HOLOCAUST

CHAPTER ELEVEN:

PRESSURE

June 6, 2186

2153 hours.

Port Observation, Normandy-Class Stealth Frigate SSV Normandy SR-2, Docked with the Citadel.

The Reaper War.

Military Advisor Garrus Vakarian.

Garrus Vakarian sat behind the lounge in the Port Observation room, legs tucked neatly before him and a bottle of turian brandy ontop of the bench before him, one of the turian's three-fingered hands lazily swirling the dark liquid around in a glass as he looked into its inner depths, deep in his own realms of thought.

The Normandy was currently docked with the Citadel, refueling, rearming and resupplying, while Shepard also went to attend a meeting with Hackett and Udina over the future of the Systems Alliance, and whether it should join the UGC or not. The Normandy had spearheaded the return of the mercenary ships, until they broke off; after a final goodbye, Zaeed took Palisus and the rest of his troops and returned to Zorya; the merc had heard reports of Reaper forces probing the Ismar Frontier, and wanted to evacuate the planet and relocate his headquarters. Sayn took his Eclipse and remained on the Citadel, while Gryll took the Blood Pack to the vorcha homeworld...under Aria's command. The asari herself had returned to Purgatory, although reluctantly. Garrus laughed inwardly at that; take Afterlife away from the great Aria T'Loak, and she founders. Should have considered blowing up the place when I was still Archangel...

He sighed happily, taking another sip of his drink, which was the third he had. He wasn't planning on getting drunk, just enough to wash away the memories of watching Eclipse mercs get blown apart, Blood Pack vorcha get chewed by bullets, and Blue Suns get eviscerated by phantoms. The Battle for Colony Ohio on Eden Prime had been some of the bloodiest fighting he had seen, with the exception of Menae, and it shook him down to the core. He knew war was brutal, and deep down, he knew he had seen worse, but to see it again and again? It wasn't something you got used to; not even soldiers. You'd have to be ice-cold.

Garrus was not ice-cold. But his drink was.

He grunted as he leaned forward over the bench, moving to fill his glass again, which he had just discovered was now absent of his brandy. He was flicking the cap when he heard a voice right next to him, one that almost caused him to jump...if it hadn't been for him being used to it by now.

"Alochol is bad for you, you know," she stated, materializing on the stool on his left, grinning wickedly behind her hood.

"Only in large amounts," Garrus reasoned. He continued despite the thief's observations, and when he was done, the glass was once again half full, sitting before him in a dark swirl. He heard a sigh from her corner, followed by what he saw was an eye roll.

"Hey, only I'm allowed to try ad spout nonsense," Kasumi quipped, shaking her head, "You should know better, Vakarian."

"Trust me, I do know better. Secretly. Not so secretly," the turian retorted, a pathetic grin splitting his face, "Eh, who cares. Its my business what I drink, not yours. Why are you even here?"

"Um...I sleep here?" Kasumi replied, giggling, "Remember, the Lounge is my domain."

"On the old Normandy," he replied.

"This still is that Normandy," she replied, "Just with Alliance colors." She saw the look he gave her, and she sighed, holding her hands up in defeat, "Okay, they've changed it alot; but hey, inside looks aren't everything, you know! The Lounge is still here, so its still my room! I think I have a right to know why you're hogging all the dextro alcohol."

He nodded, conceding to her point, "Well, I couldn't let you control all the booze, now could I? You've got so much. I thought I'd...lessen the pressure," he smirked, before taking another sip of his drink, "Damn. No idea why I drink this; what did Zaeed call it? That's right! He said it tastes like piss," he lapped his tongue out, demonstrating his distaste, "And yet I keep drinking it."

"Yes, you're repulsive. Don't think I feel sorry for you," she replied, shaking her head with mirth, "Because I don't. You brought this on yourself, Vakarian."

"Noted," was his simple retort, and with a smile he went to take a another sip of his drink, before Kasumi roughly took it from his hands and tipped it back into the bottle, before fastening the cap over it. It took his befuddled, woozy mind to comprehend what she was doing, and finally he spoke, "Hey! What are you doing?"

"Cutting you off, dino," she replied, taking the bottle back around the counter and putting it away, "You know how Shep dislikes drunkards, and especially on his ship."

"He..." the turian hiccuped, waggling a finger a-matter-of-factly, ""He...is a hypocrite! I...can drink...what I want!"

"You tipsy imbecile," the thief retorted, leaning over the counter with a raised eyebrow, "He's never gotten drunk...ever. And just because you're on 'big brother' terms with him, doesn't mean you get a free pass on getting drunk. He'll still kick your butt."

"Ass," he corrected, "You can say ass, you know."

"Nah. I leave bad words to you tough guys. And Jack," she grinned, shaking her head, "Besides, among my people, its bad to use insults casually; it brings create disrespect to our family. I'd be a terrible Goto if I broke that rule now."

"The Japanese sound very humble. How very turian," he grunted, sighing, "Fine. You have my attention, Goto. What do you...want?"

"Oh, I have a motivation now? How very...thiefist? No, no that sounded very bad. Not going to say that one again," he heard the distaste in her voice, and he smiled, although for some reason that was the same for every time she spoke, especially with him, "But uh...why would I need a motivation?"

"You always do," he stated simply, and she nodded, conceding to his point.

"Was just worried about ya, is all," she replied, eyes taking on an inquisitive shape, "You are okay, right? You don't look well."

"I'm fine," the turian grunted, eyes narrowing as he looked back down at the tabletop. So that's how it's going to be, is it? A fucking psych check?

"No you're not," she firmly stated, her own eyes narrowing, "Don't give me that tough guy stuff, because it won't work on me; or any woman with any intellect. I may not have a shotgun to threaten you with like Tali does, but I can threaten to throw your precious sniper rifle out an airlock."

He turned to her incredulously, "You wouldn't."

Her eyes gleamed, "I would. Especially if I found your mandibles not moving and words coming out, words along the lines of an explanation of why you seem to look so gloomy. You haven't left this room since we got back to the ship."

He merely glared at her, clearly showing no intent on telling her, but knowing that if he didn't, she would carry out her threat. With an exhale of breath, he leaned back, letting his glass sit on the countertop, "Fine. You want to know what's bothering me? This war. Everything to do with it. That's what."

"You think you're the only one?" Kasumi replied, coming around to take a seat next to him, sighing as she sank into it, "Everyone's bothered by this war. I'm bothered by this war. Shep's bothered by this war, even if he won't admit it."

"It's just..." he stopped himself, before continuing, trying to cling to any words that could assemble a sentence of explanation, "I watched my homeworld burn, Kasumi. I effectively let my family behind to die; do you have any idea what that's like? Knowing your family, your parents, your sister, were trapped on your homeworld, knowing they were alive, and just leaving them and running off? It hurts. Spirits, I don't even know if they're still alive or not. They could dead. I wouldn't know. The Reapers have jammed all outbound communications. I was fighting on a moon, only to be picked up and flown off to fight the war somewhere else, while my family likely perished."

"Don't be like that," Kasumi replied sternly, her cheery exterior gone, "Your family is not dead. You said it yourself; you know they're alive. Maybe they escaped, and you just don't know. Don't jump to conclusions. And running off was the right thing; what we're doing will save everyone."

"That's if this weapon is even reliable. If it even works. If its not some elaborate trap," he justified, shaking his head, "I've put all my faith in Shepard, and I have to believe he'll get it done, with our help. But if this weapon really does prove to be a ruse? What then? Just what hope do we have? You haven't seen the Reapers in action Kasumi; you haven't been on or seen a planet they are razing; its total destruction, and you can't even stop them; it took the combined fire of five fleets just to land a few kills. And we're hoping every fleet in the galaxy will stop hundreds of thousands of them," he sighed, "The odds aren't in our favor. They never have been."

"But that's what Shep does best," Kasumi quipped, "Beating the odds. Achieving the impossible. Garrus, he came back from the dead."

"Yeah," the turian rumbled, chuckling slightly, "He does have a habit of doing that," his laugh became genuine, "And he did lead a team into the Collector Base with no casualties. That's quite a mean feat."

"So why don't you think we can win this?" Kasumi quiered.

The mirth was gone from his eyes in a moment as he turned to face her, "Because I think even the man who beats all the odds has an anchor. That anchor isn't here, and he's falling apart. You should see him when he's alone, Kasumi. I've asked EDI. He just looks through messages on his terminal, galactic news, and most of it is status reports on Earth. He hasn't talked to his mother, and most of his outbound communications are to Hackett or other military or political figures. And when he's not doing any of that...he drinks. Heavily."

"Are you telling me he gets drunk?" Kasumi said, flabbergasted, "He gets a hangover?"

"No. His new body makes him incapable of that," Garrus informed her, "His cybernetics filter out all the alcohol and effectively destroy it. Its impossible for him to get drunk, no matter how much he drinks. I think he knows that, but he tries anyway. I guess he just wants to forget all the stuff he's seen. The death. The destruction. But most of all, I think he just craves to have that anchor, his rock, near him."

"'His rock?'" she questioned, "Are we talking about...?"

"You know damn well who I'm talking about. He's lost without her," he leaned forward, towering over his drink, glancing into its alcoholic depths, "The man's a wreck, and there's not a damn thing any of us can do about it; he has to figure this out for himself. We either find Tali soon, or he's just going to become a robot. A soldier with no emotions. A machine, in all but name."

"You really think it'll get that bad?" she asked, worried, "He'll just cut himself off?"

"Considering the things we've seen..." he trailed off, finally picking up his glass and just holding it, "I think being a machine would be just fine. Just to be desensitized to it all...to not feel anything, to not feel all the horrors of it all...the nightmares it induces...it sounds like my idea of heaven. How could I blame him?" he took a sip and gulped, sighing, "But once you become a machine, it means you cease being what you were. All your morals just die; only logic remains. And that's what scares me. That the Shepard we both know will just cease to exist and become a...a perversion of what we knew."

He turned towards her, meeting her eyes, mandibles twitching, "That man once taught me that justice and revenge need to be two seperate things for an officer; for one is truth, and the other is personal truth. That's what corrupts people, he said. He taught me that after I almost shot Tali to kill a criminal we were chasing who was holding her hostage," he shook away the sadness of the day, "I wasn't proud of that, and he kicked my ass for it, but I learnt in the end; I became a better man. But what if that man were to just die, moralistically, if not physically? What if one day...he just killed without a thought, showed no mercy, maimed and destroyed...Kasumi, what if that machine one day met his wife again?"

Kasumi gulped, not liking the implications, "Tali would change him back."

"That's pretty optimistic," Garrus countered.

"Optimism's all we have left in this," Kasumi retorted, "If we give up on hope, what's the point on fighting? We might as well give ourselves up and be harvested. And I don't know about you, but I'm not about to surrender to Harbinger. He's very scary...and a bit condescending."

That caused Garrus to smile lightly, "True. Harbinger is a bit of a prick. But so is the Illusive Man," his smile died, and he shook his head, "I just hope we find Tali soon...and quickly, before it all goes to shit."

"You'll get no arguments from me," she spun to face the counter, smiling, "Mind if I join you? I could use a drink myself. Clear my thoughts."

He nodded, "I'd...I'd like that."

And so they both drank in silence, both hoping for a brighter future.

It was a desperate hope.

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June 7, 2186

1239 hours.

Admiral's Quarters, Wyoming-Class Destroyer QMFV Machina, Migrant Fleet, Sea of Storms System, Phoenix Massing Cluster.

The Reaper War.

Admiral Tali'Shepard vas Machina.

The room was deadly silent, save for the gentle hum of the former human destroyer's pulsing engines rumbling through the ship, and the numerous quarians moving about outside her quarters. Her ship was heavily staffed, and not lacking in a marine continegent, so it meant her ship was just as noisy as all the others on the Fleet.

Unlike most Migrant Fleet ships however, the Machina and much more going for it in terms of space. While still considerably small, it was bigger than what most ship captains got, let alone an Admiral, and had enough room for her to walk in circles. Her clan colors, purple for Clan Zorah, were draped along the walls, although now obsolete and just a relic, because she was no longer a Zorah, and was successfully married into Clan Shepard, or whatever humans called their clan system. It had a single door ahead of her as an entrance, a basic sleeping mat on the left, and a large desk at the end, with an observation window behind her allowing a view of the void that made up the universe around them. Aside from that, it was a rather dull room, and nothing of note.

Sitting on that desk was a basic terminal, a few scattered tools, a prototype omni-tool, a few arc grenades, and a collapsed form of her combat drone, Chiktika vas Paus. The terminal was open, and numerous tabs were opened, some pertaining to news on the Reaper War, others on weapons and omni-tool selections. One particular tab, one she had open for ages, was a tab with the search ponder 'Marcus Shepard,' which she had open constantly for updates. And sitting behind that desk, lamp shining over her in the darkened room, was Tali'Shepard, Crew of Machina, Ex-Crew of Normandy, Ex-Crew of Neema, Child of Rayya, combat engineer, captain and Chief Admiral of the Admiralty Board; the Migrant Fleet's military order and command structure; equivalent of the turian and asar High Command.

Tali was multitasking, at concurrent. While one three-fingered, gloved hand glided over her terminal keypad, typing in commands and messages, the other held a small child, a human-quarian hybrid, tiny three-fingered hands grasping at his mother's suit covering, little mouth latched around her left breast, which she had exposed temporarily to feed her child; most normal mothers went to a clean room for breastfeeding, but Tali was simply too busy for that. Is this what father was like? Too busy to look after his own child? Keelah, I'm beginning to understand his position. Still, he could have at least told me 'I love you' every once and a while; he only got around to that when he was dying.

Her child was a marvaleous piece of creation, and she was proud to be his mother. As previously stated, he was a human-quarian hybrid; a byproduct of a cross-species reproduction serum created by Professor Mordin Solus, a close friend of hers, to give Marcus and herself a chance at having children, something robbed of them by their differing biological structures and species. The serum had worked, just as Mordin said it would, and Tali had gotten pregnant with the first ever hybrid child recorded in history.

And like you'd expect from a hybrid, he (yes, the child turned out to be a boy), had features from both species. Physically, the boy was quarian; he had three-fingered hands and three-toed feet, the arched back, arched legs, eyes, ears (which Marcus had called 'elf ears,' although she never understood why) and hair of a quarian male. At first, Tali thought he'd have nothing from his father's side, but then Elan ran a scan.

Inside, Junior was human; and what was the best part, was that counted for the immune system was well; his immune system meant he did not need a suit or a bubble. He had the heart, two lungs, kidneys, genitalia, etc of a human male, which was truly remarkable. Tali had smiled at this revelation, and cried in celebration that her child would never know the horrors of the prison that was quarian enviro-suits.

And yes, his name was Junior; according to quarian custom, and she assumed this was universal across all species, both parents came up with a name for the child, and when in agreement, passed it down. But since the father was off and likely light years away, that only left the mother and being devoted to quarian beliefs, she decided to wait until the father was present to name their child; so for now, his name was Junior.

Suddenly, broken from her stupor, she heard the sucking noises stop, and sighed as she knew what came next, and come it did; Junior began wailing. This process had occurred almost repeititively, but Tali knew how to solve it; she would rock him back and forth, whispering soft, khelish reassurances to him before he would then fall asleep. When he woke up, which was usually half a minute later, he would go back to sucking happily, and the process would repeat later on. She did this, and, right on the ball, he woke up and began sucking again, and she returned to work.

Keelah, nursing a child like this was hard, but it wasn't nearly as hard as-

The memories washed back almost immediately.

"Admir-Tali, you need to push!" Elan ordered, desperately trying to be heard over the quarian's screaming, "You're almost there! You just need to-"

"Elan, let me handle this," Shala ordered, and gently shoved the doctor out of the way, taking hold of Tali's hand, "Tali, its Auntie Raan. Look, you can't give up now. You need to keep pushing."

"I...I...c-c-can-can't...DO IT!" At the last two words, the baby was kicking again, and Tali let out another shriek of agony, but kept her legs parted on the bed, Elan on the other side with two other doctors, waiting for the baby to appear.

"Yes you can child," Shala growled, "We will not let this child die, or you, because you chose to give up."

"M-M-Ma-Marcus..." she whispered, a tear dropping down her cheek, "I-I need...him..."

"Marcus isn't here, I'lessha," Shala cooed, feeling sympathetic for the girl, "He's on Earth, in prison, remember?"

"I...I...I need him...please..." she screamed again, and this time Elan held a thumbs up, to let her know the baby was coming out, but Tali's pleas didn't stop, "MARCUS! PLEASE! I NEED YOU!"

"He's not-"

"Shut up!" Tali silenced, and Shala did exactly that, as the quarian continued to scream, "Keelah, it hhhhhhhhhuuuuuuuurrrRRRRRRRTTTTTTTTTTSSSSSSSSSS!"

A loud pop could be heard, followed by a final high-pitched wail from Tali, before she slumped in the bed, legs collapsing, but not before the baby was retrieved and the cord cut. The sounds of a baby crying could be heard, but Tali did not acknowledge it, and Shala could only barely make out her mutterings, "Marcus...Marcus...Marcus..." she choked back a sob, "I need you..."

"Ma'am?"

Tali's sob suddenly ceased, and as she looked up, she saw Junior looking back down at her with squinted eyes, Elan smiling behind her mask sadly at Tali as the quarian mother observed her child's naked, wet body, gently wrapped up in a warm towel. She continued to cry, but suddenly, Tali reached out, taking the child in her arms and resting him against her chest, the child's wailing suddenly stopping, as if the connection between mother and child was complete. Tali half-laughed, stroking her child's bald head with a gloved finger. She choked back another sob, a few more tears streaking down her face, but Shala didn't know if they were of sadness or joy at this point; maybe they were both.

"Keelah Se'lai," she whispered to him, "Marcus, I wish you could be here...to see this...to see our son..." she sobbed once more, and Shala quickly relieved the child from her arms and turned her away as Tali broke into a fit of weeping, occassionally crying out Marcus' name, along with what sounded to be a name for a child.

She was suddenly returned to the present, and Tali blinked, realizing Junior had fallen asleep in her arms. She also noticed that her cheeks were wet, and she had been crying. Sniffling, she went to wipe her eyes, only for her hands to bump against her visor, and she sighed, picking up Junior and placing him in his cot, before returning to her desk, placing her breast back in the suit and sealing it back up.

Just as she was about to return to work however, she heard a knock on the door, and sighed. And just as she had been moving to select the 'Marcus Shepard' tab, too. Just one moment alone. That's all I ask. Must my people need my time constantly?

She called out for the person to enter, and watched as the door shot open, Igra standing outside with her hands lazily hanging at her sides, with what looked to be a impatient looking Kal hefting a crate standing behind her, waiting on Igra's orders. Tali nodded for them to speak, and Igra did so, stepping forward as Kal did, "Well, I have some good news, Admiral."

"Igra, its Tali, for the last time," she replied sternly, meeting the quarian's eyes, "And what may this good news be?"

"Well...Mrs. Shepard," she replied cheekily, ignoring the Admiral's eye roll, "Your new suit has arrived. The combat one you ordered made?"

Tali straightened, interest suddenly peaked and turning off her terminal, "You mean the prototype combat suit?"

"Yes, that one," Igra waved a dismissive hand, pretending to contemplate beforehand, "I can never remember their names. Alot of needless scientific dribble to sugar-coat some badass tech. We honestly should just call it that, 'Badass Tech Suit.' That sounds alot cooler now, doesn't it?"

"Just show me the suit Igra," she ordered, coming to stand infront of the desk, leaning against it, crossing her arms under her breasts, "I am not in the mood today for your games. Get on with it."

She noticed Igra's eyes lower to her breasts for a second before quickly focusing back on her eyes, and nodding, something of a smirk forming behind her mask, "Okay, then Mrs. Grouchy," she turned to Kal, "Put down the crate and open it, but don't touch the suit. You have a wife."

"A fact I'm well aware of," Kal deadpanned, and moved and placed the crate down on the ground, standing up and using his omni-tool to key the lock and open it. With the seal broken, he placed both hands under the seal and forced it open, before stepping back, and standing at attention. Igra, still grinning, swooned over to the crate, reached inside, and pulled out the contents, turning towards Tali to show her what lay inside.

It was a technological masterpiece; armor fit for a marine; but this wasn't just armor, this was a totally new enviro-suit made entirely for sustained combat scenarios. The suit looked like hers in general design and shape, and did have her Zorah colors draped over it like her currrent one, but there was design choices put to it; the suit was now laced with golden belts and armoured sections, along with a long line of black armoured plates lining down the sternum and breasts, and a flexible metal hood; even the mask was made of reinforced glass. The suit now had two boot knife holsters, and even seemed to come with a bandolier belt. It was perfect.

Tali held out her hands, and Igra let her take it, the quarian admiral examining it more closely; it was light to the touch and not very heavy, so it wouldn't limit her in battle. It was flexible but also provided heavy protection, and she could see a state-of-the-art kinetic barrier generator hooked on the side; no doubt some poor pilgrim went to alot of trouble to acquire that. Hopefully, he or she didn't steal that. She nodded, looking at Igra, "This is excellent. Very well designed."

"Your battle armor, Admiral Shepard," Igra stated with some smugness, "Courtesy of my uncle. I did tell you he was a great craftsman; mix that with being good at making suits and armor, and you've got the perfect man for making stuff like this," her position then slumped, eyes frowning behind her mask, "But if I may ask, just what are you planning to use this for?"

"When we engage the Reapers in battle. I may be an Admiral, but I am a soldier, first and foremost, and my place is at my husband's side," Tali replied, as if rehearsed as she lay the suit on her desk, turning back to face her XO, "The Reapers are ravaging the galaxy as we speak, Igra, do not think I have not read the news reports. Marcus is no doubt fighting them right now, and I promised him the Migrant Fleet. Our survival depends on it."

"That's a pretty hard promise to keep," Igra noted, "You may be Chief of the Board, but the people still need to vote on it, along with the rest of the Board and the Conclave. You can't just decide to give 50,000 ships and 17 million quarians over to one man to use and command; there will be disagreement. Besides, from what I've heard, old issues seem to be popping up."

"Old issues? As in?" Tali asked, not sure she'd like the answer, as she crossed her arms again. Before Igra could answer, Kal spoke, deciding he'd best spit it out.

"Many of our people seem to believe we should use the Reaper invasion as a distraction. An opportunity," he sighed, looking at her, "I think you know what for. After drifting around for three hundred years, I think there's only one thing our people want more than anything else."

"Rannoch. The home of our ancestors," Tali answered for him, nodding, a grimace covering her face, "And they are insane to think of such things. We need to be dealing with the real threat; the Reapers. We can't waste time and resources invading the Perseus Veil. Besides, the geth are willing to talk! You spoke with Legion, Kal! If our two peoples can achieve peace, we'll not only get Rannoch back, but the geth and our people will be united against the Reapers. Marcus said it himself, 'The one thing the Council should fear the most after the Reapers is a quarian-geth alliance; they'd be close to unstoppable.'"

"I never said I agreed with the consensus opinion, Mrs. Shepard. I spoke to Legion, as did Madi. Keelah, I was there when Shepard first talked to the thing. Ready to shoot it and everything," he waved a hand, "I know we can achieve peace, but not everyone else sees it that way; they see an enemy that exiled them to the stars for three centuries and to a life of torment, misery and solitary confinement. They want ground beneath their feet once more; they want our homeworld back. We've suffered long enough for our mistake, they say."

"Besides," Igra spoke, having already been filled in on the situation. She hadn't liked it to begin with, and had considered accusing her of treason, but once the situation was further explained, she eventually took their side, and elected not to tell the Admiralty or anyone else about it, "I have to agree with them."

"Igra?" Tali asked, flabbergasted, "Why?"

"I understand the Reaper threat. Which is exactly why we need Rannoch back," she justified, "Once we have Rannoch back in our grasp, we'll have a place to hide our civilians. When that's done, we'll be able to deploy the entire flotilla for battle; keelah Tali, we'll be able to retrofit the liveships into dreadnoughts. The entire Migrant Fleet will be free to use, but while our people live on them...any battle with the Reapers might mean our people's complete extinction."

Tali wanted to deny her logic, but she was right. They needed Rannoch; only that world could sustain and nurture the quarian people properly, and it was the only homeworld her people would accept. Our civilians would be safe, and people like Koris would be far from the battle; unable to influence tactical decisions. Gerrel would be at his best use fighting the Reapers, as would Xen. But what if we acquired Rannoch without invading? The entire geth fleet and army; they would make us unbelievably powerful; and they don't have civilians. All they have to do is give one a gun, and they're a soldier in seconds. Their entire species would be deployable military force...think of the force we could apply to the Reapers!

"I see your point, but invading the Perseus Veil would be foolhardy at present. We need to consider...better options," Tali concluded.

"Well...that's where the problem comes in," Igra solemnly declared, and all eyes turned on her, including Kal's, who looked at her in confusion. Tali was easily as confused, frowning at Igra as she spoke, while her XO seemed to be trying to avoid her gaze.

"Igra, what do you mean by that?"

The quarian finally met her eyes, shaking her head, "The Admiralty Board has convened a meeting. Gerrel has requested you appear; its being held on the Qwib Qwib."

"They convened a meeting without my consent? And now Gerrel has the audacity to request my presence?" Tali growled, exhaling, "Fine, I will appear, if only to find out the meaning of this."

"Tali, the problem is, I don't think this is an ordinary meeting," she stated, rubbing her mask, "Gerrel made it sound as if this meeting could decide the fate of the quarian people, he was that punctual with his words."

This peaked Tali's interest and she nodded slowly, "Very well, then I will see what this is about. Igra, prep my shuttle on the Trading Deck. I will be there within ten minutes. I need to have someone look after Junior while I'm gone. And no Igra, it won't be you; you're coming with me."

Igra nodded, snapping a salute, as did Kal, before both hastily left, and Tali slumped into her seat, giving Junior a single glance as she sighed. Tearing her eyes away from the sleeping demon, she looked at her terminal, and at the unsubmitted request for news on Marcus Shepard. Not now. Maybe later. She bookmarked the search query, and then closed the tab, standing up and placing her combat suit back in its crate, which she promptly sealed and slid over to the right of her desk, where it stayed hidden until needed. When she was done, she grabbed her phalanx heavy pistol and strapped it to her hip; a habit she had picked up from Marcus. Everytime we used to go somewhere, thinking no violence would ensue, and it did. Well, this time I'm prepared. Always. And with a passing glance at her sleeping boy, she turned and left, heading for the med bay, where hopefully the ship's medical officer could look after Junior.

Then she'd have a meeting to attend. And if she hadn't any say in it, it would not lead to the invasion that the Fleet did not need.

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June 7, 2186

1300 hours.

Shuttle Bay, Normandy-Class Stealth Frigate SSV Normandy SR-2, Patrolling Boltzmann System, Serpent Nebula.

The Reaper War.

Second Lieutenant James Vega, Flight Lieutenant Steve Cortez.

Both of his arms flexed almost simultaneously as he grunted, the sound leaving his lips as he lifted his entire body mass off the ground and into the air for a second, head raising above the steel bar that had been above him, but was now level with him. After all that, he was back down after a second, and repeating the same movement. James Vega had been repeating this for a period of fifteen minutes, the same mundane action, the same physical exertion that he got from it. He was nowhere close to sweating, but his muscles were growing slightly fatigued from the repeititive action, not that James cared. His uncle had taught him that repeititive actions bred tolerance for repeitition, and if you can tolerate that, then anything can be tolerated.

He had long since finished disassembling and reassembling his Revenant on the weapons bench, deciding he wanted to add a incendiary mod to the barrel, along with an old-style bayonet for when things got nasty; he never really bothered with the now standard issue omni-blade, as he was more into the old style weapons such as knives, bayonets and frag grenades, as they felt more reliable to him then kinetic barriers and omni-blades and remotely-detonated explosives. And he loved the good old-fashioned bayonet.

As he continued his lifts, his eyes caught the recent addition to the ship at the end of the bay; the Mako. James smiled at this as he lifted himself again, getting a better look at the Alliance-built tank. The M35 Mako was the designated successor to the M34 Blacktip and was designed as an IFV (Infantry Fighting Vehicle) was also possessing an anti-armour weapon, unlike the Blacktip, which focused solely on being a mobile artillery piece. The vehicle had smooth, white coating that secretly sported medium armor for taking punishment, and heavy kinetic barriers built into it to deflect any attack. It had a single rotating turret postioned ontop at the bow, which could switch between heavy machine gun and 155mm cannon at the flip of a switch. It was a six-wheeler, and had iron grip, meaning it could practically climb up any surface, being designed as an all-terrain vehicle. Its bow was designed for ramming through walls, and had a passenger compartment inside. While cramped, it was suitable, and could carry an entire squad if necessary. The Mako was nothing short of a beauty, and James loved that they had decided to bring it onboard.

Unfortunately for him, Cortez saw him gazing at it lovingly, and decided to pick a fight with the marine, "Ah, Mr. Vega. I see you are giving our Mako a...appreciative look, over there," as James turned to the pilot, he did not stop lifting, but his face did contort in a frown as he watched the dark-skinned man look at him, having previously been gazing at his broadly-muscled shoulders before tearing his eyes away, and back at his console, a small smile on his face, "Didn't you take you for a Mako fan."

James, despite his exertions on the metal bar he was holding, choked out a laugh, "I've always loved the M35 Mako! Its got heart...you know?"

Cortez snorted, shaking his head as he gave an exhale of breath, "Oh come on!" the man seemed to sigh, stopping what he was doing to fully turn towards and face the man, "The M44 Hammerhead is vastly superior!"

James, this time, could not help his own snort, almost bringing up his fizzy drink he had been drinking earlier. The Hammerhead? He can't mean that piece of trash, can he? Sure, its got heat-seeking bunker-buster missiles that fire at a rapid rate, but what else does that thing have to offer over the Mako? "Get with the times, Esteban. That thing's armor is made of tissue paper. At the least the Mako can hold up on its own."

"Ha!" Cortez chortled, "I'd hope so! The thing handles like a drunk rhino! No agility whatsoever!"

James shook his head, "More like a bull," he growled, but with no malice or menace to it, "That can climb, and climb, for days!"

"Only reason it can do that is because of its stupid, vertically aligned mass effect fields," Cortez stated a-matter-of-factly, like a science geek at a parade show. Nerd, "Jump, or stick. No speed. No lateral movement. Just...forward, back or up."

"Hey, with a cannon and armor like that, who needs to move?" James countered.

"Hey, if you want that, why don't you just stick with the old M29 Grizzly?" Cortez offered, seeing if he'd take the bait, and he did.

"Hey!" he stated, before shrinking back and pouting slightly, "I love that tank."

Cortez grinned, and James didn't like what it contained, "Ha! You would be the one to like grizzly bears, Mr. Vega."

Like a dolt, he took the bait, "Hell yeah!" When Cortez started laughing himself to death, he could only frown, dropping down from the bar above him, cracking his neck as he looked over at the pilot, who could not hold himself from his laughter, "What? What the hell is so funny?"

Cortez didn't elaborate, merely getting his laughter under control as he returned to work, looking back at his console, typing into it rapidly. James shook his head, turning to return to his bench when his eyes landed on a crouched form sitting against one of the support struts in the bay. Deciding he had nothing else better to do, he wondered if he should strike up conversation, and headed over to her position.

Keeling was currently in her civvies, wearing much of what Marcus wore; an N7 cap, N7 singlet with what looked to be a black bra underneath, sweat pants and steel-cap boots. Her skin wasn't pale and it wasn't bright white either; it was tanned, showing the places she had fought in. She didn't seem to wear any tattooes, and many associated with special forces commandos like herself, but she did have what looked to be a large scar swipping across her belly from what looked to be a knife. James, considering just how much he could see her wearing, found his eyes landed on her breasts, and particulary her cleavage, as she did have quite a sizable enough bust for him to take notice of.

She looked to be in the middle of patching her armor and repainting it; she had two buckets of red and black paint next to her, along with what looked to be a few scattered tools. Her chestplate was folded infront of her, helmet discarded on her left and currently holding her armor with an iron grip. Her steely eyes were focused on her task, and she seemed to either ignore or not notice him as he stood over her. Her ginger hair seemed to capture his attention however, and he also noticed the many freckles on her face and her plump lips; overall, she looked beautiful. Stunning. Amazing. And yet, underneath all of that, was a professional killer; hardcore N7. Alliance Marines, best of the best.

"Something you're looking for, Vega?" Keeling suddenly spoke, not even turning to look at him, "Or are you just going to stand there and oogle at me?"

Startled by her sudden question, he nodded erratically to show that he conceded with her question, "Yeah...I just wanted to talk. You know, marine on marine."

Keeling's lips seemed to twitch for a second, and she nodded, placing her armor on the ground next to her, bits of paint catching on her shirt as she stood up, leaning against the strut she was on, crossing her arms, "Okay then, Vega. What do you want to talk about?"

"Maybe your past?" James asked, crossing his own arms, "You haven't told us much."

"That's because it wasn't mission critical," Keeling answered simply.

"Goddamn, you're like a steel wall," James quipped, smiling, "Is the mission all that matters to you?"

"Yes, it is," she narrowed her eyes, "If you have a problem with that, then this conversation is over, Vega."

"Okay then, Imy," he replied.

"Excuse me?"

"Imy. As in Imogen," James clarified, frowning, "That is your name, isn't it?"

"Noone calls me by my first name," Keeling declared, eyes flaring dangerously, "You will refer to me as Keeling, or Second Lieutenant Keeling, or Lieutenant Keeling. But never call me Imogen, and especially not Imy."

Noting the glare in her eyes, he nodded, gulping alittle, "Okay, yeah...sure. Keeling it is," he replied, sighing at his own cowardice. It's like they say, 'Hell Hath No Fury Like A Woman Scorned.' Sighing, he decided to ask his first question, "Anyway, back on topic. Your past. What's it all about?"

"Very well," she coughed, bringing up a crate and kicking it towards him, and he caught it with both hands, plopping himself down on it. When he looked back up, Keeling was looking at him, shaking her head. When she finally spoke, it was rushed, as if she wanted to get it over with, "I'm sure you've heard of Washington D.C back on Earth."

"It's the capital of the United North American States," James noted, nodding, "But of course I've heard of it. Its in the District of Columbia, what used to be the United States."

She nodded, impressed by his knowledge, but not showing it, "Yeah, well I never knew my parents," she shook her head, "Memory serves me right, they abandoned me when I was four-years-old and left me to live a life on the streets. Eventually, I found myself living in an orphanage. It was a pretty terrible establishment, and the people there were a mean bunch, but I lived; I was a survivor, they say. Eventually, when I was eleven, I got out of there and went to live in the slums, and that's when I found myself up with the Tenth Street Reds."

"The Tenth Street Reds?" James quiered, confused as he popped an eyebrow up, "Don't think I've heard of them."

"Not surprised. They aren't well known," she stated a-matter-of-factly, "They were a street gang that committed all sorts of crimes; theft, grand theft auto, assault, and...even murder, although I never did any of that. At least...not until I took my first life when I was thirteen," she seemed to grimace at the memory, before shaking her head and returning to the present, "Either way, I found myself hooked up with them until I was eighteen. Then...I tried to leave to join the Alliance."

"'Tried' to leave?" he pondered once more, "They wouldn't let you?"

"As far as they were concerned, I was cheap labour for them, so they tried to keep me around. When I resisted, they thought it a great idea to try and rape me. For fun, they said," she seemed to cringe at the very memory, and shook her head to clear it, careful to not show any emotion that might ruin her steely exterior.

"So what happened?"

"What do you think?"

"They raped you? What the fuck?"

"No," she replied bluntly, clearly not amused at that statement.

"Then what?"

"God you're dense," Keeling exasperated, "I killed them."

"Whoa," he held up his hands, "You killed them? Just like that?"

"Yes. Every single one, with a shard of glass I found lying on the ground. I cut my chest during the scuffle, and it didn't help that the rain was making my chest wet. Made all the blood flow worse," she stated firmly.

"Wait, chest? Wet?" he frowned, "How...?"

"Well, you tend to get soaked when outside, in the rain, and you're completely...naked," she rolled her eyes once more, as if trying to explain this to a toddler, "I did tell you I was in the process of being raped, right?"

"Christ," James exclaimed, "That's fucked up."

"You're telling me," she sighed, "Anyway, I escaped, got clothes and joined the Alliance. Once I was a marine, I applied to join the N special forces program. And now here I am, an N7, fighting on the Normandy," sighing in relief, happy to have finally finished, she looked at him once more, "Happy now?"

"That's it?" he pondered, surprised, "No great feats?"

"No. I'm just an ordinary soldier, serving as a glorified bodyguard for Admirals until I joined the Normandy," she stated, "Nothing fantastic about that."

"Well, uh," he struggled for things to say, before finally coming to a conclusion, feeling like a bit of bragging was in order, "So...if you're an N7, you must have quite a good collection of fighting moves, right?"

She raised an eyebrow at him, confused, "Yes, I do. The relevance is?"

James grinned, coming to stand, "Why don't you show me some of those skills?"

Keeling shook her head, rolling her eyes as he moved to return to her seat on the strut, "I haven't got time to waste Vega; my armor needs repainting."

James crossed his arms, pouting, "Come on, Keeling. A sparring match, you and me. The stuff marines do. Besides, if you're such an expert N7, you should be able to deck me, seconds flat."

"If you're trying to appeal to my ego, you'll find that none exists," Keeling deadpanned, "I will not waste my time with you, Mr. Vega. I have better things to do."

"You're not the bitchy type, either," James noted, "Five minutes at most, Keeling. We've got no missions, and we're literally just waiting for the War Summit, and even then we won't be doing anything. I'm only asking to spar with you; besides, Loco would appreciate you and me sparring; you know, keep our skills honed."

Keeling hesitated for a second, nodding as she seemed to ponder it. Finally, her lips creased into a not on her left, and she sighed, finally conceding as she let go of the chestplate she had been holding, letting it fall to the ground with a clang, turning towards him as she wiped her hands on her already dirty singlet, "Very well, Vega."

He nodded, turning around and walking to the center of the bay, which was now empty, cabling having been removed and sealed away after the retrofit several days earlier. Turning back around, he cracked his knuckles, followed by his neck as he nodded, picking up his dogtags and letting them fall down the back of his shirt. Letting a hand hover over what little hair he had, he looked back up to see Keeling standing across from him, standing on one leg while cramping the other against her stomach, stretching it.

James, while he waited took a fighting position, both hands raised and one leg behind the other, eyes meeting Keeling's chest; his martial arts instructor back on Earth had always taught him that you should keep your eyes center on their chest, never their eyes; they eyes deceive, but with eyes on the chest, you will see every attack coming. Although it was becoming very difficult to do, considering her bust. Instead, he focused his eyes on her neck.

Cortez wooed at him, laughing slightly. James ignored the man's taunts, keeping his eyes down range. Finally, Keeling finished her pre-fight stretches, and in a flash was assuming the same fighting position he was; dog tags hanging infront of her, fists held up, one leg behind the other, eyes focused on his chest. Her steely eyes never ceased to catch his attention; how lifeless they looked, how utterly unrelenting. The eyes of a stone-cold killer. It chilled him to the core; and yet, she still held a feminine beauty to her. An uncanny hybrid.

"Lieutenant Vega, are you ready?" Keeling asked, lips seeming to move as if following commands.

"Lieutenant Keeling, are you ready?" he countered, a grin forming on his lips.

Suddenly, before either could move or start the match, there was a crackling of energy beside them, and Kasumi appeared, a large smirk on her face as she yelled in Japanese, but he easily recognized the word, "Yumae!"

"Let's dance!" James exclaimed as he moved forward, fists shooting forward as he made his attack. To his surprise, Keeling didn't even move, she simply stood there, looking at him, Kasumi cheering her on while Cortez cheered him on. He had hoped to make her flinch, but seeing as that failed, he made an uppercut, hoping to hit her in the chest. She simply sidestepped his attack, and step-dragged backwards with barely a sound, and he spun to face her, eyes narrowed. Damn she's fast! I didn't even know she moved until I felt my fist hit nothing. She still made no moves to attack, merely eying his chest with intense interest.

Without so much as a peep, he step-dragged left, then right, then forward at lightning speed, hoping to use his momentum to overwhelm her. But she was gone once more, letting a light jab impact him in the ribs, but it was enough to wind him for a second, and seeing he was about to topple, he rolled forwards, returned to guard position and turned back to face her. And there she was; making no attack, simply looking at him.

She's special forces, what do you expect? She's meant to be better than me at beating people up. A long time thought hit him in the head, a job proposition he had been considering for awhile, but never took up on. Maybe I should become an N7. Maybe I should sign up to the N SpecOps program.

He stepp-dragged forward once more, this time attacking her with little, quick jabs that she had no choice but to block. But she did it with such fluidity and speed, that he might as well have not bothered. Deciding to quickly change tactics, as she didn't seem to be tiring, he launched one last jab at her chest, before quickly moving in and attempting a footsweep...

...one that was successful and, as he yelled out in triumph, he watched her fall to the ground on her back. Before he could move in for the finish off however, he felt a foot roughly connect with his chest, winding him as she used her leg to wrap around the back of his, and then used a 'scissor cut' motion, which sent him collapsing onto his belly, the marine cursing his gullibility. She let me take her down on purpose so that she could surprise me.

He felt a knee pressing against his back, pushing further into the steel floor, his cheek planted against it. Triumphant, she spoke, "We done, Vega?"

"We're not done until the other can't fight anymore," James retorted, and before she knew it, he had rolled over, using his pencil roll to knock her off her feet. She fell forwards, but quickly shifted into a roll, shoulder roughly hitting the floor, before she landed in a crouch, looking like a cat ready to leap. He got up and moved to hit her in the back of the head, but she spun around, her fist connecting with his jaw.

Wincing from the hit, he suddenly found himself under rapid assault as Keeling moved like fluid water, fists flying back and forth too quickly for him to defend himself. One hit him in the ribcage, another across the jaw again, followed by two more, and another to his chest. To finish off, she grabbed both of his shoulders and used them as leverage to drive her knee into his chest, before ducking down, avoiding his punch, driving her elbow straight into his left kneecap.

He cried out in pain, from the attack, before growling through his teeth as he landed on one knee, sending a punch flying her way. His fist connected, Keeling unable to strafe away in time, and she staggered as it impacted her shoulder. Taking advantage, he got up and speed tackled her, bringing his manly strength into action; wrapped his arms under her armpits and tightening around her back, he rushed forward and then roughly slammed her back onto the deck, feeling the wind leave the N7 as her arms instinctively straightened, using them to absorb the impact.

He quickly straddled her, legs locking around her as he looked into her widened eyes with a grin, "Shocked? What's wrong, don't like being beaten by a man? I've heard women don't like that," Nope, now you sound like a sexist asshole. Better change that, "Well, I've seen women fight really hard, but-"

Something about the way he was positioned over her lit a fire into her eyes he did not see before, and for once, he saw emotion in her steely gaze; fear. Why was she scared of him? But then the emotion quickly became cold-blooded fury.

Before he knew what was happening, her teeth were sunk deep into his arm, and he shrieked loudly as he tried to rip her away. She let go, snarling as she wrapped her own legs around his neck and thrusted to the left, sending him wheeling off of her. Leaping to her feet, James had little time before he was roughly kicked in the chest, sending him rolling onto his back before another kick hit him square in the head, pain throbbing through his temple from the hit. When he opened his eyes, everything about her stance was hostile. She looked about ready to kill him.

He noticed that his legs were open, but not before the N7 and, too late, he tried to close them, only for a female leg to weave its way in at high speed, slamming into his groin.

He screamed in agony, hands reflexively shooting towards his groin to protect it, holding them to dear life; god he must have looked pathetic. He raised his fist weakly, trying to hit her as she descended upon him, but she swatted it away like it was an annoying insect, her legs wrapping around his hips tightly in the same way he had done to her before, her hands landing on the deck before him, leaning over him, dogtags spilling into his face. Despite the situation, he couldn't help but notice that he was being treated to a fantastic view of her cleavage, and tried desperately to rip his eyes away as her teeth remained bared at him.

Luckily enough, a cold-steel knife being brandished at his throat by said woman was enough to discourage him from looking at her breasts and his eyes meeting hers with fear. He tried to escape her grip, but it was no use, her grip was stronger than the ordinary woman, and her knife remained at his throat, her eyes filled with malice and the intent to kill him. Holy shit! She's fucking crazy!

Just as she seemed about to slit his throat, a loud, harsh voice rang out.

"Keeling! Stand down immediately!"

Keeling did not respond, but he made out the words she was mumbling under her breath, "Strong. I am strong. Never again. Never ever again."

"Keeling," the voice was closer, more dangerous, "Stand down. That wasn't a request, that was an order. Drop the knife."

"No!" she snarled, leaping off of James' body and rushing with lightning speed at the person growling at her, "Never again! NEVER AGAIN! You WILL NOT USE ME LIKE THAT! NEVER AGAIN!"

James, flabbergasted, merely watched the knife descend upon Marcus, only for its downward cresent to cease as the supersoldier grasped her wrist. She hooked him across the jaw, and he let go, but before she could drive it into her neck, a burst of biotic blue sent her reeling back slightly.

"Keeling, I'm giving you one last chance," the spectre growled dangerously, and James felt a pair of arms wrap around him, dragging him away, Kasumi whispering into his ear.

"Gotta get you out of here. Shep'll deal with this."

"No!" she snarled, leaping off of James' body and rushing with lightning speed at the person growling at her, "Never again! NEVER AGAIN! You WILL NOT USE ME LIKE THAT! NEVER AGAIN!"

Her voice rang in his head, and he tried to grasp at why she would yell like that. The unflappable Keeling, and now she was a snarling monster. What the hell is wrong with her?

Keeling wiped her mouth, snarling. Marcus took a step forward, but she stepped backward, brandishing her knife professionally, "No! Don't you fucking touch me! Go stick your prick in some other girl, but not me! YOU WON'T TOUCH ME! I'll rip your fucking throat out first!"

Go stick your prick in-? Oh shit, I know what's going on...

He turned to Marcus, "Loco! She's delirious! She's having flashbacks!" This is all because I straddled her isn't it? It must have brought memories back from the past...when they tried to rape her...shit! Why did I have to be so fucking stupid!

Marcus nodded to him, turning around, holding out his hands in peace, "I understand what you're going through Keeling, but I'm not who you think I am. I am Captain Marcus Lee Shepard, your commanding officer, and I'm ordering you to drop the knife before someone gets hurt. I don't want to hurt you, but I won't let you harm my crew either. Drop it." As soon as he was finished, an uncomfortable silence descended upon them, and all eyes were on Keeling, to see what she would do next.

James just looked at her, her beautiful, female quality with a tad bit of soldier now replaced by a rabid animal looking to kill, to maim. She looked hateful, distrustful and absolutely paranoid, unable to comprehend where she was, imprisoned by memories from the past.

"I will not stand down, Shepard," Keeling growled, "You are not-"

"Enough of this, primitive."

Before anyone knew what was going on, Javik closed his eyes and grasped both of Keeling's shoulders, and the N7 stopped moving, her tense arms and body ceasing all movement and knife falling from her grip. Liara used her biotics to pick up the knife and toss it at Marcus, who deftly caught it. James got to his feet, slowly approaching the two of them as Javik broke away, Keeling's eyes opening as she staggered.

"You have dark past, but you are a survivor. That is good. You were raped," Javik noted, six eyes examining the woman, a smile creasing his face, "No, they tried. But you killed them; that is good. In the Empire, rape was punishable by being fed to rachni. You are strong. You were are not weak. You will survive this war if you are strong. You will survive."

Keeling backed away from him, taking deep breaths as cold sweat poured down her face. James lay a hesitant hand on her shoulder, and she whorled around to face him. He half-expected a fist to come with it, but she just looked at him, and she suddenly saw an inner child inside her eyes, someone who wanted to be held, but would not admit it. But that person who wanted to be held was dead; she died in the streets with the men who tried to molest her. A new Keeling had been born, and she was steely, unwilling to show emotion. For a moment however, that old Keeling had returned.

She became emotionless once more, and shook off his hand, turning to face Marcus with a forlorn expression, "I apologize for my behaviour, Captain. It was conduct unbecoming," she snapped a crisp salute, back to her old self in seconds, completely ignoring the prothean and marine on her sides, "You may punish me however you see fit."

Marcus returned the salute, "I will not punish you Keeling; just make sure it doesn't happen again."

"Sir, I endangered a fellow officer. I could have killed him. Suitable punishment needs to be-"

"I've made my decision, Lieutenant," Marcus returned, dropping his hand, "Return to your post, and make sure it does not happen again."

"Yes sir," she returned, dropping her own hand as she pushed past Javik and returned to her post, dropping down and picking up her chestplate, returning to what she was doing before, as if nothing happened. James considered approaching her, but decided against it, Javik shaking his head.

"She is strong," the prothean noted, "But she must harness her rage and wield it against the Reapers. Her primitive human instincts got the better of her."

"Shut up Bugs," James scowled, using his nickname for the prothean, "Noone asked you."

Javik got the hint and left, followed by Marcus, who merely gave the retreating James a sad look, before he turned and headed into the elevator. As James returned to the armoury, he growled, gripping the weapons bench with a harder grip then he did before. But he wasn't angry with Keeling. Her reaction was understandable.

He was angry at himself.

You idiot, Vega. You bloody idiot.

You are a fucking moron.

{Loading...}

June 7, 2186

1327 hours.

Bow, Karl Heather-Class Aircraft Supercarrier NAS Karl Heather CVN-519 , Moving Across Pacific Ocean towards Manchuria, Earth.

The Reaper War, Occupation of Earth.

Rear Admiral David Edward Anderson.

The sea air bashed against his face, the smell of the ocean filling his nostrils as his body was jolted up and down as the Karl Heather-Class Supercarrier was rocked up and down by the waves of the Pacific Ocean, the biggest ocean on Earth. It had been a long time since sailors had smelt the salty air of the planet's oceans and been bounced up and down by its wrath; not since the Mars Archives were discovered. Of course, each nation on Earth; the Asians, Europeans and North Americans, each held their own conventional fleet of course, but it was nothing major; mostly warships from the 21st century, such as the obsolete US Nuclear Aircraft Carriers, Russian Ballistic missile submarines, and maybe the occassional destroyer. They had not expected needing its use.

They were deep within the ocean, a place the Reapers hadn't thought of when scouring the planet for humans to harvest and/or kill; that, or they just haven't checked the ocean yet. Either way, they would be in Asia before the Reapers started checking the seas. The plan was for the survivors from UNAS could hit land fall in China and make for Europe, hoping to find more survivors along the way and form a sizable resistance force. Once in Europe, anything was possible. Maybe we'll head to Normandy. Bask in the irony.

He sighed and he twisted to look along the ship's side, wincing at the pain that shot up his chest as he did so; he had been shot before boarding the ship by a cannibal, and it was taking sometime to heal, and it never ceased giving him pain. As he looked along the hull, he saw the initials CVN-519, followed by the name 'NAS Karl Heather' sprawled next to it. Karl Heather was the name of the 62nd President of the United States, during the ending days of the 21st Century. He was also the last effective President of the United States, as a year later, the United States was dissolved and became part of the United North American States.

The ship suddenly jolted as a particularly large wave crashed against its hull, and he staggered back slightly, really not used to this ship of sailorship. He was a naval officer of space, not of the seas, and it was times like this that he wished he could have been fighting up in that blank void. It was better than being stuck on his planet. On Earth, you can believe you're the center of the war. But out there, we're just another front.

"Admiral!" he heard a voice shout out from behind him, and he turned to face them as they walked towards him, fighting to be heard over the wrath of the sea, "I didn't think I'd find you out here!"

The man's accent was heavily Mexican, demonstrating where he originated from, and his strides meant he carried himself with distinction. The man was clearly some sort of authority figure, and Anderson could respect that; especially if he wasn't of the hardass type.

"Neither did I," he replied cryptically, turning around, straightening his officer's cap as he did, holding out a hand as he did, "I don't believe we've met."

"Sheriff Barnes," the man replied, holding out his hands, in which Anderson's tightened around, "Sheriff Yanus Barnes. I was a police officer working out of Austin, Texas. Had to leave all of that behind in a hurry though; Texas was being overran by those giant spaceships."

"They're called the Reapers," Anderson informed, shaking his hand before letting go, swaying with the rock of the vessel beneath them, "And Earth is only the beginning. The Reapers are probably attacking Palaven and other planets all over the galaxy, even as we speak." And Shepard's going to stop them. If anyone can, he will.

The man creased his face in fear, shaking his head as he cleared it, cocking out his hip where a pistol hung from its old-style holster, "Maybe we should try peace talks, you know? See what they want. I heard they were holding negoitations for surrender in Cairo, Egypt; they've called for the leaders of United North American States, European Union (EU), Middle Eastern Confederacy (MEC), Chinese People's Federation (CPF), and the South American Protectorate (SAP) to meet there to discuss terms and surrender."

Anderson gave a grim smile, followed by a mirthless laugh, "Then the leaders have just sailed off to their deaths; the Reapers don't want peace, they want our leaders to come to them so they can indoctrinate them and turn them into their puppets; that, or harvest them, like they're doing everyone else."

"You don't know that!" The man objected, clearly not liking what he had to say.

"I do know that. A friend of mine has spoken to two Reapers. Heard their logic," he grabbed the man's shoulders, grasping them tightly as he shook him with each word, "The Reapers are hyper-advanced machines; their technology is light years ahead of ours; a full technological tier above ours on the Operon Scale. They view organics as weak; wastes of space. We are experiencing something they've been doing for billions of years; waiting fifty thousand years for us to evolve, before violently casting us down and exterminating us. They aren't looking for peace; they have no need of it," his eyes glowed dangerously, "They won't stop until Earth, and the rest of the galaxy, is devoid of life, or least all organic life, anyway." The Operon Scale was titled after a man named Jensen Operon, a scientist who labelled the first technological scale in 2052; Tier 6 was the lowest, and Tier 1 was the highest you could achieve. As it stood, the galaxy was on a Tier 3 level of tech, while the Reapers were Tier 2.

The man sighed, running a hand through his hair, "So there's nothing we can do? They refuse to talk? That meeting is just a trap?"

"They'll indoctrinate them or harvest them. Either way, they won't leave that place alive," Anderson stated gloomily, "It's up to us to defend what's left."

"We'll be landing in Manchuria two days from now at this speed," the man noted, "What then?"

"Don't know about you, but I'll be taking what's left of the UNAS military that I could assemble and cutting through Asia to Europe. From there, we hope to link up with some of the EU's, MEC's and CPF's forces and launch hit-and-runs against the Reapers. Destroy a few concentration camps, and if we're lucky, find a nuclear device, sneak it aboard a Reaper, and destroy it."

"That's it?" the man stated, flabbergasted, "We just fling pebbles at them?"

"That's all we can do. We certainly can't launch a major offensive against them; we don't have the firepower or the resources," Anderson stated clearly, turning to look back out to sea. Somewhere, along the horizon, was Manchuria, waiting for them, "But its either that or we sit idlely and let them destroy us. I for one won't make it easy for them; they'll have to fight for it, this cycle."

"I hope you know what you're doing," he stated, shaking his head as he too looked to the horizon, his look skeptical, "Cause I saw what they did to California. Its hell on Earth, literally."

Anderson merely nodded, sighing. But this time, instead of looking to the horizon, he looked up, and into the realms of space, where they could see the Moon high in the sky, nighttime falling upon them as stars twinkled in the sky. But some of those stars, many of them, were moving. And he knew they were Reapers. But Anderson looked past them, hoping to find the Normandy; it was an impossible hope, as it would be impossible to make them out. But he looked anyway, knowing they were up there.

Do what you need to do Shepard, and bring the full might of the galaxy to bear on the Reapers. Give 'em hell, son.

And for a moment, Anderson was proud of the man he came to know as the son he never had.

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June 7, 2186

1349 hours.

Unnamed Highway, Trisek'lok City Ruins, Tor'an Wastelands, Tuchanka.

The Reaper War, Krogan DMZ Campaign: The Tuchankan Raids.

Vanguard.

It calculates its possible entry point as it enters the krogan homeworld's atmosphere. Protheans called it Aralakh IV; organics of this cycle call it Tuchanka, home of the krogan. Yes. Information correlated, and confirmed.

Wind rushed past it as the incredibly intense heat of the massive star known as Aralakh beat down on the Reaper Destroyer's almost impenetrable armor plating, the wrath of its sunlight not willing to relent, even for a Reaper; but Vanguard was completely unfazed by it, the idea of pain, or any feelings whatsoever, completely unknown to it; an experience it could not contemplate.

Its legs were curled up underneath it, and any krogan were looking at the atmosphere would see the form of a massive fireball erupting through the grey clouds, a fireball that would then erupt into the form of the massive 300 feet tall Vanguard, red eye buried beneath foldable optical armor plates, followed by numerous other fireballs; by these weren't Reapers. They were debris. Debris from asari, turian and salarian forces that had been hanging in orbit over the planet; defenses the Destroyer had little difficulty destroying and reducing to pieces of floating metal. Most of it hung in orbit over Tuchanka, while other chunks got caught in its gravatational wake, and were pulled in to crash into the ruins of the nuclear irradiated city ruins directly below their orbit.

In a matter of seconds, Vanguard had closed with the ground, four legs extending outwards as its monolithic form crashed into the ground, shattering the concrete that held the highway it had landed on like glass, sending shards flying up in multiple directions, the ancient highway, unstable since the nuclear fallout that befell the ruins, finally collapsed, causing a domino effect along its entire perimeter. Behind it, two skyscrapers also collapsed, while another three collapsed into the ones behind it. Its legs, having absorbed the thunderous impact, which was likely heard from across the planet, began to push its body upwards, bringing it 'to its feet,' Vanguard letting out a roar; what sounded like an airhorn to others. The first Reaper to arrive on Tuchanka was standing up.

Armor plates slid aside, and the blaring red eye of the giant machine, like that of a Cyclops, began to examine its surroundings, taking in the ruined city; ruins that had existed long before the Krogan Rebellions a thousand years ago, and the Rachni Wars before that; since before the salarians had even uplifted the krogan; they had existed ever since the Tuchankan Nuclear War, one that Sovereign had observed personally from orbit, relaying it to Harbinger. A war that had turned Tuchanka into the wasteland that it was now; reduced the krogan from a proud race, to a species snivelling in the irradiated dirt it had given birth to.

Unimpressed, Vanguard raised one leg and swept it across, carving a path through the weakened structures of numerous buildings around it, time having made them as weak and brittle as paper, and they tore just as easily. Tapping into its built-in satellite system, it transmitted a planet-sweeper in seconds, giving it a detailed map of the entire planet. It saw all the ruined cities, the three wastelands of the planet: Que'k, Tor'an and L'vt, and numerous outstanding landmarks. But Harbinger had sent Vanguard on a very important mission, and he would see it done.

Their forces were sweeping across the galaxy, the batarian and human homeworlds cut off, the turian homeworld under siege, and the asari and salarian homeworlds threatened; but Harbinger had it made clear it had no interest in invading Sur'Kesh just yet, so the salarians were safe for now; instead, it was now making plans for their simultaneous invasion of the Ismar Frontier, along with Irune and Dekuuna; the volus and elcor homeworlds, hopefully, followed by Kahje, the hanar homeworld. Then, they would begin their assault on Thessia, followed by the Terminus Systems. However, like Sur'Kesh, Tuchanka was not on their priority list; the krogan were not a threat as far as they were concerned. However, recent developments left Harbinger suspicious.

Shepard was proving to be more dangerous than they anticipated; he was trying to unite the galaxy: a pitiful hope, but one that needed to be checked, nonetheless. And if sources from one of their brethren, a Tarantula-Class Troop Transport named Destiny, was right, then Shepard was planning a krogan-turian alliance; and there was only one way to achieve that, as Sovereign had taught them before its demise.

And that was why Vanguard was on Tuchanka; to launch numerous raids on its surface, while trying to determine where the krogan would attempt to disperse a cure from. But while it was doing that, it might as well shake up the resistance alittle; and with that, ejection tubes opened all over the Reaper's body, and orange strobes of light shot out from it and landed all over the planet; containing Reaper troops consisting of all those they had access to; human husks, batarian cannibals, turian marauders, krogan brutes and harvesters. Soon, if the campaigns elsewhere went well, they could add volus, elcor and hanar husks to that army as well, and maybe even some salarians and asari as well.

As Reaper troops deployed on Tuchanka, Vanguard continued its trek through the city ruins, trying to find exactly where the organics would go to deploy a cure. The best possible area. It knew the krogan would resist its trespass of their territory, and knew they couldn't resist the temptation to attack.

It counted on it. Tuchanka would be harvested like all the rest.

It would just take awhile.

"And so comes the War Summit. That certainly changed the course of the war. But it also opened a new door in galactic history. A new chapter."

- Marcus Shepard.

"Tell us. Tell us how you got the turians and the salarians and the krogan working together. How you made the Krogan Confederacy possible."

- Tali'Shepard pav Rannoch.

"Through a lot of diplomacy, democracy, guns, more guns and alot of Reapers. Add a certain crazy salarian we know, and you've got your history chapter."

- Marcus Shepard.

"Just get on with it."

- Reia'Inas pav Earth.

"Well, it all began with a War Summit on June 8, 2186..."

- Marcus Shepard.

A/N:

You know it: the next chapter is the War Summit, along with those conversations with Cortez and Samantha I've been busting my ass to add. Also, that scene was Keeling I felt really good about writing; why? Because I never planned for it. I merely wanted to write a scene where Keeling beat the shit out of Vega for making sexist comments, and Marcus would laugh his ass off at it; instead, I saw an opportunity to open up Keeling's personality; to look at her dark past. I hope to make her a more interesting character as the story goes on. What did you guys think of that scene?

And Vanguard is on the prowl. Myron, none of your guesses were anywhere close! Yet again, its kinda hard to predict a Reaper POV, isn't it?

P.S: Yes, Vanguard is the Reaper guarding the Shroud in the game.

After the War Summit chapter, we'll have Priority: Sur'Kesh.

And yes, I finally gave you the glimpse of Tali that you wanted. I can't be solely focused on her, you know. xD

Keelah se'lai, troopers!