

"Hey there!" Taylor gave a cheerful wave over to Roahn, who had been standing just outside the circle of people that had been slowly congregating over to the kitchen. Roahn, silently relieved at seeing someone closer to her age (finally!), not to mention that it was a quarian to boot, shared the wave timidly, flexing her fingers slowly, almost agonizingly.

Sam's face lit up as he had an idea and he nudged Taylor so that she would glance in his direction. "Taylor, why don't you go and show Roahn around your room for a bit?"

"But… this is…" Taylor's arms helplessly grasped out in all directions, obviously overwhelmed.

"Taylor, I really do think that you should keep Roahn company. Be a good host, hmm?"

"Oh," the girl answered, slightly crestfallen. "'Adult talk,' right?"

"Yep. 'Adult talk.'"

"Okay," Taylor hung her head, but did not seem all that dejected. Kids had the ability to switch moods on a dime and Taylor amply demonstrated that by quickly skipping over to Roahn, taking the girl's hand, and leading her back down the hallway from where she had initially entered. Roahn turned towards her father, wanting him to know that this was all right, that she was perfectly fine, but found blankness in response.

Before she could leave, Sam gently caught his daughter's hand. "I want to make this clear. You cannot talk about what you just saw to anyone, understand? Absolutely no posting of this to social media. Not a peep."

"Anyone?" Limpid eyes pleaded.

"Anyone," Sam sternly confirmed. "If you disobey me, you'll be saying goodbye to your video game privileges until you ship off to a university."

"Until I leave the house?" Taylor was momentarily taken aback before she relaxed. "Yeah right."

"Taylor…"

"I got it, I got it," the girl relented, but not before affording half a second to roll her eyes. Parents could be so strict sometimes!

After the children had left, Shepard released a breath he had not realized he had been holding. "Thanks for that," he said to Sam. "I wasn't sure how I was going to distract Roahn for this next part."

"Ah, don't mention it," Sam shoved his hands into his pockets. "Taylor's been on vacation for the past week anyway. She's been dying to have a playmate over—all of her friends are out right now hopping across the galaxy while we're staying at home."

"You caught me off guard again," Shepard admitted as he leaned into the counter. "The first time we talked, you mentioned your daughter's name: Taylor."

Nya laughed from the back. "Wasn't expecting her to be a quarian either, huh?"

Shepard chuckled, partially ameliorated. "It is a human name."

Nya just shrugged as she rummaged behind the counters for a few glasses. "Sam had a sister named Taylor," she explained. "But she died before I had even met Sam. He told me her name and… well I suppose I liked it so much that I wanted to name my daughter after her. So much for quarian praxis."

The sleek and slender quarian then lightly set five glasses upon the black stone counter, all of them neatly catching the intense light that shone down from the fixtures, sparkling off of the corners of Nya's spotless helmet.

"So, does anyone want a drink?"

---

Upon entering Taylor's room, Roahn had to take a moment to stop and gape at the sight, for she realized that the room itself was a far cry more vibrant and personalized than what she had been used to. This was not a point of contention for Roahn, nor could she derive any jealousy, as the depth of aesthetic modification on Rannoch had been so limited that she had no idea that such extensive decorating was possible.

The theme of black tile with cracked embossed white creamy lines carried over into this room, as did the smooth and cloudy walls from the rest of the house, but that was where the similarities ended. Along the far wall sat a low bed, wide enough to fit three people Roahn's size, which was situated upon a thin carpet the color of bark. The mattress of the bed looked particularly firm, and a comfortable bevy of pillows nestled near the leather headboard seemed particularly inviting. After spending the last couple weeks being crammed into a cot on board a spaceship, perhaps even a rock would seem like an upgrade to Roahn.

Twin light fixtures, oddly shaped in a link of chains, flanked the bed. Intricately constructed shelves, each one glowing with a fierce azure light, spanned the length of the nearby wall, upon which an extranet console was situated. On the console's screen, Roahn could see that Taylor had been playing some sort of turn-based strategy game—aliens vs. aliens, that sort of thing—as the pause menu was impatiently pulsating in the background, awaiting for the player to return.

There were a few glossy posters crudely stuck upon whatever bare stretch of wall had been previously present. Roahn recognized a few of them as being advertisements for recent movies, but some of the placards depicted what appeared to be names of bands that Roahn had never even heard of before, nor could fathom what the imagery here was trying to represent. Like this one: it depicted a winged angel of some sort with the title of the band referencing an aeronautical device made out of a rather dense metal. Or this one, that showed a sea creature rising from the ocean, threatening to upturn a nearby boat as psychedelic colors all swirled around the maelstrom depicted within the poster's boundaries (but since the name of the band itself seemed to be indicating an extinct and hairy mammalian Earth creature, Roahn was rather confused by the incongruence between the images of the poster and the band that it was supposed to be representing.)

"They're my dad's," Taylor nodded towards the posters, aware that Roahn was intrigued by the decorations. "He has this really big catalogue of all these old bands. Some are even like a couple hundred years old, you know? He doesn't like modern music all that much. I think it rubbed off on me a bit, because they're all he played when I was growing up."

"What sort of music do they play?" Roahn asked.

"Rock, mostly. For the most part, none of them use any virtual instruments to make the music, which is why I think dad likes them so much."

"So you're dad's a doctor, then?"

"Yep," Taylor said proudly. "Works on the Citadel and everything."

"Is he like a… a general practitioner or something?"

"He told me the word a few weeks ago," Taylor's eyes scrunched up in thought. "An… arthroscopic surgeon. That's what he is! What he does is he treats damaged joints. But he's been working to add other practices to his skillset, he told me."

Roahn shrugged thoughtfully. "Seems more interesting than what my dad does. He sort of… finished up his work before I was born. He doesn't do anything particularly special these days."

"Funny. I would have thought that being his daughter and all would be something special."

The inflection in Taylor's words had been placed there, making it unmistakable to Roahn as to what the other girl had meant.

"That's what everyone expects, it seems," Roahn turned around from the posters and glanced back at Taylor, who had sat down upon the bed to consider her new guest. "It's what I've had to deal with all my life. Even before I left Rannoch, there was always this assumption towards me that I was always destined for greatness, because whenever people looked at me, they expected me to be like my mom or my dad. 'The daughter of Tali'Zorah and John Shepard,' I would always hear people whispering. As if they didn't expect me to be my own person!"

Taylor absorbed this considerately and gave a slow nod, scooting over to allow Roahn to sit down beside her. "Did you ever feel that your parents were among those that expected great things from you?"

"No," Roahn emphatically replied as she took the offered seat. "They never pressured me that way. I mean… well… my dad sort of does. He constantly stresses that I need to be better than him, but I know he's not trying to make me play the part of someone I'm not. He just wants to prevent me from making the same… mistakes he did."

"It kind of sounds like he knows you better than anyone else, then. That is, if he's only asking you that of you…"

"I guess that's one way of putting it," Roahn had to admit. "For all his faults, he's never coddled me or idolized himself to me. He hates excess attention, especially from what he did in the war."

Taylor bumped her eyebrows behind her golden visor. "That's probably the first time I've ever heard someone indicate that Commander Shepard has faults."

"You live with him long enough, you'll figure them out rather easily," Roahn sighed, perhaps with a bit more bitterness than she would have intended, but it was too late to take it back. "I've had to put up living in his shadow a lot more frequently now. It gets exhausting. Everyone I meet, all of his friends, they all treat me different because I'm his daughter. They think him infallible and therefore think that I'm infallible as well. It's like I'm the only one who can see my father clearly and that everyone else is deliberately blinding themselves. It's almost… enraging."

Roahn's fists were clenching again, not escaping the eye of Taylor, whose glowing gaze noticeably angled downward upon seeing the slight movement in the corner of her vision.

"How much does he talk about himself to you?" Taylor suddenly asked after a tense moment.

"Huh?" Roahn snapped out of her brief funk, having missed the question.

"I was just wondering, if you think that your father recognizes your plight. I know you said that he never brags about himself, but do you think there's a reason for that?"

"I… never really thought much about that," Roahn said rather blankly. "But I know he had his reasons for not… opening up to me all that much before. Even if some of his reasons were… wrong."

That did not seem to faze Taylor at any rate. "It kind of sounds like he's giving you the chance to be your own person, actually."

"What do you mean?"

"This is Commander Shepard we're talking about. Perhaps the most famous man in the galaxy. If he hasn't been recanting his legend to you every night, then it sort of sounds like he's making an attempt for you to grow at your own pace. To have… clear eyes, so to speak. I mean, you yourself mentioned that everyone you meet seems to look upon your dad and see no flaws. Maybe your dad feels that it's more important for you to draw your own conclusions rather than being told what to believe. That's my thinking, in any case."

The simplicity and clarity of the deduction struck Roahn down to the bone. She gave a slow blink as she tilted her head rather apprehensively. "You're probably the first person other than my father that I've been able to have an actual conversation with."

"You can blame my dad for that," Taylor laughed. "There are times when he likes to embark in philosophical conversations with my mom around the dinner table. When I got older, he started roping me in too. Heh, but now he says that I've become too argumentative for my own good."

"Seems like your life is a bit less… stressful than mine, though."

"Would I regret it if I said that I wouldn't mind trading a few days of your life for mine?"

"Mmm," Roahn playfully appraised the ceiling. "You might. I won't. All things considered, I could use a break."

"I suppose that's fair."

Roahn let out a tiny sigh, but gave a quick start when she felt a hand lightly set upon her shoulder. She looked up to see Taylor staring intensely into her eyes, her gaze ever so slightly lidded upwards—a serene smile.

"Hey," Taylor whispered, "sometimes it's good to talk about these things."

The girl then moved in close to Roahn before giving her a hug.

There it was again. That feeling of being cherished. A much-needed sensation. How did that work? She hardly knew this other girl, but after talking to her for a few minutes, it felt like she had known her for her whole life. Roahn blinked in alarm as a few tears slipped from her eyes, but she quickly recovered enough to return Taylor's gesture, so thankful for the girl's kindness.

"Thank you," Roahn dipped her head after the two had broken apart. "For… for listening."

Taylor shuffled her feet, suddenly shy. "It's the least I could do."

"I'm serious. It's rare to find someone I can open up to like this."

"Then… I'm honored to be one of those people," Taylor said.

Both girls smiled bashfully, now a bit conscious of the implications of their little heart-to-heart. Keelah, it was a good thing that there weren't any adults in the room. That would be hard to explain.

Roahn then tilted her head, wanting to move away from this conversation, as she indicated towards the paused game screen that the console was still displaying upon the desk. "What game were you playing before we got here?"

Taylor hopped off the bed and sat down in front of the screen, showing Roahn how the game worked. "It's called Cosmic Stratagem. Heard of it?"

"Can't say that I have." Anything to steer the conversation in a more casual direction.

"It's super fun, but super addicting," Taylor then began tapping upon the holo-keys expertly as she maneuvered the virtual camera around what appeared to be a representation of a fantastical military base. Roahn had not played many of these sorts of games before, but from what she could tell, this game took place in a fictional universe that pitted aliens against aliens in a rather complicated war. The plot was not of much concern to her, but Roahn had to admit that there was definitely an allure from being entrenched so firmly within the strategy of the game, trying to figure out which course of action would bring about victory.

"There are two types of units, you see: civilians and military," Taylor was now pointing to the screen. "The civilians gather resources for the military to build, but the civilians can only get these resources at certain points on the map, like at terraforming hubs or at asteroid mining facilities. Whatever you create, such as minerals, heavy metals, noble gases, all flows to the production of military units, which are—"

Taylor trailed off as she noticed that something else had grabbed Roahn's attention. Perched upon the shelves that had been bolted to the wall above the video game console was a particularly impressive array of miniature figurines, each one impeccably detailed and popping with iridescent color. Every single figurine had been positioned in such a way that the spacing was all even and that they were all facing towards the person sitting at the desk, implying that meticulous thought had gone into their placement.

Roahn had no trouble recognizing the figurines. That was because she had owned most of them at one point.

They were all, unmistakably, the representations of the Normandy crew.

"Ah," Taylor said as she paused the game once more and got up from her seat. She reached up and plucked the Urdnot Wrex figure down from the shelf and absentmindedly turned it in her hands. "My collection. It's something that I've been working at over the years."

"I used to have one just like it," Roahn murmured sadly as she stared at the poses of the crew in their warlike stances.

"They just came out with the fifth generation. New stances and complementary figurines. I think that Grunt gets a varren, Legion gets a turret, and Tali gets a…"

Roahn had held out a hand as she plucked a very familiar looking figure from the shelf. She had never owned this particular figurine, not because she had not found the time to purchase it, but because she would not have been able to bear allowing it to sit within her room.

The girl slowly rotated the representation of Tali in her hands. The artists that had created this particular figure had done good work—from the creamy white swirls in her sehni, to the finely raised pattern of her enviro-suit's outer layer, to even the ghostly visage trapped behind a barrier of violet glass. The figure portrayed Tali clutching a shotgun in both hands, kneeling as she was ostensibly aiming at an unseen foe, perhaps one unlucky enough to be within point-blank range.

It looks just like her, Roahn considered as she held the tiny figure in her hands, cradling it delicately.

Watching Roahn, Taylor's eyes shifted to and fro before she lightly held out her hand—a silent offer to take the figure—correctly sensing that the sight of the girl's mother might be welling up feelings that were not appropriate for her to witness right now. Roahn eventually realized what Taylor was asking for and she quietly obliged, giving Taylor back Tali's figure for her to put back on the shelf.

"I wish that I could have met her," Taylor said as she nudged the figurine into the right angle. "She was always my favorite."

Roahn finally mustered a smile at that as she walked back over to the bed so she could sit down upon it again. "She was certainly something. I wish that you could meet her too—waagh!"

Roahn yelped as the cushion that she had positioned her hand next to on the bed seemed to move on its own accord. She jumped off the bed so rapidly it was as if she had been burned. Only then did Roahn realize that the cushion was not a cushion at all, but a living creature—one that was covered in fur and had been curled up, asleep, into a ball this whole time.

The animal simply raised its head, opening its eyes to reveal steel-blue irises, and gave a yawn, showing off a mouth filled with pointed teeth. The creature then blinked in disinterest, its tail giving a singular bob, before it proceeded to ignore Roahn and Taylor and began to clean itself.

"What is that?!" Roahn pointed, not knowing exactly what she should be feeling.

"That?" Taylor asked, the tone of her voice indicating that there was no cause for concern. "It's a cat. Have you never seen one before?"

To show off that there was no danger, Taylor scooted over to the side of the bed and gently picked up the drowsy animal. The cat gave an audible grumble, not wanting to be disturbed, but it was too tired or too lazy to mount an effective resistance, so it simply succumbed to Taylor's manipulations as it was eventually placed upon the quarian's lap.

Now that her fears had been quelled for the time being, Roahn was able to get a better look at the cat that was now stretching its legs while resting upon Taylor's lap. It had a rather triangular-shaped face, its head and paws were the color of soot while the rest of its body had a distinctive cappuccino color. It had a very slender body with hair completely coating near every single square inch of skin. It actually looked kind of cute, even though the expression on the cat's face was approaching one of mild loathing. The purring sound it was emitting did not coincide with what the cat's face was emoting, though, and Roahn did not need to be told that the cat was most likely quite content.

"I've… never had the opportunity to meet one in person," Roahn admitted as she knelt down to look closer at the animal. The cat yawned again before snuggling up in a better position.

"You can pet her if you want," Taylor said as she began scratching the cat behind the ears. "Like this."

Roahn studied Taylor's movements, noting that the purring seemed to be growing in volume and that the cat's eyes were firmly shut in pleasure from all the attention her owner was doting upon her. Apparently light motions like the scratching movement Taylor was demonstrating was enough to garner such a pleasant reaction from the animal.

Tentatively, Roahn reached out and began scratching at the cat where Taylor had previously been working at. The cat cracked one eye open to see just who it was that was touching her. Satisfied that there was no cause for alarm, the eye closed shortly afterward, the cat sinking back into being pampered again.

"She likes you," Taylor said as the cat continued to purr, one of its hind legs twitching.

"She's adorable," Roahn said as she moved to lightly scratch underneath the cat's chin. Responding to the stimuli, the cat lifted her head up, stretching out her neck as she was undoubtedly being spoiled by all of the attention that was doled upon her right at this moment. The animal's paws curled and she gave another light murmur. "What's her name?"

Taylor just made a tiny noise as she stroked the cat's back, exhibiting care and love towards this simple creature whom had surrendered itself completely to her owner. The cat had given Taylor her loyalty in exchange for a home. In this case, the cat was getting the most out of this deal, judging by how it was currently behaving. For a cat, this was the lap of luxury.

"Her name?" Taylor repeated while the cat purred on. "Her name is Tali."

---

Sam and Nya had luckily amassed a rather convenient array of dextro alcohol over the years, meaning that Garrus would not be feeling left out when drinks had been offered. It was mostly Nya's private stash, but the distinction was there, regardless. Understanding that potentially getting drunk in a home that he did not recognize would not be a good way to make a first impression, the turian had simply settled for a glass of wine, a Palaven vintage. After all, there was no way that a man of his size could get drunk off of a singular glass of wine. He felt confident in his choice.

Imagine his surprise when Nya casually brought out a bottle of dextro-bourbon and poured herself a few healthy fingers. She added some simple syrup, some bitters, and a dash of fruit juice, giving her one hell of a cocktail. Clearly she was more confident about drinking that Garrus was, and even though he knew he should not feel emasculated by this, Garrus looked down at his glass in a momentary dash of buyer's remorse. The feeling rapidly faded when he took a sip—the wine was tasty in any case. Why should he complain?

Liara had settled for a dry martini, which Sam had whipped up in a jiffy. The doctor then returned to Shepard, having confirmed that he had satisfied everyone else's requests.

"Got a poison in mind, Shepard?" Sam asked.

Shepard, having not been able to procure human alcohol for more than ten years due to him being on the complete opposite side of the galaxy, truthfully had no idea as to what he wanted. "Whatever you're having," he said, wanting to be genial.

"I was going to have a scotch," Sam shrugged. "That all right with you?"

"Scotch is fine."

Sam ducked down to the nearby cabinet and procured a half-empty bottle. "I have to warn you," he said, "It's an Islay. Laphroaig."

Truthfully, Shepard had completely forgotten about the intricacies of scotch whiskies, so that comment meant nothing to him. "I'm good with that."

Shrugging, Sam poured two equal drams of the scotch before stowing the bottle. He made sure to add a few drops of water to each, as a courtesy. Shepard watched Sam take a sip of his drink, noting that the man did not seem to be fazed at all from the bite of the alcohol. Feeling a little cocky, Shepard took a hearty mouthful right at the moment the vapors from the scotch seemed to burrow into his nostrils, already causing them to start burning.

The first damn taste that speared right into his tongue was an initial blast of sweetness followed by thundering waves of smoke and spice. The alcohol hammered his brain like a sack of bricks, nearly causing Shepard to reel. The scotch had a thick feel in the mouth, creamy with wood and… toffee? Then there was the distinct flavor of meat, oddly enough. Sizzling bacon. The meaty taste lingered in his mouth long after he swallowed the scotch, continually rising and mercilessly pounding his taste buds into submission.

However, the intensity of the scotch itself had been so potent that Shepard could not halt the initial cough back. His nose burned and his eyes briefly watered as the scotch practically manhandled him. Pungent and punchy. God, this was strong.

Sam had been watching Shepard's reactions the entire time and could not help chuckling as he had watched Shepard's face radically shift between emotions as he processed the drink. Smug bastard, Shepard figured. That man was well aware that Shepard would have such a visceral response to the scotch.

"Damn," Shepard choked out. "It's been a while."

"Any verdict?"

"I like it," Shepard nodded appreciatively at the drink. "I might have to relearn how to handle stuff like this in the future, but I can definitely get behind this."

He took another sip to emphasize that fact before setting the glass down upon the counter, a light ring acting as a signal to grab everyone's attention.

"I told you all that I had a plan back on Eden Prime," Shepard announced, mainly to Garrus and Liara while Sam and Nya were courteously hanging about in the background. "Now's about as good of a time as any to spring it upon you."

"We talking a firm plan or a tentative plan here?" Garrus inquired before draining a hefty portion of his wine.

"Tentative. It's open to interpretation, which is why I want your opinion. But what I want to accomplish might not be as simple as it sounds. Larsen wants my testimony. I think it's time I finally give it to him."

Garrus and Liara both did a double-take in unison. "That's crazy," Liara murmured. "You're talking about going to the heart of the Alliance, Shepard, in Berlin. That's the most heavily fortified Chimera stronghold on the planet. It will be extremely difficult to even get within a few miles of Larsen, for that's how well he's dug in."

"I've thought about that," Shepard affirmed. "But it's something that has to be done. Besides, Larsen won't be able to resist my invitation if I finally agree to the one thing he's been waiting more than a decade for."

"And if he decides to renege, even though with the auspices of you arriving to provide a testimony?" Garrus pointed out. "What will you do then? You can't possibly hope to face Chimera all by yourself. You'll need an army."

"Or a team," Shepard stroked his beard thoughtfully.

"Or a team," Garrus repeated. "It really wouldn't hurt to ask around, get some other people on board besides me and Liara. Just in case this devolves into an all-out brawl. You'll want some muscle on your side, believe me. You never know, I'm sure that we can arrange ways to get them down to Earth undetected."

"You really think so, Garrus?"

"Positive. I've got all the contact information on my omni-tool for one hell of a team in the making. All I have to do is say the world and they'll all come running."

Shepard straightened up as he reached for his scotch, the burning sensation in his throat a morbid reminder of the grim portents that were managing to encroach upon his mind's eye. So, he was really about to do this again. Gain allies. Work as a unit. Slipping back into this life was as simple as breathing. It was almost alarming at just how natural this was sounding to him, despite a weary and heavy mind constantly hanging upon him.

"This just seems… odd," Nya chimed in, pausing for a second in case she had no prerogative to speak in the presence of the trio. When no one complained, she continued. "What you're saying, that you're just going to barge into the senator's office in Berlin and will forcefully provide your testimony, sounds an awful like you're relying a lot on luck. I mean, what's simply giving your testimony going to accomplish in the long run? You know that Larsen will just suppress anything you say that doesn't fit his narrative."

Shepard smiled as he pointed at Nya in consideration. "Good catch, Nya. I'm glad you noticed that, because I have mulled over the possibility that Larsen might just whitewash the whole thing. But he'll have a harder time of suppressing such information… if the words had come from his mouth."

Liara, next to Shepard, noticeably gave a start. "What?"

"What do you mean?" Garrus asked at the same time.

The grin that Shepard flashed grew just a few millimeters wider. "Larsen might have gotten a little too talkative while I was back aboard that freighter, as a prisoner. True to form, he could not resist giving a monologue about his master plan. However, he didn't seem to take into account that, even though I was physically subdued, I could still access basic commands on my omni-tool."

"You didn't…" Garrus said lowly, a bubble of glee rising from his throat.

Shepard simply raised an eyebrow as he lifted his hand for emphasis, a halo of orange light now levitating just a centimeter above his palm, while a roughened and older sounding voice began to play.

"…ever since I helped award them the Alliance contract, their involvement is now cemented with this kind of legitimacy in their actions. Koenig just runs the day-to-day operations, but I'm the one who actually mandates where Chimera gets to go."

"That's Raynor Larsen's voice, all right," Sam rasped by the counter, taking a drink to wash out the taste of the name from his mouth. "No mistaking that obvious timbre."

"And Larsen mentions Koenig, as in Erich Koenig, the CEO of Chimera," Liara snapped her fingers, her face brightening. "Then he actually admits that he has some semblance of control over Chimera's operations! For a senator to have such a huge conflict of interest… Shepard, you've got him!"

Garrus began chuckling as he scratched at a mandible, sinking deeper in thought. "Very clever. You go to Berlin to cement your truth on the record while simultaneously discrediting Larsen in the process. I was a little skeptical before, I'll admit, but now I'm liking this plan more and more. But, do you really have to make such a public display of things? I mean, what's simply stopping you from dropping this recording off at a news center and relying on them to provide the headlines?"

"It needs to be done this way, Garrus," Shepard sighed. "I have to do this publicly, to catch Larsen off guard. He's probably been expecting someone to break the news of his illegal involvement with Chimera for years—he's the sort of person that always looks over his shoulder before making any kind of decision. He'll find a way to evade punishment only if the recording is introduced in play. But if I reveal myself, he won't be able to resist facing me head-on. He won't be expecting anyone else to make any other kind of move. My presence will distract him and that's when we'll hit the world—no, the galaxy—with his confession."

Garrus absorbed this sagely. "Yeah, that seems reasonable. Except there's the fact that none of us have a firm fix on where Larsen actually is. After all, what sort of guarantees do we have that the man is going to be sitting in his office at whatever time we choose to arrive in Berlin? He could be getting dinner down the road, perhaps he might be sick in bed, or he could be in the middle of a meeting with the prime minister."

"He'll be in the Senate building," Sam piped up. Everyone turned to look at him, their expressions quizzical. Sam looked back and forth between the three, even glancing over to his wife who also had an apprehensive look on her face. "Does no one else read the news? All the senators are going to be poring over the controversial CAHMF-1 bill for the whole week. They'll be in the Reichstag every day, I guarantee it."

"CAHMF-1 bill?" Shepard asked. "What exactly is that bill proposing?"

"I forget the smaller details, but basically it's spearheading and initiative to bring about an end to humanity's partnership with the Citadel Council." Sam paused a few seconds for effect before he revealed the next piece of the puzzle. "It's Larsen's pet project. No way that he won't show up to work when his own bill is on the line."

"Hell. Yes." Garrus triumphantly smacked the kitchen counter, creating a hollow ring throughout the house. "We have a plan."

Shepard did not let his enthusiasm show, even though his heart was feeling several tons lighter. There were still so many factors that he needed to consider for this to work, but he was not going to bring the moment down just yet. Morale needed time to fester in its currently positive state.

"I'll make sure that Larsen's whole career will be on the line by the time I'm done with him," Shepard vowed out loud in a near growl. "I guess this is a good place to start. Garrus, go ahead and call everyone you can. Tell them to make their way to… uh, what's the address for the house, Sam?"

"84 Ocean Ridge Parkway, Santa Cruz," Sam said dutifully before shifting his eyes back and forth. "Should I… prepare more refreshments now that we might be getting some more guests? Some pizzas, maybe in order?"

"Probably couldn't hurt. Also, I'm going to need your help for a minute."

"Oh?"

"Yeah," Shepard headed towards the front door, gesturing to the other human with a finger. "There was a case we put in the trunk of your car back when we embarked. Large case, plastic cover. Remember? I think it's time we got it out."

"Whatever you say, Commander," Sam murmured under his breath as he drained his drink, smacking his lips before following Shepard out the door. "Whatever you say."

---

Cold, stale air buffeted into Larsen's face as the elevator doors finally parted. The dry scent of snow had become embedded in every square meter of space exposed to the open air. Winter in Germany—always a delight.

The man exiting the elevator did not as much as grimace, except to mull over the inconvenient fact that, despite his Scandinavian heritage, he did not particularly care for the cold these days. Perhaps his tolerance had waned as he advanced in age, or maybe he had finally endured having to put up a stoic face for so long. Either way, the chilly temperatures served to exacerbate Larsen's perpetual foul mood.

Larsen found it odd that he was in such a funk, because he had definitely been able to derive a fair amount of joy from finally being able to knock Erich Koenig unconscious. The last he had heard of the man was that he was still in the hospital, lucid but curiously unresponsive. Apparently he was going to have to wear a neck brace for at least a couple of weeks as a result of his injuries, which were quite severe in nature.

The thought of Koenig looking all stupid in a brace was enough to bring a smile to Larsen's frigid face, no matter how fleeting it turned out to be.

Long, wet echoes were sent calling through the underground structure. The parking garage of the old chancellery building extended many stories down into the ground. In all his years in the government, Larsen had never witnessed anyone desperate enough to park on the lowest level of the garage, which just so happened to be the floor he was on right now. It was just too far down and too out of the way for anyone to justify leaving their vehicle in this location. Larsen knew it was the only place in Berlin that he could have a long and uninterrupted conversation.

Adding to one of the multiple reasons why parking down this far was a particularly uninviting prospect, the lighting in this section was particularly poor. Old halogen lamps flickered uselessly as they tried to combat the inky black shadows that perpetually swirled around this level of the garage. Any attempt at banishing the darkness was an effort doomed to fail as the paltry few light fixtures only provided such spheres of illumination so insignificant that several pitch-black sections managed to waft close by.

It was at one of the sections—the far corner at the very end of the level—that Larsen was walking towards.

Still being touched by the scant few warm particles of light that grasped onto him, Larsen halted in the middle of the garage floor, his hands shoved impatiently into his pockets, while he peered into the cavernous soup of black directly in front of him. He did not have to wait long. Several quiet hissing noises and metallic clomping sounds soon resounded, and a matrix of fueled and enraged optics speared through the perpetual night, marking the thin outlines afforded as the demonic-looking creature emerged from the corner.

The Legionnaire's breath sizzled through his respirators as he halted his stride a meter away from Larsen. The two of them stood across from the other, neither of them saying a word just yet. Each one letting their profound irritation and consternation waft from them in intense waves.

In truth, Larsen was secretly hoping that the Legionnaire would talk first, maybe in the trite attempt to offer some reasoning for the operative's failings. But, as Larsen sadly knew, the Legionnaire had no capacity left over in that brain of his for groveling, so Larsen had to initiate with the next best thing.

The senator held out his arm, flipping on his omni-tool in a smooth motion. He navigated to the desired process with a few flips of his thumb and, after sharing a sinister look towards the Legionnaire, depressed the haptic switch.

The signal took less than a nanosecond to soar through the air and impact upon the transmitter embedded in the Legionnaire's cortex. Upon receiving the signal, nested diodes interspaced within the remains of the gray matter all simultaneously began firing in sequence. Energy danced through flesh and nerve, digging into the most potent of sensations. A crackling haze emitted within the Legionnaire, creating a surge of pain he had not felt in quite some time.

The cyborg roared, the sound nearly quaking the supports of the garage, and fell to his knees with a heavy crash. The Legionnaire slammed at the ground, cracking the concrete below his fists, as his fingers gouged deep white scratches into the floor. The metallic creature retched in reflex, but there was nothing for him to regurgitate. All the while, Larsen stood above him, keeping his hand depressed upon the feedback switch that controlled the Legionnaire's punishment.

Finally, Larsen relaxed the abuse and the diodes ceased firing. The Legionnaire was left shaking on the ground, physically untouched yet hurting all the same.

"I think you can understand why I'm in a less than stellar mood," Larsen's voice bit frostily through the garage while he waggled his hand, the one encased by the omni-tool. "For all my efforts, incompetence is still a virtue that is staining this administration. You had Shepard in your clutches and you let him slip away."

The Legionnaire lifted his head up, connecting their gazes, but did not rise to the challenge, remaining maddingly silent.

"I'm sure there is some precedent with regards to what I should do to you in the wake of such a monumental fuck-up," Larsen continued, hand upon his chin, "but I still have a use for your services, so I've been forced to get a little inventive."

"I know what it is that I have to do," the Legionnaire finally grunted. "Guarantee me my final payment and I will see to it that Shepard is returned to Chimera's custody. He cannot hide from us now that he's out in the open. It's only a matter of time."

There was something in the Legionnaire's tone that Larsen did not take all that kindly to. Indignation, malcontent, and just the slightest hint of insubordination. Clearly the cyborg had not figured out the overall tone of what this discussion was supposed to resemble. That had to be fixed. Larsen callously thumbed the control to the device again, sending the Legionnaire into a series of spasms as he was once again plagued by the invisible agony.

It was easy to imagine wisps of steam arising from the cyborg as Larsen envisioned the monster's brain cooking each time he hit the switch. Alas, the energy being emitted through the diodes was too small to do any lasting damage, even when switched on for a lengthy period.

"Dictating the terms of your employ is a power that has not been bequeathed unto you at this time," Larsen snarled as he lifted his thumb away, sparing the cyborg further agony for now. "Yet you seem to have this idea in your head that you can request provisos from me."

"I only want what was promised," the Legionnaire seethed, partially rising once more. "Give me the activation code for my termination sequence. Allow me to finally end this wretched existence. Every single waking moment… is filled with pain. The cybernetics… they did not take to my organs perfectly. But Chimera knew that when they built me. When they took my brain from whatever cadaver they deemed suitable. They didn't need perfection. They just wanted to get as much mileage out of me as possible. Yet it feels like ground glass is continually crushed up in my stomach. There is a constant fire in my brain. Provide me the motivation for this last mission. Vow to free me and I will find Shepard again."

Larsen wryly chuckled and shook his head in the barest gesture of sympathy. "The pain you feel is merely an illusion, Legionnaire. It was programmed within you since the beginning. Chemical balancers, embedded in your chassis, were installed to imbue this very pain upon your nervous system. Compounds are routinely and unknowingly diluted into your bloodstream as an incentive to complete your mission—if an assignment goes unfulfilled, the more pain you feel. The chemicals also dump adrenaline into your system, forcing you to fight and carry out your mission. You are a slave to this directive. You cannot break this sequence because it is imprinted into your very cortex. You won't be able to terminate yourself—even if I gave you the code right now—until you finish the job."

There was the sound of wrenching metal and a flat gray blur began to materialize as the Legionnaire unexpectedly sat up and lunged his arms straight at Larsen's throat. The cyborg's fingers curled like talons, arced and glimmering dully in the low light. A preprogrammed noise—a lion's roar—made its way from the Legionnaire's vocabulator as the monster apparently envisioned tearing out the human's throat in one swift blow, expecting a gush of blood to splatter upon the ground in a torrent.

Whatever retribution the Legionnaire had materialized never came to pass, however. The cyborg gave a grunt and abruptly froze in place, fingers quivering just centimeters from Larsen's neck. The Legionnaire growled as he tried to move his body, but for some reason he was now locked in his aggressive position, as if time had decided to stop all on its own upon his particular figure.

Larsen had not even flinched when the Legionnaire had moved to attack him, and he simply sidestepped away from the encroaching arms, giving the cyborg's chassis a light tap with his fingers as his nasty grin broadened—a taunt.

"There were other things that we put in your brain as well," Larsen murmured. "Mental conditioning, for one. We needed to erase the persona you were before you became the Legionnaire. Chimera also made sure that you don't have the ability to retaliate against your superiors. The ones who built you knew that they would need failsafes installed in case they couldn't control you. I'm glad to see that they still work."

To prove his point, the paralysis that had encapsulated the cyborg soon deactivated a few seconds later, allowing him to drop back down to the ground. The Legionnaire did not embark in another futile attempt to attack Larsen—he simply resorted to glaring the full array of his optics towards the human as menacingly as he could.

However, it was hard to be menacing when the antagonist was holding all the cards, a point the both of them now knew intimately as Larsen impatiently tapped a foot upon the concrete, enjoying the deep echoes it made.

"Don't worry," Larsen reassured the Legionnaire in a false tone of calmness, "you'll soon have a chance to reacquire your quarry. Shepard's not one to take so much abuse for so long. He'll make a move sooner or later, and I fully expect you to be waiting in turn."

Now Larsen folded his hands together as he slowly squatted down so that he was at the same height of the cyborg, who was still on all fours, panting and hacking away. "But what happens afterward, depends entirely upon you. I don't have to grant you your death, you know. What would that say about me, if I reward my employees for failure?"

"You… will have Shepard," the Legionnaire growled. "And I will be complete. In the end, you'll just need to find another sycophant for your uses."

"Oh, that's the easy part!" Larsen said genially as he rose, patting the cyborg's cheek in a mocking way of parting. "We'll just have to see how you perform in the end. But you won't have to spare me any worry for when I finally have to discard you. I can always get another Legionnaire."

Turning smartly on a smooth heel, creating a brief screeching sound, Larsen laughed to himself as he confidentially left the cyborg behind. He made his way towards the elevator bay, not once taking the time to spare a wayward glance back at the lackey he had abandoned to languish in the dark.

Watching the senator leave, still propped up on the ground, the Legionnaire saw his fists curl helplessly, but as usual he could not feel the motion or the sensation of the action.

There was nothing to feel, except his smoldering rage.

---

A/N: Stalwart readers, if you're familiar with some of my earlier work, will no doubt recognize a few of the new characters prominently featured in this chapter. It was such a joy to be able to write them again - you have no idea how much fun I had writing this chapter.

Since we're nearing ever closer to the end, I'm extending another big thank-you to you all for your kind words and support. Every day I'm really touched at how people have enjoyed Cenotaph to this point. I'm just glad that I could be of some entertainment. Keep the comments coming, I want to hear what you think!

Playlist:

A Plan Over Drinks: "Another Egghead" by Justin Hurwitz from the film First Man

Legionnaire Tortured: "Space Suicide" by David Buckley from the video game Call of Duty: Ghosts