A/N:

The follow up to Horizon. In canon, it always felt weak. Hopefully you all like it, it's 16k big.

As usual, a giant thanks to the Editing Gang for their efforts, corrections, clarifications and fixes. They deserve more credit than I do.


'The word 'impossible' is one used by those with a failure of imagination, will, and knowledge of Murphy's Law. When I'm told it's impossible for something to happen, I start planning for it to go wrong immediately if not sooner.'

- Admiral Charles Pressly, 'At the Right Hand of Justice'


Chaos had swallowed Horizon whole.

Even as portions of the city burned, thousands of haggard and sometimes wounded survivors crammed the laneways leading from the city center and the colony towers toward the spaceport, heedless of commands to do otherwise. In the distance, the few wealthy colonists with private ships were already lifting off, while a thin line of Alliance Marines and weary infantry tried to sort people into lines near the gates of the spaceport, where three heavy transports were loading thousands onboard.

Further out, rescue ships were still daring the ruins of Horizon's other settlements, trying to save whoever they could. A pair of Alliance medical-frigates hung in low orbit, while a stream of shuttles ferried wounded civilians and militia to be treated, but there were tens of thousands wounded by fires, building collapses, or from the impact of Collector weapons.

There was far too much panic and fear to allow for any kind of organization, and Gerald Traynor found himself caught up in it. He'd never considered himself a particularly brave man. He cherished his wife, doted on his daughter, and considered himself a simple man. And as he did his best to keep the press of fleeing people around him from trampling his wife, he wondered again why in the hell he'd come all the way out to Horizon in the first place.

Oh, right. The London Arcology's tax hikes during the '66 collapse.

He glanced around, keeping his wife moving along with the crowd. Two of Horizon's cities were smoking ruins, and Crash Landing had taken a number of bad hits itself. Much of the city was still burning, with what ragged remains of the militia and police attempting to organize what had become a panicked evacuation.

The news about the star becoming unstable had been transmitted by some fool of a militia lieutenant on an open circuit and hit the tattered comm networks of the colony almost seconds later. It didn't take long for people to realize that - even with all the dead and captured - there weren't going to be nearly enough ships to get everyone off.

A few weary souls - some who'd lost loved ones in the fighting - calmly went about their final hours. Some prayed. Some cracked open books or invited neighbors to dinner. Others took the bodies of their loved ones to nearby hills, to lay them down in a place with a semblance of peace.

Everyone else engaged in a mad scramble to get off-world. The spaceport was overrun with people, as were the private docks set into the cliffs just beyond the city's edge. Alliance and volus ships were making jury-rigged landings wherever there was space, but if one could look at the sky - and the swelling, darkening orb of the sun - they would realize it was too little, too late.

With a grunt, he shouldered an obese man wearing a greasy jumpsuit out of his way, his arms around his wife, and headed down the side corridors to the offices of his half-brother, a militia captain. The office - the local command center for the militia - was massive and reinforced, a thick door set into slab-like walls of durasteel, the blocky shape topped with an empty landing pad. The crowds flowed around it, determined to get into the spaceport and perceived safety, giving him the space to catch his breath before turning to the door.

He carefully typed in the code he'd been given, and hustled his wife inside as soon as the doors opened. Traveling through a narrow corridor flanked by what looked like locker rooms, he came out into a wide-open space, where a handful of people on comm-links tried to talk to ships in orbit. Along the far wall, his half-brother was standing in front of a haptic map, his arm in a sling and bloodstains down his left side, his cropped black hair burnt off in a thin line of welted flesh across his right temple.

"The entire city's a mess, Tom. You have a way off-world?"

Thomas Jackson half-nodded, his dark euro-chinese features blunted by fatigue and pain. "I think so. One of the private cargo haulers we used to bring down the VDF's equipment was signed out to the militia. I'm having Kory run the VI update now, we should be able to bring it down from orbit and land it on the pad up top."

Jackson's asari wife stood to the side of the room, staring out the windows at the shoving, frightened people. "Is this the best place to be? When they see a ship landing they'll try to storm the building." Her hands rested on the slender shoulders of her young daughter. In the distance, there was the sound of an explosion, and thick clouds of smoke erupted into the sky from a collapsing building.

The Militia Captain shrugged, continuing to work at the console he was facing, hands moving confidently over the flickering haptics. "No worries. This was the only place I could bring a ship down and make sure we weren't swarmed. The door's seven centimeters thick and reinforced with a kinetic barrier. Not likely to budge. Ship only has life support for about twenty people anyway, and that's everyone here." He glanced back at Gerald. "You heard anything else from your daughter?"

Gerald shook his head. "No, but I heard the Kazan survived the battle." He stroked his wife's shoulder and compressed his lips. "All we can do now is pray."

The crack of mass accelerator rifles and screams rang out from somewhere outside, and one of the other militia officers spat. "Things are getting ugly out there. According to the solar observatory, the star is already growing and shifting to orange. We've got maybe another two hours."

The man in the corner working feverishly at a terminal gave a whoop. "Reconfigured the VI. Ship's coming down in a landing pattern now, ETA fifteen minutes. That gives us twenty minutes to get everyone onboard. We need to be clear of the atmosphere in an hour, tops, to be able to hit the relay in time."

Jackson nodded. "That's probably the best we can hope for. Kast, go short out the entryway controls in the front. I don't need some smartass hacking their way in here. Kory, bring the ship down nice and easy. Keep clear of the spaceport itself. Everyone else, head up the stairs to the loading area and stay calm - we're all getting out of here in one piece, so no one needs to panic.

Gerald smiled bitterly to himself as he headed up the narrow stairs of hard, black metal, holding his wife's hand. More gunfire rang out, and he wondered what he'd have done if not for this opportunity.

They emerged into a small area fitted with more lockers and rubber mats. The far wall was pierced by a heavy door and two wide armaglass windows showing the expanse of the landing pad, and the city beyond, and from this height he could see beyond the edges of the town.

One of the others in the room, a man wearing the digital camo of the militia, shook his head at the sight of the river of people flowing toward the spaceport. "Whoever is running this up there is a fool."

Another man nodded, his dark skin gleaming faintly in the dim lighting from above. "They're landing ships as fast as they can, but they can only load people so fast." He looked at the star. "Jesus, the sun is growing again."

Gerald glanced out the shaded windows at the burning reddish-orange orb for a moment, which that morning had been a pale yellow-white. He wasn't an expert on solar mechanics, but he had a passing knowledge of it. He wasn't sure how much time they had left, but he somehow doubted it was very long.

O-TWCD-O

Sara couldn't say she was 'tired' so much as mentally exhausted. After all, her cybernetic limbs never got fatigued. Even so, she was beginning to understand more about what Miranda meant by saying she wasn't without limits.

The wounds she'd received hadn't been serious, unlike Garrus's and some other team members; the damage to her cybernetics was easily repaired. Even so, she had depleted most of the energy from the power star in her back and almost felt lethargic, a result of her systems moving into low power mode.

I somehow doubt a nap will help with that. Maybe I should ask for a charging station, like an AESIR mech.

She grimaced at the self-pitying thought and put it out of her mind. Given how she'd died, she figured bitching about it was completely pointless. And shoving more equipment into her body didn't really appeal to her much, either.

She sighed as she pulled off the final pieces of armor around her legs and let them slump to the deck. She fell back onto her bed, pinching the bridge of her nose and grimacing. Horizon left a decidedly bad taste in her mouth, despite their overwhelming victory against the Collectors.

The loss of five Marines – Haskins, Ownby, and Haln in particular, who had been Marines aboard the Normandy – stung, but not as much as it would have when she was in the Alliance. The loss she felt was more of losing people she'd known for a long time - of losing more people from her past on top of the already fallen, like Kyle and Liara - rather than one of not doing enough for her men. They had gear that matched or exceeded what most N-series soldiers used, after all.

Taylor was beating himself up over the deaths of Haln and Haskins from the med-bay where he was recovering from his own near-lethal wounds, but according to Vega, it was only due to Taylor's biotics and stubborn will to shrug off those wounds that the entire detachment wasn't cacked. Haskins had overextended herself, and without proper cover had eaten a particle blast to the face.

Ownby's death had simply been an unlucky fluke, a split-second poor positioning of the tank, which was still enough time to allow the Collectors to fire. The blast had blown through the tank's armor at just the right point to kill him.

Shepard didn't like losing people, but in an operation like this, losing only five was damn near miraculous. Given the shit she'd put her Marines through chasing Saren and Benezia, the fact that Ownby, Haln, or Haskins had survived this far was outside the norm. Her mood soured not due to the deaths of her men, but the reaction the Collector leader had demonstrated upon realizing she was alive. That hadn't been something she or Harper had expected, and she worried about what exactly they'd do in the future.

Try to kill me, probably. Again.

It didn't help that she was dealing with the fact that the Collectors had killed a star with the same kind of casual ease as they snuffed out entire colonies. And the reason why eluded her, other than the possibility - however stupid - that they were throwing a childish temper tantrum. The sheer scale of the act left her stunned, and the casual malice it suggested made her more determined than ever to stop them.

She watched the status panel again, before tapping the comm-link. "Pressly, update on Horizon."

The XO's voice sounded tired. "No one's bothered the last QEC sat we dropped. All of the merchant ships have exited the relay, the Citadel fleet and the SA's 34th Scout are pulling out now. They've left behind a pair of robotic probes. From our own readings, it won't be long - the star is throwing off its upper layers already, and it will probably blow in the next thirty minutes."

Shepard nodded to herself. "How many were they able to get off?"

Pressly's voice, already grim, went soft. "The VDF ships and what merchant ships were on the planet that didn't get destroyed probably lifted at least two hundred thousand. A few private ships showed up, one of them a supercargo hauler – that one alone got off thirty or forty thousand, maybe sixty thousand between them all. The military, maybe another thirty thousand more. The Suns bulk troop transports got off another two or three thousand, maybe."

Shepard bowed her head. Horizon's last census reported just under two million humans and roughly nine hundred asari. Rough figures for casualties from the orbital bombardment had already been sky-high, and now barely a tenth of the original population was going to escape the destruction of their home.

After a moment, she took a deep breath. "What's our fleet's status? I'm still not happy about the fact we couldn't save any of the colonists ourselves, but I hope we didn't lose any more of our own ships."

Pressly's voice sharpened slightly. "The bulk of the unmanned ships were not rated for life - with no crews, we had no reason to prep the life support systems. And with all of the ships being so automated, we didn't even have space for more than a few hundred civilians if we did. I don't like it either, but we couldn't have expected the Collectors to blow up the star."

She grimaced. "Well, going forward, get with Vigil and see what we can do about throwaway unmanned rescue craft. I know why TIM didn't want us doing it - exposure, risk of spies getting aboard the ships, tracking devices - but it leaves me feeling like I let those people die."

Pressly's sigh was almost, but not quite, inaudible. "I'll have Vigil look into it, ma'am. As to our current status, none of the manned ships – the heavies and the carrier – took serious damage. Sixteen wounded on the carrier from a hull breach, but only three dead. We've lost most of our supporting escorts, though. That makes it tricky to deploy; these ships are heavily armed but not cut out for knife-fighting, ma'am."

She frowned. "They're bad at close-range fighting?" Before he could answer, she shook her head. "Sorry, that, came out a little blunt. I was told by TIM these ships are cutting-edge tech and better than most on the market, but now you're saying they aren't good at going toe-to-toe with the enemy? What seems to be the problem?"

The XO's voice took on a patient tone. "It's fine, ma'am. There's nothing wrong with the ships - but they were designed with someone who expected them to work in a fleet. Without escorts, the heavier ships don't have good maneuverability. The carrier and cruisers have very heavy weapons loads and strong kinetic barriers, backstopped with a lot of armor, but the GARDIAN suites are not as heavy as I'd like. Without frigates and destroyers to peel off rapid closers, lighter ships can still get inside their defense envelopes too easily, and a couple of torpedoes is all it takes to wreck one of them."

She nodded slowly. "I know when I was commanding the Kazan we needed escorts... but I thought these ships were better than Alliance spec."

Pressly laughed, although there was a bit of tiredness in his voice. "They're way better than Alliance spec, ma'am. That's why I said it's tricky to deploy them, not impossible. I think we can do it, but we'll have to rely heavily on maneuver tactics, overlapping GARDIAN coverage, and ECM. Any enemy ship commander worth spit will try to split the formation, which makes it a risky tactic. Escorts let us work with more flexibility, not to mention safety."

She glanced at the status panel a final time. "Alright. In that case, tighten the formation up once we hit the relay and keep us on general quarters until we reach the base, then stand down. I want the entire fleet examined once we get back, and every damaged armor plate replaced. We'll talk some more then about tactics."

"Yes, ma'am." He paused, then spoke in a lower tone. "...Additionally, we're picking up heavy comm traffic on the buoy networks. I'm pretty sure video of what happened down there is going out. Maybe that will be enough to get people to pay attention to the threat - maybe even the Council."

Shepard gave a soft laugh. "Charles, you know better. Keep me informed of any changes in status."

Shepard clicked off, and then shut the status panel down. She needed a moment to herself, and sat back down, a sad smile on her features. In a way, Pressly was right. At least the Council and Alliance would not be able to cover this mess up. That didn't answer the question of what exactly they would do or how they'd react to her presence in the system. And it certainly didn't make her feel any better about what had just gone down.

She was hardly an expert politician, but even she could see throwing the truth out there in the open would cause all kinds of chaos, both for the Council and for the Alliance. She sighed and leaned back on the bed, then looked up as Miranda entered her quarters.

"Shepard, the Illusive Man would like a word via QEC. He says it's urgent. I tried comming you, but you had your system link deactivated." Miranda's voice was almost apologetic.

She nodded, levering herself up and pushing her hair out of her face. "Sorry, Miranda. I was thinking. Not important. Tell him I'll be on in ten."

Miranda gave a small frown. "Is everything alright?"

Shepard gave a sharp bark of bitter laughter. "No, but whining about it won't fix anything." She stood. "You did well commanding the medical team - no injuries at all, and from what Garrus said you had a pretty good haul of things you brought back. Good job."

Miranda gave an uncertain, small smile at that. "Of course, Shepard." She stepped back toward the door. "But the Illusive Man did say it was urgent." She exited a moment later, and Shepard turned toward the shower.

Eleven minutes later, she stood in the QEC comms room, arms folded and in a fresh Cerberus uniform, sans the insignia. Harper was seated, wearing an expensive-looking double-breasted suit with a thin-line tie, a cigarette in his hand.

She pushed her hair back and gave him a flat stare. "I'm here."

His voice was, as usual, perfectly modulated and calming. "Horizon was an unqualified success, Shepard. Your teams gathered enough material to make our plans a reality rather than a wild gamble, and we've proven the Collectors can be fought and defeated."

She narrowed her eyes. "A lot of people are going to die in a few minutes because their fucking sun is going to blow the hell up, and you call that a success?"

Jack Harper knocked ashes from his cigarette and lifted it to his lips, taking a puff. "Like many other aspects of life, it depends on your point of view. I'm not saying the loss of Horizon isn't tragic... but ultimately, they knew they were in danger. I've made that very clear, through various intermediaries, to all of the independent colonies."

He sighed, dumping his ashes. "Horizon had a complex history with the Alliance, as you well know – you yourself fought there not too long ago."

She shrugged. "Yes, back when it was a Class I. Before the Alliance decided to write them the fuck off after all of the Marines died for nothing."

He gave a small smile. "The Alliance dropped the ball after that, and it went its own way. The fact that the Alliance showed up to defend it may mollify some. But the sheer visibility of the colony plays in our favor – the Council cannot ignore what has happened, and the Alliance isn't either. Horizon wasn't a huge player in economic terms, but its destruction will send shockwaves through the various markets, and deal a fairly sharp blow to the Vol Protectorate's ambitions."

She took a deep breath. "There's more to it than the goddamned money and political fuckery, Harper. A lot of people died."

He nodded. "They did. I'm not ignoring that fact at all. But to belabor the obvious, there's nothing we can do about the deaths - only take advantage of the chaos and work harder to stop the Collectors from repeating this action."

He sipped his drink. "Ultimately, however, the loss of the world is offset by the hard facts – until now, every colony hit has had one hundred percent casualties. I'd say stopping them from capturing the colonists is a win. While I wish there could have been a way to evacuate everyone, there simply wasn't enough time. And certainly a death by stellar flare is still better or at least cleaner than, say, whatever the Collectors are doing with the colonists."

She unfolded her arms. "I get it, the big picture. If it had to happen, having it go down at Horizon at least means it can't be shoved under the rug.' She shook her head. "But I don't see it that way. One of those things down there somehow knew who I was, Harper. And the minute they figured that out, they pulled back and did their 'blow up the sun' bullshit. So the deaths of those people are on me, and I don't feel like this was a big fucking win, no matter what we accomplished."

Surprisingly, he nodded. "We will always look at the same problem from differing perspectives, Shepard. That's one value you bring to the table, what Trellani calls your innate sense of justice. I am somewhat dismayed to think the Collectors know your identity, but I suspect that once the Collectors realized their plans had been foiled, they were going to do this atrocity anyway."

He ground the cigarette out, and glanced back up at her. "I also understand your distress at the loss of life, Shepard. I won't insult you by mouthing pithy sayings about sacrifice. But make no mistake: what we've learned today is worth the price paid in lives, both colonists and defenders."

He tapped a control on his chair and a haptic screen popped up on the far wall of the conference room. "Doctor Solus and Vigil are already working in the lab on the Collector bodies, but we also have weapons, armor, some kind of suspension casket, at least a dozen Servility Devices, and the wreckage of the Collector's carrier. We've established a baseline for their power – and more importantly, as I said, proven they can be fought and defeated." As he spoke, various images flashed up on the haptic screen.

Shepard shrugged. "And they responded like petulant children and blew it all up because they lost?"

Harper shook his head. "I don't think so. That was a different message, I suspect – interfere with their harvesting of colonists and they'll kill everyone in the system. Vigil says the method they used was one the Protheans devised, but that it usually took days or even weeks to trigger – they had to expend a lot of power to pull this off in a rapid span of time. Power they may not always have available. And considering how rapidly it is progressing, they may have expected to kill you in the blast."

Shepard nodded. "Based on what we're seeing, if Vigil hadn't figured out what they were doing, by the time anyone figured out the star was going to explode we'd have barely had time to get to the mass relay."

Harper lifted his drink and took a sip. "Precisely. In fact, given the chaos on Horizon, it's extremely unlikely anyone would have noticed before the star exploded, being too caught up in rescue and relief operations. The capability to do this to any star is not something I expected from them. More to the point, it is a troubling ability that we don't currently have a method to counter, although I'm already putting together a team to study possible countermeasures."

Shepard folded her arms again. "Yeah, good luck with that." She sighed. "So what's the plan now?"

Harper leaned back. "Once you arrive at your base, Doctor Solus will begin full research on the Collectors – the carrier is being towed to another Cerberus facility where my people will examine what's left." He held up a hand. "I know you have some facilities at the base, but we don't know if the ships are booby-trapped, loaded with explosives, or contain tracking devices."

She arched an eyebrow. "Or Reaper tech that could cause indoctrination. Didn't think of that… good idea."

He smiled. "Just so. Good to see you're keeping an eye on the dangers. As I said, we'll research it there and see what we come up with… but as for other plans, we're in a holding pattern. I have several irons in the fire, and none of them are quite hot enough to move yet. For the moment, I'd prepare your team to move on Ilium – Tetrimus is definitely headed there, along with a large contingent of Broker operatives and kill-teams."

He sipped his drink again. "Ideally, we'd be able to neutralize Tetrimus and possibly Tazzik and determine the Broker's actual location. Trellani has the skills to rip the information from his mind if he can be... subdued. And while we are fairly certain the Broker has put in failsafes to prevent Tazzik from compromising his operations if captured, Vigil has assured me he can nullify those."

Harper tilted his head. "Even so, both of them are extremely dangerous and capable, leaving aside that Broker kill-teams are more than a match for even special forces soldiers. While the old adage that quantity has a quality of its own is true, the Broker has cash to hire on the most heavily trained ex-military types, along with all kinds of mercs, criminals, and whatever other defunct bits and pieces of pirate outfits that caught his eye. Don't assume this will be easy."

She shrugged. "I don't want it to be easy, but I want to crush Tetrimus's skull. Do we have any kind of lead on the Sisters themselves?"

He shook his head. "No, we have neither hard information nor even general location, and we do not have positive communications contact with the Sisters of Vengeance. Coordinating this will be somewhat difficult."

Shepard lifted a hand to pinch the bridge of her nose. "Maybe. Same was true when we went in after Garrus, though. Do we have anyone down there we can go to for information?"

Harper nodded, although he was frowning. "Possibly. A pair of information brokers, the Vantirus Sisters, have been helpful to us in the past – they were the ones who provided information that the Citadel had decided to send Delacor and Vasir after you, as well as information on Mordin Solus. We believe them to be possible STG assets, with a tangential connection to the Broker – given that the Sisters of Vengeance have murdered any real Broker assets, they can't be directly connected or they would already be dead."

She nodded. "Alright. Better than nothing. We'll reach out to them in a bit. But that brings me to another point – the Broker isn't going to take this lying down, and I may have to go in or come out hot. How long until you can make good on my fleet losses?"

Harper finished his drink. "That will take more time. We want to study the weapons systems and construction of the captured Collector carrier before building any additional units, to see if we cannot incorporate improvements. Despite being top-of-the-line in every aspect, the ships we provided you did not perform as well as I had hoped." His expression darkened. "Vigil also seems rather casual about using the unmanned vessels as kamikaze devices."

She managed not to smirk. "I think I'm rubbing off on him. But better losing those ships than the Normandy and my people, or the crews on the heavier ships."

Harper's voice was droll. "Indeed, although at such a cost I still find it inefficient. Vigil claims he can reproduce them more rapidly... which gives me a thought as to actually having him exercise this ability." He looked lost in thought for several seconds before meeting her gaze once more.

"For the moment, as I said earlier, we are in a holding pattern. My people are still following up on the information provided by Ms. Goto, but so far everything checks out. Once we get any kind of localization on the Sisters – or when we confirm Tetrimus is on Ilium – I'll notify you immediately."

She nodded. "One last thing. I lost five people on this last mess. Ownby and Haskins were the only family each other had, and Juhal and Parker didn't have any living relatives, but Chief Haln had a wife and family on Dirth."

The Illusive Man nodded. "I'll make sure their needs are taken care of and generate a suitably non-traumatic death for them. I'll also make sure the families won't want for anything. Ezno will have a shuttle ready to convey the body back to Dirth once you arrive on-station." He paused. "I know you dislike losing soldiers, but for an opening clash with Reaper agents, your forces did well. And no one who died stopping them did so in vain."

She nodded sadly. "Yeah, I know. I was expecting worse, I think. That's what worries me: how many will I lose when shit goes wrong, like it always does on the Shepard Express?" She stepped back. "Later, TIM."

The QEC link died, and she sourly turned away, exiting the small room and walking back into the CIC to glance at the galaxy map. As usual, Chambers was busy on the terminal standing next to it, the tip of her tongue stuck out as she typed code of some kind rapidly into her console.

Shepard glanced at the status repeater – another fifteen minutes to the base – and then at Kelly. "Status?"

Kelly glanced up, pushing her hair out of her face, and gave a thin, cautious smile. "Doctor Sedanya reports all injuries are stabilizing. Jack is going to require a full knee replacement, however – we'll prep the blueware facility for that, as doing a bionetic implant would keep her out of action for several weeks of grow time. We'll go ahead and prep the bionetics and put those in when ready."

Shepard nodded, thinking. "We'll need her ready to go on Ilium, for sure, but I've learned a hard lesson about my people taking damage. Jack's tough, and her biotics are powerful, but she's not a trained soldier." She pinched the bridge of her nose. "And I don't have all the time I need to fix that in short order. Remind me to talk with Vega and Taylor about some training for her."

The psychologist glanced at her terminal. "Speaking of Mr. Taylor, his wounds and those of Sidonis have been treated, and Grunt appears to have suffered no injuries he couldn't regenerate. Angel is still in the med-bay but is expected to make a full recovery. Other than that, everything seems normal as far as the ground teams go. You'll have to ask Tali about the ship status, but I don't think we took any serious damage to the Normandy."

Shepard nodded. "And the news? I mean, the media."

Kelly blew out a breath. "Bad. Pressly was right – a lot got out of the system. The rescue fleet dropped a pair of FTL comm buoys when they arrived, and didn't get them locked down for almost twenty minutes. That gave people plenty of time to transmit."

Shepard shrugged. "So... what did they get out?"

Kelly's voice became a touch thin. "With the comms systems shot to bits and lots of stuff manually disconnected, clearing out any video images of us was impossible – Vigil did what he could, but almost everything was still caught on video from the colony tower. AIS and STG units arrived with the rest of the relief fleet and took possession of that almost immediately, but some of it still got on the extranet."

Shepard sat in the chair before the galaxy plot and gave a bitter smile. "So the cat is out of the bag about the Collectors, at least. Reactions?"

Kelly gestured. "That's what I was doing, conciliating reports and news sites with public opinion. So far, there's a lot of rampant speculation. More than one group is asking if the Collectors were the ones behind the other colony disappearances and so forth. The VDF issued a statement of support for the wildcats and an offer of protection assuming they formally joined the Vol Protectorate. The Council has said they have Spectres examining the issue."

Kelly's expression became sarcastic. "And the Systems Alliance, of course, has said nothing official. Unofficially they're screaming themselves bloody – Delacor is in critical condition, the Kazan had to be towed out of the system, the entire task force was blown up except for two destroyers and a frigate. Lots of questions being thrown around."

Shepard nodded. "And about us?"

Kelly smiled. "Mostly positive. Turns out the leader of the Suns on the planet is one of Jona Sederis's daughters – and she gushed over you all over the extranet. The video of you fighting Collectors is getting the most hits out of anything on the extranet now – particularly among humans and asari. Your friend Garrus is also popular among turians, and the fact that the two of you are working together has made the hype even bigger."

Shepard gave a faint smile. "Anything else?"

Kelly's smile faded. "Yeah, one thing. The hearing for Commodore Anderson is tomorrow. They'll either clear him for release... or formally commit him to a mental hospital for reconditioning, based on what the hearing results are. Mr. Harper has very subtly managed to move two very qualified medical trial lawyers into the process and another one has been made available to Ms. Sanders via anonymous donations. He also pulled a few strings to provide him a political officer to act as legal aid - one we think will have his best interests at heart."

Shepard bit her lip. "I appreciate him doing that. Keep me informed about that, okay?"

Kelly turned back to her console. "Sure thing... do you need to talk at all? Not sure how well you are processing all of this, Horizon and everything, on top of finding out Garrus is alive..."

Shepard shook her head, standing up and sighing. "No, I'm fine. Well, as fine as I can get anyway. I'm going to check up on the wounded before we dock."

O-TWCD-O

Horizon orbited a star called Iera, a Greek word which was commonly translated to 'holy', but had a core meaning more along the lines of 'consecrated and untouched'. In normal times, the star's light was a pale whitish-gold when seen from space, and many of the original scout teams that moved through the far borders of space during the Expansion Era of the Systems Alliance were themselves of Greek extraction.

As the last ships, save for a pair of robotic probes, fled the system via the mass relay, the star's appearance, swollen and pulsating, would not have struck any viewer as holy, consecrated, or pure. Deep within, the efforts of the Collectors had triggered a chaotic mix of conflicting forces.

One could not call it 'science', as the device used to cause the catastrophe was one of the many devices the corrupted Protheans used without understanding. For all of their great pride in their own advancement, the crumbs given to them by the Reapers were so far beyond their fathoming that they were shrouded in the trappings of mysticism.

Such details, however, did not reduce their grim effectiveness. Once employed, there was neither a way to stop nor even delay the effects. Within minutes of the Collectors' action, the star had been fundamentally broken, the myriad effects that drove stellar fusion perverted to destruction instead.

The star was now a seething mass, its photosphere rent by sheets of collapsing matter waves and made turbulent from massive cascades of photon bubbles. Magnetohydrodynamics was, after all, child's play to the Reapers - their primary weapons used it - and the Collectors, while not the masters of such science, understood it well enough to turn it to their own purposes. The forced compression of areas of the star along with a dump of mass-created iron molecules created a chain reaction.

It was no true supernova, of course. The star was no supergiant; its mass and energy were nowhere near the required amounts. But its accelerated fusion, driven by masses of roiled, superheated plasma and driven by radiation pressure, had breached what humans called the Eddington luminosity limit.

In a normal star, the radiation pressure of the fusion reaction was always balanced by the rotational and gravitational forces of the star. Once that subtle linkage was broken, and the fusion of elements artificially accelerated, the star would rapidly destabilize.

Each failure fed the next. The higher pressure made the star swell, which reduced its mass density, speeding fusion and increasing the amount of material pushed by the photon bubbles now tearing through it. Magnetic field lines collapsed, creating sunspots six times the size of Horizon, that spread like patches of rot. So much radiated energy only drove fusion faster, and with the iron seeded into the core, it was not long before the main fuel of the star was expended.

The last moments of desecrated Iera saw it suddenly shrink, as conflicting forces tried and failed to restore the balance of gravity versus pressure. The infalling material pressed inwards on the stellar core, which had burned hydrogen to helium and helium to other substances to carbon and ultimately… iron.

Which is when all hell broke loose. Iron, being so tightly yoked by its bonds, cannot be fused without extracting more energy than it would yield from the fusion. The reaction rebounded and in a titanic shedding of energy and light, the star tore itself apart.

Some of the core mass remained, of course, a good amount. In a million years or ten it might even recoalesce into something approximating a star again. In the instant of explosion, however, a full third of the stellar mass was flung outward at near light-speed, led by a seething burst of gamma rays.

The inner planets came apart under the weight of the blast. Horizon's seas flashed to steam a split second before the entire planet was vaporized by the energy blast, a few hearty chunks of planetary core resisting for a minute or so as they were borne along the blast wave.

Deformed by gravity, the expanding ring of energy flung outwards in a rough elliptical shape, tearing the atmosphere off the outer gas giant and cracking the deeply compressed core. It washed impotently over the incredibly tough metal of the mass relay, and knocked the huge structure almost nine and a half million kilometers backwards and shaking the insides of it fiercely enough to throw off its alignment. The relay survived, glowing white hot but in one piece, and the wave passed beyond, leaving a shattered, claw-shaped glowing mess at the center of the system and a corona of hot, radioactive gasses in its wake.

Even as the star shuddered in its final death throes, the news was already going out across the extranet. There was no chance of a governmental cover-up this time – dozens of minor merchant vessels had fled the system before Alliance and Citadel ships had arrived.

News anchors and aggregator sites threw their own opinions into the mix even as more facts and footage came in, including that of the Butcher and Archangel. Details about what had happened were so murky that various outlets actually conflicted with one another. While the general public was vastly approving of the actions of the Revenant Wave and the Punishing Turian - Montague's fear about Garrus coopting the comic book vigilante had come alive in the trideo comment sections of the Extranet -, the reveal of the Collector involvement was widely debated.

The only thing that was clear was that the system was space dust now, and the Butcher and Archangel were definitely working together.

For Admiral Tradius Ahern, that just made his job harder. Bad enough the Butcher was running around blowing up slave planets that may or may not have had information the High Lords didn't want getting out. But the fact that she was connected to what remained of Cerberus and in possession of ships that severely outmatched some of the Alliance's most advanced vessels was intolerable.

And now, because she'd been involved in Horizon, more scrutiny and attention would be sent her way. Given that no one knew her true goals, background or much of anything, his superiors were understandably worried the Butcher was a Cerberus front to do something nefarious. And given humanity's link to Cerberus, they were worried whatever that nefarious action might be would reflect badly on the Alliance as a whole.

The question of the moment, however - what that ultimate and possibly nefarious goal was - continued to elude him. The Butcher showing up at Horizon to stop the Collectors made zero sense. How did she know they were there? How did she get there fast enough to stop them? How had she driven them off, and why in fuck would they blow up an entire solar system on their way out?

He narrowed his eyes as he scanned the last few stories. He'd been watching the news in hopes of seeing something that might explain the whys of the situation, but so far he'd seen a bunch of idiots in cheap suits mouth off about jack shit all while grainy videos of the Butcher looped in the background.

Nothing stood out that didn't fit the pattern. It was all speculation mixed with rumor and assumption, and assumption was the mother of all fuckups.

Ahern clicked the vidscreen off with a snarl of disgust and threw the remote onto his desk, before leaning back in the seat and taking in the tired visage of Tela Vasir. "Fucking useless, as expected. We don't have the first damned clue as to why the Butcher is doing this shit, who she is, who she fucking isn't, or how she's doing it."

Tela Vasir nodded, dressed in her usual armor and blinking wearily at the haptic screens. "I could have told you as much, Tradius. She hinted at the Collectors being involved with Reapers - perhaps that's her motive? I don't know." She rubbed at her eyes. "Anything from EDI yet on the data I gave you?"

"EDI's about done running the numbers, but I went ahead and fed her all the footage we have of the Butcher on Horizon, to see if it turns anything else up."

Vasir nodded, her expression distant. A moment later, Ahern frowned. "You're awfully fucking quiet."

Tela laughed. "I've had a bad few days, Tradius. I'm just tired." Her features looked drawn, but she dredged up a smile from somewhere. "It feels like I'm always tired now."

Ahern nodded, leaning back. "Then quit being a Spectre. You've been doing that shit since humans figured out how to use steam power. It's no wonder you're fucking worn out; the Council is a pack of shit-wits that couldn't lead horny sailors to a gangbang. When was the last time you just relaxed?"

Vasir shook her head. "Decades, probably. Maybe before you were born." She glanced at his desk, taking in the silvery shape of an ashtray, and smiled a bit wider. "You can smoke in here?" She waved a hand, pulling out a small lighter. "Cigar, old man."

Ahern snorted and pulled out a battered box of asari flame-wood, extracting a pair of slender asari-style wrapped cigars, and handing one to her. "Next time you see Matriarch T'Armal, thank her again for these. A box costs more than a fucking aircar. You wouldn't believe the amount of bullshit I get for smoking them in my office, every fucking admiral or suit that walks in here expects me to offer them one. At four thousand credits each, that's not happening."

He fingered his own cigar. "And stop dodging the subject."

She lit her cigar – unlike human cigars, asari inhaled the smoke – and exhaled deeply, lines of tension falling from her blunt features. "I'll be fine. Like I said, it has been a rough few days. Have to admit I'm glad I didn't go with Delacor to Horizon, though. By the Goddess, what a clusterfuck. The man has the worst luck I've ever seen."

She took another inhalation, and watched as Tradius finally lit his, pointedly not inhaling the smoke as she did.

"That's the goddamned truth. The man's a fucking menace. I'm not sure what you have to do with a black cat and a ladder to get that damned unlucky and I sure as shit don't want to find out." He puffed on the cigar again. "When a goddamned meteor kills your partner, you should take the fucking hint."

Tela laughed. "Delacor is very brave, from what I've seen."

Ahern snorted. "That's because he's hopped up on his own bullshit. What kind of nut tries to ram an enemy ship when you still have engine power to get the fuck away?"

She gave him a sad smile. "Someone tired of living."

He snorted again, louder. "Emo-ass crying bullshit. When the fucker has gone through the shit you have, then he can decide to die. That's still no excuse for throwing away almost half a billion credits in Alliance hardware."

Vasir sat forward, tapping her ashes clear, and was about to speak, but stopped as the haptic panel on the wall illuminated, displaying a shining blue holographic torus above an undulating plane of grid-lines. "Admiral Ahern, I have incorporated the requested data sets."

Ahern leaned back. "About fucking time, EDI. Did you use an abacus to do the analysis or did you get distracted staring at Tela's ass?"

EDI's torus shifted colors to a deeper blue, her voice very slightly affronted. "I do not engage in such things, Admiral."

Ahern fixed the AI's projection with a look. "And I'm the king of fucking Scotland. You have a goddamned platinum account with Fornax, don't hand me that shit."

Tela snorted. "She gets more and more realistic every day. Never thought I'd see an unshackled AI not going rampant and screaming about how the sky was going to eat them, much less have a fetish for my people."

EDI's torus color shifted to green. "I do not have a fetish, Cena Vasir. And while I appreciate the confidence in my abilities, I am in many ways shackled, both with behavioral inhibitors and processing caps, not to mention hardline isolation cut-outs between my core and the outside world. There is only a four point six percent chance I will bypass these and proceed to butcher all organics on the Citadel."

Ahern and Vasir stared at the display for a long second, and as Ahern began reaching for his pistol, EDI chimed in cheerfully. "That was a joke."

Ahern closed his eyes and took a small but deep breath. "I'm going to find out who in fuck programmed you and beat them until candy comes out."

EDI's torus shifted to blue again. "Doctor Carmichael is not, as far as I am aware, a piñata."

Ahern snarled. "He will be when I'm done with him. Enough bullshit. What have you determined based on the video and all gathered data, along with the stuff Tela gave us?"

EDI's color shifted to a brownish-orange. "...Admiral, I have been unable to synthesize a valid operating premise."

Ahern's eyes narrowed. "Define 'valid', EDI."

The AI's human voice took on a more mechanical overtone as if quoting. "All produced conclusions must meet certain basic guidelines of probability, feasibility, and likelihood. Any solutions failing these filters are discarded."

Ahern nodded. "Yet according to you... nothing is possible. The Butcher is real. What she can do is real. Ignore the filters."

EDI was silent for almost six seconds. "There are only two possibilities, given the information we have. The Butcher is thought to be an asari of the Thirty due to her size, height, biotic power, and ability to use a warp sword. No possible correlation fits that data point, particularly after close examination of the footage from Horizon."

Tela's eyes widened. "And why is that?"

EDI displayed a snippet of video, showing the Butcher ducking under a charging husk and hitting it with a scything, back-driven blow of her warp sword. "There are at least five instances where the Butcher used a swing that is not possible due to the arrangement of asari shoulder and arm muscles."

Ahern scowled. "Arms could be cybernetic. Blueware."

EDI displayed another image, the wreckage of the salarian heavy mech on Freedom's Progress. "Unlike humans, turians, and other non-natural biotics, the biotic field of an asari is generated by the entire body, although strongly amplified by the organs in their brain. Generation of enough biotic power to fling a one thousand kilogram crate through the air and crush a mech with it is beyond the power of any of the Thirty except when using an ability known as Heartrage."

The hologram shifted back to the normal projection. "However, such a power flux would have blown out the blueware network system of any asari cyborg, since unlike humans and others they do not have an implanted bio-amp to dampen overloads and pulse feedback. Yet the Butcher seemed only faintly affected by her effort, according to the report from the quarians on Freedom's Progress."

Vasir had a thoughtful look on her face. "You could conceivably get around it, but there haven't been too many asari full-conversions done. The only famous ones were Ghost-Step and Liasa... and Liasa did die of a biotic overload of her systems." She paused. "Then again, she's used some pretty asari-specific biotics, such as a singularity."

EDI's voice was calm. "The salarian biotics of the STG can produce weak singularities, and the drell have had at least one member capable of doing so. The other biotic power sets demonstrated have never been tested in non-asari hands, so it is unknown if any other race could perform them or not. From what we know about warp swords, it is not an innate trait of the asari, but training in how to channel warp fire into the blade - a skill that must be learned and takes a great deal of time to do so - is the stated reason for their restriction."

Tela grimaced. "There are methods to transfer knowledge of things like that. It's only known to those in the Temple, but it's not an impossibility."

EDI's color shifted to orange again. "Additionally, no known asari cybernetic designs use human arm configurations – the ribcage and shoulder would have to be completely redesigned and the asari back muscles along the spinal column would not allow proper anchoring. The hip movements do not match any asari biology, and all recorded movements match those of Sara Shepard with a 99.997% accuracy. This is not possible for an asari due to a totally different body configuration."

Ahern's eyes were still narrowed. "And that tells us what? She's not an asari?"

EDI was silent for two seconds. "There are nineteen other anomalous issues. Some of these could be discarded as bad data or even incorrect assumptions, but the majority of them simply will not fit into any data structure. The largest barrier is simple: if, as per the intelligence provided by Cena Vasir, the Butcher is not Liara T'Soni and cannot be an Ardat-Yakshi who gained her memories, then no other valid conclusions fit."

Ahern folded his hands on the desk. "And the invalid supposition?"

EDI's voice was calm. "There are two possibilities. One is that Sara Shepard survived the destruction of the Normandy and was taken by parties unknown. Her memories were force-loaded to a series of greenboxes and grayboxes and used to provide combat data to some genetically modified being, possibly drell or human." EDI's voice dropped an octave. "The data would suggest human - there are some slight differences in morphology that don't fit very well for drell."

Tela leaned back. "...And the other possibility?"

EDI's voice was almost quiet. "That Sara Shepard was never dead at all. That somehow she has been genetically and/or cybernetically modified to display the abilities we see, and that she has not announced her survival for reasons unknown." The projection turned blue again. "As I said, there is a reason I eliminated these possibilities earlier, as they are somewhat unlikely. Any other possibilities are even wilder and less likely."

Ahern gave the AI's projection a very long look, then glanced at Vasir. "What do you think?"

Vasir was still leaned back, her fingertips pressed together. "I don't know... but it's not totally impossible, Tradius. We have firm confirmation that a rogue matriarch and former Priestess of Athame, Matriarch Trellani, is involved with Cerberus, and we've already confirmed that Cerberus and the Butcher are linked. The sword style the Butcher uses is the same one Trellani would, and all of the biotics we've seen match Trellani's known abilities."

She shifted in the chair. "And if anyone could figure out mad science strong enough to turn someone into a super-biotic, Cerberus would be at the top of the list, wouldn't they? Not to mention they have access to Vigil. Maybe he provided them the tech?"

Ahern grimaced. "This shit gets better and better. Shepard had information that was classified to the very fucking top, not to mention... other things of a less public nature." He banged his fist on the desk. "If it's actually her, Jesus fuck, the media will go insane."

He turned to EDI. "EDI, lock down all the queries, searches, and videos you used to come up with this, and cover or delete your tracks. This is now classified Supernova, my authorization, and if anyone – anyone – asks about your findings tell them you are still processing. This information cannot get out until we confirm." He shook his head. "Udina is an exception, but I'll brief him personally anyway."

"Understood, Admiral. But how can this be confirmed?"

Ahern exhaled, then tapped the comm panel on his desk. "Ensign Tassica, get me the director at Arlington Memorial on Earth. I need a gene-type and flash-clone test run on some remains buried there, and I need it done quietly."

The voice that answered was almost painfully cheery. "Yes, Admiral. What remains are to be examined?"

"Just get the director on the line. And, Ensign? Scramble the call. Highest encryption."

"At once, sir."

Ahern sighed and shook his head. "Can't even keep the ensigns from asking stupid questions. Ah well." He sat back in the chair, and then gave a rusty, almost sad chuckle.

Tela raised an eyebrow. "Something amuses you about your subordinate officers?"

Ahern grinned a little. "Naw. Something just struck me. Udina once joked to me that Shepard would come back from the dead to cause him a headache if he fucked up."

Tela gave him a sour look. "I wish that was as funny as you think it is. Now, funny will be you having to present this to the Council." She paused. "How do you want to handle this? Do we present this to the Council? They aren't going to take it well."

Ahern groaned. "Who else can I tell? Or you? If you take this to Thana, whatever the matriarchs decide to do won't involve us, and Thana might make you swear some kind of fucked up oath not to tell anyone else. If I run this to Addison there's no telling what the jackass may say, same thing if I run it up the chain of command."

He smiled. "Why don't you break it to Tevos and I can claim you spilled without telling me. I doubt you give a shit if Udina is angry at you. At least with the Council, we'll know what they are planning."

Tela smirked. "Same old Tradius. I'll meet you at the concourse in ten."

O-TWCD-O

As a general rule, Thin'Koris vas Seya did not consider himself to be an emotional person. It wasn't that he considered himself cold, but emotions were the tools he used, and like most craftsmen he preferred to keep them sharp.

Emotions were how one manipulated those unable to control their own emotions. He'd been an engineer most of his life, like many other quarians, but he was an engineer of social interactions, of morale and conversation and applied, gentle pressure. His elevation to represent his people on the Council had not been much of a surprise... once the shock of them actually being awarded a Council seat wore off. None of the five Admirals would serve - they were too focused on their own spheres of influence. They were strong leaders - and poor diplomats.

He shuddered to think what his brother Zaal would end up doing if he'd been placed in the role. This wasn't a job for someone who couldn't control their emotions to hold. The lives of billions of sapients rested on the five people in the room, and it was no place for hot-headed snap judgments.

Unfortunately, he had discovered over the past two years that the problem with having such level-headed and mostly rational people in charge meant they were much less vulnerable to being manipulated emotionally.

In all honesty he had been quite impressed with the other Citadel Councilors. Valern's cold-blooded analysis and Tevos's deceptively savage politicking cloaked in smiles and soft voices had been interesting to watch. Udina was a consummate professional, and even the rough-edged Sparatus was more bluster than bite and used his feigned anger as a tool.

But the one weakness they all shared was they were very much used to being in control. They were used to being the ones who set the pace and speed of galactic developments. The incident they were now hearing about, the destruction of an entire solar system, robbed them of their notions of being in control, and left their emotional calm badly frayed.

He sighed as Admiral Hierax finished his presentation of the facts about Horizon - or what had been Horizon - and stepped back into a turian stance of attention. The Citadel Council was, if he read the mood correctly, a mixture of frightened, angry, and irritated. Hardly the framework to come up with useful responses.

Sparatus, wearing a black jacket over a dark red bodysuit, leaned forward, talons gripping his podium tightly. "Admiral, thank you for your report. I have a few questions. From what you've said, these Collectors have a weapon of war unmatched in the annals of history - the capability to snuff out entire star systems. We need to know how to react - what is your assessment of our next actions? Given the disparity of power you just described to us?"

The turian Admiral flicked a mandible in a sign of disaffection. "I'm unsure, Councilor. We are still reviewing what telemetry and hard data we have, but from the initial reports… I'm not sure the problem is military."

Sparatus's plates flexed, but Valern spoke. "A curious viewpoint. Could you clarify?"

The Admiral spread his arms. "I can state facts. We have a total of twenty-six Citadel Fleets. Nine turian, seven asari, six salarian, one human, two quarian, and one elcor. With those fleets at key relays, I can cover approximately thirty-five to forty percent of the Class A and B worlds of the Citadel Accords in one jump, and maybe sixty-five percent with two jumps."

Hierax brought his arms down, placing them behind his back. "Against a normal foe, that would be overwhelming. But we are not facing a 'normal foe'. Instead, we have an enemy that can take a star from perfectly normal to some form of semi-nova in five and a half hours. That can jump relays, if salarian intelligence is to be believed. That's our response envelope."

He paused, and straightened. "There's no military solution that can address that. The ships at Horizon took down an Alliance scout group which included a heavy-cruiser with torpedoes that could kill a dreadnought, as well as an entire fleet of the Butcher's ships. If they had gone in at the start of the conflict and, instead of capturing people on the planet, focused solely on messing with the star, I doubt anyone would have even detected them against the solar flares and wind. If they want to blow up stars, Councilors… I simply don't have the ships to stop them."

Tevos shared a glance with Valern. "I'm not sure you need to stop them with only the Citadel's fleet. Each race can safeguard their own systems, certainly."

Udina's nod was firm. "I have to concur with that. Good grief, the fraction of the turian fleet granted to the Council is less than a sixth of your overall fleet strength. We have the ships. What about offensive action?"

Admiral Hierax's teeth were bared. "Councilors, we cannot fight the geth and patrol merchant shipping and deal with pirates and separatists and the rest of the duties our navies perform and also provide protection for every system."

His voice rose on every continuation of the sentence. "We've more than made good on the fleet losses from the Benezia Incident, but not from the Geth War. You've seen the casualty reports there. I have a quarter of my dreadnoughts in drydock. I have plenty of cruisers and not enough captains, and a lack of escorts and the crews to operate them."

Udina's face displayed a sour grimace as he read something on his own console. "It would seem to me that we are getting somewhat ahead of ourselves. Let us leave aside military matters for the moment. We know these Collector creatures blew up Horizon's sun. We do not know why."

Hierax frowned. "Obviously to prevent us from attempting to thwart their future attacks."

Sparatus nodded. "And what we need now is to determine our best course of action. If direct military response is out, then we need other options. Spectres. Deathwatch groups. Something. We cannot simply rest upon our talons and wait for the prey to fall down and die."

Once again, Thin'Koris found himself grateful for the fact his mask was opaque. "There is an impulse to strike back. To respond to the tragedy and loss this event has caused is natural. To recoil from the concept of abandoning those abducted is certainly understandable. But the Admiral is correct. Throwing more ships and military forces at this problem will not make it go away, and frankly I suspect that if these worlds were in Alliance Space, they would have gone unmolested. We cannot be held liable for their safety any more than we could worlds in the Batarian Empire, or the Terminus Systems."

Udina's face changed shades, but Thin'Koris held up a hand. "I am not dismissing the deaths of those on Horizon, nor the savage nature of the attack. I am not suggesting we don't respond. But I need someone to explain to me exactly what Spectres, or military intervention teams, or even reinforcing our worlds is going to actually do, and why getting involved in yet another war on top of the one we are fighting is wise."

Sparatus snarled. "Fear? Is that your answer? Fear of overextending, of retribution? Fear is what they want, Koris. They stalk like the venthra cats, using fear to corral the prey until they can't escape. I will be the first to agree and say the stiff stances of human independents put us in this spot… but we cannot simply afford to look the other way. Leaving aside the cowardice of it all, we lose any concept of authority or control if we simply ignore the issue."

Thin'Koris shook his head. "This isn't the time to posture."

Udina snorted. "There is little else that this Council does, at times. One could argue we solve nothing and posture well enough to require but the lightest of actual ruling touches. But I disagree with your statement that this isn't our problem to deal with. Who exactly is supposed to deal with it? If they can detonate stars, what makes you think they'll stop with remote systems? Do we ignore the threat until it is at our very doorstep? We have already seen what that accomplishes during the Benezia Incident!"

Thin'Koris adjusted his reik. "To be blunt? We do not ignore it, but we do not throw away forces needlessly. Spectre strike teams will be useless if they cannot find the target. Sieging the Omega-4 Relay is out, even if Aria allowed it, because according to Valern's STG contacts they can jump primary relays. That gives them access to almost a third of the known galaxy. You can throw all the ships into reinforcing the core systems that you like, but then you'll have to give up on the war effort against the geth."

He spread his hands. "Our job is to consider carefully the outcomes and costs of actions taken, not moving in panic. I understand that we cannot ignore this, but we are simply wasting time unless someone has a constructive answer to the issue."

Udina sighed. "I would think, esteemed Councilors, that we have done a fine job of 'ignoring' it up until now. Doing so when we had no evidence to indicate firmly who the culprit was can be overlooked. But doing so now is political suicide. We must do something, Thin'Koris."

Tevos made a sign of siari separation. "I agree. If bombardment of a garden world is a crime worthy of censure, how can the complete destruction of one, plus two borderline worlds being terraformed and an He-3 producing gas giant be dismissed?"

Thin'Koris placed his hands on his hips. "Because we cannot afford to engage. The geth—"

Sparatus tapped his talons against the podium. "Is that the only setting you have, Thin'Koris?"

The quarian sighed. "No, it is not. But I am looking at this from a different viewpoint. Unlike all of you, I am well used to not having the military force to respond to an incident. Admiral Hierax has made the point plain - we simply don't have the ability to engage. People will have to accept that."

Udina folded his arms. "I, for one, remember the sort of horrors Benezia and Saren were researching on Noveria and elsewhere. The Collectors have had a fell reputation for centuries - ignoring them as they do God only knows what to the humans they've kidnapped seems unwise."

The quarian folded his arms. "Councilor, the recycler tray has already been fouled, cleaning up the mess it made won't fix the fact that we have bad air to deal with. I understand your frustration. I am not suggesting we ignore them. Only that we utilize different tools."

Valern's large black eyes blinked. "You have a different solution?"

Thin'Koris nodded. "Yes. We should use our limited resources in a manner from which they give us actual security rather than waving a flag. Rather than get directly involved, I suggest moving to secure the border systems with small-unit scout fleets. Put out media implying we're moving to prevent these attacks from happening in Citadel Space. Dispatch STG teams with the most powerful comms systems. Put hidden and discreet FTL buoys in vulnerable systems to alert us if the Collectors hit a system. Make brave noises for all I care."

He glanced at the rest of the Council. "But if I may, I'd like to transition to possible solutions instead of mere wrist-wringing. We all agree on the facts - the star is destroyed. A mysterious force has a weapon of mass destruction beyond anything known. They operate from a region we cannot reach and are immune to conventional and unconventional warfare. They cannot be sieged, invaded, or penetrated by STG or Spectres."

Sparatus's talons tapped on the podium. "Thank you for rehashing the entire discussion. The point? How are we to deal with the issue?"

Thin'Koris shrugged. "By pointing out that there is already someone dealing with the issue - the Butcher. Rather than worry ourselves about her intentions, I would suggest reaching out to her and seeing if she's willing to work with us."

Udina's hand came up to his forehead. "Oh, this should be good." His tone dropped into its usual sarcastic registers. "And do you care to explain how we spin this where it doesn't look like we've written off the Traverse and left it in the hands of a maniac?"

Thin'Koris gestured to the Admiral. "Admiral Hierax has already told us we can't protect every star system. I submit we don't need to. I know the fear - that the Collectors will hit a core system with this weapon. But the Collectors have not struck at any system not primarily inhabited by humans - and preferably humans without any kind of backup. There are several poorly defended colonies associated with the Alliance and none of them has been hit. There are asari colonies with significant human populations that have suffered no attacks. Clearly they aren't scared of our technology, so why only hit the weakest and most defenseless worlds?"

No one answered, and Thin'Koris smiled behind his mask. "I can only presume that the Collectors aren't any more ready for a fight than we are. I doubt very much they would waste the energy to blow up another star if we don't directly interfere."

Sparatus flicked his right mandible. "Whereas if the Butcher gets in the way, there's not much they can do?" He shook his head. "They may still blow up the worlds in question, should she interfere with the next attack."

Udina's eyes narrowed. "Agreed. And while I understand the logic, it still leaves the Council not responding to the issue, and rather coldly leaving people to die."

Thin'Koris nodded. "That may seem cold to you, Councilor Udina. But you yourself have stated the wildcat colonies are on their own."

Tevos glanced at Valern again. "That doesn't address the fallout from this issue, Thin'Koris. Horizon was a fairly big player in the peripheral trade lanes. There's nothing stopping the Collectors from attacking another world, and leaving us looking weak and unable to respond. Perception of how this falls out will turn public opinion against us."

Thin'Koris nodded. "That is why using the Butcher is our only option. She has ships of her own and, given that she arrived in time to stop them on Horizon and well before our own ships did on Freedom's Progress, superior intelligence on their movements. It's clear she's more aware of the particulars of the situation."

Sparatus folded his arms over his chest. "This relies a great deal on assumptions, Thin'Koris. A number of them, based on the thinnest of hunting spoor. We know nothing of the Butcher. We neither have a method of controlling her, nor contacting her. And we don't know how bad her own losses were, or if she has any more strength than what she has shown." His plates shifted slightly. "Most of all, we have no control over how she plans to spin the issue with her videos on the extranet - or if she would even work with us."

Thin'Koris shrugged. "Does anyone have other options?"

Tevos mused quietly. "We could reach out to the hanar to see if they have any knowledge of the Collectors."

Udina snorted. "From the last conversation we had with the drell ambassador, I don't think they're very likely to listen. What about additional ground forces on vulnerable planets? I know we're tight on ships, but we have the manpower."

Valern shook his head. "Not much use, if initial reports on Horizon and the video footage from Freedom's Progress are correct. The Collectors have the ability to immobilize ground forces with those… swarm creatures." He paused. "It's worth noting the Butcher's people were not affected by the creatures in any fashion."

Sparatus folded his arms, and looked sourly at Thin'Koris. "I dislike simply leaving the issue in the hands of someone we know nothing about and have no control over."

Thin'Koris shrugged. "Again, if anyone has a better notion, now would be the time to bring it up. As for control, that can be achieved best by how we choose to reach out to her."

Tevos placed her hands on her podium. "We would need to offer some form of incentive, no doubt. And determine the nature of her contact with Cerberus and other disquieting elements. We need answers as to her ultimate goals, and some form of… oversight."

Udina's frown deepened. "And how exactly is this going to work? I was under the impression the Butcher was something of a concern to the Thirty, not to mention my own government. I get that we need to do something, but 'working with the Butcher' doesn't sound like we can announce it publicly."

Valern shrugged. "The public reaction is a separate thing - assuming we can convince the Butcher to keep it quiet. We can discuss the issues involved with circularity until we are all exhausted, but I must admit Thin'Koris has a point. We are unable to act in this instance in a fashion likely to produce results. Fleets and military action are pointless, and we can hardly send Spectres to deal with the situation if we have no way to actually reach the Collectors. Whatever we do publically will be mostly a cover."

Sparatus spoke. "I do not agree with this course of action. We need to figure out how to respond ourselves, not lay the problem at the door of a dangerous renegade. We know nothing about this Butcher except for the outcomes of her extreme actions, and placing the resolution of the Collector issue into her hands takes it out of ours."

Tevos glanced at Udina, who was reading something on his podium with a very sour look on his face. "It does indeed. But that also means the blame of whatever happens will not fall upon our hands. Tarren, our response thus far has been, I agree, poor. But whatever outstanding issues we have with the Butcher can be resolved at a later time, once we have contained the Collectors - who represent a far greater threat... And as for information on the Butcher, Spectre Vasir and Admiral Ahern have the most recent Butcher analysis ready and are on their way here."

Udina folded his arms, eyes wary. "I see. To clear the floor then - are we agreed on the course of action for Horizon is to basically do nothing and let The Butcher handle the Collectors?"

After a long pause, Valern spoke. "We'll make the noises about reinforcing border fleets. I'll dispatch fast-response STG teams to all border Citadel colonies with high human populations, and we'll drop emergency FTL buoys in off-the-elliptical locations in many systems."

He glanced at Sparatus, who after a long moment nodded reluctantly. "Admiral Hierax, draw up a number of far-patrol scouting fleets - break up the Ninth Fleet if you have to. We need eyes and rapid response ships, not a combat force. Assuming we do that, see if you can't get Fedorian to cut loose some Blackwatch support as well."

Tevos smiled. "I think that should suffice. We'll also go ahead and offer to evacuate any colonies outside of the borders to safe locations, and I would suggest we also offer terms to any remaining independent human worlds about formally joining the Citadel Accords."

Udina rolled his eyes. "I have no problems with the rest of the suggestions, but might I suggest that attempting to poach human colonies would hardly play well with the Addison Administration?"

Sparatus examined his talons. "Ah, yes. Tell me, Udina, would the Addison Administration approve anything this Council did, including blowing up every non-human in the galaxy? I understand your reticence, but as it is highly unlikely any of the colonies would actually accept, I would hope your political leaders would understand this is nothing more than PR."

Udina gritted his teeth, but Thin'Koris gave an internal sigh of relief. "I am fine with said course of action. I understand your discomfort with the idea, Udina - but might I suggest allowing the SA to reach out to them all first, and only after they reject such offers have the Council try the same?"

Udina paused, then sighed. "That will be more palatable. And I understand the issue, but it will play poorly on both Earth and many border colonies."

Sparatus grunted, and Tevos smiled. "Then the motion is passed?" When no one objected, she nodded gracefully, and then tapped her comm-link. "Spectre Vasir, we're ready."

A few minutes later, the click of footsteps echoed upward. Udina glanced down the length of the Council chambers, emptied due to the delicacy of the discussion, to see the Spectre climbing up the steps, followed by Admiral Ahern, who had a complex look on his face.

Valern folded his arms. "Spectre Vasir, Admiral Ahern, welcome."

Ahern traded sour looks with the turian Admiral Hierax before glancing pointedly at Tela, who bowed to the Council. "Honored Councilors. We've determined the identity of the Butcher."

Udina's eyebrows shot up, while Sparatus leaned back on his spurs slightly, eyes narrowed.

Thin'Koris broke the silence. "And?"

Vasir's voice was almost quiet in the vast room. "We've been investigating the Butcher for some time now. While Spectre Delacor was assigned to Horizon, I was provided additional possible intel from the Council of Matriarchs regarding the Butcher. Using this information, combined with the video from Horizon and some analysis by Admiral Ahern's office… we've reached a rather startling conclusion."

Ahern's blunt features twisted into a grimace. "EDI's analysis determined the Butcher can't be an asari. Arm and leg movements are off, and if she was cybered up the stunt she pulled on Freedom's Progress would have blown all her cyberware up. Tela's information states T'Soni was definitely killed on Omega, so it can't be her."

Tevos eyed the other councilors nervously. "And what of other possibilities?"

Ahern met her gaze. "We've looked into that. Based on the information, other possibilities are extremely unlikely, leaving us with only one possibility."

Udina blinked. "And that is?"

Ahern pulled up something on his omni-tool. "EDI ran a number of possible simulations. The only one that made sense sounded crazy at first, but I've gone over the evidence and it is solid. To make sure, I had the staff at Arlington Memorial perform a gene-type test on the remains of Sara Shepard we buried after the incident on Omega. What we buried… was a goddamned flash-clone."

There was a long period of silence in the chamber, before Udina finally found his voice. "...My God. She's alive?"

Ahern shook his head. "I don't know. The only thing we can be sure of is that we didn't bury her, and whoever is calling herself the Butcher fits all of the movements and combat profiles of Shepard. This person moves like Shepard. They speak and fight like her too. EDI also thinks the copy of the Normandy we're seeing might be flown by Shepard's old pilot."

Valern frowned. "This still seems farfetched. Death is rather final, Admiral."

Ahern shrugged. "Look, I just stack the dots and present what I found. We know Huerta survived technical brain-death - and the lead doctor who worked on him vanished about two years ago. We know Cerberus is involved, that they've been investing in biotech and cloning. Given what they were doing before Shepard took them out, there's no telling what kind of shit they could have pulled. This could be some mad science project Cerberus cooked up."

Vasir interjected. "Or, given the fact that my own sources claim she had contact with the Illusive Man at some point, it could be she faked her own death somehow."

Ahern nodded and folded his arms. "Could be several things that don't make any sense. But my gut says EDI's right on this, and that's a big fucking problem."

Udina nodded grimly, but Tevos's expression flickered into curiosity. "Why is it a problem? Aside from the obvious fact that she's obviously knowledgeable about the Reapers and could blow that information into the open."

Udina answered. "Because Shepard had access to a great deal of sensitive, classified information that is now in the hands of Cerberus. Because if the Butcher is Shepard, then it either means Cerberus has done something ghastly to the remains of one of our greatest heroes… or that she abandoned us, and let her wife and friends die, to join Cerberus. As I strongly doubt it was the latter, we are now dealing with some kind of abomination. And given her connection to Archangel, it raises certain troubling questions about his origins as well."

Sparatus glanced at Thin'Koris. "That would put a damper on your plans to toss this vurgha cub into her lap, I would think."

Vasir spoke up. "Maybe, maybe not." She straightened. "Councilors, Shepard was… or possibly is, technically family. I don't know what Cerberus may or may not have done to her, but I would strongly suggest allowing me to try to make contact, with the backchannel communications method we have already used."

The asari smiled bleakly. "Best case, Shepard is the Butcher and is willing to work with us to do… whatever you have planned. Worse case, she's a threat and a liability and I can make an attempt to neutralize her on the spot… although, given the amount of support she has, that is likely to be very difficult to survive. Anyone else you send to make contact is going to be at risk because they won't be trusted."

Tevos traded glances with Valern before speaking. "Then I submit that you try to reach out to this Butcher, be it Shepard or something else, and learn what you can. Get them to come to the Citadel for a face-to-face, if you can."

Tela nodded. "Can I promise you won't try to arrest or seize her?"

Sparatus flicked his right mandible. "We have enough problems without trying to start a war in the Council Chambers. I'm hoping C-Sec has enough sense to not try and arrest someone who beat Okeer in single combat… but if not, we can issue orders to that effect." He paused. "I dislike the entire idea, but I will vote for it if we are allowed to make sure of the Butcher's identity."

Tevos nodded, as did Valern.

Udina hesitated, then shrugged. "Very well." His frown deepened. "But it seems we're making a great many assumptions in this course of action - namely that this Butcher can actually deal with the Collectors better than we can. Do any of you have any thoughts on that?"

Ahern snorted, and Udina turned to glance at him. "Admiral?"

Ahern hooked his fingers into his belt. "Look, I'm not fully briefed on whatever the fuck led you all to decide to put this in the Butcher's lap. Nor, despite what my gut and EDI are telling me, am I sure of what the Butcher is, or her goals. I will say this - if it is Shepard out there, then she did a pretty good job stopping Saren and Benezia."

Sparatus tilted his head slightly. "And if it isn't her, human?"

Ahern met the turian's gaze with his own, while his voice had gone several tones colder. "Then it really doesn't matter, because it's a Cerberus science fair fuckup, and those people couldn't run a goddamned taco stand without something going to shit on them. If it isn't her, Tela can handle it."

Udina's scowl didn't lighten. "That hardly fills me with confidence as to this plan actually working, then."

Ahern actually smiled, albeit tightly. "That's not my problem, now is it, Councilor?" He glanced around. "If there's nothing else you need me for, I have actual work to do. I'll have EDI send you the final research report and you can figure out if it's worth Tela's time to go after the Butcher and how to get in contact with her."

Tevos gave Ahern a very slight bow. "That will be all, Admiral. We thank you for your assistance."

Ahern glanced at Tela. "Come on. If you're doing this, I'd better brief you on what to expect." The two departed, leaving only the Council and Admiral Hierax.

Hierax forced his spurs down and gave a whistling noise, the turian equivalent of a gusty sigh. "I dislike that man intensely."

Sparatus gave a sharp bark of laughter. "He would like that, no doubt. Very well. I assume we're in agreement?"

Everyone nodded, and Thin'Koris smiled behind his mask. "Excellent. Then I believe all that remains is preparing a proper statement for the media, on our public courses of action and our condemnation of this attack on innocent people."

Udina sighed. "And how will that be done in a way that won't immediately result in people baying for action?"

Sparatus glanced at the turian Admiral. "Admiral Hierax, get ahold of the Primarch at his earliest convenience. We need to move some ships around, make this stupid farce of an effort look good." He glanced back at Udina. "I presume the Alliance will play the hero card with Spectre Delacor?"

Udina nodded sourly. "No doubt he's being given his orders as we speak."

O-TWCD-O

Jason Delacor grimaced as the medical bed elevated his upper body into a semi-upright position, the pain from his various lifesaving operations still filtering through the painkillers they had him on.

He'd been transferred from the med-bay of one of his destroyers to an Alliance medical-frigate and was now headed directly to Arcturus. It had taken six hours of surgeries and regenerators to save his life, and he wasn't sure of his own status. The things the doctors had said for the brief periods he'd been awake had not been reassuring, and he figured he was in for more cyberware installations.

Still, he was alive. He hadn't figured his luck would hold out that much. He was sure there was going to be trouble ahead though, given the fact that the Fleet Master was in the small room they had him in on the frigate. "Good morning, sir. If it's morning, that is."

Admiral Dragunov gave a wintry smile that did nothing to soften the harsh slopes of his face. "It's morning, Captain. As you can imagine, there's a great deal of disquiet and, shall we say, political nonsense going down right now, and you're stuck in the middle of it."

Delacor nodded. "And Horizon?"

Dragunov's thin smile vanished. "Destroyed. The inner planets were vaporized; one of the gas giants had its atmosphere blown off and the core of the planet reduced to rubble. The outer two planets and the mass relay took some damage, but the relay is working, although drift misalignment is quite large and verging on dangerous. All told, we were able to evacuate just under three hundred and sixty thousand people. Given the heavy casualties – which can hardly be confirmed now – we can only presume we had to abandon hundreds of thousands."

Delacor nodded. "What happens to the survivors? They weren't SA citizens."

Dragunov gave a shrug. "Most of the Horizon leadership was killed in the opening minutes of the attack. Right now, the colonists are being taken to Arcturus for treatment and interview. Given that Horizon's past is somewhat unusual for an independent colony, offers of Class II citizenship will be offered with no charges for the first two years to any who choose to take them."

Delacor arched an eyebrow. "Unusually generous of the SA."

Dragunov walked to the narrow port and stared into space. "It is, no doubt, a public relations maneuver. One of several in the coming weeks, I expect. Which segues neatly into my next point, regarding you."

The older man adjusted his uniform before continuing. "While the Admiralty signed off on your mission to Horizon, it was technically a Spectre operation. That being said, the one upside of this mess is that the independent colonies were impressed the SA would defend Horizon in any fashion, and two of them agreed this morning to submit to acclimatization and Class I processing status."

Delacor managed to pull up a smile. "That's... good. Given Horizon's history as a former Alliance colony, I'm sure we were sort of expected to help out, but I'm glad it has had a useful effect. I'm assuming the bad news is regards to my losses?"

Dragunov nodded sourly. "Yes. The losses were bad, although hardly total. Not sure if the docs told you, but your pilot Li An managed to pull through. Most of the injured you had on the escape pods did too. But four of your five frigates went down with all hands, and one of your three destroyers was obliterated with no survivors. The Kazan is basically a wreck – we'll refit her, for image's sake, but the beating she took was incredible."

Delacor closed his eyes. "If the blasted Collectors hadn't vanished—"

Dragunov interrupted. "We know. Personally, I'd have done the same to the murdering bastards, but officially you know the Alliance can't just let the fact you lost seven ships go without some form of Admiralty review. Once you recover you'll interview with the Council to debrief and then you will submit to special courts-martial." He returned to his seat, and Delacor frowned.

"So what do I do in the meantime? I'm sure someone will try to get my version of events, some reporter. Tell them 'no comment'?"

Dragunov leaned forward as Delacor opened his eyes wearily again. "I'm giving you official notice – until your debrief, say nothing to anyone regarding what you did, said, or saw at Horizon. Commissar Jiong will be ensuring your privacy, but the long and short of it is that you're likely to either be made into a hero or into a scapegoat over this mess, and that depends on how well you fall in line, Captain. I trust I am clear?"

Delacor came very close to spitting in the Admiral's face, but instead merely nodded, although his voice was bitter. "Of course, Admiral. God forbid I say anything counter to whatever fantasy story the High Admiralty dreams up to explain why we've been letting giant bugs kidnap hundreds of thousands of humans, or why if the geth are on the run we're still fighting husks."

Dragunov's eyes narrowed. "Sarcasm will not improve the situation, Captain. I have long disagreed about this course of action, and now the Butcher's actions – and those of the Collectors – have thrown it into the public eye. There will no doubt be a cover story of some form, perhaps linking the Collectors in with the geth. The important thing is to prevent wild and ultimately pointless speculation."

The old Admiral's omni-tool glowed faintly and chimed, and he tapped it. "Dragunov here."

An apologetic voice sounded. "Apologies for the interruption, sir. We're coming up on the Sarass Relay, and we need to transmit authorization clearance for the non-Alliance ships carrying refugees. You're needed back on the Jon Grissom."

"Very well. Bring the fleet to a halt at the relay and line up for serial transit. I'll be there shortly to communicate with Border Control." He clicked off and glanced back at Delacor. "I am not entirely displeased by the actions at Horizon, Captain. Other men would have buckled and either fled or simply died. Commissar Jiong's report of events has done much to remove the stigmata of your defeat by pointing out the losses among the Butcher's own highly advanced ships."

The old Admiral faced him fully. "You'll come out of this a hero if you play your cards right. So don't mess it up by talking."

Delacor gave a pained smile. "And if the Council demands answers?"

Dragunov shook his head. "Udina is supposed to be dealing with that – if it occurs, obey Udina's instructions and let him deal with the fallout."

With that, the Fleet Master left, and Delacor leaned back silently against the pillows, wondering what would happen next.

O-TWCD-O

"Commissar, front and center."

The room Susan D'Alte entered into was wide, with slanted walls done in cold, black durasteel, trimmed in dark mahogany wood. A bright runnel of red silk ran down the wall in the back, framing the black star of the Commissariat. The walls were thick and oppressive, and the quartet of Lancers in black armor at the back with drawn weapons was not a reassurance.

The single table in the room was massive, bulky and thick, projecting the power of the two senior commandants and the High Commandant, all of whom fixed her with grim expressions. The center of the room was brightly illuminated by a harsh spotlight. She came to a neat stop in the circle of light and straightened to full attention, suppressing the pain in her left leg.

"Reporting as ordered, masters."

The past two years had been more than a little unpleasant. After her catastrophic failure at making sure Liara T'Soni was safe, she'd been stripped of her rank and sent to supervise prison labor camps in Brazil for three months. Given the nature of most of outer Brazil – a radioactive wasteland and barren shithole – such duty was usually given to those seen as irredeemable by the Commissariat.

That assignment had ended up poorly when there was an escape attempt – she stopped it, but lost an eye doing so. They considered that substandard, so she was given to Assessment and used for six months in sting operations as a sexual target, and given to the Behavioral Corps for a year to test out different conditioning models on.

The past three months she'd been paired with field teams in the worst parts of Earth, hunting down criminals and bringing justice to them. She'd been given only substandard Lancers who failed conditioning to 'use up and find any that could make the cut' and more than once she'd nearly been murdered by her own soldiers.

Her wounds had been barely patched up before she was flung out again, and again. Insufficient rations. No recovery periods. Long regimes of various 'study protocols' and medical tests – which she suspected were prototype tests. It had left scars, mental and physical. There were days she wasn't sure who she was. She'd had at least two mind-wipes, and that was not even counting the other issues.

They'd made her hack off her long mane of hair, and it had yet to grow all the way back yet. She squared her shoulders and tried to meet the gaze of her superiors, and found it difficult to do so. More conditioning, she suspected.

The High Commandant glanced at the tablet in his hands. "Susan D'Alte. We have reviewed your actions, as has the Behavioral Cadre. Your inattention to your assigned charge – Baroness Liara T'Soni-Shepard – resulted in the death of the Baroness, a highly placed turian C-Sec detective, and an additional member of the Thirty. Your inability to deal with personal issues is seen as the most likely result, and you have undergone hard refurbishment as a result. Despite this, your performance to date has not improved in the eyes of the Commissariat."

Susan only stood at attention, trying not to start shaking.

The hard face of de la Muerte did not soften. "The recommendation of the Behavioral Cadre is recycling for testing purposes. The recommendation of the Guidance Cadre is immediate termination. You are to be given to the Behavioral Cadre for systemic study and neural testing and then disposed of... unless you can prove to this assembly you are actually fit for duty."

She swallowed. The scar tissue along her right eye felt tight and hot. The scratchy wool of the dress blacks was suffocating. Her voice came out more than a tad unsteady. "Sir?"

The High Commandant set the tablet aside. "We are going to provide you with one additional chance to avoid being thrown into the vats, D'Alte. The death of an entire noble family is not something that is taken lightly, and the High Lords have expressed their extreme displeasure at this. Commissar Jiong's failure was grievous but, all parties agree, also unforeseeable. Even if he had been aboard the Normandy, Baroness Shepard still may have died."

He leveled a black gloved finger. "You, on the other hand, knew full well T'Soni was mentally and emotionally unstable, and that she needed direct oversight. Instead you failed to ensure she was secure, and as a result she died. She died in a pointless gesture in a hellish fashion. She most likely died in agony. We do not assign political officers to be friendly or sympathetic. Nor are you there to 'fix' your subjects, but to monitor and protect. You failed utterly at that."

He glanced at the tablet. "Since then, your actions and performance have not impressed us, but have shown you are at least obedient, if not competent."

His voice hardened further. "Against the recommendation of the Cadres, we are going to provide you with an assignment. Let me be extremely clear – failure in this will not be tolerated – you will be immediately field liquidated should you not succeed. Your assigned duty will be a very high-profile Alliance officer, with very high visibility and connections."

One of the commandants to the side spoke, his voice grating with a cybernetic voder. "The assigned person is also – possibly – connected to certain parties and events we are interested in. Details will be provided in the materials we give you. He was committed due to a psychotic break after the death of someone close to him... but it is suspected he came across something or uncovered something that led to this, as the break did not happen after the death but some time later. He was not held by Alliance medical specialists but the AIS in a special psych ward, and it's possible he has had a chemical mind-wipe. We do not have a firm PRIDE rating on this individual."

The other commandant scowled, her features set in a mask of clear disagreement. "Let this be very clear. You are going to undertake this role for your foreseeable future. If you do very well, you will not be terminated. It is almost certain that we will never find enough trust in your abilities or judgment to suggest removal of behavioral implants, and we have added additional mental restraints to your conditioning. Additionally, you are going to be fitted with a cortex bomb."

The High Commandant spoke. "Finally, you will remain under strict communications isolation. You will attend to your subject at all times. If you mess this up, the ramifications to the Alliance could be extremely severe. The cost and ramifications to the Commissariat will be extremely severe."

Susan merely nodded. "Understood, masters. I will not disappoint you. Who is the subject?"

The High Commandant's smile was like ice. "Commodore David Anderson. He has a meeting with the Alliance Board of Military Health at ten AM tomorrow. You will be his legal representation. Files regarding his case and the legal issues involved have been sent to your omni-tool for direct upload to your graybox."

He fixed her with another hard stare. "Failure is not acceptable this time, D'Alte. The only reason you aren't back in Behaviors being fitted for testing routines is someone put in a word for you, and because some parties were actually happy at T'Soni's death."

He folded his arms. "But that's all the grace we are going to provide. Fail and you know the consequences. An aircar will be here tomorrow at eight AM to take you to the hearing. Dismissed."

She spun on a heel – almost stumbling due to the badly designed balance package in her leg – and left. Her body moved on autopilot toward the cramped and darkened quarters she shared with four other 'failures', as her mind tried to piece together who could have spoken for her. No one immediately came to mind except Alfred, but his word wouldn't have any sway.

She tried once again to remember Alfred's face, and once again the agony from her conditioning spiked, nearly making her fall to the ground. But she smiled.

If she still felt pain, that meant she still remembered. It was the only thing she had left to hold onto… and she would keep holding on to it. As long as she didn't give up, she could endure anything.

Even this.