Authors Note: Well, here we are, the final chapter! I never expected to go this long with the story, or get so many results! Seriously, I was expecting maybe 3-4 reviews, and maybe two favorites. Well, this has officially gone far beyond my expectations and has made me a very happy writer. So much so, that I've had to cut this chapter in half, and let the second half be loaded a little later. I mean, I like a nice long chapter, but this was getting way longer than necessary. So, I chopped it in half, sorry if it seems a little abrupt.

The second chapter in The Blitz will be coming soon, I am nearly done with it. Any suggestions, comments, reviews or proposals would be welcome. Thank all of you for reading, and please tip your waitress! Without further ado...

Ground Zero

Elysium, 2176

Elysium is one of the best places in the galaxy for a vacation, Lieutenant-Commander John Shepard agreed wholeheartedly.

The N7 operative was in full relaxation mode. Swimming trunks, cold beverage, lounge chair by the water, existence could not get any more laid back. Nearby, a mini-band performed, not the same one he'd performed with on a mission a few months back. That band had gone on its way, having served its purpose, and more importantly, gotten its fee plus hazard pay.

A few feet beyond Shepard, a salarian was handily defeating another human in a friendly swimming match. Shepard had watched the two competing back and forth all day, with predictable results. Whenever the match was strength, the human won. Whenever the competition became more athletic, the salarian won. It was close sometimes, human endurance barely defeating salarian flexibility (and stride length) in a 5k, but it seemed the two never stopped.

Which was driving Shepard crazy.

Captain Anderson had granted the operative a full month off, the first two weeks of which he was required to do nothing exerting, other than the usual workout routines. Anderson had even confiscated his beloved Volkov VIII, preventing target practice. If Shepard even left the premises of the resort, Anderson had promised a full remedial course in diplomatic relations with the Hanar.

So, Shepard relaxed, and watched. And thought of various ways he could send a nasty virus to the good captains' omni-tool. Something that made all audio effects sound like polka music.

He sighed and got up. A waiter instantly took his nearly-full glass and proffered a new one. Shepard waved his hand and the waiter faded back, almost as if he'd had stealth training.

Shepard would have never admitted it, but he was an impressive sight. He was bronzed from nearly two weeks of sunshine, and his enforced rest period had allowed a significant amount of muscle definition shape his physique. Unfortunately, much of that muscle was marred with scars from battles over the years. This led to there being somewhat more of a problem moving around than he'd thought. Some months ago, shortly after his Jhodenheim mission, he'd been chosen as the primary "face" of the Alliance military. Having his image posted over every recruitment office in Alliance space, and being the subject of more than a few interviews, tended to make blending …difficult. Lieutenant Micha, the asari commando he'd worked with on his final qualifying N7 mission had even written to tell him she'd gained some fame from having associated with the "famous Shepard." She also had begun a practice, teaching "human" dances. Go figure.

So it was with the same technique he'd use on the battlefield that he managed to make it to his private room, unlisted of course. That was the only fun part of this vacation, blending in with the populace. He'd move a towel over his left shoulder, then cover his head as if he were drying his hair. A little sidestep, checking his reflection in a window changed his profile when a gaggle of people approached. A fake sneeze, two stumbles and a mildly bewildered expression later, and he made it to his room. Well, rooms. Against his wishes, he'd been given more of a suite than a room. A kitchen (in case he ever felt like cooking for himself), a bedroom (with an extra-large nano-fiber massage mattress), and a living room (more chairs than a dairy herd had legs) created an admittedly pleasing, yet very posh, dwelling.

The screen on the wall turned itself on when Shepard walked into the room. It was automatically set to the local weather station, a habit he'd grown up with. Better to know what the weather will bring first, then make plans.

That evening, he decided to make his own supper. There had been many invitations, of course, but there Anderson had saved him with his "order" to stay inside the resort. That hadn't stopped some foolhardy individuals from scouring the outside area (the room was an inside one, thankfully) with the local paparazzi, but the hotel staff were used to it. Apparently, this was indeed a high-level resort; non-human celebrities showed up on a semi-frequent basis.

A buzzing tone reached Shepards ears. His omni-tool was going off, a call incoming.

Shepard put down the knife he was using and flicked on the receptor. Karls' face appeared, grainy in texture.

"Shepard! Thank God I've got you! I'm on assignment, can't talk…have to warn you….pirate attack…jamming ship…."

The signal faded in and out. That was very odd. The resort was careful to reserve a large amount of bandwidth for its clients, no one had higher clearance except the military, the Council and Spectres. So…unless there was a gamer convention launching another DOS attack on a recreation area….

Before that thought finished Shepard found himself at his closet, donning his best gear. No armor or weapons, blast Anderson! But he had to warn the officials. Without armor.

Quick-dressing was a hobby at which any serviceman quickly became adept. Within thirty seconds Shepard had a decent pair of slacks, a pair of hiking shoes and a sleeveless muscle shirt, dog tags dangling outside. He stopped another second and tried putting through a call to Alliance command; N7 graduates had that privilege after all. The result had him grimace.

Faster than before, Shepard jogged down the hall to the stairs; elevators were too slow. He put in a call to the local authorities and began working up the ranks. This could get ugly.

~o~O~o~

0200 hours

"There hasn't been any problem reported to me, it's probably just a solar flare on the Primary Mass Relay to Sidon. You'll get your call in a few minutes I'm sure."

Shepard was in the office of the highest authority available this time of night, the governors second in command. He was a short fellow, balding with traces of worry lines beginning to form by his eyes.

"Why haven't you received any priority messages then? Why is the entire system blank for incoming traffic?' Shepard demanded. He felt underdressed for the occasion, no armor and no uniform, but this was important.

The major domo had a self-satisfied look on his face. "Just because we're the largest colony in the Verge doesn't mean we get priority messages all the time. We're having a quiet round, that's all. The screens went blank only a few minutes ago anyway, so why worry?"

Shepard let the other man's words roll around his head a minute. Then he stood and leaned both hands on the desk. "Then you are a fool." He growled. "I told you I tried to contact Alliance Command. I am military, you clueless dolt! More than that, I am an N7 operative, rated at the highest levels of our military's elite. When I send an emergency message, that means an EMERGENCY is OCCURING!" He roared the last word out with enough venom to startle the cringing second-in-command.

"But you knew. You knew far more than you just told me."

The man's eyes grew wide.

"You knew the ladar was down, you knew there was a problem with the communications. You knew it before I came in, and I knew it as it happened. That means you knew before it happened. You had warning."

The major domo moved his hand slightly under the desk. Shepard had a half-second to react before two batarians burst out of a side door bearing something that definitely wasn't a house-warming gift.

All N7 candidates had to take a course on tactics, even the ancient writings. According to General Von Clausewitz's On War (written during the 1800s), one of the advantages for being the defending party was that an attacking party had to adjust to the terrain constantly. The defender had a static area, and so could react faster, if prepared.

Shepard used that principle to shoulder-charge the nearer batarian before the four-eyed freak could focus. He hit with a satisfying crunching sound, forcing a pained gasp from the target. The other batarian was twisting, aiming his shotgun at Shepard, but was too late to beat his comrades pistol, still in his grip but under Shepards control, firing.

Shepard freed the pistol and carefully double tapped both of the batarians. Then he walked over to the desk, spun a chair around and sat, facing the shaking manager.

"Do you know earth history?" Shepard asked. Without waiting for a response he continued. "During the early stages of World War Two, the British had an idea. They couldn't directly aid their allies with armies, they weren't ready for war. So they trained an elite force of commandos. They were ordinary people, asked to do extraordinary things. But before they were able to do them, they had to sit through a questionnaire session. I'll ask you one of their questions."

"Can you walk up behind a man, stab a knife into his back, and twist it?"

The managers breathing grew faster.

Shepard twirled a knife he'd liberated from one of the corpses. "It's an interesting question because an honest reply can tell you so very much about the subject. On the one hand, it could reveal a vicious killer, on the other, it could mean someone is incapable of making the hard choice at the right time."

The blade spun hypnotically.

"So what I see here, is someone who knew ahead of time about the jamming, and did nothing. This person also had batarians ready to kill on his command. And we're in the Skyllian Verge."

More silence. Then….

"You can't prove anything." The mans confidence was coming back.

Shepard raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

The manager nodded emphatically his breathing slowing. "You came here looking for help. No one can prove those brutes were here under my command."

Shepard let the knife twirl a few more times before flicking it into the solid oak desk. "Maybe I found the governors body."

The manager laughed. "Don't try that on me. I made sure the governor is just sleeping off a very happy evening."

"Arranged by you." Shepard nodded. "Clever."

'Yeah, too clever to get done in by letting you trick a confession out of me. I've had an emp block on this room since you came in."

Shepard nodded approvingly. "Yet, you might be so sharp you cut yourself." He leaned over the desk, making sure he had his most intimidating grin, to whisper: "Nobody stabs me in the back, got it?"

The other man dismissed him with a wave of his hand. "Look, I know you Alliance military types. So long as you get your funding you don't care what goes on out in the colonies. How about we cut a deal?"

If the businessman had been paying attention, he would have seen Shepards' face flicker between outrage and amusement. "Let's say I'm willing to listen."

The second-in-command settled in a comfortable position. "I'll give you a cut of the profits, and an FTL capable shuttle offworld before the slaver get here. You could do some serious harm to the merchandise, and I don't want to see that happen."

Shepard gave the man one long stare. "You know something else about that story I told? I've done it. I've gone cold enough to sneak up on a man and twist a knife in his back. And you know what? He was a slaver."

His prey sagged a little.

He raised his voice, "Officers, you may come in now."

Two uniformed men entered through the same door Shepard had a few minutes ago, opposite of the batarians. They had expressions of disgust on their faces, somewhat akin to as if they'd discovered a small disease-ridden rodent in their bed. "We heard everything sir. You want us to put him under arrest?"

Shepard weighed the pistol in his hand casually. "As a military officer, I am not allowed to give orders to civilians, except under martial law. However, I suggest you take this scum and lock him in a secure location…" a grin of pure malice came over his face, "at the city walls. If he survives what comes next, he goes on trial."

One of the officers had a similar look of malicious pleasure on his face. "Understood sir. And sir? I had relatives on Mindoir."

Shepard nodded once, from one professional to another. "At your discretion, officers."

~o~O~o~

0600 hours

"What kind of dogs do we have in the city?" Shepard asked.

The question seemed to throw off the police chief, Malcolm Harvey. "Wha-at? Dogs? We don't have time to get attack dogs, sir?"

"Not just attack dogs," Shepard explained. "I want all the dogs we can get. They all have a better sense of smell than you or I do, and they can't be shut down by emp's. Get as many dogs on the perimeter as possible, and watch them for any sign of odd behavior."

Shepard turned before the police chief could acknowledge the order. "Do we have any word from Admiral Grissom?"

A gloomy head shook. "We don't have communication out to his place, and he's too far to reach in time, even with a shuttle."

"Too bad. We could have used him here. Never mind, what's the status on communications?"

A fresh faced youngster piped up. "Stella, with Elysium Information News Net. We still don't have outgoing messages, but we do have one incoming message for you!"

Shepard pushed outside the knot of people he'd become surrounded by, "Everyone, keep going. Get weapons from that Haribon warehouse and check on those gunships. We have less than seven hours before those monsters get here and I want a warm welcome ready for 'em!"

The young woman held out an omni-tool when he got beyond the edge of the crowd. An unknown officers face faded in and out of coherence. "Lieutenant-Commander…this….directly from…are hereby ordered to fall back….too few N7s…will lead counterattack…sending alert ASAP, but you nee…." The rest of the message was drowned out by static.

Shepard glanced up. The light was poor at this hour, but he could tell that the young lady had a look of trepidation in her eyes. The nearest eavesdroppers had the same expression. The best trained man on the planet, their best chance for survival, had just been ordered to abandon them.

Shepard winked at the youngster, then caught himself. Youngster? She's gotta be 18 if she's a day. When did I get so old? Then out loud, "I'm sorry the message was so garbled, ma'am. I'm sure you did the best you could. At least we know there's reinforcements on the way."

The wave of relief was almost palpable, and that was just from the people next to him. Shepard knew the story would get around and grow in the telling. He disliked using himself as a role-model, but right now the people needed a morale booster.

"All right, now where's that fertilizer? I'm going to show you how to make a Bouncing Betty. They're illegal, but hey, so are slave grabs."

~o~O~o~

The colony had been designed as a single central location, unlike other colonies. This one had grown so fast in its early development that decentralization wasn't even considered until after it was too late. By then, everyone wanted to be near the popular commercial sections, and enough trade had flowed to make a single megacity feasible. Fortunately, it had been a requirement that all colonies in the Verge be equipped with defensive walls, akin to those used by the Romans in ages past. Not all of the predators on new colonies had two legs.

Farmers outside the city were hurrying as fast as they could to bring their flocks and harvests under cover, if they had already harvested. They would never have made it without a detachment of Kodiak shuttles sent out to expedite their retreat. Those that couldn't, or wouldn't make it to the city abandoned their homes, taking only the essential supplies to secure bunkers, plus whatever extras they could bring along. Animals and crops could be recovered, lives couldn't.

A surprisingly large cache of A-61 Mantis gunships were found stored in a Cord-Hislop Aerospace warehouse. What they were doing there wasn't included in the records, but Shepard "suggested" they be confiscated and refurbished. It was to his great fortune that a few local salarian were exceptionally skilled at repairing military grade hardware, and that most of the asari had some biotic capability for the front lines as well. Some of the lesser skilled asari took charge of inner-city organization, what they lacked in combat they more than made up in centuries of organizational experience. Part of the non-human population also consisted of turians, fortunately. All turians had at least the minimal in combat training and most had military experience. While it was a human colony, all of the non-humans considered it their home as well, or at least an investment worth defending.

The security already in place was the greatest help however. The personnel were trained for minor attacks, and with a little care and direction from the few professionals present, they'd do well in this situation. They were already trained in the usage of the defense cannon in place, which was fantastic. The cannon were hardwired to shielded power sources, and could deter gunship assaults and shuttle drops. However, Shepard privately thought it unlikely that the slavers would try something so destructive, they wanted soft easy salvage.

Shepard was putting his training and experience to good use, although he'd never thought to be defending something as large as a whole colony. Thousands of volunteers had come up simply because of his reputation. Hundreds of thousands were following his suggestions, and in turn commanding millions more, making this the largest force he'd ever commanded...advised…more accurately. He didn't tell them that, however, pretending as if the whole event was nothing more than a minor, yet moving, footnote in his career.

One interesting find had been an Alliance arms depot. Shepard had been able to rearm himself in the best the Alliance had to offer, and had armed the best of the volunteers in similar hardware. An old Turian had volunteered to oversee calibrating their weapons and Shepard had let him, despite his misgivings. The aged Turian had worked so fast and accurately however, that Shepard silently resolved to never stop a Turian from working on weapons. It seemed to be an innate trait, they just loved playing with weapons.

"Sir? Sir!"

Shepard turned to the latest interruption. "Yes? What is it?"

A young man in a camouflage print outfit saluted…sort of…. "Joseph Einrich, Elysium militia, 1st platoon, presenting the compliments of Captain Fayn Meyca. We're ready to deploy, sir."

Mentally, Shepard slapped himself. How could he have forgotten about militias? Mindoir had a militia of its own after all. It hadn't done much good back in the attack Shepard had lived through, but it had ensured far fewer slavers had returned to their ships. The last he'd heard, what militia members had managed to group together had killed something like a 5:1 ratio.

"What kind of numbers do you have, and may I speak with Captain Meyca?" he asked.

The young man gave another awkward salute. "I'll tell the Captain you want to see him as soon as possible, he can answer your questions." He at least had the decency to wait for Shepards return salute before running.

Immediately after that, an asari accosted Shepard. "Lieutenant?"

"Lieutenant-Commander, actually." He corrected politely. "What can I do for you, Ma'am?"

The asari looked…older than most of the asari he ran into. A matron was it? She didn't look pudgy, whatever the name. "Shayna Y'nara, of Thessia. I have three centuries of commando experience, and three daughters here in Elysium nearly as skilled. Tell me what I can do."

Shepard stopped a moment. Asari commandos were few and far between, but each one carried enough expertise for a full squad. That made him think about judgement, and who could be in charge… "How good a shot are you? As a sniper I mean?"

The asari lifted her chin regally, "I was a sniper for the Armali Commandoes in my youth. I used the M-72 for preference."

"I'll see what can be found, for now, can you find a few vantage points? I want you to direct the snipers if you would be so kind."

The word "smile," would have been far too genteel a word for the look on the asaris' face. It would be more accurate to call it the satisfied, blood-thirsty grin of a shark.

"It would be my pleasure." She curtseyed and moved back, gesturing to a trio of much younger asari. The quartet scattered, gazing up at the heights intently.

~o~O~o~

0800 hours

Shepard managed to find several drivers amongst the populace for the half-dozen Makos scrounged from the companies' garages. They were veterans from the First Contact War, eager to lend their expertise to the preparations.

The aforementioned vehicles rumbled in the commons. The six-wheeled armored units made the earth shake as they rolled, heartening the populace beyond just those who could see. That was always part of the game, boost the morale of the populace while diminishing the enemy's.

Captain Meyca, a salarian, caught Shepard at the gate, frantically trying to coordinate the data on his omni-tool. "Lieutenant-Commander. Good to meet you, has martial law been declared?"

Shepard shook his head. "The governor is unconscious. His lieutenant drugged him just before the scramblers started up."

The captain held up his omni-tool. "I have a backup plan here, signed by the governor, to establish martial law if slavers attacked. Not quite as big as this one I think, though."

Shepard looked puzzled. "How did you get the authority to push that through the politics? I thought you were in charge of the militia?"

Meyca held up another document. "It's the Senate, actually. The plan was created some years ago, and given the authority of the governor about two months after that. PR move mostly. However, I just came from the Congress, and both the Senate and the House of Representatives agree you have the best qualifications for getting us out of this mess."

Shepard received the data burst. "You're giving that…to me?"

Captain Meyca saluted crisply. "You now have the entire city at your disposal, sir. Also, a technical upgrade for your omni-tool. Coordinates all available data for you. Orders?"

It took five seconds for Shepard to absorb the news. Before, he'd been leading by example, by giving suggestions on defense. Now…he could order whatever he wanted…to millions of inhabitants.

"Your messenger, he's an engineer, right?" he asked.

"Yes, but he also has experience in technical tactical hacking." The captain responded.

Shepard shook his head sharply. "I want him to set up every loudspeaker, every subwoofer, and every DJ facing outwards on and above the walls."

"What?"

"Set them up with enough power to rattle the walls of Mr. Grissom himself, but keep the noise aimed above the level of the defenders."

No one could ever say the salarians were stupid. He caught on quickly. "Right. Confusion. Inability to use simple analogue scans to determine weak points."

"To a certain extent. They could use other things, but all we need to do is hold out for reinforcements. The rest of your men need to go outside the walls, dig in, fight a guerrilla warfare. Retreat to the walls when you can, probably in small three-man squads. That was the most effective in my experience."

A harsh wailing broke overhead, followed by the sonic booms of spacecraft entering atmosphere. Contrails from condensed moisture appeared far overhead.

"Belay that last," Shepard gestured skywards. "We're too late for that. Looks like they pushed up their timetable. Arm up and get to the walls, but stay under cover. Select your best scouts and harass the slavers if you can."

The activity in the city grew more frantic, people scurrying around like ants with their nest kicked. The Makos rumbled to covered sheds, mechanics moving to do repair work.

~o~O~o~

0820 hours

'Lieutenant-Commander! Sir!"

Civilians scattered to the sides of the road, clearing the path for a motorcycle purring up the center. Another civilian wearing the colors of a courier service was on the 'cycle, waving to gain the soldier's attention.

Shepard turned back. "Yes? I'm a little busy."

"We got two krogan that won't let us open a door in the armory, over in the Cord-Hislop main office."

Shepard suddenly became interested. "Krogan? Here?"

The courier patted the back of his seat. "Hop on, I'll take you there."

"Um…all right."

The ride back was fast, not as fast as shuttle perhaps, but it felt faster. Maybe it had something to do with how close the ground was, or how unprotected the rider was in his chair. The Cord-Hislop building was at the center of town and had one of the highest skyscrapers on Elysium.

Inside, two oversized krogan glowered at the militia volunteers present. Both sides bore their weapons with obvious aggression intent.

Shepard didn't bother trying to diffuse the tension. One of the militia members was an asari, diplomacy obviously wasn't working.

"What the hell is going on here?" Shepard bellowed. The krogan jerked to face him, aiming automatically at the loudest target.

Shepard knew he couldn't even smell of fear, krogan were the ultimate in intimidation tactics, but only a few realized they had brains to match their brawn. He took angry steps closer, focusing on the nearer of the two lizard-skinned aliens.

"What do you mean hiding in here when there's slavers to kill? Did you two forget how to fight?"

These krogan were smarter than the average meatshields. Both cocked their shotguns, growling. The larger one took the role of spokesman. "We don't answer to you, human. We have our orders. No one gets through this door, no matter what."

That stymied Shepard for a second; but then he saw the militia slightly raising their weapons. The militia may have been trained, but the krogan had centuries of warfare experience, plus their own natural abilities.

Taking two long steps, Shepard moved between the krogan, seizing a shotgun by the barrel. It was the work of a moment to wrest control from the surprised alien. Shepard pointed the gun upwards and triggered a series of blasts, startling them further. Off balance opponents were easier to control.

"You couldn't protect a chunk of eezo from a quarian!" he roared in his best sergeant voice. "I'm in charge of this colony, not you, not your boss, and definitely not any coward of a manager!"

The larger, still armed, krogan growled louder and deeper. "We don't-"

He didn't get to finish his sentence. Shepard reared back, pulling his shoulders down, and slammed his helmet into the krogan's forehead-plate.

"I didn't ask for excuses, I told you to get out there! Move your asses or I'll fill them with lead!"

Grumbling, the two krogan stumped out the doors. The larger one paused, spinning a slit-pupil to focus on Shepard. "You got a quad. More than our boss anyway."

Shepard nodded politely. "Report to Captain Meyca, he'll show you the best spot for fighting."

One of the militiamen had opened the formerly blocked door. "Lieutenant!"

Shepard stepped through the opening…and…and…stopped. He just…stopped.

Inside lay weapons he hadn't seen outside the Alliance prototype shops. Especially…an M-89 Prototype Widowmaker, similar to the prototype he'd once used back in boot camp. Three of them. Plus a series of grenade launchers, of Terminus systems origins if he was correct. Rocket launchers. Crates of grenades.

"Sir?"

An entire stack of armor modifications; eyepieces. Greave additions. Ablative solutions in tightly packed containers.

"Sir?"

The storage room went farther back than it looked. Nearer to the back were more crates. Omni-gel, experimental med-gel. Omni-tool upgrades, was that a Savant X?

"SIR?"

Shepard snapped out of it.

"Find Shayna Y'Nara, get her two of those," he pointed at the Widows. "Get the grenades to the distribution center, and the heavy weapons over to the bunker behind the third line next to the shuttle dock. If we need them we can send a runner out to the front lines. The rest of this stuff goes to the same place, tell the volunteers to relieve Captain Meyca's men so he can get better gear."

He picked up the third M-89 before it was already taken. "And this…this goes with me."

~o~O~o~

0900 hours

"I am Lieutenant-Commander John Shepard, Grade Seven N7 graduate. I have been given the honor of organizing the defenses of Elysium."

Elysium had its own media system. Interstellar traffic may have been blocked, but there were still plenty of reporters and cameras. Ms Shayn had suggested Shepard address the populace, give a face to the defensive force, and boost morale. It was out of Shepards comfort zone, but he had some experience being in the limelight.

"As you know, all communication with the Alliance has been cut off. We managed to get a distress signal out, so we know help is on the way." Not strictly true, but in essence correct.

Shepard took a breath. "We don't know who is out there, or why they're attacking. But this is the Skyllian Verge, and the Batrians have been shoving everywhere else in the system. However, it might also be pirates. We just don't know."

One of the camera operators gave him a thumbs up. What did that mean?

"What I do know is this: I've fought pirates, batarians, slavers and more. I am bound by my oath to the Alliance to not tell you all that I have fought, or about all the missions I have completed against scum of the galaxy. What I can tell you is this: Slavers and pirates are weak. Pathetic. They prey on the helpless and try to attack by surprise. A good honest fight scares them."

Switching to Confident Smile #2 (I-Know-Something-You-Don't-Know), Shepard gestured at the scenery to one side. The cameras automatically followed the gesture. Makos shuddered in a basso thunder, pointed conveniently at the cameras. Rows of recently re-armed militia stood in Parade Rest…at least the Turians were.

"These are some of the defenders of Elysium. They stand ready to fight both for your survival, and their own. Thousands more are already waiting for the enemy-"

The camera cut out to a drone, hovering over the city wall. Armed defenders peeked over the wall. One or two waved at the camera…oh for Pete's sake…one had a HI MOM! sign….

"They know their jobs. Now I'll tell you yours."

Explosions started raising dust clouds in the distance. The Mantis gunships were doing their job then, good.

"If you can shoot, get a gun and stay back. If you can't shoot, get under cover. If you can run, we need help at the medical shelters. There will be wounded men and women today, and they need you to help them stay alive, just as they are fighting to keep you alive."

The deep report of a sniper rifle echoed over the cameras. Up on a vantage point, an asari shifted back, waiting for her heatsink to cool.

"Some of us may not make it through this battle. Record messages for your loved ones, but make it quick."

Shepard took out the M-89 Widowmaker Prototype and unfolded it to its full length. "The enemy wants to take everything we have, and ourselves as well. We'll show them what free citizens can do in a fair fight. See you on the line, I'll be out front."

The reporters started shouting questions, but Shepard dismissed them sharply and ran towards the wall. Cameras followed him as he ran…it was a cheap theatrical trick, but again, the colony needed every boost it could get. Especially morale. This could get ugly.

~o~O~o~

Out in the distance, the gunships launched the last of their loads and headed back for re-arming. A pair of Kodiak Shuttlecraft lifted off behind them, headed back to base. Enemy shuttlecraft had landed well outside the range of the colony's GUARDIAN cannon, offloading an army.

Some of the shuttlecraft had been damaged in the gunships' assault, forcing the commander to delay his assault until the full measure of his force was assembled. It would work for maybe another hour, but patience was never really high on the priority list for most pirates.

The shuttles Shepard had sent out carried a mix of turian and human veterans, tasked with setting up traps, ambushing isolated groups and being a general hazard. The shuttles stayed well out of the action, due to their limited firepower, but kept close enough to make an extraction feasible.

From their nests far above, the snipers took practice shots, marking distances on their personal rangefinders. With the enemy over ten kilometer away, the snipers didn't have to worry about being spotted, yet.

There was an almighty crackling noise, then a booming voice, a mellow tenor emanated from the sky.

"Test, test…check check onetwothree…are we good?"

An engineer on the wall waved both her arms at a point farther back.

"All right ladies and gentlemen…and slavers. Today we have for your listening pleasure, a recent recording of the turian rock group, Heavy Mettle. Their latest album is entitled Death Mettle, an appropriate title if I ever saw one, and for our winning pleasure, the first number will be Bring It On….."

Around the city perimeter, similar speakers crackled to life, booming and whistling as they were tuned up. A strange wailing screamed out the speakers, then quieted as they were aimed more accurately, over the heads of the defenders.

Shepard took his sniper rifle and squinted through the scope. Armored figures were hauling themselves out of vehicles and taking cover.

The next wave of Mantis gunships buzzed overhead, headed for the assembling horde. Unfortunately, twin contrails from farther out indicated enemy combat craft.

Shepard keyed in the gunships frequency. "Stay back boys, we got another surprise ready for 'em. Keep under cover of the GUARDIAN batteries, and give 'em hell when they get close."

Double clicks acknowledged his order, and the attack craft turned back.

A whistling noise caught everyones attention. It came from the west side, nearer the invaders. The sound grew shriller, echoing louder like a demons whistle…followed by an enormous explosion that rocked the ground under Shepards feet.

Screams erupted behind Shepard; spinning, he saw what they'd seen. An enormous hole near the base of one of the skyscrapers poured smoke and debris.

"COVER!" he bellowed.

Multitudes of people scattered for shelter, screaming over the subwoofers.

Shepard sprinted for an overturned skycar, dialing up more frequencies.

"Why isn't that GUARDIAN tower online?" he shouted into the speaker.

A strained voice came back. "Something's infected the system, sir. Some kind of override. Can't tell where it came from."

Shepard groaned away from the mouthpiece. "Well get it back online, we don't have all day!"

Another screaming sound pierced the air, accompanied by terrified cries from people on the ground. This time Shepard was able to see an old broken down shuttle skid sideways through the air, partially shot down by one of the Mantis gunships. Its direction was gone, but the damaged shuttle managed to clip another tower.

The first tower was leaning over, excellent construction preventing an all out crash, but unable to prevent it from sagging into the rest of the surrounding structures. People were scrambling out of the way, probably thankful for any chance at all.

A hoarse human voice, probably from the spaceport, came over the radio. "Gunships, 'ware kamikazes, probably VI piloted. Watch for covering fighters out thirty klicks, three o'clock high!"

Shepard was dialing the assistant he'd had for interstellar messages. "Stella, is that you?"

A panicked voice gabbled on the other end, talking far too fast to make out.

"Calm down…calm down ma'am. It looks like most of the people are safe…yes, minimal casualties." Shepard wasn't sure where he got the buzzwords, but it seemed to work for the secretary.

"Ma'am, listen closely. I need you to start up all of the media antennas…yes…all of them. If you can, point them west, at full power. Blanket all the frequencies except the ones we're using, and the Alliance emergency frequency."

More fast-paced talking.

"Well yes it's an emergency. That's why I'm ordering it."

Shepard cut off her next transmission and shifted to Captain Meyca's channel. "Captain, are you there?"

The salarians voice came back strong. "Still living, shifting infantry from east wall closer to center of the city. Next suicide craft probable target is the GUARDIAN tower, status?"

Shepard had to be amused at the un-intended pun, salarians spoke rapid-fire under fire.

"Status unchanged, invaders approaching. GUARDIAN tower locked, hacker working on it. Adjusting to compensate."

The men on the walls started opening up, assault rifles starting their rhythmic chatter.

Shepard left his cover and bounded up an impromptu staircase. Peeking over the wall, he could see burn marks where shuttles had landed new troops during the aftermath of the suicide shuttles.

His omni-tool flashed incoming message. Stella was on the line.

"Sir, I've established contact with every responding broadcast station on the planet, they're all coordinating to cancel as many frequencies as possible, and you have an incoming message, sir."

"What? Who?" Shepard pulled his rifle into position.

A deeper, much calmer voice came out of the omni-tool. "This is the SSV Agincourt, Captain speaking. May I offer some assistance?"

Relief flooded through Shepard. "Captain, this is Lieutenant-Commander John Shepard, N7 Marine. It's good to hear your voice, sir."

The captain came right back. "Same here, it looked like no one was moving down there until your assistant answered our signal. How can we assist?"

Shepard risked a look over the wall. "What's your situation and disposition?"

"Looks like we have near a thousand small vessels to our six frigates, and angry."

More slavers, Shepard could see their eyes now, all four of them. "Protect the colony from orbital bombardment as you can, and if you would be so kind as to send some Tridents down to cover the GUARDIAN repairs, that'd be great."

"Acknowledged, Shepard. Keep up your end, and we'll hold ours. Reinforcements are on their way."

Shepard silently pumped his fist. A startled turian glanced over at him, then spread his mandibles in response. Both turned back to the task at hand, killing slavers.

And that felt short to me, but it's 6k words already! Tune in for the final addition to The Nth Degree...

And yes I'll be doing an Akuze mission. It only seems fair, after all.