Flight of the Phoenix

by Elizabeth Carter

Book two: Sovereign is dead, the citadel once ruins is beginning to rebuild, the Council is saved and now Shepard is faced with a new enemy, one held over from ancient days:The Collectors. She must race against time, Cerberus and the shadows of a war yet to come. This is part two of my Ashes world: a retelling of ME2. Many game elements are changed because Shepard wasn't spaced.

6. Peripheral

Chapter Six: Peripheral

AN1: In previous chapters I had gone back and done some very serious reworking / rewriting of a few things. Those familiar with the story before may scratch their heads and say that wasn't what was before, and have their willingness of disbelief jilted a bit. Just as the truth of Sam's real Father which is worked out when she is in the Vinculum and just after they lose Sparrow and Mamma Shepard comes to pay our favorite couple a visit. However, if read now, the chapters do flow in the direction I have taken the story.

AN2: Shepard's recruitment poster loosely based on a painting by deviantart artist named suicidebyinsecticide-d4wnn89

MEMEMEMEMEMEME

"This is an ambitious plan, Anderson. Do you actually believe it will work?" The question came from Sparatus. "You have placed a great deal of trust in your Shepard."

The four Councilors were seated around a circular tortoiseshell mahogany table laden with a plethora of food: Georgian style crawfish etoufee, lamb L'Arabique and braised artichokes, as well as thinly sliced ciabatta bread. The turian Councilor of course had his own dextro-based equivalents including the strong '75 durif red wine from the ardat-yakshi monastery. It had become a custom since the founding of the Council to have monthly evening meals together that was outside the political setting. Although politics were never far from the table.

"Maybe that's the problem, you don't trust her enough." David Anderson answered before shoving a forkful of lamb into his mouth. He chewed a few moments before speaking again. "She has done nothing but performed admirably, she is loyal and has carried out her duty."

A blue hand reached out from his left where Tevos was sitting, "Her duty isn't in question. But her ideas are...very unconventional."

"Isn't that what we encourage in our Spectres? Or am I wrong in assuming that the Spectres belong to the Council as a whole and not just one race? It sounds just like what you did to her when the three of you grounded her. It was you, not Udina." Anderson pointed his empty fork at the turian sitting directly across from him. "You, Sparatus, practically ordered Udina to do it, to get Shepard under control. You shut her out at every turn, constantly mistrusting her, constantly questioning her every decision. I might have said baptism by fire but is fracking more than that.

"I have never heard you question, berate or mistrust any other Spectre as you have Shepard. Vasir has done some very questionable things during her tenure as Spectre. Her strong alliance to the Shadow Broker notwithstanding. And yet her word is as good as gold to you all and Shepard, who saved all of your lives, isn't given the same courtesy. I take extreme exception to that. She deserves better!"

There was an uncomfortable silence filled with food being shifted on plates by forks.

"Has it occurred to you that her actions as of late have become more erratic? We all know she has been heavily influenced by Prothean devices. And she was radically altered by the gestalt." Valern commented as he lifted the artichoke heart and bit into it. It was written clearly on his face that it had the taste of ash upon his tongue.

"Yes I know. And I admit, I am worried for her." Anderson's voice dropped to a near parental tone. "But I'm not going to allow this Council to railroad her. I know without a doubt that young woman will give her life without hesitation if her duty called for it. She'd even give her life for yours Sparatus, as she would for the rest of you. Try to remember that the next time you cut her up."

"We do not wish to 'cut her up.' But these changes in her are a true concern," Tevos said kindly. "So far they have not been wholly detrimental. How long will it be until she truly is mentally unstable? She courts danger too soon. Had we known about the changes in Saren..."

"They are nothing alike!" Anderson stabbed into his food, for a moment he thought he might have cracked, if not chipped, his plate. "He was a monster. Always was, only the three of you were too blind to see it. You just saw his mission records and lifted him up as one of your best operatives. Shepard's records are just as exemplary. Better, since she has no intention of murdering this Council and lead the enemy to slaughter everyone on the Citadel and purposely endangering the galaxy by allowing the Reapers to gain a real foothold."

The Reapers were a very sore topic with the Council. The majority insisted that they were fragments, dreams that scarred Shepard's mind from the several encounters with Prothean devices. Anderson believed in Shepard.

Again silence descended around the group, only the clinking of forks against bone-china plates and sounds of eating were heard.

"Tell me, do you believe this plan will work?" Valern asked quietly after several minutes of dead silence. "The probabilities of success are exceptionally low."

"I grant you, it will take some serious out of the box thinking," Anderson agreed. "But out of the box is where Shepard lives."

"Therefore it is bound to work." Tevos smiled knowingly.

"Not unlike her driving a Mako through a mass relay and crashing it into the Citadel," Sparatus said. "I suppose if anyone were to pull this off it would be Shepard."

"The question remains, how is she going to get this Lawson woman to believe her story enough to give up the location of this supposed ship or any other Cerberus bases?" Valern asked. "For that matter, how do you think she will manage to do what several Spectres, STG teams, your N7 and turian special ops could not do?"

Surprisingly it wasn't Anderson who answered Valern but the turian Councilor. "Based on her success rates with her crazy ideas, Shepard has managed to pull each one off despite the odds that have been decisively stacked against her. If it works what does it matter?"

"The whole reason Cerberus has facilities outside Council jurisdiction is to allow them to engage in illegal or unethical research without fear of repercussions. These installations are vital targets," Tevos insisted. "This is going to have to be very subtle. And we all know subtlety isn't one of Shepard's strong suites."

"Cerberus doesn't play by the rules. Neither can we if we want to take them out." Anderson's voice became stronger. "However on a side note, if strike teams complete their missions, there won't be any witness to file a report against us."

"We could send other Spectres and strike forces to hit the others," Sparatus said. "And there are other options." A very pointed look was tossed towards Tevos.

"No. She will not engage. Furthermore, I do not wish her involvement in what is strictly Council business." The words were as deep as a well. So deep you could toss a stone in it and it would never hit bottom. "Never make an attempt to trade on my connection to her again, Sparatus."

"Understood Councilor," the turian growled. He might have understood but clearly he was unimpressed with the woman's answer.

Anderson was deeply confused by the inference. Who was this mysterious her the turian mentioned? If this mystery woman could help...but the resolve in the asari Councilor's eyes stilled any notion of perusing the topic. Taking the direct approach as Sparatus had done was clearly not the answer. Then again, turians were not known for their keen approach to subtlety, not like the salarians, the odd human and most assuredly the asari.

Humanity's first Councilor shared a confused look with his salarian counterpart. Apparently he too was in the dark as much as Anderson.

"What about the Illusive Man?" Tevos wanted to know, deliberately redirecting the flow of the conversation. "Capturing him would be an ideal outcome. Unfortunately we have no pictures of what he looks like. All we have is a basic physical description."

"That will all change once Shepard manages to speak with him. She can get close to him," Anderson said. "She has given us a very unique opportunity. If Shepard can get in, get close, she can take him out."

"We must assume that the Illusive Man will suspect this very tactic and will have a countermeasure already in play," Valern said, his large eyes blinking signaling his disbelief this plan had even the remotest chance of working. "He'll use quantum entanglement communications to talk with Shepard. There is no way he will risk meeting her face to face."

Anderson smiled. "You don't know Shepard like I do. I've know her since she was a child. I've watched her grow up. Like her mother she was born with a silver tongue and can bluff with the best of them. And more importantly she has the gift of very unconventional and alternative thinking. All we have to do is follow the bread crumbs."

Sparatus' mandibles twitched in a turian's version of a frown. "I do not understand the reference."

"Old Earth fairytale." Anderson shrugged.

"Enlighten us," Tevos said again with a disarming smile. "Perhaps a lighter topic of conversation over what remains of our meal will make it more palatable."

MEMEMEMEMEMEME

In a remote region in Northern Minnesota, a man and a woman stood upon the back deck of a small cabin, overlooking a quiet pristine lake. The gibbous moon cast its sliver light upon the still waters which were so clear, it was like looking at glass. It was very early autumn; the trees had only just started to change their colours. The air had yet to turn but it was cool enough to warrant the use of light-weight jean jackets or hoodies. It carried with it the scent of fresh earth, moss and a cleanness that was impossible to find on ships, even those with atriums.

"I'm worried for her, Steven," Hannah Shepard said softly as she gazed out of the balcony's overlook to the lake. In the near distance a loon called out in an eerie tremolo. The wavering call always sounded so haunted to Hannah, in some ways the very sound reminded her of her daughter's expressions. They too had become so very haunted.

Another loon answered back, and a third, or perhaps it was not but an echo. Echoes were all everything had become of late. Echoes. Orders echoed, thoughts echoed, beliefs echoed-promises were echoed. Like echoes, they no longer had any true substance.

"So many things have happened to her so quickly-and so very few of them good." Hannah took another deep sip of her brandy. "She takes it all in stride, doesn't flinch, doesn't turn back or away. Just like she did when she was a little girl."

From behind her the Alliance's most decorated fleet admiral slipped his arm around his lover's middle and kissed her neck. "She hasn't even confronted me now that she knows the truth. I expected something… accusations, questions. Anything. I would have preferred that to this-this infernal silence," he sighed.

"She's a woman of her word Steven. Hell, she was a kid of her word. Make her give it, and you knew without checking that whatever you wanted her to do, it would be done, whatever came out of her mouth was true." Hannah smiled proudly. "You just had to manage to wrangle it out of her first."

"I know," Steven said. "She said she wouldn't say anything and she won't. But it isn't healthy. I want her to ask about us, about all of it. Why John when went along with the whole charade."

Hannah turned in his arms and looked at him. "And how do you explain that the marriage was entirely in name only? That we covered for each other so that I could have you and he could have his… dalliances? John has always been a good man, a good officer. And yes, there was something there," she sighed. "He has ever been a good friend."

Their friendship was solid - a bromance, deep and caring; the three of them, Hannah Shepard, Ernesto Zabaleta and John Sheppard, advanced through the ranks together. They were drinking buddies, poker buddies, always had each other's corner. Later came David Anderson and Karin Chakwas. Hannah loved setting her friends up with dates; David already had a girl named Kahlee Sanders so she didn't even try, and Karin she had tried to set up with a multitude of people. Hannah had never been able to pin her down exactly because it seemed the good doctor swung both ways. Plus, she always said her spouse was the Alliance and her children were the crew of her ship.

But of all of them Hannah had a far stronger relationship with John and Ernesto. It was almost as if she were helping them fish for their perfect mates. When the guys noticed young Lieutenant Shepard's infatuation with a certain Commander Steven Hackett, and that interest was returned, Sheppard and Zabaleta started to form a plan. The boys decided to help out their pal. John brought the subject before Steven and Hannah and the solution to their dilemma.

It had sounded so perfect at first. And it worked for a time, years in fact. But then Hannah began desperately wanting a child. John didn't. He didn't think it fair to bring a child into the mess they had forged. The presence of a baby made things difficult. And plans started to fall apart. Animosity grew between Hackett, who wanted to be the father, and the man who didn't. Before it got of hand John deliberately requested a transfer off of Steven's ship, to get himself out from under his command. After Sam turned seven, John didn't serve on any generational ship that his wife was stationed on, which wasn't difficult because she was always within Hackett's command. He stayed as much out of The Kid's (his nickname for Sam) life as possible. He claimed it was better for The Kid that way.

"He did make a go of it you know…trying to be a good father. In his own way he loves Sam." Hannah said quietly.

Hackett kept his thoughts of John Sheppard 'making the attempt of being a good father' to himself. As far as the fleet admiral was concerned, that man failed miserably. John was always making Sam constantly second guess herself, question her worth. By Gods he hated John Sheppard. That damned man had what regulations forbade him; the woman of his heart and his child. If regulations allowed it he would have taken Hannah as his wife and he would have been proud to call Samantha his daughter.

Another part of him was grateful the Shepard-Sheppard marriage was nothing but a fraud. John had his women and men allowing Hannah and Steven to be together. But his Sam was now caught up in all of it. No doubt the girl believed her mother stepped out on her 'father' and betrayed him. She didn't even know John Sheppard wasn't the victim here. None of them were. No, that wasn't entirely true, Sam was the true victim. Hackett wanted to look Samantha Shepard in the face—dead in the eye and tell her: 'Yes I'm your father. And I'm damn fucking proud of you kid. Always was. And I have your back. I always will.'

"The papers were filled today. The Shepard-Sheppard marriage is officially nullified," Hannah said out of the blue, her voice neutral. "Mutual agreement. As of seventy-three hours ago John and I are officially both free."

"Does Sam know?"

"She doesn't need that now. She'll get it into her fool head that she's somehow responsible, just like she did when she was thirteen." A great tidal wave of guilt settled on the proud woman. How many countless days and nights did her child suffer because of the accidents, because of her biotics? "I should have gotten those amps for her sooner, got her training sooner. She suffered all those migraines needlessly. I did that to her Steven, not John. I'm her mother, it's my duty to protect her and I failed her."

"We didn't know much about biotics then, Hannah. How long are you going to beat yourself up over that?"

"You don't get reprieve for doing harm to your kid."

"Han... maybe the amps would have helped early on or they would have made things a lot worse off for Sam. There are a lot of L2 out there who have been crippled because of their implants. And a lot more have gone mad. Like that lot that followed the Butcher of Torfan and killed three Alliance officers. I didn't have much hope for a peaceful outcome and I sure as hell didn't expect a complete uncontested surrender. But that girl managed to talk Major Kyle down without a shot fired. If I had sent anyone else it would have been a bloodbath.

"To this day I still don't know how Sam did it. There was another insane group that took a base on Chohe hostage and drugged the scientists working there. I had to order Sam to go in and take them out. She managed to neutralize the threat without a single civilian casualty. I sent her because she handled the Major Kyle situation as well as with incident Chairman Burns and the L2s that had taken him hostage. Burns was saved, and the majority of the L2s survived and it set in motion the Biotic Reparations Act.

"Maybe holding off until the invention of the L3 amps came out might have actually saved her life, if not her sanity, Hannah. Look at her now. She is a remarkable young woman, and despite everything that has happened to her, back when she was a kid and recently, she remains strong regardless of the changes she's going through. She's a rallying cry for our troops."

Hannah shook her head. "I worry it's going to burn her out. She struggled with CS, Steven."

"I recall you telling me, but she was seeking treatment. Chakwas cleared her."

Hannah scolded him with a look that said 'Of course she's not okay!'

Steven retreated swiftly and reevaluated his approach. Battling early-onset CS was no light matter. Generally if personal within the military was diagnosed with the condition they were pulled from active duty until they were not only cleared by medical physicians but by a panel of physicists. Even if cleared, said officer typically ended up piloting a desk. He doubted the Spectres were that much different when it came to physical and mental stability in their agents.

He couldn't imagine being forced not only to feel each emotion deeply, but incapable of controlling them. Emotions became mottled, confused and exaggerated, and oft times feelings were more dark than not. Sam was more fortunate than most in that it was not only caught early, but that they were able to reverse any neurological damage. The scares on the soul left by Cyan Syndrome however, were far more difficult to heal.

"I don't think those recruitment posters are doing her any favors. Maybe you should order the Office of Recruiting Affairs to use a composite image, get her out of the direct spotlight. Keep the image of a woman though." She gave her lover her crooked half smile; it was the same as Sam's. "I noticed you have one in the cabin and another in your quarters on the Kilimanjaro."

The admiral shrugged. "Only way I can have a picture of my daughter that nobody will question."

Hannah laughed gently. "Yeah I have one too. It's hanging directly across from my desk in my own quarters on the Orizaba so when I look up I can see her beautiful face... and your eyes." She stroked the scared cheek of her lover. "Hell, even my flight crew have the poster in their rec-room."

"Mine does too. More than a few of my crew are crushing on her."

"Same story on the Orizaba, though they are more subtle, or at least they make a half-assed attempt at it, considering they know she's my daughter." She snorted. "I wouldn't be surprised to find out that Liara has one secreted away."

Steven shared the laughter. "I wouldn't doubt it."

"I am so grateful for Liara," Hannah said, thinking of her daughter-in-law. "I'm so grateful she's not Alliance. Regs can't stop them from truly being together. They get to share openly what we stole." The captain allowed tears to fall. "Promise me we're not going to lose her!"

Steven looked away unable to meet Hannah's blue eyes. "She's an N7 marine. A Specter."

"God damn it, Steven, then fucking lie to me! Tell me we won't lose her."

"We won't lose her, Hannah." Hackett kissed the woman he loved with his entire soul. "I believe in her. You can pay a soldier to do almost anything but you can't pay them to believe. And if there is one thing in this whole universe I believe in, it's Samantha Secura Shepard." He pulled away a little and raised his head to the stars like a baying wolf. "You hear that you fracking universe? I believe in my daughter!"

There were echoes and loon cries that answered back. And the kiss of a woman.

MEMEMEMEMEMEME

Ex-Major of the Alliance Navy John Sheppard meandered into Joe's pub, his recent call of port. Since he mustered out he practically lived there, chucking darts, shooting billiards, the odd poker game and rum, a lot of rum to help pass the time. The damn thing was, every time he walked into this little nook on Mindoir he saw her face. The Kid's.

Samantha fracking Shepard: the goddamn hero of the Citadel, savoir of Elysium and Terra Nova. N7 Fury and humanity's first Spectre: two time recipient of the Star of Terra, the Palladium star and a dozen other medals. A bloody hero. He tried to drill that out of her head. To save her, but The Kid was as willfully stubborn as her mother. Sam Shepard did her duty, she was a guardian, and a protector just like he taught her to be. Then she had gone on and taken it much further.

The damn Kid had to go and prove she was more Hackett's child than his, and the damn thing is, The Kid just found out about it. Hannah told him she had figured it out soon after she lost her own child. John took a long drink of his rum. Han told him something about The Kid remembering the argument they had when she was thirteen. Apparently she heard him admit she wasn't his, her fear of being sent away because she was a frea... biotic stopped her from asking about her parentage.

I'm sorry… I'm not normal. One day I'll make it up to you, Dad. One day you'll be proud of me. Right now I'm just me, sir. I don't know how to be anything else.

He thought about those words a lot. Every time he saw that beautiful face, those blue eyes, he heard those words. He heard them every time The Brass pinned another medal to her chest. He heard them every fracking time he looked at those damned recruitment posters.

He hated The Kid for them. He hated her because he was grateful she wasn't really his. He hated her because she wasn't really his. And he loved her just as much for those very same reasons. He expected The Kid to confront him about everything. But she hadn't. Of course she had much bigger things on her mind, like the death of her wife's child. John made the attempt to think of T'Soni's daughter as The Kid's child. But he couldn't. There was no shared DNA; the baby really wasn't The Kid's. Sam was locked into playing the part of the other parent same as he was. Just like her marriage to that T'Soni woman because of that damned bond, The Kid had made the best of it. Just like he had.

Maybe it was just as well the baby died. Now The Kid was free to do what she did best and be a goddamned hero. You could either be a good soldier or a good parent - you could never be both. Han was a great officer, a good leader, but she wasn't the ideal mother and he was far from the ideal father, and The Kid's true father was never even in the damn picture. It wasn't regs that kept Hackett from taking part of the Kid's life; it was that he wanted to be an admiral more than he wanted be the Kid's father. John had made himself believe that so deeply that it became true for him. It was easier than the alternative, than the truth. Hackett was in love with the idea of being a father and he wanted to be a part of The Kid's life as much as Hannah wanted her. John even believed The Kid was never meant to be a parent, she was meant to be a Spectre. She was meant to be a marine, an N7, to wear the uniform. You can't be a parent and an officer both. It was impossible.

John's brown eyes looked at the poster again. There she was; the great Commander Shepard in all her glory, wearing black N7 Defender armor. The portrait made her look every part the proud Alliance officer. In her upraised left hand she was carrying an N7 Hurricane submachine gun and in her right an omni-blade. Behind her were gray clouds, smoke and the burning remains of a batarian slaver ship. Beneath it the slogan: 'Life, Liberty And The Pursuit Of All Those Who Threaten It.' In the bottom corner was the N7 insignia.

"God you can't go anywhere without seeing that dammed poster," John muttered into his snifter. "They painted her up like some damned guardian angel."

A great misshapen three-headed shadow descended over him. He looked up to see to a very buff brunette woman that looked as if she could bench-press a Clydesdale, and flanking her were two hulking young men, one blonde, the other a redhead.

"Oh look, it's Twiddle-Dee, Twiddle-Dumb and Twiddle-Dumber. You three jarheads got a problem?" None of them looked more than twenty. They were obviously on furlough, but John knew a private trying to prove themselves when he saw one. And these three tits were drunk enough to purposely go looking for a fight.

"Yeah. You, old man. Shepard's a hero; she saved my colony on Terra Nova. Those fucking batarians were going to crash an asteroid into it. She stopped it." One of the hulks growled, the red head- Twiddle-Dumb. "The three of us joined up after what she did for Elysium."

Yep, sure as damn a nest of Shepard worshipers, just what he needed right now. Hell, it made his whole fracking evening complete.

"And she saved my mom and little sister when batarians were going to nuke our colony. She chose us over an Alliance spaceport," the woman said. "She saved thousands of lives that day."

Not to be left out, Twiddle-Dumber boomed with a drunken slur, "She saved my city too. The MSV Broken Arrow was taken over by geth. Those fracking clankers set that damn ship in a decaying orbit so it would hit Jonus. My planet. Shepard stopped it. So yeah, I take an exception when you insult her, asshole."

"Well ain't that just special. You want gold stars too?" John shot back. Not a particularly intelligent thing to do, but he was well into his cups and right about now he didn't rightly give a rat's left nut what happened next.

Beyond the notice of the four patrons, a balding man of questionable hygiene and a girth that contained multiple layers of natural insulation, watched with an experienced eye. A questing hand sought out what was under every bar: 'the barman's friend'. Back in the day it was a wooden cudgel which evolved into aluminum baseball bat. Today, or at least in this particular establishment, it was an M-27 Scimitar shotgun. Four heads swiveled to the sound of its cocking.

"I know he's talking shit, boys and girls, but you'll not be doing violence in my bar. And if'n you wanna teach'em a lesson you'll do outside it and fair like, o'not at'll."

Three young faces held expressions of thunder.

"What do you care?" Twiddle-Dumb postured.

"I don't. But if yas keen on defending Shepard's honor then don't be dishonor 'er by doing things unfairly."

John looked at the three hooligans then back to the barman. "She some kind of hero to you too?"

"She is, but not 'cuz she did anything for me or mine. She's a bleeding hero to us all. Upon my oath I ain't a military man, but for 'er... yeah. Is why put 'er poster in a gold frame an'all. Hell, my wee girls wanna be 'er when they grow up. They even got 'er action figures and a model of the Normandy."

The barman, presumably Joe, stared at John Sheppard the way a junkyard dog stares down a vandal. "Now I aint say'n you haff'ta like 'er, Bub, but lot o'folks around here look up to 'er. Word-tell is er' pop comes from these parts, so you best keep your opinions to yourself Mister. And I gives ya this friendly warn'en just the once, if you spout shit like that again, you ain't welcome in me pub."

"Yeah, well the drinks are watered down anyway." John stood up and started for the door.

Twiddle-Dumb blocked his way, his face as red as the thatch of hair on top of his head. "What's your beef with her anyway old man?"

The she-hulk looked him up and down, a nasty sneer on her face, "I bet he's one of those Cerberus assholes."

"The same frackers that tried to kill her wife? They got her kid." Twiddle-Dumber backed up his cronies. "It's payback time."

"I'm not Cerberus," John Sheppard said with a voice of iron. Strong enough for the three to back down on their heated, drink filled accusations. It was a voice they heard before, a voice of a commanding officer.

The former major turned back to Joe the barman. "You said your daughters look up to her?" He stabbed a finger towards the gilded framed poster. "I'd nip that in the bud quick before you lose them. Before they do what these jarheads did and join up become they want to be god-damn heroes.

"You think her 'pop' is proud of her? You think her father wanted a hero?" He shook his head. "He probably just wanted a normal kid when he got saddled with one. Being proud of a daughter for being a hero gets you nothing but a dead daughter." He pointed to the poster once more. "Shepard... is going to end up like all heroes: Dead. That's what happens to heroes. If she stayed a marine... a simple soldier, she might have lived to be an old woman. Serve the fleet like her mother, the rear admiral. Heroes don't get old, boys and girls. Maybe that asari's child wouldn't have been killed if Shepard hadn't marched off and become a goddamned HERO!" Saying his bit John Sheppard stormed out of the pub door and into the rain.

I'm sorry… I'm not normal. One day I'll make it up to you, Dad. One day you'll be proud of me. Right now I'm just me, sir. I don't know how to be anything else.

Yeah Kid, you don't know how to be anything else, do you? Be the god-damned big hero and end up dead. Your mother and your father can bury you. If I was any kind of sensible I'd wash my hands of the Shepard women and be done with it. He puffed out a deep breath of air. Sometimes the former Alliance engineer wasn't a smart man.

The divorce should have happened years ago. It should have happened when The Kid was seven. He and Hannah both should have packed it in and admitted that the farce had gone on long enough. They should have given each other their freedom, gone back to being the friends they started out as. But they danced the dance and pretended they weren't breaking regs and a dozen other things. During the whole marriage John felt adrift. He still didn't have a course heading, only this time he didn't care. Maybe he'd go someplace way off the grid, someplace where there were no radios or vids of any kind, a place where he didn't have to hear about The Kid dying on one of her damnable fool hero missions fucking Hackett and now the Council were always sending her on.

As the thought might happen, the door to Joe's pub slammed open and the three hulks exited.

"So this is how's going to be?" John Sheppard squared his shoulders and eyed the trio in equal disdain. "Fine. Which one of you assholes want to dance first?" He spat on the gravel parking lot and put up his fists like a champion boxer.

"You really that stupid?" Twiddle-Dumber scoffed. "Or just that drunk?"

"Does it matter?" John took a lunging swing at the blonde who easily sidestepped the fist and shoved John to the ground, causing him to land on his knees.

"Leave him Markus, look at him, he's noting but a tired old drunk," Twiddle-Dumb said, grabbing the other male by the arm. "He's not worth the hassle. Besides, as soon you hit him in the gut, he'll puke."

"You backing down, you yellow-bellied sissy boys! Don't have the kahoonas to back up your fucking champion? What about you Twiddle-Dee you got a set of stones on you? You sure as hell look the part." John rose to his feet and made another attempt at his attack.

"Looks to me he wants suicide by marine," Twiddle-Dee said. For a moment it looked as if she were going to pop the retired major in the mouth. "Go home old man. You're not worth the trouble. Go sleep it off."

"Frack the lot of you!" John climbed to his feet, whipped the spittle from his mouth and dirt that had collected upon his three day old unshaven chin. "I don't need your fracking pity! And I don't need no goddamn hero for a daughter!"

But the trio had already gone back inside the pub, ignoring the former naval officer and his insults.

Teetering on drunken feet he slid down next to a parked air-car and pressed his back against it. His whole body started to ache as the pent up tension in his muscles spewed out like vomit. "I don't want a dead hero Kid. I'm fine with just Sam."

MEMEMEMEMEMEME

The Azure Hotel on Illium was a place of decadence that catered to a particular clientele. It was not a cheap place if one wanted to become a permanent resident of the hotel as there was a substantial rental contract. On the plus side however, it was a fixed rate.

The penthouse suites were all uniformly decorated with aquatic art-deco motif favored in general by the majority of the asari people. Art deco was not only popular in their homes and places of business, it was also the preferred style within the interiors of their ships; both privately owned pleasure barges and militaristic fleets.

Matriarch Aethyta never bothered to alter the standard décor of her apartment as it served its purpose well enough. In fact, she added very few personal touches to the rooms. The only thing of any deep personal meaning was her portrait of her daughters. One in particular always held her attention more than the others, her youngest; the one she sired along with Sha'ira. Often times, in vain, Aethyta tried not to dwell on the Consort's part in the conception of her daughter. Did it matter now? Neither of them played a significant part in the maiden's life. If she could, Aethyta would take pains to alter that relationship, but that was not within her power to change. Nor was it in the power of the Consort's, may the Progenitor take her old bones.

The self-exiled Matriarch now sat at her dinner table barren of rich foods or simple fares, it held only the portrait of Liara and a decanter of single malt whiskey from Scotland, a country on the human homeworld. A constant connoisseur of whiskeys, bourbons and bandies from all across the galaxy, Aethyta held a certain appreciation for the human made variety. They had a particular talent for the brewing and distilling of it.

Aethyta loved the way it burned down her throat as she drank it. If she drank it quickly enough, it brought tears to her eyes and she could pretend they came from the booze and not the sorrow she possessed her heart when she gazed at the face of her daughter.

There was a sudden knock at the door that shot through Aethyta like a sudden plunge into freezing waves of ocean water. There was a deep temptation to ignore the pounding, but her curiosity of who would come calling at this hour got the better of her. It must be an errand of some import. There was a sudden, inexplicable icicle of dread that penetrated the ageing asari's heart as her imagination spread virally at the notion that something had happened to her Little Wing.

Rushing to the door, she tore it open only to find, not a messenger of Liara's downfall, but another courier of ill-tidings.

"Oh isn't this just grand?"

"You are spare in your salutations as always," Consort Sha'ira said diplomatically as she stood at the threshold of her former lover's home. "Are you going to invite me in or are we going to converse at your door?"

"Considering you came all the way to Illium, I can assume it isn't for booze, azure or anything else just this side of a Justicar's wrath. Should I see your presences as some kind of portent?" Aethyta blithely assaulted the renowned matriarch standing before her.

Even still, she parted the doorway allowing the other passage.

"Bluntly spoken as always, I see. How very charming." Sha'ira responded in her more genteel tone.

"Charm in this place doesn't get you anywhere near azure or a good ass. What do you want? Looking to branch out? I wouldn't. Illium has its own consorts and there are no better burlesques to be found even on the homeworld. We don't need you."

"You know very well that only acolytes travel, not a Mistress. And that is not why I have chosen to come here, Aethyta."

"Oh damn, there goes my chances for a booty call. Again; what the hell do you want? Nezzy's dead. We don't have any more connection." Without looking behind her to see that her guest was settled, the bartender went to the liquor cabinet and took out a fresh bottle of bourbon and two glasses, which she placed four cubes of ice in each.

"Liara," Sha'ira offered in a voice as sharp as a dagger point.

Perhaps that icicle of fear had yet to melt. Mastering her expressions was an art Aethyta never mastered, she had never cared to.

"My girl. Not yours. When are you going to get that though that skull of yours Consort? You were just the bit on the side for both of us. Nezzy was my bondmate; we just used you as a play thing, a decedent dessert. And hell, I'll give you this; you were fun. Who doesn't like a good three-way tumble now and then?"

Contrariwise, the Consort was long schooled in controlling her emotions, and gave no outward display of the pure outrage she had for this 'bartender.' "Must you be so crass?"

"Blame my krogan father. I inherited a bit of his mouth," Aethyta said. She put the glass of alcohol in front of the other matriarch and took a deep sip of her own.

"Clearly."

"Yeah well, crass or not, my girl is one forth krogan, not an ounce of her Consort."

"Oh, I don't know about that. Have you seen her walk? Dance? She moves with in-born grace—twice over. That did not come from you, that is pure Benezia and I."

"Bah. Delude yourself if you want, I know my girl." The glass was drained and refilled.

"Truly? I do not recall seeing you at the funeral or the wedding. Nor do I recall you admitting your connection to Benezia to our child." Her tumbler was now half drained.

"Just because you did not see me, does not mean I was not there." Aethyta crossed her arms over her chest. "I had to know what sort of woman this Shepard was, to get into my girl's heart like she did."

"And?" The Consort was more than a little intrigued what her former partner in the Triad thought of their bond-daughter.

"Before... she was good enough. Now... not so much. For all her power, her heroics, she did nothing to stop the assassins going after Little Wing. And it certainly didn't stop her from losing my grandchild. It's fair to say Shepard has brought more danger into Little Wing's life and has given very little protection."

"Had Shepard been there, you can rest assured it would have played out differently." Sha'ira defended the human maiden. "But she was fulfilling obligations as a Spectre and was with the Council when it happened. Obviously the mercenaries possessed this information and struck precisely when Shepard was otherwise occupied. There isn't a day that passes that Shepard does not feel the guilt of abandoning Liara to the machinations of an intolerable man. I know what guilt Shepard feels to the marrow of her soul. I know what it is to-"

"Don't you dare Shay! Don't you dare. If it wasn't for you, Nezzy would never have been in that damned transport and she would never have gone missing for an entire year. Had she been with her commando escort like she should have been, the pirates would never have targeted that dinky little ship. But you didn't even have them along. Shepard is to blame for what happened to Little Wing and the babe, and you are to blame for what happened to my bondmate and daughter," Aethyta's snarled.

Sha'ira's waxing frustration with her once lover grew so that even her renowned patience was faltering, but that was Aethyta's greatest talent. She possessed an unfathomable capacity to vex anyone who crossed verbal swords with her. The Matriarchy had cast the harsh spoken asari out centuries ago. Her views and ideas had sown more discord than all the harmony Benezia had harvested. Was it any wonder their marriage started to wither?

Having a baby wasn't going to fix that. Benezia having Liara wasn't about repairing a failing marriage, it had been about a woman desperately wanting a daughter. It was about a woman fearful that she had waited too long.

Aethyta proposed a solution that had nothing to do with medicine but with ancient scriptures: a Trinity may bring forth what two could not in the winter of life. Aethyta was never one for art or philosophy, but Nezzy was. She was a goddess-forsaken priestess after all. And it wasn't like they hadn't toyed with the Consort before, she was fun. Of course, that happened when the three were all still in their more wild maidens years.

Goddess that was a long time ago.

"I did not come in person to argue with you Aethyta, but to enlist your aid. There is a storm brewing and Little Wing is caught right up in the middle of it. Had it not been for Shepard, that storm would have hit sooner and we would not be here in your apartment feuding over what is past."

"Shepard's Reapers?" Aethyta snorted contempt. "You came all this way to tell me they are they're real?"

"No." Sha'ira shook her head. "I suspect you already know that they are, because Liara does. And that is all the proof you need."

"And what makes you so sure they are real? Have a little meld with Shepard?"

"No. It was in fact Tevos that did so."

"HA!" Aethyta took another great swig of the whiskey she was drinking and then poured herself a third jigger. "Tevos lead the choir that laughed the blue off my ass when I told the Matriarchy we needed to build our own mass relays. Way I hear it, your new girlfriend laughed the tan off Shepard's ass as well when she told the Council about the Reapers."

"I would not have phrased it so indelicately. And for the record, Tevos has never been my 'girlfriend'. We enjoy each other's company. That is all." The Consort chastised the other asari.

"Right. Last time I spoke to Liara, she said Tevos and a couple other matriarchs melded with Shepard so the kid could go on the Great Hunt. They saw the ship Sovereign in the Spectre's mind, and decided that, while it was true for Shepard, they weren't going to budge on the issue. Said Sovereign was a one-of-kind of geth invention. Little Wing said the Council only believed Shepard believed those things were real. What is true in a mind isn't necessarily real. Seems Shepard resented that decree as much I did when I told them what our maidens should be doing.

"I'm here on Illium serving drinks, and Liara's bondmate is crusading against Cerberus. Maybe we're both better off."

Sha'ira nodded solemnly. She went to the mini-bar to retrieve a new bottle, this one was a human brew from someplace called Tennessee. After she refilled her own snifter with the dark liquor, she set the bottle not where she found it, but in the center isle in the kitchen that she and her former lover leaned against. The ice cubes clinked against glass as the liquid poured over their frozen surfaces.

"I would have thought that as well. Except that Shepard is a young woman of deep conviction." The Consort brought the glass under her nose, inhaling the rich aroma before sipping the heady mixture. She closed her eyes, enjoying the burn as it slipped past her throat into her belly, warming her through. "I do not simply believe the phantoms of the Prothean beacons are what Shepard is convinced are real. I know it is more than that, as does Tevos."

"Tell me, why did that old crone have a sudden change of heart? Tevos isn't the type to suddenly believe in words of a desperate crusader. Something prompted her; I'm betting it wasn't you or your trite 'gift of words'."

"No it wasn't me. The change came from another, one who has a far deeper connection to our Councilor."

"How in the name of the Goddess did she get involved?" Aethyta all but slammed her snifter on the countertop that separated her from the Consort. Small droplets of whiskey plopped like contraindicated rainwater all about its surface, settling into miniature puddles.

"Shepard went to Aria. Begged her to listen to her warnings. Aria heard her out and acted accordingly."

"Oh please, sell that rot to the vorcha, sister. I'm not buying." The bartender snatched the long-necked bottle of the liquor and poured an indiscriminate amount back into the near empty glass.

Sha'ira watched the ice settle in her own glass before she found the words. "Aria took the information from the Spectre's mind. She was deliberately not gentle and she went in very deep. Tore the information out so viciously, that had there been any sense of doubt in Shepard's mind, or even if she were indoctrinated by Reaper or Prothean tech, it would have surfaced. It didn't. The Reapers are very real."

"Oh fuck me," Aethyta gasped.

"Indeed."

"Tevos knows. Presumably she has the Matriarchy and High command doing something about it? What do you want me to do Shay? I have no pull with the home world. Not anymore."

"But you do here, Aethyta. Help our people here. If other worlds see Illium doing something to ready themselves against this threat, they will do so as well. Apparently Aria is prepping Omega. I do not know how, but you must convince the Illium Chamber of Congress to act, if only to build deep subterranean shelters. Rest assured the Pirate Queen, while not altruistic, will not easily give-up her dominion."

By this time Aethyta poured herself another glass of whiskey. "Has all of this something to do with what is happening to the human colonies?"

"I think it does, yes." Sha'ira admitted. "Though I do not know how the Collectors fit in with the Reapers. Only that they do, and Shepard is growing desperate. As with the Reapers, few have taken her words on the Collectors on faith. However peripherally, we must give our bond-daughter's mate aid Aethyta. If not for her sake then for the sake of the daughter we share with Nezzy."

The Illium resident stared at the other asari, the shock on her face evidently clear. "You must be truly worried, you always hated that nickname."

Sha'ira remained silent. Her only action was to drain what remained within her brandy snifter. It was point enough.

MEMEMEMEMEMEME

In the darkest recesses of space lay two well concealed bases of operation controlled by two extremely cautious, perhaps even paranoid (though not undeservedly so), males. One was a massive space station that orbited a red, giant-class M star. Appropriately, the station was named appropriately by its master - the overlord of Cerberus - as Coronus station. Named so after the Lord of the Titans in Greek mythology.

The other stronghold was a vast dreadnought that traveled through the volatile atmosphere of the planet Hagalaz, where the oceans boiled during the day and froze instantly at night. The intense heat on one side of the planet, and the extreme cold on the other, made for a creation of violent storm cells wherever the sun rose or set. The ship followed just in the wake of the sunset to conceal itself within the raging storm. She carried no name, the old girl was the home of the Shadow Broker.

Neither one was willing to risk their safety, or the amenities afforded to them by their deliberate seclusion, by arbitrarily carrying out the meeting in person. The yahg went one step further; concealing his identity with a featureless white silhouetted holographic avatar. Only a handful of his troops had ever seen him face to face, and they never left the ship. Both men found it difficult to contend with each other. Such meetings were generally handled through intermediaries. A drell male named Feron served for the Shadow Broker and Lawson served as such for the Illusive Man, but that was out of the question now.

Sometimes you had to take the risk and do things in person.

*I understand the stage is set. You needn't linger in the dark, this meeting has been a long time coming... Jack Harper.*

The horror-stricken look on the Illusive Man's face was priceless. A fleeting moment, like the smelling of burning hair a stroke victim suffers just before the collapse. For the first time in three decades, the Illusive Man had been rendered speechless. Stunned mystification caused his eyes to bulge.

Before the Broker took full advantage of the dumbfounded leader of Cerberus, the man scolded himself on his lack of self-control. He could not afford another slip. The Shanxi vet had promised himself ages ago that the name no longer held any true meaning to him. Jack Harper died soon after the reclaiming of Shanxi.

The name was a stranger to the tongue and to the ears. Ignorantly, The Illusive Man believed the power its hearing once held had all but diminished. He had taken great pains to 'assassinate' Jack Harper; The Illusive Man meant to keep it this way. After losing Eva and Ben to the brothers Arterius, Jack Harper knew there had to be something out there to protect humanity against all galactic threats. Just as Cerberus was ordered to guard the gates of hell, so must he. But the name Jack Harper could not do this. That life had to end so that humanity could have its guardian angel; The Illusive Man was born and so was the manifesto.

"A bit of an ironic statement considering who you are," The Illusive Man responded tersely. "I am not interested in engaging in needless banter with you Shadow Broker. You know why I've contacted you."

And yet the Shadow Broker persisted in bating away his quarry. *Yes Mr. Harper. You thought to introduce your pawn into the game and now she has been swept from the board.*

"I wouldn't count her out just yet. Miss Lawson's loyalty is unquestionable. She knows what is at stake and what is needed to be done. She's tough and committed, she won't crack for Shepard. She will see it through, to the very end."

*It might have been that way once. No longer. You held the keys to Lawson's little sister's freedom from the tyranny of one Dr. Henry Lawson. Since Shepard's intervention, I believe you no longer posses that 'ace in the hole.' Now Lawson is in the midst of Shepard's power and is being influenced by the Spectre's altruism and ardent belief that your people are more than evil. Miranda Lawson will be turned against the doctrine of Cerberus and she will betray you. It is only a matter of when.*

The cigarette burned brightly as The Illusive Man took a long pull from its filter. "Shepard's leadership skills are incontestable yes, but she is also desperate. Desperate enough to gamble on information Lawson gives her and act upon it. My own pawn is not done with the board yet. Shepard will bend to our ways if only by necessity."

*It is amusing you actually believe that. No doubt your people within the Citadel government know as much as my own have learned. The Council has pulled all turian and salarian military personal, as well as Shepard's entire science team, from her command. Presumably this is because of her crusade against your organization and the Collectors which have forced her to travel the Terminus Systems. Is this what you are counting on Mr. Harper? Is that the reason you called me in person?*

"Hardily. My own network of informants has uncovered something rather interesting about your interactions with the Collectors. You've been tracing their movements for some time. More to the point, the people I've planted in your network of agents tell me you intend to sell Shepard to the Collectors. I can't have that."

*You're supposed to be a business man, Mr. Harper. You should understand when I say their offer was too good to pass up. They do not seem to care if she is alive or dead.*

"Is that why you turned Udina's mob of mercenaries? You want them to switch targets. Your people harvested the dead of the Normandy SR1, did you mean to pass one of their corpses off to the Collectors as Shepard? All they would have needed was a trace of her DNA to know that those bodies were not her."

*True, but that is not the reason those bodies were taken. They were a resource and this is nothing but business. Frankly I have nothing against Shepard, her bondmate or any of her friends or crew.*

"Shepard is my investment. I cannot allow you to tamper with her. She needs to stay her course. You should find new business partners Shadow Broker. I will stop your minions from impeding her task. My people are more than a match for yours. Cerberus will save humanity from the collectors, from the Reapers. The Reapers are a threat to all organics, even you."

The computerized voice of the Shadow Broker let out a laugh. *Still so arrogant! All this time you've spent devising some brilliant plan, yet you know nothing! You have read the signs but missed their meaning. You think you are the hope of all organics? The savior of all organics against the machines? Your messianic delusions have blinded you to the human Spectre's true nature. You have no idea what you have unleashed.*

"And you do?" The rage was back in The Illusive Mans' throat.

"Yes I do. Pushing Shepard to confront the Collectors, to stop them, will became the hallmark of your downfall; yours and everyone else. She must not realize her fate. It will be better for all if she were turned over to the Collectors, believe me."

"You presume too much. The only reason the Collectors want Shepard out of the picture is because they fear her. The Reapers fear her. She is an anomaly, which terrifies you as well."

*There was a time you might have listened to wise council when it was offered. Now your vanity has made you witless. You will have to learn the truth for yourself. Shepard may yet teach you a little humility... before she kills you. I'd pay real money just to see that.*

"This conversation is over," The Illusive Man snarled just before he cut communications.

MEMEMEMEMEMEME