Peace in the Imperium had not come through simple conflict resolution, Shepard knew. Nor had it been through mediation of some overarching superpower, compelling two sides to lay down arms in the interest of the common good.

Even now the phrase Greater Good made the hair on the back of his neck rise. The Tau once used that phrase to justify everything, from abducting Imperium citizens to teaching all humans within their territory that their free kinsmen were monsters.

Learning of this System's Alliance struck with the strength of a Chaos Marine. Humans, allowing others to lead them, bowing their heads to another's will? Heresy.

"There's more." Inquisitor Anderson's calm tones did little to soothe the turmoil raging in his soul. "There are two parties which could have been of use to the Imperium."

"Could have." Shepard wheeled about, turning from the darkness of space to the galaxy projection on the small table in the Inquisitor's quarters. "Past tense. You do not believe this to be the case still."

"Indeed." Anderson swept his hand across the display. The edges wavered, updating as new information arrived. "There are two groups: Terra Firma, the 'Humanity First' group, and Cerberus."

Shepard folded his arms, listening.

"The Terra Firma group failed to gain majority support in most of their endeavors. They resorted to secondary tactics," Anderson pinched a section of the map, raising it to a higher level. "Here they resorted to terrorism, detonating bombs in the offices of officials whom they deemed as collaborators."

The Astartes raised an eyebrow. "Yes?"

"These were unsanctioned attacks, Shepard. The Emperor," his hand made the sign of the aquilla even as Shepard's own hand did, "did not condone these acts, nor does He approve of them now. Guilt off the battlefield is not assigned by the military, you know this."

A heavy sigh, large enough to disturb the flimsi's resting on the table's corner, was Shepard's only response. News of an unwelcome nature was still news that needed to be heard.

"The other group, Cerberus, has experimented on humans without consent." Anderson continued when Shepard failed to answer. "Not convicts, humans acquired through trade or deceived into their operations."

Shepard's fist came down on the table with a might crash. "What?"

"Ignoring their unsanctioned assassinations," Anderson's hands dipped into the projection once more, scrolling it towards a specific point. "They have been caught subverting information about the Imperium, stating their association with us is an old secret."

Righteous indignation swelled in his chest. "This has happened often before. Governors claiming to act in His Will, performing the duties of His Design. We make examples of such heresy."

The Inquisitor collapsed back on a nearby couch. "True. This group is cunning, very careful to never claim they serve Him, just that they are associated with our mission. Plus …."

Noting the hesitation, Shepard leaned forward, both hands on the table. "You suspect something."

The smaller man's expression turned grim, despite his reclined posture. "I wonder if an Inquisitor wandered into this region."

"You mean, using this 'Alliance' as a resource?" Shepard's disgust soured. "I know the Ordos have their own methods. Astartes take our own approaches when it serves the Emperor. Lesser-known worlds and systems can provide valuable support; the Orders Mililtant of the Sisterhoodwill cultivate colonies for that reason. But to retain the fealty of an entire empire?" He stopped, considering the words as he said them. "I know not whether my revulsion should instead be awe-struck wonder."

"Neither?" Anderson popped up from his position, feet banging on the metallic deck below. "Both? I'd be impressed too, if it were what you are thinking. But it is not as complete as you might surmise. The Alliance is a collection of worlds that hold minimal obedience to their central authority. Their fleets are weak, and few. The threat of violence is the main cause of obedience, rather than the exercise of authority."

That was news. Not unwelcome, yet news all the same.

"They have few fleets?" he questioned. "How many are there?"

This time a palpable groan of frustration could be detected. "Too damn few, that's how many. Less than ten fleets, unless their Intelligence is better than I think. Almost two thousand ships, and nine of what they call dreadnoughts."

"Few indeed," Shepard scratched his chin, thinking. "Their ships must be mighty indeed to maintain the peace over such a large region."

"Forty main systems, half as many minor," Anderson jabbed a finger into the table-map. Colors flowed into the surface, creating points across the galaxy that hesitated and jumped across random distances. "Connected through these Mass Relays. They have concentrated their colonizing efforts on habitable worlds within range of these Relays."

A sense of horror began to instill itself. "And the ships themselves …?"

"A dreadnought is less than a klom," Anderson's grim expression didn't change. "To give them credit, they've turned the entire length into a mass accelerator, but aside from an incredible efficiency rating, each ship is worth less than two of our cruisers."

That sense grew. "And these … xenos?"

"At best, sixty dreadnoughts, and seventy thousand ships for war," Anderson's fingers highlighted another series of systems, the scattered coloration looking like a spastic ork had taken up fingerpainting. "The non-Council races have another fifty thousand vessels, and the Abomination Intelligences are creating their own fleet that no one has seen or counted."

For a heartbeat, Shepard wanted to pound the table again. The wall. Perhaps the Inquisitor's head for good measure, for being the bearer of bad news. His own head for having to listen to it.

"This is … not good."


Overlord's Operation of Victory

Briefing Chamber, 3-7A1

Shepard stood at parade-rest like his kin, legs set just a hair wider than needed, hands clasped at the small of his back. The leaders of his squads stood at his back in identical postures, expressionless in the dim lighting. Astartes were the best warriors the Imperium could boast, superior to every other fighting force brought to bear upon the galaxy. They were the Emperor's finest, capable of bringing unimaginable destruction on an imaginable point. That was their origin. That was their purpose.

So why did he have the feeling the next task would require altering his perceptions yet again? First xenos, what next? Perhaps they would partner with Chaos worshippers? If that happened Shepard knew half the military would outright revolt. He'd have trouble not joining them at that point.

"Gentlemen, your target region is this colonial outpost, Pragia." High Admiral Hackett's projected image faded from sight, replaced by a starfield. One of the points of light emitted a glowing ring that was most definitely not natural, matching the glaringly obvious arrow pointing at it, just in case some half-wit didn't realize where they were supposed to be looking. "The world is a 1.57g environment, standard atmosphere with minimal mobile life. Xeno experiments resulted in vivacious plant life growing at accelerated rates."

Shepard's mind refused to begin conjuring the undescribed life native – or alien, yet present – on the planet's surface with insufficient data. But he couldn't help wonder what kind of errors xeno studies produced; perhaps they'd need to just flatten a continent, if things hadn't gotten too far wrong.

"The Human Alliance informs us that this Cerberus organization has established a research station on the surface." The point of light expanded into the planet itself, glowing red circle maintaining its position over a portion of its land mass. "Primitive weaponization of children utilizing the Element Zero implants."

A faint shrug almost made its way to Shepard's shoulders. Primitive or not, experiments had to begin somewhere. The fact that these were not Sanctioned experiments meant Abominations would be the likely result. Regrettable, but bombardment would be the probable solution.

"Pragia is an obvious target, and one the Systems Alliance knows we are after," the projection widened, allowing the Admiral's visage to appear once more. His rapid rise from Lord-Captain to High Admiral was downright meteoric given his age, but no one gainsaid it, not with a Primarch's support. "Our true target lies in sector Equinas Minor, what the locals call the 'Horsehead nebula'. The stellar unit is a class M-1A, in late stage development. Your approach is being timed against the ground assault on Pragia."

"Sir." A familiar form rose into sight, from where it had been seated in the corner. "Point of clarification."

"Proceed, Inquisitor Anderson."

Anderson gave a polite nod. While Shepard had seen the two interact before, their continued cordial collaborations spoke of far more communication than he'd known. Another fact to relay home in the archives. "I will be accompanying the Astartes on their attack mission. Are you certain our approach will be unseen?"

Questioning a Captain, let alone a High Admiral, could be viewed as a form of political suicide. Sometimes it was a more literal form, should the High Admiral be of the petty sort. But an Inquisitor spoke with the Emperor's authority, and the two were allies, it seemed.

"Well spotted." Hackett's image tucked both hands behind its back. "So far as we know, the Alliance does not possess the same transit capabilities as the Imperium. Our arrival at Pragia will commence as per standard operating protocol. Once the fleet has arrived, your attack will launch, so we will have boots on the ground in both positions, simultaneously. So long as you avoid the Relays, no information should reach this Cerberus facility before yourselves."

"Thank you," Anderson bowed before sitting.

The High Admiral's visage filled the screen. "As the Inquisitor pointed out, you will be arriving in the attempt to surprise the residents. Tech-priests have intercepted communications and understand two individuals of high importance to be present in this system: The Illusive Man, and Miranda Lawson."

Two images appeared, floating above the Admiral's head like small moons. The man was an interesting sight, eyes glowing from more than just the projection's capabilities. The woman was of classical beauty, dark hair and piercing eyes contrasting with pale skin and a look of extreme intelligence.

"These two must be acquired alive at all costs, by the order of Primarch Gulliman."

Shepard's shoulders pulled straight. He could sense his fellows following suit, unconscious of their action.

"Be advised. Both are considered highly dangerous. Do not underestimate either of them."

One of the tech-priests approached the Astartes, timid motions evident despite the lack of feet. One method of their form of worship was to become closer to their Omnissiah, the Emperor in another frame one might say. Sacrificing flesh to become closer to the Code seemed extreme, but Shepard withheld judgement; varied forms of respect given to the Emperor had diversified.

He held back an urge to compliment the tech-priest's courageous dedication when the little man reached out a trembling mech-tendril to hand him a data slate. Tech-priests were flighty, prone to drawing conclusions with inconclusive data, should the average calculation suggest it wise to do so.

"The slates handed out show the known capabilities of each," Hackett's image continued. "Both are intelligent, driven, and possess non-standard weapons. Lawson in particular is a noted biotic. She is not, I repeat not touched by Warpcraft, thank the Emperor. We are uncertain about the Illusive Man, although it seems he has unnatural control over machines."

A muttered protest of 'Blasphemy' came from the collected tech-priests, reaching Shepard's ears. He nodded agreement.

"We attack in T-minus fifty minutes. By the Emperor's Grace."

The room murmured a rote response before the projection shut down. For a few minutes, the various individuals collected around each other, sharing reactions it seemed.

For his part, Shepard evaluated the data slate, taking in the information with practiced ease. All such distributions came in standardized format, from estimated threat level – a guess at best – to known mass, preferred weapons, and possible psychological weaknesses – another guess for the most part. Some Astartes built their approach around the mental structure of their target; Shepard preferred to form a looser battle plan and adjust as they learned more. The practice had kept him alive for the past century, no need to change.

"An interesting target, don't you think?" Anderson's approach was almost silent enough to be invisible. "Lawson and Illusive Man. Thoughts?"

Shepard lowered the slate, letting it drop to a nearby table. "Easier than a Tyrranid swarm. Engaging on a space station is a problem, but that is no space hulk."

"Agreed," Anderson placed his own slate atop Shepard's, awaiting collection from one of the sanctified. "A colonial class, less than twenty years old. I doubt it has a proper defense network with that little time."

"Good." Shepard looked around for his brothers. They stood at the ready, waiting until he gave a signal. He did so, twirling one hand before stabbing it at the exit. Their advance caught the attention of the entire room, a dozen men ten feet tall, marching in synchronized step. It was comforting to a treacherous part of his heart, in a way that all the devotion could not assuage. His brothers were there, and they would fall in time, just as he inevitably would. But they would be there for him in a way no lesser warrior could appreciate.

He began to move in their direction as well, feet in unconscious lockstep with theirs. "Our own Estimated Time to Arrival in seventy-five minutes. I will finalize preparations."

"And I as well," Anderson glided in a different direction. "Emperor's Grace to you."

Shepard followed his men, mentally cataloguing weaponry. It was a given what would be acceptable – nothing was withheld from an Astartes. But appropriate hardware for the job made the difference between true victory and sub-optimal success. Too, live-capture targets meant different loadouts. There was little time to prepare, even less to decide.


Overlord's Operation of Victory, Launch Point.

"Target in sight." The ship's Lord-Captain called. "Commencing attack."

Tactical Dreadnought Armor, better known as the Terminator armor, was reserved for each Chapter's Elite, those that had earned the right to the sacred battle-harness. Armor plates thick as a man's hand protected the bearer from harm, muscle-fiber cables strengthening an Astarte's considerable strength into near god-like levels. As the Emperor's hand, it was indeed a deific strength.

Despite earning the right to carry such divine protections, Shepard elected to remain true to his Mark X Intercessor protections, leaving the few available Terminator armaments for his brothers. The set had guarded his back through countless battles, and he knew the System's Alliance stations were built to … smaller … standards. Too, he knew it wise to avoid offending the machine-spirits, and it had seemed their interest in his activities had peaked as of late. They'd even accepted the modifications for cold vacuum survival, although that might have been due to their shared history of similar events.

'Dark Angels ready,' his Lieutenant grunted. By courtesy of seniority the man should've been Alenko, but Psykers held a hierarchy all their own.

"Launch." Shepard keyed his own ignition. The eager response slammed his massive frame into the armor's cushioned interior. It seemed the machine-spirits were ready for battle as well.

Stars shone through his faceplate, brilliant points of exceptional illumination. The main star of this system, a gargantuan blue giant, overshone its immediate surroundings in blinding fury. But if one looked away from the star, the entire view was filled with endless stars, points of light encompassing everything below, above and behind.

"Station ahead." The reticle glowed a sullen red in Shepard's vision, highlighting a less impressive point in view. Such was the rate of their acceleration that the entire fuel distribution was dedicated towards slowing down, that they could land on the constructs surface as opposed to blasting through it like so many meat-filled missiles.

Light bloomed in the darkness, an enemy vessel intercepting the Overlord's primary guns with its own frame. The damage did not reach the space station, but the vessel combusted for a few incredible moments, until its oxygen supply was consumed. The rapidity of that flash disturbed Shepard on some level – there were space hulks that had burned for centuries. Granted these Alliance vessels were smaller, but their utter fragility perplexed him.

"Gunboats engaged," the Overlord's communication channels came alive with the sound of status updates. Professional tones, speaking in clipped phrases, hummed through Shepard's ears in a steady stream. "Four destroyed. Remainder pulling back."

Shepard frowned. These Cerberus individuals hadn't struck him as cowards. But overwhelming firepower was a suitable cause for withdrawal. Would that make a problem for his mission?

He was left wondering for the next fifteen minutes, slowing at a rate to render his impact survivable. At the final moment of impact, his velocity would've squashed a less robust human, but left him with a winded sensation, for at least three seconds.

Bright sparks caught his attention as one of his Astartes powered up his chainblade. Its spinning length sliced into the station's hull, resembling nothing more than filleting an ambull. Once more the lack of sturdy construction baffled his sensibilities, but Shepard pushed through. The oxygen-rich atmosphere flooded out, carrying sheets of flexible fiber and loose material, but the entire team moved against the stream with ease.

"Dark lead inside." Shepard's armor protected him against the small-arms fire being presented by vac-suited soldiers bearing Cerberus white-and-black regalia. "Taking fire. Responding."

His massive shield, awkward in some settings, came around in a show of unnecessary force. Cerberus weapons appeared to specialize in hyper-accelerated rounds, not energy projectiles, which would penetrate his armor given enough time. But the shield itself was designed to withstand a termagant's claws, shrugging off the fusillade like water. His own piece spoke, emitting streaks of poisonous green light that turned enemies from bipeds into clouds of disassociated dust.

Alenko moved to precede him, twisting his hands in a gesture that shattered the armored barrier between this room and the rest of the station. Behind them, another brother finished repairing their entrance hole, bringing the screaming gale to silence.

A soft hum alerted Shepard that his suit's interactive suite had interfaced with the station's cogitators. He found their main channel and overrode its protocols.

"This is Commander Shepard, commanding officer of the Emperor's forces in this system." His voice boomed throughout the entire station, bouncing off small walls, filling the fragile construct's tunnels like the voice of an angry god. "The Illusive Man and Miranda Lawson are here. Surrender them, and we will leave. You have thirty standard minutes to comply, or we will destroy this station."

Shepard felt a strange sense of disquiet, as he shut off the connection. Offering a chance for surrender wasn't a frequent event. This organization was ruthless, admirably so. Would they rather destroy the station than release their most powerful entities to an unknown power? Yet the orders came straight from the Primarch.

"Resistance ahead," as one the Astartes moved to engage, sending sun-hot bursts down range to meet the flimsy protections offered by the inhabitants. "Warpcraft detected."

"Allow me." Alenko moved with Shepard, staying just behind the shield's protective umbra. His hands sparked once more, filling the air with the chill of the arcane. His hand twisted, rending the air with unnamed colors.

Shepard ignored the fading cries and marched on, shield-first. Its bulk protected his massive form, lending protection to the warriors behind from a steady hail of long-range fire. Now and again an explosion slowed his progress, but only by a step.

"Grenades?" he cocked an eyebrow at the nearest Astartes, though he couldn't see it.

An answering shrug conveyed shared confusion. Using standard explosives on a space station this shoddily constructed would be counterproductive. True it would remove the enemy combatant and not harm the Dark Angels, but making a new entrance through the resulting vacuum took time.

"Shockers." The soldier behind him spoke up. A replacement for Jenkins, name still not on the tip of Shepard's tongue. "In three."

Counting down in his head, Shepard ducked at the right moment, letting the little cluster pass over the upper lip of his shield. There was a coarse oath from beyond, followed by a blinding flash and deafening boom.

"Shocker test one," Shepard said aloud for the benefit of the recording cogitator. "Observation One-zero-Five: Active fight, administered three Grade Two shocker grenades. No further incoming fire, proceeding to investigate."

Shield-first, Shepard entered the next supposed strong point, and found the enemy combatants writhing on the ground. Most lacked helmets, wearing some kind of polymer face mask, which did appear to have prevented the lighting portion of the explosion from taking effect, but the sound seemed to have been very effective.

"Audio impact significant," Shepard paused to administer the Emperor's Mercy upon the surviving combatants. Four shots later he resumed the recording. "No apparent ear protection. Extreme impact observed. End observation."

A moment of silence held, then Alenko grunted. "Think they'll listen to it?"

Shepard dipped his shoulder. "High profile. Probably."

The muttered oath helped bring a smile from Shepard. Despite the necessary wariness around Psykers, Alenko understood soldiers like few others, a fact that deserved respect. One fact of all soldiers was that they loved to complain. In that, he was one of them.

"Movement ahead. Unarmed figure. Orders?" one of the other watchers alerted him to the situation. Where had his mind gone?

"Hold fire," Shepard lowered his shield enough to get a glimpse. Beyond its bulwark, there was indeed another person, this one lacking any armaments. Her hands – for the shape was most definitely female – stood in full view, open in a clear sign of nonviolence. Difficult as it was to pass up on an obvious target, there were other ways in which the Emperor might be served.

The rest of his comrades obeyed. Their immediate compliance warmed his heart, signs of trust that couldn't be duplicated. Drawing his shield aside so its bulk covered a bare half of himself, Shepard pushed a half-step ahead, making his heavier armor the more obvious target.

"Unidentified contact," the machine spirits understood his intent, projecting the volume far above original capacity. "State your intentions."

The figure did not move, aside from a head-tilt that seemed to indicate deep thought. "I am Operative Lawson. You requested to speak with myself and the Illusive Man. I am authorized to speak for the Illusive Man."

Shepard held back a snort. There had been no 'request'. But there seemed to be little harm in allowing the charade to continue. The longer they talked, the further his other brethren would progress.

"By the Emperor's Holy Command," several Astartes made the sign of the aquila. "You are directed to surrender your arms and enter custody of the Imperium."

A moment of silence followed, while the woman appeared to consider again. "Will you vouch for the safety of our people in the Imperium?"

Insulted, Shepard had to extend a hand to stay the aim of brother relatively new to their squad. "The Emperor has Willed it."

Astonishingly, this did not seem to satisfy the woman. "But I have your guarantee?"

"The Emperor's Command is Sacrosanct. None will break it." Shepard relaxed his hold, preparing for battle once more. If the operative refused to recognize reality, then so be it. Slaying those that would blaspheme the Emperor was a sacred Duty. "Your answer."

Another pause, then the woman held up her arms. "Very well, I agree to your terms."

Surprised, Shepard almost pulled the trigger. Almost. His finger needed a bare fraction of a millimeter to move before triggering a pulse that would consign the Cerberus operative's existence to the Emperor's care. None of the brothers would blame him – most would praise his piety, in fact. But that same faithfulness stayed his hand.

"Approach." Shepard nodded at Alenko, whom returned the gesture. Among all the men at his command, Alenko was likely the one most capable of countering the biotic witchcraft.

Stepping back, Shepard activated the comm system. "Shepard to all units: we have established communication with Operative Lawson. Hold positions, do not engage unless fired upon. Repeat: do not engage unless fired upon."

A chorus of sullen clicks responded. Moments later an irritated voice grated through the earpieces like a grox's mating call. "Michaelovich here: please confirm. Am I to understand we are to not kill these heretics?"

Shepard understood the man's anger. Few joys equaled destroying evil in the Emperor's Name. But he gave the honor-required response all the same. "Confirmed, Lord-Captain. The Emperor's Will be done."

Vague motions of the aquila were visible in the actions of his brethren, those not busy watching their flanks. Their lack of watchfulness was excusable, since some were indeed keeping watch, and the sound of open combat had faded. He'd schedule practice drills anyway, after the current assignment reached its conclusion.

The sound of solid heels on deck plating reached his ears, bringing his attention back to the approaching woman. As promised, she'd lowered her weapons, and was keeping her hands in obvious sight. Not that that meant anything. Witches bore the Anathema for more than just their demonic dealings.

"Commander Shepard," the woman had body armor of a type he'd not observed before, closer to the minimalist defenses preferred by followers of Slaanesh. At least this version seemed functional, if tight-fitted; perhaps it was the underlayer to the actual armor itself? If not, and the woman remained sane, she held far more courage than it seemed.

"That is me." His helmet was massive enough to exaggerate the nod.

"Operative Lawson. I bring greetings from the Illusive Man," the operative made a gesture, a seeming politeness of some cultural dialect. "He also wishes to bring your attention to the Collectors, whom have been abducting entire human colonies over the past six months."

Shepard raised a hand, stopping an officer from his assigned task. Putting the Cerberus agent in handcuffs wouldn't be right, at this point. Or would it? This was not his general form of battle … but there was one man who did know the appropriate response. "Inquisitor?"

There was a faint rush of wind, soft enough to be mistaken for the mechanical air scrubbers performing their endless task. But Anderson stepped into sight from behind an Astartes as though present the entire time. How, Shepard wouldn't ask.

"Operative, you do realize this station is under Imperium control?" Anderson's voice was low and dangerous.

To her credit, the operative didn't flinch. "Understood, Inquisitor."

"You are trying to bargain for a lenient sentence?" Anderson continued, still watching her with deep intensity.

The woman shook her head, black hair flipping at the motion. "No. Cerberus's goal, our only goal, is to protect Humanity by any means possible. We were going to launch an expedition through the Omega Relay, but the introduction of the Imperium has interrupted most of our plans."

"Where is the Illusive Man right now?" Anderson's hand dropped to the bolt pistol at his side.

Lawson rolled her eyes, a feat Shepard had not often seen in one facing the Inquisition. "There is no need for theatrics, Inquisitor. The Illusive Man is no longer on this station – he told no one where he was going and departed twelve standard hours ago. Our goals align: save humanity. You have been informed; the choice is yours."

"Interrogation might be able to help," an Astartes rumbled behind Anderson.

"No," Anderson's eyes never left Lawson's. "She tells the truth. But there is something different about you, Lawson."

Nothing in the woman's bearing changed, but something in her eyes shifted. It was a tiny difference, a minor alteration in the smallest muscles, but it changed Shepard's original perception from viewing her as a dedicated woman, to that of an apex predator. There was a certain ruthlessness deep in her mien, a coldness he'd seen in penal colonies or shrines to the Omnissiah.

"My secrets will be given when and if necessary," a small lift of Lawson's chin spoke volumes more than her words. "I am not aware of the Illusive Man's location. But I can assure you that the Collectors are a greater threat to mankind than he ever will be."

Anderson gave an agreeable shrug. "I'm sure you understand our skepticism. But we can hardly go after another target on the word of an enemy combatant."

Shepard could see the logic. Trusting an enemy was a bad idea, even if intelligence often came from captured enemies. Information given by enemies, willingly given, was suspect in the extreme.

"A foe unaware of your hostility less than an hour before you attacked," she countered.

The Inquisitor scrutinized the woman again. "I have read of your organization's operations. Experiments performed upon those whom had not volunteered. Unholy works with machine and man. How can we trust you?"

Lawson's sculpted eyebrow rose. "Likewise, how are we not allies? Cerberus's sole goal is to improve Humanity. There are aliens that would corrupt us, take over our realm and drown our culture in their own. Cerberus strives to give mankind the choice to stay free." She paused, lowering the eyebrow in serious intent. "So far as I understand the Imperium does the same. No matter what the cost. 'Suffer the alien not to live,' is a tenet, is it not?"

The soldiers stilled, hearing Doctrine from an unsuspected source. Human, true, but not a human that had been raised in righteous upbringing.

"The Emperor's Will be done," Anderson finished, after a long silence.

Shepard stepped back. "I'll call it in."

"Would you, please?" Anderson returned to study the woman. "I will speak with our … guest. Let us return to the landing area, the combative portion appears to be concluded."

His helmet sealed out the noise, locking down even the auditory receptors. A few words saw to the rest of his brethren scatter in a multi-ranked defense, protecting him while allowing enough space to perform the duties required. By memory he commanded the internal cogitator's connection to reach the Overlord, requesting another link to the Fleet communicator. That, in turn, made use of the strange Alliance people's technology, a quantum communicator to link the Overlord to another, far larger, vessel.

Given their pace, Shepard estimated the connection would take some minutes to complete. Add to that the number of responsibilities piling atop the subject of his call, and he was prepared to wait hours. Such a short period was nothing; planetary governors oft made callers wait days before deigning to respond.

Well. Not him. Not if they were sane.

"Shepard," the call went through, an unexpected voice almost shocking him out of the next century's growth. A two-dimensional image projected itself upon the inside of his eyepiece. "I believe you are on the main Cerberus vessel – station, pardon. Have they surrendered yet?"

"They have," Shepard turned a minute arc of a degree. The Lawson woman strode alongside Anderson as if she belonged there, like the towering warriors on all sides were nothing more than a simple guard detail. "Their leader is not present, it appears, but his lieutenant offered full surrender of the station."

"And a request for help, no doubt." Guilliman continued for him. "I expected as much. Did he compare the operating strategies of Cerberus and Imperium?"

"She did," Shepard held back any surprise. Primarchs were intelligent beyond mortal man, including Astartes. "The target is a Collector base."

A pondering look crossed the Primarch's visage. "Ah. Miranda Lawson. Interesting, I expected the old general to head The Illusive Man's defenses. But that is still good."

Shepard remained silent.

"In truth, the stated goals of this Cerberus are not far apart the goals of the Imperium: the ascension of mankind," Guilliman mused aloud, it seemed. "Methodology aside, establishing a new Chapter in the Alliance would not be as difficult as thought."

This time Shepard couldn't resist. "Sir?"

Guilliman's face lifted, as if staring across the lightyears into his soul. "The humans in Alliance space have remained ignorant of the Emperor's blessings for too long. Take this individual into your structure; her knowledge will prove essential. Destroy the Collector home base. Do not let any scrap of it remain."

That was the kind of order Shepard could understand. "Sir. Your command will be carried out."

"I know it will. You are the best, Shepard. I will forward the orders to the fleet; carry them out as you see fit."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." Shepard almost saluted but refrained. The action would be useless without the recipient's visual capacity. "Emperor be with you."

As the image faded, the Primarch's face gave a knowing smile. "As He always is. Be well, Commander Shepard."

Returning to the current position, Shepard gathered his bearings. Maintaining the mental fortitude a Primarch's attention required took a toll. Something in his demeanor clued in the Inquisitor, whom drifted closer.

"We will destroy the Collector Base," he reported. "All of it. Their crimes will be punished."

Lawson came with Anderson, a look of concern on her face. "We may be able to obtain useful data from their base," she ventured. "Might I suggest capturing it?"

"We will destroy it." Shepard growled. A thought came to him. It bordered the edges of his orders, but then again, flexibility was implied, backed by the Primarch no less. "But if you wish to board their main craft, whatever it is, you may extract as much information as you can before its demise."

The woman stared at him, then gave a respectful bow. As her head came up he could almost see the calculations spinning in her eyes, thought processes operating like a cogitator connected to a Mechanicus shrine. "Thank you, Commander. I will prove worthy of your trust."

"I know." Shepard spun on one armored boot, continuing the march back to landing craft. "I know. Because I'll be there right beside you. Purge the guilty, suffer not the alien to live. The Emperor's Will be done."


Omega Relay – Far Side

Eight months was a short time, compared to some journeys Shepard had made. One memorable trip had taken twenty years, travelling from a lost fragment of the Imperium through a daemon-spawned chaos storm. To an Astartes, such had been a simple test of patience; to the less immortal servants of the Emperor, it had become a generational ship. Decisions had been made, paring down on resource usage, sending the entire Astartes contingent into a state of hibernation for a decade.

He shook his head, washing away nostalgia for a ten-year nap. Their current objective was clear: find and destroy the aliens known as 'Collectors', denying their ability to wage war, and eliminating their capacity to recover from this blow.

No one knew if they held a system, ten systems, or a thousand. The Imperium's information network had been ignorant of the insectoid xeno's very existence until interaction with the System's Alliance, and their Council counterparts. The thought of even just-discovered humans so willingly cooperating with aliens turned his stomach – a formidable achievement for one as durable as an Astartes.

Taking the human aboard was logical. She knew the Collectors as well as anyone, and understood the realities of war. Her genetics were as pure as any Brother, if made that way through primitive methods. The strange witchcraft she practiced no longer caused his companions to draw weapons, an achievement if there ever was one, and her capacity to learn rivaled that of true lexicani.

But despite Miss Lawson's gifts, she did not … believe. Her cynicism compared unfavorably to that of a depressed commissar, and any religious devotion once in her psyche had burned out long before her Cerberus tenure. While she did not outwardly mock the Emperor's veneration, it was clear she disagreed.

"Sir." He wondered if this was another test, sent to check impulses longing to return to the old ways, despite the deep respect he held for the man. "I'm afraid I cannot agree."

"She has become a true comrade-in-arms," Anderson countered over the Regicide board. His tactics were innovative to the point of ridiculousness, failing more often than they succeeded. "If she fails you have no one to blame but myself."

Shepard liked Anderson, as one of the few mortals that understood true devotion and service. But he was having to strangle the urge to beat sense into the man. "And if wrong, I can only imagine the devastation caused by the first female Astartes, gifted the power only the Emperor has granted, in ways the Emperor has not sanctioned, to an individual who clearly does not share our belief."

"So implant a self-destruct," Anderson shrugged. "If she strays from your side, or disobeys your orders, she is no longer a problem."

Shepard gave the younger man a level look. "Chaos fills every battlefield. For safety, Lawson would remain in sight at all times. Battles mock planning; shuttles separate, battlefields erupt. Any number of things could remove her presence."

The dark-skinned man's brow furrowed. "Keep her safe? Shepard, as she is, Miranda can hold off one of your brothers for ten minutes. She does not need protection."

"Protection from us," he ground out. The startled expression almost made him laugh. "Alone, Lawson could conduct espionage of the most heinous degree. Should she do so, these Reapers could acquire our technology. My faith is strong: the Emperor Protects. But it is never foolish to prevent His enemies from gaining intelligence."

A small piece made its way across the Regicide board, threatening Shepard's back line. It was easily countered, but shifted the line of battle out of position by one unit.

"The Reapers will obtain our technology no matter what we do," Anderson took a sip from the mug placed by his elbow. "You know this."

"Perhaps, but it is a battle worth fighting as long as one may," Shepard pointed out. His own pieces were forming a classic defense, reorganizing to encompass the central line. "Do you disagree?"

"Yes." Anderson's gaze held his own, sincere and earnest. "When it deprives the Imperium of a possible warrior of her caliber."

A deep frown covered Shepard's face. "For the sake of argument, let us say you are correct, that Lawson believes in the Emperor's Divinity, and is immune to the allure of chaos. We still cannot grant what you ask. No woman can be given the Astartes treatment." He shifted forwards, debating with himself, then decided to trust the man. "Long ago, the Primarchs beseeched the Emperor, that women be allowed to join the Astartes. The debate took centuries, and was denied. Such is the wisdom of Him-on-Earth, and I will not gainsay it."

Anderson gave a rueful sigh. "He knows best," he admitted. "And there are many good reasons against this, greatest of which is her age. But her genetics are still malleable, as if she were an adolescent. They should be rigid, too old for the techniques you use. Perhaps the time was not right, back in the Imperium's dawn?"

The room grew silent, ship's engine rumbles ignored after long exposure. Shepard felt unsure, but on a different matter than they'd just been discussing.

"Strictly speaking," he chose his words with care. "No one is forbidden to know the Nineteen Gifts. But very few outside the Chapters have used that knowledge for the Emperor. You are my friend, and you are an Inquisitor, but were you anyone else, I would wonder at your intentions."

Anderson exhaled a deep sigh. "Thank you. I am honored by your trust. But I must point out that this knowledge has not been advanced for over ten thousand years. We must grow, Shepard, the Emperor holds us to improve the gifts He has granted us."

"Then He-On-Earth will know to inform us when that time is right." Shepard ended the subject with a wave of one hand. "We approach the Collector's stronghold. Have your interpretations revealed new truths?"

Sighing again, the Inquisitor allowed the change of topic. "From what I can tell it is close to a dark star, one of the larger ones. If they have done what I believe they have done, the Collectors will have created a power source using the singularity. We have several methods, but their most probable version stations collectors around the singularity's poles."

An eyebrow lifted. "Hence their name?"

"Limitations of basic Gothic," Anderson retorted. "But yes, there is a certain symmetry."

"I see." Shepard paused to think. "Very well. We have a few days, that should-"

Unwelcome sounds of klaxon warnings blasted into the cabin, filling the air.

Shepard glanced at the readout in Anderson's cabin, translating the sigils with ease. "Or, we will be there now. I will ready my brothers."

Anderson was already out of his chair, donning the blue-black serge coat and odd cap deemed a part of his uniform. "I'll go to the bridge. Prepare for battle."

"Always."

Shepard sprinted down the corridor, massive stride carrying his bulk past the more ordinary-sized crew members like a wolf. It was time for battle, and no one waged battle like an Astartes.


Collector Base

The size of the Collector vessel had surprised Shepard, but apparently not Lord-Captain Mikhailovich, or Anderson. A vessel made from rock was no different from a space hulk, if less organized, and apparently younger. A few thousand years more and it might've accrued enough debris to qualify for an investigation. As it stood, the xeno vessel held a single main gun to the Overlord's six, and no capacity for high-stress maneuvers.

It died five minutes after sighting.

Shepard himself was in full Dark Angel armor, deep crimson streaks acknowledging his time with the Blood Angels none withstanding. The massive shield was carried by another this time; for now he carried the elite weaponry afforded one of his status.

"They have no airlock," Lawson was saying, looking tiny amongst the ten-foot titans, armor adding another foot at the least. "We will need to breach the hull, then assess."

The other Astartes appeared to have taken a liking to the small woman, almost to the point of adopting her as a mascot. It had happened before on occasion, the great Commissar Cain had once enjoyed a close relationship with the Reclaimers, although that Chapter held close ties with the Adeptus Mechanicus as well. Anyone that could relate so well to the Mechanicus were a bit off in the head, most Astartes would agree; true brothers, but odd.

"Indeed," Shepard raised his Heavenfall blade, gesturing at the target site. The gesture was of pure gratuitousness, a signal for the pictcast servo-skulls recording for the Administratum. "Lord-Captain, at your discretion."

"Sending." A blast arced through the air, bare seconds after transmission.

The silent explosion launched debris into the vacuum. Fractions of a second passed before the cloud vanished, leaving a crater behind ten strides in diameter as if by magic. A second blast detonated further inside, then a third. No reaction appeared to be forthcoming – had these xenos too been as ignorant of warfare as their Council counterparts?

"Go!" he flourished the blade, leading by example. His unfired plasma pistol, gripped in the other hand, was one of a vanishing few still in production. More were now being made, but it took time for infrastructure to recover from five thousand years of neglect.

With a roar, the Astartes charged. Tongues of flame ignited along each warrior's heavy armor, propelling the attacking force inside with inhuman leaps. Shepard stayed in their vanguard, trusting the machine-spirits within his armor to notify what enemies presented themselves.

"Front clear," his voxcaster spoke. "Aleph Squad proceeding to objective."

A large, semi-spherical head showed itself. Shepard shot it in reflex, then pursed his lips as it proved only a partial body. "Lead to Squads," he added his own voice to the mix. "No threats. Proceeding."

The rest of his group spread out in formation, one setting down the tiny form of the Lawson woman like a child. She didn't appear appreciative, yet held such wisdom as to avoid complaining.

"Hostiles." Kaiden's laconic announcement was accompanied by the sound of xeno gunfire. Unlike the full-throated roar of sanctified lasguns, the xeno armaments possessed a clicking-screaming tone, as if powered by their victims' souls. Another curse to lay at their feet.

"Light 'em up!" Shepard's plasma weaponry sent a roiling ball of emerald fury down the organic hall. It punched through a strange orange shield, then the next two chitinous xenos.

The hail of multiple armament sets set the air aflame. Any aliens existing at the far end vanished, fleeing it seemed.

"Collectors utilize organic-based construction techniques," Lawson's low soprano muttered. He looked down to see the human recording sections of the hall. "Underlying superstructure resembles Prothean, Third Era. Similar structures possessed interfaces in regular intervals, something to look for."

The Astartes on point after Shepard opened fire around the corner. "Contact!"

Shepard bulled forwards, reaching out to take the shield. It was given willingly, and he pushed on, holding its protective bulwark instead of the pistol back at his belt. Like the rest of this spatial segment's weaponry, gunfire ricocheted off its broad surface like flies; in full truth, he doubted its presence was necessary.

Then blue fire filled his vision, slamming into the shield with the strength of a fallen Chaos Marine. Its bulk rammed into his shoulder, driving him back two full steps.

"Scion!" Lawson cried, and made a gesture of her own. "Primed, detonate it!"

At her side, Kaiden made a gesture of his own. Reciprocating flames engulfed a monstrosity out of sight, bringing electronic screams into range. The Psyker glared at the wall, seeming to take offense at its squishiness, and pushed his hand at it. "More are coming. Be ready."

The announcement brought cheer to Shepard's heart. "Let us meet them quickly," he held up the Heavenfall blade, balancing its flat on one shoulder. "Forward."


Collector Base: Lawson Logs 3.1.2-A

Miranda Lawson was nobody's fool; her inclusion with the superhuman marines was nothing short of improbable politics. Had it not been for the support of both Inquisitor Anderson and what appeared to be the most influential soldier in the Imperium, she had no doubt her beliefs would've been practiced from the inside of an Imperium re-education facility. At best.

They were receptive to her logic, however, which meant she was now travelling alongside warriors that could take on krogan face-on, and intellects on par with salarian elite. True they treated her more as an amusing guest, but besting the Magos in a battle of wits had raised their opinions considerably.

Unreasonable attitude on running speeds aside, she'd enjoyed her work more than almost any other time in her life. Every resource she could've desired was hers, all her questions were answered, and the reality of a humanity safe from overwhelming cultural destitution was in sight. Permission for experiments relied on prosaic things, instead of silly alien regulations. She'd even managed to keep up with Shepard in his routine – the slower routines, true, but for anyone to even come close was validation for her hard work.

For now, she contented herself with monitoring their surroundings while applying her considerable intellect to solving personal quandaries. This Collector station held many similarities to the Prothean remains scattered throughout the galaxy, yet more refined; the parts not covered by organic slurry, that was. Some of the Astartes had viewed the Collector symbols and grumbled about Ruinous Powers. She'd ignored that.

In front of her was an odd puzzle. Collector technology operated along the same lines as standard means, but held a different interpretation as all alien technology did.

'An analysis engine of some sort," she passed her omni-tool around the power supply. 'five dedicated analyzers here, a salarian base-design. Two … is that a quantum entanglement connection? This is attached to something with an incredible amount of processing power. What is it?'

Frowning, she pulled out a device obtained through grudging acceptance and a direct order from Commander Shepard. The Magos Explorators had given their blessing in as grudging a method as possible, but had sent multiple backchannel requests for any information learned – it seemed humans were the same no matter how long their society existed.

"This is … strange." Miranda hated how her voice trembled.

"What?" Shepard stopped a Collector with one hand, throwing it against a wall at terminal velocities. It collided with an electronics protrusion, shattering both the construct and itself at once.

"This … object," She found it amusing that he'd used an interface to kill it, a terminal terminal as it were, but chose to keep the ironic tidbit to herself. "It looks like your technology, only older by the carbon scoring."

The entire group's sudden alertness did not escape her heightened senses.

"Show me."

Ignoring the warm feeling the Commander's tones brought, Miranda activated a flashlight beam on her omni-tool, focusing it on the block-like construct where it sat, surrounded by a halo of wires. It felt crude, but deliberate in some way.

Shepard went to one knee, shaking the deck plates underneath. While his face remained invisible, she could just hear a slight tremor to his voice. "Can you extract it?"

"Easily," her hand hovered over the necessary points. "Now?"

"Yes. Immediately." Shepard rose over her like an angry god, taking a protective stance. "Shepard to all squads. Be aware: STC fragments are present. Repeat: an STC fragment has been discovered."

Miranda pushed aside the sudden clamor pounding her earpiece. Each wire was worth a small fortune in superconductors and by severing them in the right place, they would benefit her research, she was certain. Acquiring resources was a time-honored tradition everywhere, although she suspected by the reaction this discovery had caused, the materials wouldn't be hers. But at least whomever did receive it would gain a bit more, which would hopefully entice a better attitude. It was politics, but with cybernetic humans. Child's play.

"Xenos coming in hot," a basso rumble crossed the speaker.

Miranda severed the last few wires and lifted the device from its nest. Its weight surprised her. For something smaller than both hands together it must've been made of pure gold, or something near such. But the thing appeared to have a source of energy, the tiny vibrations of active hardware made a gentle sensation against her hands. It almost felt like the device was requesting permission for something, but lacked access protocols.

"Cover her, move!" Shepard's booming voice cut through her musings. She scrambled into cover, ducking behind the massive slab of hull armor these Astarte's called a shield. It shuddered under continuous fire, making her glad of its presence. Then she heard a screeching tone, modulating upwards with energy-crackles bursting through the earpiece.

Taking a risk, Miranda moved just far enough to peek around the shield's edge. At the far end she could see a hover-truck sized monstrosity, looking like the unholy love child of a crab and a kraken, and given enough skulls to make a speeder-gang envious.

"Praetorian!" she identified it without needing to reference her extensive memory. "Watch out for the laser!"

Technically, she knew it wasn't an actual coherent light beam, but saying 'coherent energy output' took much longer. She'd worked in the field long enough to appreciate brevity.

The shield came down once more, braced by Shepard's multi-ton weight. He leaned over her, pressing a hand against her back while covering her entire body with his own. The feeling of safety, of being protected was unusual, shocking in the extreme. Miranda was used to working alone, helping others, by choice or not. It was tempting to think the big man was only protecting the tiny box in her hands, but every one of his fellows had looked to her safety first on the trip.

A hoarse shout erupted, followed by curses. At least, she believed they were curses; the vicious tone suggested as such although she'd never considered 'Emperor's Bowels' as possible terminology.

Then a colossal impact struck the shield. She could see Shepard's back stiffen, bracing the shield against the pressure. Energy scattered past its surface's edges, melting metal and stone alike, stabbing divots out of the walls parallel to its orientation. Miranda didn't feel the heat, but she could smell ozone and the hot scent of overstressed metal.

"We are the Harbinger of your Destiny," a new voice entered the chaos. It seemed to come from a glowing Collector, standing on the far side of a large assembly room, into which their current passageway ended. "Your interference is meaningless."

Sounds of an inferno blazed into existence, followed by an enraged snort above and behind.

"You only damage the vessel, you cannot hurt me."

Above and behind, Shepard's helmet swiveled. "Powers?"

"Too calm," Kaiden's voice emanated from her side, making her jump. His approach had been the stuff that would make a drell assassin green with envy. "Witchcraft?"

"It feels wrong," Shepard disagreed.

Their calmness was reassuring, if irritating. "You both realize Harbinger is in control of the station?"

Two sets of eyes went down to her level, considering. "Explain."

Miranda controlled the urge to sigh. "None of the Collectors speak. They communicate through transmissions or the written language of whomever they are with at the time. This Collector is talking. And he's here, on their biggest station."

The two exchanged glances again over her head. It was beginning to irritate her, to be treated like a younger sibling. "Therefore either it believes you are about to be captured, or it is buying time to send information off station."

Shepard paused, seeming to be consider. The shield prevented any damage from coming through, but also blocked vision of the fight continuing; it seemed to have slowed by the lack of Collector weaponry discharges. He shifted one arm as large as both of her legs together, making the bulwark groan. "Lawson. In your opinion, how likely is it the Collectors have more of these?"

"This?" she hefted the small object. "No idea. The Collectors are insular, none of the Council Races have been able to gather intelligence on them, and humanity reached the galactic stage less than fifty years ago."

This time the look of surprise was unmistakable, even through armor plating. "Less than a quarter-century from terrestrial to space fleets? Impressive."

Miranda fought down the urge to preen, gesturing once more at the strangely heavy object humming in hand. "You are seeking more of these, correct? How would we find them? There might-"

"[Query input accepted: Calculating.]"

The three froze, staring down at the device.

"Did that just—" Miranda began.

"[Calculations complete. Two additional Standard Template Construct fragments exist on this station. Interface complete – establishing navigational aid.]"

Miranda winced as her omni-tool flared. A small map appeared, of a design foreign to any current software she'd installed. The edges were crisp, showing their immediate surroundings with absolute clarity. At the same time the Astarte at her side jerked, his faceplate flaring; she assumed he was receiving the information download at the same time.

"[Download complete. Software upgrades detected. Upgrade complete. Downloading new coordinates. Download complete. Coordinates uploaded. Do you have any further queries?]"

Another explosion rocked the room, the death cry of some enormous creation shaking the air. Miranda didn't know what could make the sound of a thousand humans all at once but followed her compatriot's lead; they knew if the sounds were significant or not. Or if they didn't, their training appeared to exceed her own. Shepard alone had over a century's experience in fighting unthinkable horrors.

As if reacting to her thoughts, Shepard lifted one gauntleted hand, tapping an icon. "This is Commander Shepard: Override all prior orders. Repeat: Override all previous orders. Proceed to the coordinates being sent. Acquire STC installations at all costs."

A chorus of acknowledgements responded. Shepard listened further, to what must have been channels she could not access, giving a satisfied nod. "Yes Lord-Captain. Lawson has one in her hands right now. We are returning at speed."

Miranda held her breath. "We were acquiring intelligence on the Collectors, do we need to …?"

"This takes precedence," Shepard rumbled. Sounds of agreement resounded from the squad reorienting on them. No, not them, on her. To be specific, the object she carried, but it was an interesting sensation nonetheless. She'd also noticed the object still remained in her possession – not confiscated. Interesting.

Before she could ask, a broadcast hit her earpiece. "Protect Lawson. Get her to the Overlord."

[break]

Shepard led the charge once more, battering their way back to the Storm Hawk ready to carry them clear. In all of his days he'd never seen an actual piece of Standard Template Construction before. Chunks of partial code, certainly. Once he'd even been in the same room as a new fabricator's installation, a ritual that had taken four full days and enough high level tech-priests to staff an installation all by themselves. But this? This was an actual, functioning artifact over thirty thousand years old.

Something moved on his visor, signs of enemy activity on the other side of a thin wall. Sheathing his sword, Shepard let free with a plasma burst. The viridian blast ate a fist-sized hole in the wall, eviscerating the upper body of a scion lurking there.

The squad wasn't moving as fast as before, but no one would deny Lawson her victorious return. A true Triumph would be needed, and her reward would render governors aghast, he was certain. The reward for a single blueprint of a knife had landed two Guardsmen a planet governorship each, plus ennoblement. Without knowing what this device contained, it was certain Miranda Lawson had earned great favor with it.

"Destroy this body, and another takes its place," ominous words emanated from ahead, culminating in a winged xeno landing alongside a dozen of its kind, more arriving every moment. A cloud of chittering silvery-gray constructs began to appear far above, descending at speed. "Shepard. You are known to us. The fate of your Imperium and your own destiny are the same: destruction."

A void-black sphere drifted from the xeno's hand. Its presence caused damage to the gauntlet, Shepard could see armor and digits shredding under its influence, but the damage healed as the sphere proceeded. It made a lazy path towards Shepard, lifting everything in its path, buzzing a low hum that made teeth hurt.

Not answering, Shepard let his pistol speak. Its superheated material erased the xeno from existence as surely as a hell lance, but with less noise.

"Ignore the fallen. Bring me Shepard."

That was interesting information. He could be bait; his presence was endangering the return of the STC to the Overlord.

Somehow the woman in question saw through the decision he was making. Sky-blue eyes met his, through the helmet. "So long as they focus on us, they're not stopping the others."

Logic chained through his mind; Lawson was correct. He was confident of his ability to survive, of his brothers' ability to survive, and thrive. With the Emperor's guidance, they would push through without loss, but if not … that was also acceptable. But it also triggered another idea, one that hadn't been at the forefront of his mind.

"Heavy ordnance," he pointed at the floor. "Straight path back."

One of the heavier-armed Astartes pulled krak grenades from a pouch and punched it into the floor. "Grenade out."

The explosion made an opening, which the grenadier and a claw-wielding brother widened, pulling on the material like it was wood. As it widened Shepard leaped first, landing in a partial crouch, shield forwards and one fist pounding a xeno flat. There was a small crowd of the big-headed monstrosities, and all appeared surprised at his presence.

"For the Emperor." His blade came out, sweeping an arc sideways, sending blood flying. At the sight he could feel his Blood Angel talents surging to the fore, teeth elongating, a deep hunger yearning for the life-giving fluid. He fought it back under Dark Angel control, freezing the lust in endless discipline.

Kaiden came next, floating down and launching bolts of black lightning in all directions. None struck Shepard, demonstrating the Psyker's own control. Behind came the rest, Lawson's petite form almost invisible amongst the darker-hued armor. As they tumbled Shepard stabbed at the wall with his Heavenfall blade, piercing the material. Pure brute force dragged the blade downward at an angle, then crosswise, scoring the material in a rough triangular shape.

Without needing words, a brother smashed into his target, breaking the material apart. Two others plowed through the very wall, roaring battle cries. Shepard followed, tucking himself to Miranda's off-side, shield angled, Alenko's aura-producing form on her other flank, warding fire from that direction.

"What is this you seek?" the floating body of the xeno exploded into splinters of light.

It reformed a dozen strides onward, and this time Shepard witnessed the drab-brown xeno convulse. The possession raised it into the air, arching its back before landing, larger than before. "Join us and the knowledge of the eons may be yours. Why do you resist?"

A deep snarl rumbled in his throat. The cretins dared claim the Emperor's Holy Wisdom as their own? It took great strength of will to continue, feeling the points of each fang extend as his anger grew.

Proving the xenos were watching, the silvery-gray horde descended, thousands of pests swarming around the towering figures running in formation. He could see tiny energy discharges dissipate on their armor, machine-spirits rejecting the heretical garbage for the worthless offal it was. Gouts of long-burning fire from a promethium flamethrower cut wide swaths in the swarm, turning hundreds of the miniaturized monstrosities into short-lived torches.

A pained cry brought his attention to the woman they were escorting. She was faltering, refusing to brush away the half-dozen insectoid machine things in favor of protecting the artifact clutched like grim death.

Reaching back, Shepard slung the shield on his back, a difficult maneuver at rest but nigh impossible at a run. But he was the Commander, a man raised to be an Astarte, Champion of the Dark Angels, Warrior of the Blood Angels, wielder of the Heavenfall blade and trusted servant of Him-On-Earth. The blade stuck to his flank, and the shield slid into place at last, a vast wall between him and the cowards attempting to deny his quest.

Lawson was a slight weight to pick up. Her form was stiff, paralyzed by the nefarious venom – or possibly technological application. It was an ecumenical question he would solve later. She had carried herself with utmost honor, leaving it to his people to the final, glorious charge.

Another wall smashed apart before them, and another. Then they obliterated a path through another swarm, this time protected by a dark field through the courtesy of Kaiden's abilities. By the time they covered the next three kilometers, Shepard was certain they'd purged hundreds of the xenos, lending strength to his limbs and courage to his heart.

"Objective acquired," another voice muttered in his ear. "Returning to drop point."

He pushed himself faster, pushing the entire squad to run with reckless abandon, running as only the elite could. Strange passageways opened before them, doorways battered aside through strength or explosions, warriors in full Terminator armor bounding across hundred-meter stretches of void-filled darkness. The flying xenos were straining to keep up, he could read it in their flailing wings, witnessing each trembling muscle.

And then they reached the exfiltration point, meeting the open guns of five dozen Astartes in full armor. His brothers boomed a thunderous welcome, opening fire with pin-point accuracy. He could see chain guns, hell lances, bolt-throwers and any number of grenades arc past in casual precision. The shuttle itself lent the main guns to the barrage, punishing the station's walls in deafening crescendos.

Shepard carried Lawson into the shuttle itself, dropping to the dead center of the vessel's main bay, covering her body with his own. On every side those also carrying the defensive shields stacked around them, creating a multi-layered defense strong enough to withstand artillery bombardment. They stayed in position for the next ten minutes, as the shuttle soared out of range, leaving the xeno station far behind.

At last he relaxed, rising to his feet. The others followed suit, setting shields down, taking steps back.

"The Emperor's Will is done." His voice echoed in the small bay. "Medicae to the launch bay. And a full guard for Miss Lawson."

His brothers demeanor gained a satisfied posture, pride in one of their own mingled with an expression of awe. To have the sacred knowledge first put down by Him-on-Earth, here in their midst, protected by a mortal? 'Truly it was said: He works in mysterious ways. Who else would seek out such a thing in a xeno station? Whom else would be ready to risk their soul to rescue the machine-spirits from long bondage?'

A moment's introspection allowed him to recover. The medicae was approaching already, accustomed to their usual needs it seemed. Shepard kept the small woman in his arms, until the specialist was ready, then watched as the transport servitor moved on, towering guardians protecting it on each side.

'I wonder if she can see,' the thought brought amusement to his heart. 'For one that doubts, she has been blessed.'


Overlord of Victory, Captain's Bridge

He was on the bridge at the moment of immolation. Despite strenuous protests from the Mechanicus representatives, very polite but energetic complaints it needed to be noted, Lord-Captain Mikhailovich chose to destroy the xeno station.

'So ends those that seek out mankind's destruction,' the ugly accretion of decayed planetoids and cast-off parts began to glow, propulsion units failing in sequence.

"Sequence one: fire."

Shepard watched the weaponsmaster key another sequence, launching destruction beyond sight. One of the techpriests remained at his side, chanting the appropriate rites while applying sacred lubricant. Another had recited the liturgy of ignition in due course, and the cogitators had blessed their efforts.

"It makes me wonder," Anderson stood nearby also, as was his right. "What did those xenos want with our technology?"

He shook his head. "Aliens desire that which they did not make."

"How long did they have it?" Anderson persisted. "The device has informed us that it is not a true Intelligence, and that no qualified humans have activated its circuits. But it may take centuries before they ratify its claims."

"Or," Shepard watched another plume of glowing atmosphere defenestrated through an armored hull section. "There will be an interest taken by the Highest authority."

The Inquisitor paused, then nodded. "Ah. That might happen."

"I fear," Shepard resumed his gaze upon the awesome destruction, "That these Reapers will have learned from the lesser pieces."

Another long pause stretched out, punctuated by the stations continued breakup. One large chunk separated from the rest, struggling free of the singularity's terrible grip – then destroyed by alert gunners aboard the Overlord. Tiny xeno servitors made attack runs on the vessel, impotent rays of light passing harmless shadows on their shields. Each was eliminated as it passed, Imperium servitors passing them on to the dark star's grasp.

"There was a survivor of the Men of Iron," Anderson murmured, quieter than those without an Astarte's hearing. "It was detected at the Seventh Blackstone Fortress, seeking knowledge of other constructs."

Shepard's blood ran cold.

Anderson continued. "I do not know its intentions, but it has existed without causing another Age of Strife. It is my hope it will continue a peaceful existence."

Shepard followed the train of thought. "It may seek out these Reapers. If they are like itself. Then the Reapers would gather its technologies for their own."

"Or it would destroy any Reaper it could," Anderson's disinterested gaze focused upon another floating chunk of alien technology, consigned to the voracious maw before them. "These Collectors, they raided human colonies, kidnapped millions of colonists. All to create another one of their own, so the captured data tells."

A sigh of relief gusted free. "Then it is good we stopped them before they could become a true threat."

"Indeed," Anderson seemed to grow tired of the void's display. He turned back, clapping Shepard's shoulder, or as close to it as he could reach. "Come, let us leave these dreary worries for another day. Another enemy has fallen, a great treasure has been recovered, and the battle to bring peace to the galaxy is one day closer."

Shepard allowed himself to be lead from the room. "You speak truth, Anderson. You speak truth indeed."


A/N: Another chapter, and while it took longer than I'd hoped, I do like how it turned out. Around 11,000 words in less than 3 months, plus the other stories I have been doing, is not bad! On the other hand, I've ignored my favorite characters; Thane, Kasumi, Grunt (!), and more. ME2 is my favorite Mass Effect game, and compressing it to one chapter (plus W40k) was … difficult. I would love to make this a longer work. But unfortunately I'm pressed for time. Between writing, working, and beta-reading for other authors, the time I have to spend on this is less than what I'd desire, and apparently what a few others desire as well. But I can promise you that I've never abandoned a story, and I never will.

Side note, if you see this story anywhere else, it's not with permission. I don't mind if people re-post, I just want to know about it (and of course, be mentioned in the credits. Sue me, I'm a professional researcher). If you want to take it, be my guest! Just let me know so I can see any reviews you get ;)

Thanks to ProfFartBurger, yiggdrasill, and Imhappy0126 for their insight. I spent a few hours chatting with the Burger, and his knowledge of 40k lore.

Excelsior!