A Fox Amongst The Wolves

by jerseydanielgibson

Marshal Sam Collins has moved to the biggest challenge in her life; creating a Marshal's Office on the Citadel itself. Tensions run high as a young woman stands stalwart against bigotry and oppression amongst the predators in the stars to represent her kind. Can an Autistic Savant cop prove to the galaxy what a human can do, or end up the fox amongst a pack of hungry wolves?

3. Human Lives Matter, II

Mass Effect is owned by THEM! You know who THEM are! FrostBioEAWareBite…

Marshal's Office, 1100 Block, Human Wards, Zakera Arm, The Citadel, Widow System, Serpent Nebula, June 12 2175

Author's Note: So a shout out and some credit to the high-tech and highly technical story by DigitalHelix; Mass Effect: All In The Details. I read through his story for some ideas on NextCen Tech, looking for ideas since Mass Effect went from having hundreds of weapons and dozens of upgrades… to scanning Platinum for Dr. Chakwas to make you pretty. Seriously, you go from an easy dozen assault rifles to choose from, to like… two/three, depending on class. ME3 got better, but I missed the idea of weapons manufacturing and companies.

Ok, rant over. Just read All In The Details if you want a high-tech story with a thousand acronyms to plow through.

---

Alliance Federal Marshal Samantha Lynn Collins stood in the completed room of her own personal office.

It was getting to be near evening when Sam was able to sit down in the executive-styled pleather chair that was championed by the desk that was in front of it, a thermoplastic acrylic-polyvinyl chloride piece of office furniture that had the look of lacquered wood upon it. Her monitor rested on top of her desk, an older OLED (Organic Light Emitting Diode) Display Unit that could be compacted by compressing the activation units together and the flexible silicon thin-film transistor screen would automatically roll up into one of the posts for storage and safe-keeping. The monitor and its tetraHertz-processing CPU were already installed and linked to each other through an inductive field, needing no wires or physical connection for information transfer. A Haptic Display Unit was connected to the OLED screen for typing and mouse-work gesture recognition, and for the most part Sam was pleased with the set-up. It wasn't top-of-the-line or state-if-the-art equipment; everything was a few years old or more, and she had gotten them, first time owner, at a good deal, as well as the rest of the terminals that future Deputies would be working on. It wasn't like she would be throwing high-level processes or burning through the ExtraNet to stream ImmersVids. The Analyst/Forensics Lab would need something with a higher magnitude of computing abilities, perhaps a Q-Machine or a SuperCray to process the multiple fields of information that would come in from a crime; fingerprints, oil residues, DNA, RNA, scent identifiers, and Personal Area Networks on the electromagnetic spectrum. The next big ticket item would be the BlockChain Server for the Records Room, which would be an investment in her next monthly budget, and linking it to an internal CyberLink System, much like the one that the Citadel ran, Automated Virtual Intelligence Network Assistant, or AVINA for short. Since she had yet to get any encryption software from the Systems Alliance, Collins was going to play it safe and keep her systems Stand Alone Complex for the time being.

General Contractor Robert Hawthorne had his men working in the squad room and lobby, the six men whom he had brought on working inside what was once an electronic supply store and tech-firm venture not under any other impression of whom they were working for. It had come to light the previous day when Mister Hawthone had arrived earlier than scheduled to scope the place out, finding both herself and Captain Alec Clancy Ryder (N7, SAN) already there. They had talked together for a few moments when the first of the deliveries had arrived, the young man working for AllEx with the first of several shipments onto of a hoverskid. Sam hadn't thought of it when she signed her name, Robert and Alec passing small talk when the contractor's eye caught her digital signature.

"Um…" The older man scratched at the back of his head, looking a little embarrassed as the young man dropped off the boxes that looked to be the office furniture ready to be assembled. "You wouldn't happen to be that Sam Collins, would you? Marshal of Therum? The Peacemaker?" Robert Hawthorne was the typical blue-collared worker; tall, slightly athletic with a paunch, hands well worn from work, and a conservative attitude. No doubt he went home to the wife and kids and turned on the news to catch up one whatever the latest was.

"Yes, yes I am." Sam replied, looking to the N-Level Sailor, who merely shrugged, as if to say 'what can you do about it?' The addition of 'the Peacemaker' had been rounding the news when reports from Therum indicated just how many Batarians she had killed, separated by categories like a game show. She wasn't the type to put notches on her gun, but the amount of public approval she was receiving from all sectors in Earth Alliance Space was pretty telling; she was the hero of the hour. She guessed she rated a superhero name. "And you are building my office."

"GodDAMN!" The man looked at her for a moment as if she sprouted two heads, then looked at Alec, and then back at her. "Waitaminute… this is to be a Marshal's Office? In the Cit?" Robert's eyes got wide with that, real wide. He was nobody's fool, evidently. "You're going to be iceskatin' uphill for some time, Marse."

"I know." Sam sighed, rubbing the back of her head, trying to imagine just where to start. Until she had a few Deputies under her authority, she was literally the proverbial lone gunslinger. Alec would be good for back-up, and the inclusion of Master Chief Petty Officer Stacy Valentino, Senior Chief Petty Officer Royce Mason, and Petty Officer First Class Jane Shepard would help to some degree, but they were Navy MP's; despite how good they were, it wasn't quite the same for the time being. The Navy Non-Coms knew that they were going to be meat and muscle for the get-go until she could establish some presence and authority in the Human Wards, and she certainly couldn't muscle into Citadel Security Services' piece of the action with just a few SAMP's. She needed cops and investigators, some service records and some credibility. Her name might give people pause or herself the benefit of the doubt, but if she were going to be able to do her job, then she needed the necessary parts. And that consisted of lawmen. "No one promised this gig would be easy. Hell, last time someone established a permanent lawful presence on foreign soil, outnumbered and on all sides was… probably Julius Caesar in Britannia. Maybe the Conquistadors." Even then, those souls had the technological advantage, where as she didn't. In fact, she was on the losing side of that battle, too.

No, it certainly wasn't an easy gig, and anyone who thought this would be a feather in their cap would be quickly crushed by the task. This wasn't about glory or making a name for oneself; there were people here who expected to be protected, who expected to live their lives as they saw fit (in a reasonable manner, of course) day in and day out, with little outside influence. Iceskating uphill was certainly an apt euphemism.

Robert Hawthorne had gone straight to work for the Marshal's Office, now knowing whom and what he was working for. While he didn't tell the workers under him just who she was, he indicated that the 'client' was a friend of his, and to make sure that everything was done right and proper, even going so far as to double-checking everything twice to make sure that connections and materials were in their proper places and locations, that everything was constructed to their proper form. Not that Collins doubted the man's work or ethics, but she had a sense of understanding that this was this man's way of supporting her and her cause; he was helping those who helped others. The Marshal understood that she had gained a bit of an ally due to her reputation, and that was okay for the time being. But the only way she was going to be able to make the Marshal's Office work was by keeping that reputation as strong and as sterling as possible, to find other people in the Human Wards, to gain their trust and confidence.

Sam knew that there were some political parties in the Wards, and she would undoubtedly be dealing with them sooner or later; necessary evils of the job. Yet without the support of someone in office (if there actually was one), she could come under political and public fire just as easily. There were manuals on such things, and as dry a read as they had been, it had given Sam an insight that her position as Marshal was more than just being the 'top cop' in a region, like she had been in Therum. Had she not garnered the cooperation of the Eldfell-Ashland Energy Corporation, at least its Chief of Operations Edward Dukakis, as well as Therum Governor Adam Benson? That had been for the very same reason; to give her the opportunity to do her job without fending off the wolves. Political leaders, religious leaders, firebrands… they all amounted to the same thing, and she would have to entertain these people much in the same manner and reason that politicians did; she needed the support of the people and those in power. While they couldn't 'kick' her out of office, they could prove difficult and hamper her efforts if she didn't garner some goodwill and cooperation with them.

Politics… ugh! She wished she could do without, but she could not, unfortunately.

"How's the new office, Marse?"

Collins looked up to see Captain Alec Ryder standing in the frame of her door, leaning on it as he folded his arms across his chest, checking up on her. Alec had been a big help so far for her, answering the one hundred and one questions she had about the Citadel, the Human Wards, and everything pertained to what she did. He was a wealth of knowledge and experience, and she wasn't letting it go to waste.

"Sufficient, but… it's a little lonely here." The Marshal admitted to the Pathfinder, the N-Level Sailor understanding what she meant. She was a Commanding Officer without anyone to command, essentially, and every day that passed without anything resembling a police force was crime being unanswered, justice not being served, and a deteriorating situation sinking lower. Sam had looked up the Citadel Crime Index in the Human Wards on the Citadel Public Servers, and found the reported crimes, emergency calls, responder reports, and witness accounts of the Crime Statistics that existed from the 0800 Block to the 1400 Block, dealing with each Level and Section, listing not only the amount, but the category as well.

The numbers had been very disheartening.

In the past month, there had been eight hundred and sixty-four incidences involving the Human Wards, the C-SEC Precincts of each individual Block reporting in the incidences, and the numbers being passed up. Collins had looked up the Crime Index relating to the Human Wards, and the numbers had made her wince; eight hundred and sixty-four incidences in a thirty-day period; just over twenty-eight incidences a day. With just C-SEC handling the responses, she could see why the Turian Officers seemed to be in force with a crime rate like that; that was about the same as a major city! The statistic came with demographics, and Sam felt her heart plummet at the sight of the numbers. There had been two murders in the past month, along with sixteen counts of rape, one hundred and thirty-eight robberies, one hundred and eighty-six felony assaults, eighty-two burglaries, four hundred and eleven-counts of larceny, and twenty-nine counts of grand larceny. There was a secondary list of 'incidences' that did not match the major crimes, giving its own list for the past thirty days. Eighteen arrests for 'transients' had been made, while sixty-four calls of 'housing (domestic violence)' were answered. Three hundred and ninety-seven calls of misdemeanor assault had been issued, while eight hundred and seventy-nine counts of petty larceny were accumulated. Misdemeanor sex crimes netted thirty-eight, while thirteen illegal weapons charges had been recorded.

Fourteen hundred and nine minor crimes in a month on top of eight hundred and sixty-four major crimes. Two-thousand, two hundred and seventy-three crimes in a month.

Just how the hell was she suppose to do this?

Sam had showed Ryder the statistic, and he had been a little intimidated by the numbers, too. It was one thing to think it, but something completely different to see it spelled out for you right before your very eyes. The Marshal also explained to him that while the number seemed high, when factored in with the total population of the Wards itself, it still brought the statistical probability of running into a criminal of some kind as less than one percent, and half of those odds being a minor infraction. It still didn't sit well with either one of them, but seeing the numbers showed them just how daunting their task was going to be; sheer numbers were going to drown them. She would need something in the magnitude of two thousand Deputies if she wished to reach just the minimum ratio of civilian-to-Officer of one thousand to one. Hell, that was a statistic of an area for light metropolitan cities with suburban and rural areas. Collins was stationed in what would be considered a pure urban landscape, thus the ratio would be more like six hundred to one. That would literally take her years to hire that many people if she waited for every class of the Marshal's Academy to graduate and hired them all en masse without leaving any left for the rest of the Frontier Marshals' Offices, each class graduating anywhere from sixty to a hundred twice a year. No, she was going to have to look outside for such hires, such as other law enforcement agencies, military agencies (like the Military Police or even the Office of Naval Intelligence), and even investigative services, private or public. Then there was the riffraff; private security sectors. The thought had her wincing at the fact that she might have to bite the bullet and look into what she considered pale imitations and wannabe's if she wanted numbers. The fact that she was even considered looking into the 'Observe-and-Report'-styled Security Officers that one could find in shopping malls or the more Corporate-oriented 'Service Officers' was a bit of a blow to her pride, but she needed numbers.

Ugh.

Marshal Sam Collins perused the ExtraNet for ideas on how to do so, looking through the many want ads on various EN-sites in the 'for hire' lists throughout Alliance Space, wincing at some of the needs throughout Human Space. It seemed that there was no shortages of security jobs, and going into the EarthGov and SAGov sites and looking at the potential hirings of actual Officers of the Law (what she had used herself) had her dismayed to see that everyone was hiring; everything from the basic bread-and-butter Patrolman to higher-ranking Supervisors and Detectives. What she was really doing was looking at the competition, and figuring out how to one-up them; if she wanted quality and numbers, she was going to have to entice and coerce people in her direction. Being on the Citadel was certainly a perk she could throw out there, but the Citadel was expensive; she had looked up what a basic apartment cost and the cost-of-living statistic based on the Human Wards and flinched. Space was premium throughout the Citadel, and the Human Wards were already supposedly overcapacity, so available locations were obviously inflated. Add to the fact that supplies (especially food) were imported in… the Citadel was expensive. Throwing out a higher starting pay would certainly get her some attention, especially if basic hires didn't realize that it was really adjusted for COLA (Cost of Living Allowance). But then she'd also have to realize that some if not many of her hires might have families; spouses and children, possibly parents to care for. It was daunting to think, and something she hadn't had to consider during her time in Therum. There? She had a Naval Security Team that was gifted to her for free, with free housing and their own compound. Now? All bets were off, and Sam was actually going to have to work something out that would involving the men and women who would be under her authority.

Iceskating uphill? Sisyphus would know her plight well.

The Marshal had already put together several ads through well-known hiring sites on the ExtraNet towards human hires on the need for Officers of the Law on the Citadel, not wanting to exactly advertise that it would be for a Marshal's Office in the Human Wards. Sooner or later, C-SEC would know that she was doing just this, and she didn't doubt there would be some repercussions and ramifications (probably more politically-oriented, but there might be altercations, too). Both the EarthGovJob site and the SAGovJob site got requests, and the big five of hiring sites; CareerBuilder, Monster, ZipRecruiter, LinkdIn, and seriously… the Wall Street Journal. She even perused the 'Want' ads of several sites, looking for people that were looking for jobs, though the search criteria came up dismal when she looked for anyone with law enforcement experience and even private security with supervisory experience. She took the five she thought looked the most hopeful and fired a message off while she worked on looking through other ExtraNet domains in Earth Space for potentials, looking at the colonies, the outposts, colleges and universities, and even the tech schools for potential leads. Collins kept a small program to indicate whom she sent messages to, which sites she had posted upon, and ideas she had come across, working off of two different screens on her OLED monitor while typing away on two different Haptic User Interface keyboards, her mind working beyond what a normal human could do, but well within her own comfort level.

By the end of the day, she had about a dozen hits. Surprisingly.

Ryder watched on as Marshal Sam Collins looked through the databases of each of the people who had returned her messages, indicating that they were interested. Four lived on the Citadel itself, which was nice. The rest were scattered through Earth Space, and those interviews were going to have to be done over Skype unless she wanted to pay for flights for them to be interviewed. She scheduled the first round of personal interviews for that Friday, the day after Stacy, Royce and Jane came in on their flight. By that time, she would have most of the Office up-and-running (or at least ready to up-and-run) so an interviewee wouldn't be looking at a construction site, but a job that was ready to go. The Skype interviews she could do now and the next couple of days depending on the time differences, as her personal office was more-or-less complete and the camera would only be showing her and whatever was immediately behind her; a wall for the most part. Sam looked at the time marquee on her wall (CitTime, ArcTime, and GMT were all displayed) and sent replies to the Skype interviews for the next day, calculating times in which would fit both of their schedules for tomorrow and the next day. Each message was given details one what she expected to see (resume and references) and what she expected out of them (professionalism and experience in their field). She fired off her last message and shut down her terminal, looking to Alec with a smile; she was finally getting progress done, and it did feel good.

"Ready to get your swoll on?" Alec's responsibilities, given the nature of his work at the Embassy's Diplomatic Security Services, had been to incorporate a field manual for new Deputies working on the Citadel, listing situations and scenarios that he and other field agents had come across, as well as giving a list of legal loopholes and how-to tips on dealing with the various agencies on the Citadel itself. While Ryder wasn't an Officer of the Law, his knowledge would probably pay in spades for those who had never been to the Citadel (such as herself) and would even be educational for those who did live there and didn't know the myriad of details pertaining to what C-SEC could or couldn't do, and how the Citadel Government was orchestrated.

His other job was to prepare her.

"This might constitute torture in certain jurisdictions, Pathfinder." Sam smiled as she stood from her desk, knowing that Alec Ryder was going to kick her ass (figuratively). Captain Alec Ryder (N7, SAN) was a warrior and an Asset Protection Officer; he was a bodyguard with the added job of preemptive strikes and preparation against those who might harm anyone in the Human Embassies. He had learned how to deal with all the races, and after thirteen years on the job, it was safe to say that there probably wasn't a realistic scenario that he hadn't seen, dealt with, or discussed with. His first imparting lesson? Meat.

He was kicking her ass with a gym.

Together they left the Marshal's Office to visit a gym that Alec had held a membership with since about his first year on the Citadel, coaxing other members of the DSS to join in to get something started to not only keep their bodies athletic, but to maintain and improve their skills as combatants. It was a private gym that wasn't giving out memberships for 'weekend workout warriors' or people who were thinking to lose a few pounds by holding a membership card. No, this gym only gave memberships by referral from members, and were actually voted upon by the members for approval. Sam had never seen or heard of a 'members-only' gym, but she realistically understood that they must exist; boxing gyms, martial arts training dojos, or the kind of gyms where men were interested in the numbers given by a cloth tape measure to impress other equally-huge testosterone-and-steroid driven iron-pumpers. This was one of 'those' gyms, and Alec had referred her to it the second day on the Citadel, and she had been approved later on that day, the members clued in on both her identity as well as her job title. The gym was filled with DSS members, and sprinkled with transient SpecOps Warriors, military hand-to-hand specialists, and traveling professional athletes. The membership was under a hundred with more than half 'traveling' members who had a location on the Citadel if they were ever there. She had gone there for the first time yesterday and found a gym that had the look of an old-school boxer's gym, complete with both a ring and an octagon for martial arts training in a variety of flavors. There were heavy bags and speed bags, jump ropes and treadmills. There was also a full compliment of weight machines, barbells, bars, benches, and exercise equipment designed to train and workout practically any muscle group one desired. The gym was a temple towards physical self-improvement, and its clientele dutiful worshippers.

This wasn't a gym for the weak or for the rare visit.

Sam and Alec arrived near the end of the workday, as the gym was the host of only a few members that the Marshal recognized from yesterday, but hadn't quite learned everyone's name yet. She already had her own locker in which workout gear had been put inside, purchased by her when she realized that she hadn't possessed the necessaries she needed. She was use to her own regimen; a series of bodyweight exercises that had her doing push-ups, pull-ups, sit-ups, crunches, squats, lunges, jumping jacks, and burpees. The regimen was one that she had learned in UShanxi (New Bei), watching gymnasts and cheerleaders using the exercise to stay fit, agile, and possess lean muscle mass. Alec had critiqued her workout session yesterday, evaluating it and gave her sound advice; it was perfect for gymnasts and cheerleaders, in which she was neither. It had been a series of core-body exercises that he praised that would give her flexibility, stamina, and 'everyday' strength, as he called it. But what Sam needed, Ryder explained, was strength, endurance, and the ability to tangle with absolutely anything that came her way, from some two-Credit Sander junkie to a professional warrior such as himself, stating that 'a cop coming out in second place in a fight is a dead cop'. Sam accepted the blow to her pride and had listened to Alec as he gave her a new workout regimen that would certainly push her to her paces; three different types of push-ups involving arm positions and another three sets of body degree elevations, various plank positions, several different forms of sit-ups and crunches with different leg elevations and arm positions, three different type of pull-ups, and a series of exercises one could do on a pull-up bar, an extended twelve-count burpee, a series of jumping exercises involving a box, and a whole list of workouts involving resistance bands. And those were just the bodyweight ones!

Then there was the punching bag.

"At the end of the day," the N-Level Sailor spoke to her after her hour-long session of doing her new regimen of exercises, covered in sweat and drinking a sports drink slowly from a sports bottle, "you are the ultimate weapon in everything; your body, your mind, your spirit, your determination. When all else fails, you need to fall back upon yourself. Friends may be busy somewhere else, your gun may jam, your armor may be broken into a hundred pieces. Bullets and enemies will not give you reprieve, and life just loves shitting on you when you are on your last legs. The best recipe for success is to give yourself as many tools and options as possible when that day comes, so that you have not only the will to survive and overcome, but the ability to do so as well." The Pathfinder looked at the punching bag. "Look at that bag hanging there; defenseless, without the means to defend itself. It is the perfect target.

"One minute. Begin."

Sam assaulted the bag with the mentality of a stoic fighter; a series of measured punches and strikes meant to harass and disable an opponent. A jab led to a cross, that led towards a forward elbow strike, followed with a rear knee strike to the flank. She then followed it with a gut punch, a blade strike to the upper portion, a twisting uppercut, and then another high cross. Her strikes were timed and methodical, precision and speed that against an opponent, would leave them defending and disoriented from the strikes coming from the left, right, high and low. She never used the same combo twice, and used her knees as much as her hands and elbows. A double elbow strike led towards a forward knee strike that turned into an upper hook punch that turned into a right hook. A jab turned into a hammer fist turned into a nerve strike to the neck area. A shin kick towards the knee area turned into the opposite leg going for a flanking kick that turned into a left cross. Sam switched sides and stances, flowing from one strike to another without pause or hesitation, the bag's chains jangling with every hit, the bag's form rocking and quaking with her strikes. When Ryder called 'time', Sam stopped, feeling utterly exhausted from the session, lifting her arms over her head to catch her breath quicker as her lungs burned for the need of oxygen as her arms felt like jello and her hands felt like bricks.

"That… was good." Alec allowed. "But no fury, no survival instinct. You fight like a martial artist in a dojo, not like a brawler in a life-or-death situation."

"I have defeated men in hand-to-hand before." Collins pointed out. "I killed a Pillars-Priest with MCMAP."

"Which is impressive, but the Priest was disabled at the time, was he not?" The N7 asked, and Sam grunted in acknowledgement. "You used your brains to gain the advantage, and then you took advantage of the situation, which is good. But I guarantee that if he had been awake and cognitive, it would have gone a lot longer, and likely a lot worse. You can't always expect a rash decision to work well. You wouldn't have beaten a Turian that way. You were lucky that Batarians and humans are configured pretty similarly physiology-wise that choking one out is possible. You aren't choking out a Turian or a Krogan. Now…" the man took a deep breath, "for the next minute, you will defend that bag.

"From me."

Sam's eyes went wide, and understood what Alec was doing, and surprised him by launching herself on the offensive with a back kick towards the solar plea region, intending to drive his air out. She was tired, sweaty, and had just beaten up a bag for a minute, but now the roles had reversed; that bag might be someone important one day, someone she would have to protect; the perfect target. Alec's surprise was quickly swept away as he slapped her driving foot away, knocking her slightly off-balanced as she landed to his right, his forearm sweeping in a quick clothesline meant to knock her down quickly. She raised a hand in defense and ducked the arm, letting it slip overhead as she continued to hold the arm, slipping her hand to his wrist and letting the momentum give her the ability to pull it down and then backwards into a rear arm lock; a classic Greco-Roman wrestling maneuver.

Ryder grunted and tensed up as his arm was contorted behind him, his right hand angled towards his right shoulder blade when he simply thrusted his right hip into her, sliding his right foot in between her own as he dipped forward, throwing his bodyweight front and down as Sam felt herself being vaulted onto his back as she felt his left hand grab her by the scruff of her neck and throw her in front of him onto the ground with a slam, landing on her back. An explosive cough escaped her as she opened her eyes to see a foot raising up into a smash, and she rolled to one side to avoid it, seeing the leg staying in position for a second. She swept her right arm in a reverse arc from hip to shoulder, striking the natural bend behind the knee and made the N7 lose his footing as he too fell down, falling to the ground in front of her feet.

His left leg was still within range as Sam immediately grappled it, going for a leg lock as she grabbed his foot, wrapped her right leg around it, and proceeded to sit on his thigh and started cranking his foot upward while immobilizing his leg; a breaking maneuver if enough pressure was applied. She intend to have him tap out, and was shocked when his right leg came up and over her head, his thigh striking her in the face and toppling her back onto the ground, landing her on her back once more as she lost her grip on his foot. Alec's response was fast as he took quick advantage for positional superiority by grabbing her hair and lifting her head up as he folded his leg; his thigh at the front of her neck, and his calf at the back.

He squeezed.

Sam felt her oxygen and blood supply cut off immediately as panic and adrenaline exploded within her as she went for a nerve strike to the inside of Alec's thigh, her fingertips hitting the soft tissues there. The N-Level Sailor grunted with pain, but was relentless as Sam tried to squirm out of the position, her mind panicking harder and harder as her need for oxygenated blood screamed and clawed at her.

She tapped out.

Ryder let her loose as Sam rolled over, coughing from the act of being choked out as she took a moment to catch her breath, feeling absolutely sore all over. She slowly got back onto her feet, Alec giving her a hand as she did so to show that the bout was both professional and over.

"You did three things right." The Pathfinder said, nodding. "First, you didn't hesitate. Sometimes that gets you killed, but being indecisive will always get you killed. I said protect that bag, and you went on the offensive; that was the wiser of two choices." Sam nodded as he reviewed her actions. "Two, you used my obvious advantage of height, strength, and size against me with a Judo move, which was smart. I've been trained to fight against such things, but Judo works well against anyone save Krogan, Elcor, and Hanar. That move would have worked well with just about save a few dozen SpecOps and well-trained martial artists. You would have won against a normal foe, but I'm not a normal foe." Again, Sam understood what Alec was saying, and nodded again. "Three, you didn't just give in when I was in the superior position, nor did you give into panic. You tried to fight your way out by punching me and going for what I assume to be a pressure point strike, which isn't bad. It wouldn't have worked since I didn't actually need my leg at the time, but you didn't cave in immediately, and that's what matters."

"But I lost." Collins pointed out, getting the Pathfinder to chuckle.

"Everyone loses eventually, and generally more than once, Marse." Alec replied, a smile that didn't reach his all-knowing eyes. "What matters this time is that you kept me from the bag, and you did so in a more competent matter than I expected. What matters is that the foundation is there to build upon. We can work on your skills, but the drive is already in place, and that's the lesson I have for today." He went to turn, and grunted. "And my leg hurts like hell."

"So does my neck." That just had the Pathfinder laughing.

- - - - - A Fox Amongst The Wolves - - - - -

The days passed by steadily as Marshal Sam Collins worked from her office, reading though her manuals and insights gleaned from her readings in what she would need to do to run the Marshal's Office in the Citadel. Policies and mission statements were read and edited, while procedures and expectations were worked upon for the first guiding steps of her office, to be enacted by her first Deputies. This was the kind of work that she enjoyed, though she wanted to go out on the streets of the Human Wards and do real police work. Sam was realistic; Marshals were generally figureheads made for public statements, policy enforcement and updates, determining the direction of efforts, and budgetary efforts. While she might be out on the streets for the first year or so, working alongside her Officers when their ranks were small and their efforts great, soon or later she would be tied to a desk and tended to like a plant by administrators and assistance. This would, of course, work well with whatever the Council might have in mind for her in concern to the Office of Special Tactics as she hands over the whole shebang to some Federal Marshal who had everything already working, moving pieces and all, as she went out and tested the waters of being a human SPECTRE. Until then, she was going to be the first Marshal to ever work the Citadel that wasn't visiting for whatever reason. This was her permanent duty station, and she was going to make it work.

She worked some sixteen-hour days (human time, at least), with breaks for meals, working out, and sleep.

The Office was quickly coming together with the help of the civil engineer Robert Hawthorne and his crew of construction workers, building desks and setting up 'the shop' (as the workers called it) with quick efficiency. The Squad Room was completed by the beginning of the third day, and the work was moved to the tech-firm portion of the duel store, setting up the Supervisory, the Lab (minus equipment), the Break Room, and the Inspector's Room. The Pit was halfway complete, the Armory was being worked on, and there was even room for a small gym. Water closets would come tomorrow (save the first one they installed for bathroom breaks) and the small Break Room was more-or-less fully functional now. If someone were to walk into the front door, they would see an office more than halfway complete. Sam had already decided to give Robert and his men bonuses for their work, already looking to be completed ahead of schedule with minimal problems.

She had already conducted her first set of interviews.

They had been done on Skype, the interested parties being located throughout Earth Alliance Space in a variety of locations. One Sergeant Sun Moon, a Neo Angeles Police Department Officer in Vice, had forwarded her resume, accommodations, evaluations, and surprisingly a recommendation from both her supervisor and Captain of the Vice Department. NAPD had a bit of a sordid reputation as a tough city filled with tougher cops, and that suited Sam just fine. While she firmly believed in following the letter of the law and protecting and serving people and property, at the end of the day she wanted her men and women to be able to perform the job the next day, not in a hospital. If an escalation of force was warranted… then it was her job to smooth the feathers, not berating her Deputies for having to deal with some imbecile drug-user who thought talking shit to a cop or acting aggressively was somehow appropriate. The interview with Sergeant Moon went well, and Sam was satisfied with the answers the woman gave pertaining to her want to relocate, why the Marshal's Office, why the Citadel, and any special skills she had to offer. Moon was looking for a change of pace, having worked Vice for five years, and needed a change of scenery before she became too jaded. She didn't mind that she might be just a patrolman for the first several months as the Office started up, and understood that there were narcotics on the Citadel, and her expertise on Vice would come handy. Thankfully, the NAPD Sergeant seemed barely cognizant of Collins herself, having not connected her to the Battle of Therum, so at least the woman was changing departments and locations of her own accord, not to work with a rising star. And, Sam came to find out, the woman had never left Earth before, and wanted the opportunity to do so. None of these answers were alarming, and Sam had went into the second part of the interview; mostly ethical questions and scenarios that she found Sergeant Moon answering with good choices that Sam found quite to her satisfaction. Collins knew that she would have to help with the relocation fee for the NAPD Sergeant (which she was okay with) as well as finding her a place to stay (thankfully, there were agencies on the Citadel that did that), so Collins gave her a tentative offer, letting her know that the Marshal would be sending her credentials through both the Marshal's Office on Arcturus and the Office of Naval Intelligence for vetting and background search. Moon didn't look worried at all as they agreed to Skype again at the beginning of the week when the documents were returned.

Ranger Joshua Michael Peterson was a republic/territory police officer in one of the most prestigious law enforcement agencies in the North American Continent; the Texas Rangers. While Peterson himself was mostly a highway cop for the huge territory, responding to calls and patrolling in a hovercraft, he met the high standards of a Ranger, which made him about twice as good as any other police officer in North America save for a select few Precincts and duties. The Rangers were legendary in their zeal of hunting down criminals with dogged determination, and were considered a smaller version of the Global Bureau of Investigations, doing their own forensics and analysis of crime scenes as well as manhunts. The Rangers were one of the few Departments that enjoyed great relationships with other law enforcement agencies, their Officers encouraged to treat others with respect and share credit, as all were brothers and sisters in Blue (or whatever color they happened to wear). Peterson showed top-marks in marksmanship for handguns, and had a plethora of arrests and collars of the normal variety doing the bread-and-butter work of any cop; traffic. He had two years in the Rangers, a degree in Criminal Justice (UTex), and two commendations; one for pulling a woman out of a burning hovercraft, and another for being wounded in the line of duty during a robbery in which he still arrested the man responsible with a round in him. Sam was hopeful with this one too, and the Skype interview had gone smoothly. Josh Peterson was a tall man, athletically built, and wearing the traditional khaki cowboy hat that identified the Rangers, as well as a small mustache on his lip. When she asked why he was willing to transfer, Peterson replied that his supervisor had actually talked him into it, saying that it was a golden opportunity to build up a good foundation for both a law enforcement office and himself as well. Sam was a bit surprised by this answer, but it was a good one. Undoubtedly, Staff Marshal Emilio Torres had passed the word to a few locations on hopeful hires, and word had gotten to Peterson. Collins reminded the Ranger that he wouldn't be working traffic, that he'd be chasing perps on foot. That just had the Ranger laugh and admit that he had done the four hundred meter relay in Gymnasium. Running obviously wasn't going to be an issue. She told him the same thing she told Sergeant Moon about the process, and the young Ranger replied that he was looking forward to a response.

The third one surprised Sam; a redcoat. The Royal Canadian Mounted Police were a federal-level police force in the nation of Canada, the equivalent to the Federales of Mexico and the Federal Bureau of Investigations in the United States, all somewhat conglomerated now in the North American Union. Lieutenant Alex Montoya was in his late-20's, having risen quickly through the ranks of the RCMP, starting off as a speed bike police officer on the highways of Ontario. Sam had heard rumors on how Canadians drove (fast as hell in a country that was mostly empty spaces) and saw another traffic cop who had dragged his way above and beyond his peers in a quick amount of time. That was impressive, and she read through his resume and accolades, and saw just how he got to be a Lieutenant in less than ten years; scandal. Evidently, Montoya had tripped over a bust in which narcotics that should have been in evidence were found in a street buy, and Alex hadn't rested on his laurels when his supervisor had patted him on top of his head, told him he was a good cop, and that his job was essentially complete. This biker cop had taken it upon himself to get to the bottom of things, and found his station to be a part of a drug ring that he cracked open with more brawns than brains, but had done it anyhow. Sam was touched by the read; Alex Montoya had been in a similar situation as herself, and had done his duty as an Officer of the Law, especially when the perpetrators had been not only other police officers, but also ones that he knew. The arrests had made the news (in Canada) and he had gotten a move and a promotion. Unfortunately, he was also the black sheep of the RCMP; he had turned in cops, no matter how right, and the rest of the redcoats shunned him. It was obvious why he wanted the move and change of scenery before even Skyping him. Sam connected to him, and found Montoya to be a police man with eyes that had seen perhaps a little bit too much. He had recognized her off the bat, and knew of her story on Therum concerning her predecessor from the news. Collins knew that already Montoya was looking up at the prospect of working with a woman who had been in a similar situation as he, and wouldn't hold it against him. Another set of documents to process for the Marshal's Office and ONI, and Montoya looked like he was about to eat his own brown-round campaign hat at the thought of joining a department who valued integrity.

The fourth interview wasn't a cop, but a Marine ready to ETS, or End Term of Service. The young man had done his five, and was looking for something similar in mind that wasn't the SAMC. Unfortunately, he was also what the Marines on Therum called a 'terminal lance'; an E-3 that would never get promoted. Lance Corporal Jerry Williams was a twenty-three year old whose Enlisted Records Brief looked decent, but the fact that he never made Corporal in five years was glaring. While Collins didn't understand the intricacies of promotions through the military and what it pertained, she did understand that in the Systems Alliance Marine Corps, if they thought you didn't hack it… you got 'terminally lanced'. It could be for a wide variety of reasons; he didn't show the initiative, the drive, the intelligence, the willpower, the ability to follow simple instructions… the list could go on. Private Blake Bell had groused about a 'terminal lance' that had been in Andromeda Company, 2nd Battalion, 5th Marine Regiment, a slacker who was always doing the bare minimum… mostly. When a brand-new Marine Private could even see it, that was saying something. Sam did the questions regardless, giving the Lance Corporal the benefit of the doubt, and his answers were less-than-appealing. He wanted to be a cop because 'that was where the action was' and hoped to go to the Citadel because 'that's where the Blues were'. He then promptly asked her if she were interested in getting a drink with him.

Needless to say, his credentials weren't going anywhere except a shredder.

The fifth one was a Colonial Sheriff's Deputy out of Illeryia, Elysium, the colonial capital of the planet. Deputy Karen Whitaker was a bit of an iffy one; she had a slue of civil complaints against her pertaining to supposed excessive force charges and police brutality charges from her many, many arrests. Each one had been investigated and she had cleared every single one of them, and the woman was practically the paragon of a lawman; she had more collars than anyone else in her Precinct by a good deal. Still, the multiple infractions suggested something unless the perpetrators she were going for were issuing complaints just because some cop wasn't immediately kissing their ass, which did happen on a fairly regular level. Yet so many on just one officer seemed odd, though the amount of arrests she had were certainly impressive. Sam looked up how many of those arrests led to convictions, and found a number that didn't please her; it was far below ten percent. Deputy Whitaker was either arresting people near the scene of a crime (with or without charges) or arresting anyone with the vaguest resemblance of a BOLO, which was generally also a no-no in such numbers. The interview went surprisingly well at first, the Deputy being a woman of strength and conviction, which Collins liked. But each answer had something in its undertone; a touch of megalomania, perhaps. Her three 'Deputy of the Year' awards were apparently getting to her head, and the woman had all but promised that taking her on would have her 'cleaning the streets Spic-and-Span' within the year. That answer didn't sit well with Collins, no matter how good it sounded. She was running a Marshal's Office, not the SS. Some of the other question had darker undertones for answers as well, considering Whitaker thought 'her department had gotten lazy' when asked why she wanted a transfer, 'why shouldn't we have our own say' as to why she should be on the Citadel (mixed with her other answers and numbers, didn't sound too cooperative), and had practically bombed the ethical part when it came to 'interviewing' suspects and witnesses. Too many of her answers sounded a great deal like borderline physical intimidation (which was wrong) and one answer put a little chill in her when Whitaker admitted to roughing up a suspect to cough out a confession.

Shredder.

The sixth interview went better, thankfully. Surprisingly enough, it was an Interpol Agent from the European Union, a French Nationalist named Inspector Avril Jacotet. A full-fledged Inspector (she had just gotten the promotion the previous year) of International Police Organization of Europe, Jacotet worked in the holy of holy's; the International Incident Response Team. It was Interpol's anti-terrorist and organized crime unit, as well as emergency disaster response. Someone who worked around several nationalities and main job was to liaise different law enforcement agencies together in respect with their separate laws and languages, the Inspector had worked in departments dealing with collaborating separate databases to better locate international criminals, had worked with several different federal-level agencies throughout the world, and had collaborated evidence and intelligence with several different persons to uncover evidence of crimes that led to the arrest to over a dozen international organized crime persons. Stationed in Lyon, France, she had gone to College of Marseille and gotten a degree in Information Technology, which made her a data miner. What was good was that was exactly Sam needed; someone who could connect the dots. The potential of a Detective Deputy was a thrilling one, and the Skype interview had gone without a hitch. Inspector Jacotet was willing to transfer because she felt that she had more to offer than just sitting behind a computer, wanting to make arrests after collaborating evidence and clues, Interpol Agents not having arrest authority (for some reason). She was a Detective that wanted to be a real Detective, not just a computer Detective, and that suited Collins fine. Sure, she lacked the experience of making an arrest, but… Sam was more or less in the same situation herself. Inspector Jacotet could be paired with one of the more experienced cops (like Sergeant Moon) and taught the ropes easily, especially when it came to getting her qualified with firearms and arrest techniques. The Citadel excited her because, like Interpol, it gave her a chance to learn about other cultures and how to work to bring them together (Sam really liked that answer). Avril saw the Citadel as the heart of galactic civilization, and a way to prove both herself and mankind as able to make it work, which suited Collins just fine as well. When she identified who she really was to the Interpol Inspector, the young woman blushed a little and hoped her tenure at the Citadel wasn't quite that exciting. Sam agreed and hoped for the same thing, and gave her the same spiel she had the other potential hires. Jacotet was looking forward to hearing from her again.

The seventh interview was a strange one; it was no less than a member of the 22nd Para. The British 22nd Parachute Regiment was the official name for what everyone else on Earth (and Human Space) knew to be the elite special forces unit known as the British SAS (Special Air Services), the elite British Commando Unit that had been combating the enemies of the United Kingdom and terrorism since World War II. Master Sergeant William Blighly was a thick beast of a man with a drooping mustache and the typical stiff upper lip that Brits were rumored to have, dressed in his commando uniform and red beret. His qualifications were through the roof; this man had figuratively served just about everywhere on Earth, and several spots in Earth Alliance Space. While not exactly a police officer, he had done several roles that were similar, and knew how to take down a suspect and search them for evidence (most likely Earth terrorists). Physically, the man could probably flatten just about anybody, and the 22nd Para's were all about making sure that their Commandos were mentally healthy as well, making them go to see Psychologists to make sure that things like flashbacks and PTSD didn't cause them to harm their families or make them suffer until they were brave enough to come forward. Mentally, the man was as solid as a rock. His answers were equally as impressive, and the man was quite looking forward to somewhere that 'didn't rain all the bloody time'. When it came to the Citadel and the fact that there were aliens involved, he mused at the thought of how intricate the collaboration and intricacies at working with such different viewpoints, looking forward to the challenges of a little get-together to see who might be better, and what they could learn from each other. With children grown and wife laid to rest, he was looking to be someone in a supervisory role for sure. He had no qualms walking a beat and getting to know the populous, and police work was 'a nice quiet change of pace' for him. That had Sam boggled a little bit, but knew this man to be one of the 'quiet professionals' that SpecOps lauded. She almost pitied the poor sap that thought to try and test him. The ethical questions were certainly different, seeing a different viewpoint from a non-law enforcement agent, but found that despite over twenty years of military service, he had a good outlook on things, believing in God and country, and that personal sacrifice for the good of all was a highlight. Sam thanked him for his time, and she had another prospect she was looking forward to calling again.

The last interview was sadly a flunk almost from the get-go. The man she interview hailed from the NKVD; the Russian Army Intelligence Services. The man himself, Captain Nikoli Dimitriovich Mikhailov, was a brute, that much was apparent. He was about the same size as Master Sergeant Blighly, but with almost none of his professionalism. Captain Mikhailov was an apparent alien-hater (that wouldn't do on the Citadel) who looked forward to getting into contact with pro-human elements on the Citadel (a super no-no among law enforcement, who were generally strictly non-political) and championing the human cause. Sam almost asked him if he were Terra Firma or Earth First, but thought better of it, knowing that the interview would likely go downhill from there. He had praised her for her actions on Therum (he apparently was under the impression she executed Batarian prisoners), and was looking forward to working with someone who 'shot first and asked questions later'. The man was a wrong choice on so many levels, and while she said she would forward his dossier for checks and references to the Marshal's Office and the ONI, it really went into the shredder with the terminal lance and walking brutality case.

Five out of eight… that was actually not bad. Sam hoped that the background check and vetting went well for all of them. Alec looked at the potentials, and thought highly at what looked to be her first line of Deputies and potential Detective. He smiled at the sight of Master Sergeant Blighly, claiming to have run into him a time or two, and said that he would fit well as a Supervisor or Chief of Deputies. The Ranger got a nod, as did the Mounted Police, in which Ryder liked seeing Montoya standing for the right thing and trusting his instincts when he thought something felt off. The NAPD Sergeant would be a streetwalker for sure, along with the Ranger and RCMP, and with the inclusion of a potential (and likely) Supervisor and Detective, Sam had a good start on her first batch of hires. Having Sergeant Moon as Vice was a plus, and though Ranger Peterson and Lieutenant Montoya were mostly traffic cops, they had been in the force just long enough to lose the wet behind their ears (as the Pathfinder so eloquently put it). He looked at the fails, and winced at the sight of the notes she had put down for those ones. He agreed that each were potential disasters, and went ahead and forwarded Captain Mikhailov's responses to not only the DSS databank, but messaged ONI as well, just to be on the safe side.

"Still got four personal interviews tomorrow. Plus a pick-up." Collins reminded the N-Level Sailor. "Val said you two knew each other, but all three served with me on Therum. I thought a few familiar faces and some immediate back-up for the time being would be good, considering they're Navy MP's."

"Not bad choices, though SAMP aren't exactly civilian law enforcement." Ryder reminded her, which Collins understood. The Systems Alliance Military let their Military Police have a little bit more looser rules and allowances than what a civilian law enforcement agent could get away with. Shepard had admitted to Sam that in her first unit, she had a Master-at-Arms that had expected to use 'physical coercion' upon Sailors and Marines taken into custody to get confessions, and that the redhead had no idea that it wasn't allowed. Jane had spent the first two years as a Military Police Officer learning how to contort limbs and joints painfully in interrogation rooms, and had rather enjoyed it (at the time). She then was relocated by the Needs of the Navy, Master Chief Valentino had been utterly horrified when she wanted her newly-acquired Sailor go to work on a Marine suspected using narcotics, slamming his head into a table and breaking a finger, and then manipulating the broken finger to get him to admit (truthfully or not) about his drug use.

Val had been ready to Court Marshal then Petty Officer Third Class Jane Shepard when she had asked the redhead why she thought the act was appropriate. Stacy had been even more horrified to learn why, Jane literally not understanding that what she had been doing was beyond wrong because she had spent the previous two years doing just that, actually being lauded (and promoted!) due to her methodology. Still, Military Police had some allowances towards what they could do as oppose to civilian law enforcement besides the threats of prosecution and coercion. Both Val and Mason had promised to play nice in their tenure at the Marshal's Office, and Shepard was made aware what she was allowed to do (or more specifically, what she wasn't allowed to do), still holding a reputation of being 'a limb breaker' amongst the MP's after that particular stunt (which was most certainly used on other military offenders, Jane standing in the room and gloating at the chance of a little elbow grease needed, the threat implied). She hadn't been hemmed up over the incident when Senior Chief Mason made a few discreet calls and found Shepard's claims to be true, but it still showed Sam why she needed to set the bar and the example for such things; there would be Deputies that wouldn't know the difference between a good cop and a bad one if they had never seen the two to compare to.

"Well, hoping for hires from the Marshal's Academy will take time, and I'll be lucky if I net even a couple from the next class." Collins replied, knowing that each class took twelve weeks from beginning to end. As of now, they were still nine weeks from graduation, and the Marshal's Headquarters was the one that made the assignments. There was no guarantee that she would get any, though Sam suspected that she'd probably get two or so for the next half-a-dozen classes over the next three years. That still only gave her twenty-four. "Still, I'm getting some Officers with experience, and two with different experiences that will prove just as helpful. I imagine my first month will be a mix between interviews, hires, and setting up the ground rules. Having someone like you, Val, and Master Sergeant Blighly will be good to have around to run the day-to-day affairs while I find out why people loath working desks." Sam sighed. "Please don't tell me I peaked out at twenty."

"Okay." Ryder replied with a smile. "I won't."

- - - - - A Fox Amongst The Wolves - - - - -

Systems Alliance Dock, Enders, Zakera Arm, The Citadel, Widow System, Serpent Nebula, June 15 2175

Petty Officer First Class Jane Catherine Shepard walked off of the Military Transport Cargo-130 Spacecraft by using the lowering ramp that was meant to load both cargo and people in the same fashion, though the cargo was always loaded last and off-loaded first due to its position at the aft. There were several boxes marked 'CMO' and addressed to 'SC' with the stamp of the Alliance Federal Marshal Services upon its surface in case anyone thought to be clever and tried to defeat the biometrically-locked hard cases. A hoverjack had been used to unload the boxes, some in which were quite large, and others that were man-portable, though all of it was going to the same location by the same means; on the back of a Contragravity loader vehicle. Shepard watched on as she noted human dockworkers on the Citadel loading and unloading the equipment with a decent amount of expertise and speed, not really expecting civilian workers to be nearly as efficient as Navy Quartermasters, who knew how to load a vessel down to a science. It took approximately ten minutes for the MTC-130 to be properly unloaded as her green eyes watched on, the workers who eyed her gulping and returning to their work as she gave them hard looks to remind them that they had a job to do, and their job wasn't to ogle her.

It didn't hurt that she was dressed in the same fashion of an Alliance Federal Marshal Deputy, complete with badge and gun.

Master Chief Petty Officer Stacy Michelle Valentino, Senior Chief Petty Officer Royce Abraham Mason, and Petty Officer Shepard had all sworn the Oath of Honor earlier that morning as their Shore Leave ended and they began their temporary careers as Marshal Deputies. Gone were the Alliance Navy Blue Battle Duty Uniforms with their pleather paneling and shoulder boards, and the pleather Danners military-styled jump boots. Gone was the black brassard that MP's on vessels and on bases on their left arm to identify them, if the badges clipped to their belts and pacification batons on their hips weren't enough. Gone was the blue beret they wore at all times while on duty, even while inside, to further identify them. They were currently on Temporary Duty (TDY), and they had orders cut to follow their new Commanding Officer, and to assume the roles of their new posting as Deputies of the Marshal's Office of the Citadel, not posing as Navy MP's but dressing in accordance of the AFMS.

Jane Shepard was dressed like a Marshal Deputy.

She still wore the Danners black pleather jump boots (they were comfortable and broken-in, to boot) but everything else that she had worn on duty was now gone. No longer did she wear Navy Blue RipStop cargo pants made of synthetic fibers; now she wore RipStop denim blue jeans, wrangler cut and style. A black pleather belt with a simple belt buckle replaced the nylon jump belt that all members of the Military wore with its Velcro and Jump Ring for cords in case of rappelling or needed to clip onto something while dangling and needed their hands. The black plain military-styled undershirt was gone as well, replaced with a simple white t-shirt with a buttoned dress shirt over it, buttoned to the collar. She kept the Navy-issued sports bra (she had plenty, and it seemed a waste not to) and the t-shirt and dress shirt thankfully disguised its Navy Blue color. A black suit jacket adorned her body, plain and functional, and on top of her head was a black Stetson Black Hawk Felt Telescope Crown with a flat ten-centimeter brim. It had come with a black pleather band studded with small silver medallions along it, and Jane had to admit she really loved the hat. Staff Marshal Emilio Torres had taken the MP's to a Stetson Store near the Marshal Headquarters on Arcturus, letting them see the different shapes, designs, brings, colors, and options. Shepard had no idea there were so many different cowboy hats, and she had spent an hour trying on several until she found the Black Hawk and immediately fell in love with it.

Jane hadn't been the only one, either; Stacy and Royce had spent an equal amount of time at the store as well, almost as giddy as she. While they had more-or-less the same kind of clothes on (Royce had western-styled pants while Stacy had picked boot fit for her new cowboy boots), the main difference in their wear was their hats. Stacy had a Stetson Diamond Crown with a Texas Brim (two leaflets bent slightly up at the front) while Royce had gone for an Outback look, a Pinch Front Crown with a Rolled Brim. They had left their Navy stuff behind, and Jane was secretly relishing the change-of-appearance, as well as being armed with better pistols, having been issued by the Marshal's Office on the Arc Springfield Arms XD Seven-Five Service Pistols, a 7.5-gram heavy pistol that was near the top-end of handgun calibers. It was normally Officer Issue in the Navy and Marines, Enlisted armed with the Hadne-Keder Kessler 5 gram Service Pistol. Jane had been impressed with the armament, expecting either a Glock Safe Arms Model 18C like what Sam had as a back-up piece, a Beretta 92F Patrol Issue, or perhaps the Sig Sauer 7.5 gram Elite, what the Global Bureau of Investigations and the Office of Naval Intelligence carried. Her Seven-Five was styled after the old Colt 1911A1 .45 caliber pistol, slim with a ten-centimeter barrel and a twelve shot heatsink capacity. While not as heavy as Sam's Smith and Wesson, it would certainly do the trick in normal situations, and even most less-than-normal situations, too. The pistol was currently holstered just behind her right hip, riding high, and she liked the feel and the weight of it. The Hadne-Keder Kessler the military issued was a disappointment in of itself, and Shepard admitted that she enjoyed the feel of a pistol that would walk the walk and talk the talk.

"Well they do say that the clothes make the man."

The sound of a familiar feminine voice had Jane smiling broadly as she saw through the dockworkers the sight of two people waiting near the end of the loading ramp of the MTC-130, one an older man, the other a younger woman. Marshal Sam Collins waited down below on the dock dressed in her uniform, wearing her Black Country Gentleman on top of her head, and her jacket affixed with the star of a Federal Marshal. All three MP's moved forward from the belly of the spacecraft to greet their friend as Sam embraced each one of them quickly, her blue eyes dancing as she smiled.

"Likin' the duds, that's f' sure." Senior Chief Mason replied as he adjusted his hat mockingly, giving the brim a little mock-salute with his fingers. "Feel like a fair dinkum frontier lawman ready f' a shoot-out." Sam just looked at Mason for a long second, and peered closer.

"Why is there a dead squirrel attached under your nose?" The Marshal asked, making Shepard snicker at the fact that Royce, now considered a Marshal Deputy, was now allowed to grow facial hair for the first time in his life. The Australian had heroically grown out a mustache during his shore leave, and while not necessarily bushy, had come out fairly nicely, in Jane's opinion. Stacy seemed to favor it as well. Unfortunately, the Marshal was looking at it with a tilted head and a questioning look. "Do I need to get a shovel and say last rites?"

"Don't tease m'mustache!" Royce replied, and hand going to one of the poles going down the side of his mouth. "This is a horseshoe mustache and it is awesome."

"Royce, I work with Marshals." Sam just shook her head and looked at him sadly. "I know more about mustaches than most men. You need to trim just to the inside of the corners of the mouth and get some bee's wax to help shape it, otherwise it looks scruffy." The young woman shocked them all by licking the pad of her thumb and proceeding to wet the facial hair and shape it with her fingers by pinching it and guiding it down his chin. Mason looked a little astonished (and uncomfortable) but did nothing to stop Collins as she worked for about a minute and gave it a critical eye, thumbing her chin. "Hmm, you'll need a proper mustache comb, trimmers, some bee's wax, and tree oil if you want it to be impressive. I recommend Pantene Pro-V Shampoo and Conditioner. Separate! Not a combo!"

The man standing behind the Marshal, the one in a speeder jacket with an N7's strike down his right arm, was failing at covering his smile.

"Well, actually, it does look better." Jane offered, looking closer. Not that it was fuzzy or anything, but now it looked like the mustache on Royce's face was… intentional, like it was kept-up and cared for. Huh, Sam did know mustaches. "Looks like serious speeders' chops."

"Huh. She's right." Val looked it over and gave a smile. "Does look pretty villainous now."

"Just wait until it grows in with the tree oil and shaped with the bee's wax." Collins replied, and Royce looked a little uncomfortable at the fact that, somehow, this young woman was talking about his manliness with such precision. "Awww, don't worry, Royce. In two weeks time, you will be thanking me and showing off. Come to think of it, you'll have a few new hires that might need some grooming tips. It's either you or me, and I don't think the land of testosterone can suffer that heavy of a blow." That had Stacy cackling hard as the N7 chuckled, unable to contain himself anymore. Jane just smirked at Royce as he gave her a long-suffering look, his face forlorn. "Just look up the ArtOfManliness website. All the other Deputies on Therum swore up-and-down upon it like it was a religion. Should give you tips and such."

"Stacy, I t'ink the sheila really hurt my feelin's." Royce mock-pouted, his lower lip sticking out as Shepard just shook her head. "I might need a hug."

"Aww, I won't let the big bad scary woman get you." The Texan replied, her eyes sparkling as her eyebrows jumped up with enthusiasm. "'Sides, you're always petting it and stroking it. Might as well put some real effort into it and make it exceptional. You said you wanted men to look at it in awe." That had the Senior Chief sigh. "Good to see you again, Alec." The Master Chief said to the other man waiting for them, and Jane found herself looking to the man. She recognized him from… somewhere.

"I apologize." Sam said, turning to the group. "Alec, you know Master Chief Stacy Valentino. With her are Senior Chief Petty Officer Royce Mason," the Australian nodded his head, his Outback's brim dipping forward, "and Petty Officer First Class Jane Shepard." Jane affected a cowboy's salute by grabbing the front of her brim and tipping her head with a smile. "Everyone, this is Captain Alec Ryder of the Embassy's Diplomatic Security Services…"

"The Pathfinder!?" Shepard interrupted the introduction as her jaw dropped open and her eyes went to the man standing before them, unable to believe that right in front of her was the first fucking human to walk anywhere outside their solar system! He hadn't touched down on some planet studied for centuries and solved with radio astronomy and science. No, Alec Ryder went to an undiscovered planet and risked it, finding out the facts the hard way. He had walked on some six-dozen optional worlds, and selected a dozen as suitable and viable for possible colonization, finding good spots with possible arable land and potable water. Alec Ryder was literally standing right in front of her and Shepard was in awe. Like the old show tagline suggested, this man literally had boldly gone to where no man had gone before. She had grown up hearing and reading the exploits of Commander Jon Grissom and Lieutenant Alec Ryder, the Pathfinder being the one she most identified with. Growing up on a colony he discovered and planted the colonization beacon on Mindoir, she always wanted to meet him and now that he was standing right in front of her, she found herself utterly speechless. Ryder looked at her with amusement, playing it off coolly as he took a few steps forward and held his hand out to shake.

"It's good to meet you, Chief." The Pathfinder said as Jane found herself shaking his hand and grinning like a complete idiot. She was shaking hands with the Pathfinder! "I might want that hand back." Oh, she was still shaking it.

"Sorry!" Jane tried not to squeak as she stepped back, completely embarrassed as Sam rescued her by stepping to her side and slipping a hand into her own, giving her hand a comforting squeeze as the Marshal smiled at her, her blue eyes dancing merrily. "Oh my God, Sam, how the hell did you find the Pathfinder?" Jane whispered fiercely to the woman standing next to her, her tone bewildered. "And what's he doing here?"

"We work together, sort of." The Marshal replied, shrugging her shoulders, and Jane felt her mouth dropping open once more at the casualness of the answer, as if it were no big deal. One of the most famous men in the entirety of human history and they were working together? "The Embassy tasked him to help me out while I start up the Office. Showing me around, giving me advice, helping write out some of the training manuals for our first line of Deputies when it comes to Citadel Law and Civic Authority. He's been a great help."

"That's so awesome!" Jane couldn't believe she was geeking out. Standing in front of her was the Pathfinder and she was acting like a little girl with a crush!

"Yeah, well, he's also handed my ass back to me in combatives every time, too." Sam smiled, making Jane look at her as if she had gone mad. "He gave me a laundry list of new exercises and a regimen to complete to get me in even better shape. He's bulking me up, essentially."

"Mmm." Shepard smiled as Sam shook her head, her lips curving upward regardless. "Mine." The redhead whispered into the brunette's ear, dropping the tone of her voice into something possessive and seductive, letting off a nice sultry suggestion to the word. Sam actually blushed a little. "So we're working with him?"

"For the time being, yes." Collins nodded as Jane leaned back, impressed. The Pathfinder was not only the first man to set foot upon an extrasolar planet, but like Val, he was a Shanxi Vet and a survivor of Operation: Repensium. "I didn't ask the timeline on it, but I got the impression it would be for the foreseeable future, though it might scale back some as times passes and we're running operations at some capacity. For now, I'm taking full advantage of the fact that he's one of the longest human residents on the Citadel, and has access to a good deal of information, intel, suggestions, and knowledge about the locations and politics. We couldn't have found better if we tried."

"Still… so… cool." Shepard fought the urge to geek out again and the thought of being able to work with Alec Ryder! Her Secondary Gymnasium was named after him! She could even name every member of his Pathfinder Team! She would die from embarrassment if she admitted that she actually had his action figure when she was a kid, a Christmas present one year. And Sam was working out with him? That was… nuts! The man was an N, and had achieved the highest level of combat proficiency in that course, the legendary '7' Course. If she'd got a better grip on herself, she would definitely talk to him. Imagine the tales he had!

"Well, all of you are cordially invited to dinner at my apartment, and I'm putting you three up since I have the room instead of trusting one of those Credit-robbing hotels the Wards have." The Marshal told the Navy Non-Coms. "I've already made up one of the spare bedrooms for you two," Sam indicated Stacy and Royce, "and you guys can take the time to find a place of your own if you wish, but the hospitality is for an extended period of time as needed."

"Well, that is nice of you, but…" Stacy began, but Royce elbowed her in the ribs softly and grunted. Val sighed. "We appreciate and accept your offer."

"Do I get a guest room?" Jane asked pointedly, looking at Sam as she blushed a little, the younger woman trying not to look guilty.

"I would like it if… you would stay with me." Collins said shyly, looking at Jane in the eyes. Stacy got the hint to be anywhere else as she tugged Royce away, and Alec led them deeper into the Systems Alliance Docks as the brunette looked to the redhead with a little apprehension. "I… didn't think to ask you if that was what you wanted. I presumed…"

"Correctly." Jane smiled as she interrupted Sam, taking both of the younger woman's hands into her own, facing her. "I'm… kinda not Navy right now, and the only people that know are Stacy and Royce, and they don't care. Hell, you think they aren't eating this up, too?" Sam nodded meekly, knowing that Stacy and Royce had to put their long-term relationship on hold on a few occasions because of Navy Policy. "I know you've got a lot on your plate, Sam, probably three times worse than you ever had it on Therum. You are literally doing things that no one else has done, in places no one thought we would ever do them in. I… I want to help you do it, to stand by your side. Right now? I can't think of a better place in the galaxy to be than right here with you." Sam blushed at the comment, but was also all smiles as her blue eyes only moved back and forth slowly, hardly noticeable. Jane had begun to learn that there was a certain method to those eyes, signs of what was going on in Sam's supercomputer of a brain, little hints of discovery of someone who truly took the time to learn about someone who had Autism.

Jane had looked up some medical profiles on the ExtraNet while on Shore Leave for a little bit better understanding, to see if there were things she should know or things she could do that might help both her and Sam. She didn't want to change Sam, but she did want to understand her better. The sites were sadly not as helpful as she hoped they would be, dealing with those who were not as high-functioning as Sam was, and generally were oriented towards children. When it came to adults, there was sadly little information, and Jane thought she understood why; most of the information was oriented towards parents learning and discovering the condition for their little loved ones, the information to help them adjust. But by the time those children had grown, those same parents had learned not only those little signs, but the condition changed as well with maturity, sometimes lessening in severity.

Jane thought that might have happened to Sam, the younger woman mentioning that she barely remembered much of her childhood, a random collection of hard-to-understand memories that her mind couldn't process correctly at the time. Yet she also mentioned that she had 'grown' to understand things, learned how to adapt as a young teenager, and after reading some of those medical sites, Jane thought she understood why. Autism was a neurodevelopment condition, but the mind, like the body, grew and matured with age. Sam had simply evolved with it, and reached the point that her mind could process the confusing world to a degree where she could understand and interact with it. The timeframe made sense too, the pre-teen years being where people began to grasp much more complex ideas and processes that children didn't necessarily get, both maturity and experience working to create an adult mind.

At that time, Sam must have seemed to have exploded with functionality in a very short period of time as her mind underwent that process, fueled by her Autistically-savant mind, as if someone went and flipped a switch inside of her and activated her. The younger woman had credited therapy and programs before, but now Jane wondered if they did help as oppose to Sam helping herself. The statistics of Autistic orphans coming into functionality had been a heartbreaking low number as oppose to those who had parents and loved ones to see to their daily needs and working with them, a level of trust and love that an Autistic craved in times of need.

That was what Jane was looking for, that secret right there; trust and love.

How many times had Sam faltered, her eyes expanding and wavering, seemingly trying to absorb everything at once? Jane remembered that moment in the Market Square in Nova Yekaterinburg, after she had gotten harpooned by the Kanavor-29 Assault Craft, when Sam had saved her from the worst thing possible; captured by the hands of the Batarians. Sam had fractured, had started rambling and for a few seconds, Jane had no idea what was really going on or what to do. She pleaded for Sam to come back to her as the younger woman simply started to describe everything at a speed she barely understood, so she had stupidly done something right; she kissed Sam, shocking her back into something 'real'. Having looked up information, Jane discovered what she had done on accident to cause it, and then what she had done to 'fix' it.

Autistics lived in a world of confusion, their minds interpreting things differently than normal people. It wasn't necessarily a bad thing, but as Jane understood it, it was similar to someone who had to 'learn' to deal with the loss of one of their five senses such as sight or hearing, and learning to cope with it. The difference was that Autistics were born that way, and the brain was 'trying' to process things in the normal fashion that everyone else did when their minds weren't geared that way; it was like putting a Contragravity engine into a wheeled vehicle. There wasn't anything wrong with them, Jane realized as she read those articles from the ExtraNet, learning more from the parents with suggestions than fully-accredited Psychologists (and she should have seen that one coming!). They were simply wheeled vehicles that were meant to fly, just stuck on the ground. Jane had provided something to Sam that she had never had before; personal comfort. The younger woman admitted that she had never had anything of the like before, no one had ever attempting to try, and that had broke Jane's heart a little bit. No doubt those therapy sessions Sam took as a child were geared towards children, but not nearly so much young adults. And when Sam was suddenly 'better'? They probably fed her medication and ignored her! (Dicks.)

Sam literally lived in the worst-case scenario; an orphan in an orphanage, surrounded by employees, orderlies and administrators that probably saw kids like Sam as charges and wards. Oh, there probably was a nurse or two who saw them as little miracles and gave them some measure of attention and devotion, but it was a nurse who went home at the end of the day, gone two-thirds of the time. No one had ever adopted Sam, left her in a bureaucratic administrative hell that was probably some room with a dozen kids sharing, each with their own needs, being Autism, Down's Syndrome, or Asperger's (actually, Jane wondered if Sam had been misdiagnosed and actually had Asperger's, but she wasn't a Psychologist). It was a wonder that Sam was as developed as she was, and probably a miracle in itself.

"Jane?" Sam looked at her with those blue eyes of her, steady as a rock now, paying attention to nothing else but her. The redhead moved in a little closer, to the point where their bodies were almost touching, making the younger woman's breath catch in her throat a little with the near physical contact. "You… really want to? I mean…" The eyes were slowly starting to shift, losing their intensity.

"Hey." Jane gave her a smile, a real one, and leaned forward to give her a light kiss on her cheek, remembering that they were in public. "Stay with me." The eyes stopped moving, and went back to her own. "I'm actually looking forward to this, venturing off into something new. And we've got each other, right?"

"Yes."

"Good." The redhead smiled. "'Cuz I'm actually looking forward to seeing this apartment you've been talking and messaging me about. You're own damn waterfall?" That had the younger woman blush a little. "Does it have a pool, because I'm thinking skinny-dipping!"

"Jannie!" The brunette admonished her, looking shocked at the thought as the redhead laughed, getting a rise out of Sam. "Do not go skinny-dipping in my dining room!"

"Oh, it's going to happen." Shepard promised with a smile. "I'll just have to pull you in with me."

- - - - - A Fox Amongst The Wolves - - - - -

Marshal Sam Collins walked through the new Marshal's Office, seeing the construction crew of Weiss Construction unloading the equipment that Master Chief Valentino had brought along on the flight from Arcturus Station to the Citadel, seeing hard case boxes made of polyurethane compounds for protection, some of them rather large. A datapad shipping manifest had her almost giddy; it was the specialized equipment that she had forwarded to Staff Marshal Emilio Torres, the things that she knew would be needed, such as several database linking privileges pertaining to records and entries for human beings in the EarthGov System, Colonial System, and the Systems Alliance, giving her records and biometrics for perhaps ninety-eight percent of humanity. She now had fingerprints, DNA, RNA, and even a good amount of retinal data on people for identification purposes.

One of the boxes contained a Green Bit MultiScan527g, which acquired not only ten-prints, rolls and half-palms, but also all types of supplemental prints as per GBI EBTA Appendix P Standard; rolled thenar and hypo-thenar (ball of palm and writer's palm, respectively), full finger flat and rolled (distal, medial, and proximal), as well as rolled fingertip impressions. It was quite literally one of the best devices on the market (and the most expensive) for portable fingerprinting, with the kind of quality that would extract partials, imprints, and even extracted soiled prints. The technology was of a quality that it not only met the standard for the Global Bureau of Investigations' lofty standards, based on the Evidence-Based Technical Analysis policy to ensure proper procedure and evidence in trial. It was literally so good that it was only licensed to certain Ministry of Justice Departments, and even then only so many were allotted so that someone couldn't discover the means to defeat it and release the specifications on the ExtraNet.

Another couple of boxes contained the highly-sophisticated IntegenX RapidHIT 200 DNA Analysis Machine. Torres had sent her four! The RapidHIT was a portable DNA analyzer that could extract DNA from a swab of cotton and come up with a profile, check it against a loaded database, and report a match or not in ninety minutes! The average wait time for the GBI Processing Lab was something like two days, and that didn't include travel time. Sam had been expecting a Full-Spectrum DNA Analyzer that would probably take up a table in its entirety. This thing could sit on the corner of a desk and still have room to work on reports! And she had four! She could run an Analysis Lab without having technicians tripping over themselves or equipment stuffed into a room, not to mention she had equipment that any Deputy could run.

Another set of boxes contained specialized OmniTools, the Samsung Blueberry Law Enforcement-Edition OmniTool, generally known as a BlueTool. A cobalt blue GUI-interface holographic skin display and Haptic overlay were the first innovations to this highly-advanced personal 'Tool that was coveted by Law Enforcement Agents everywhere in Earth Alliance Space. It was the top-of-the-line, state-of-the-art OmniTool for anyone that held a badge. It came with a higher processing speed than the other company models, and even that of its competitors, and a higher-grade minifacturing unit that could produce items at a much faster rate, at a higher quality, and in a more efficient manner to conserve on 'Gels. It boasted a petaByte memory drive, a processor that ran in the hundreds of gigaHertz, could download up to 10G speeds, connect to the Li-Fi Network independent of nodes, and was the host of at least two dozen LEApps that had been modified and improved for response and service. Sam almost couldn't believe that she somehow had gotten twenty of them, the Samsung Electronics Corporation unable to make them fast enough as they were in very high demand among law enforcement agencies throughout all of Earth Space. To include the Apps that created handcuffs and flashes of blinding light, the BlueTool also hosted a Taser App, a Mace App, a Sonic App meant to deafen and disable, a Magnetic Hook App for disarming, a Light Shield App that created a small PlastiGel shield meant to protect from anything from thrown object to small arms fire, a Heartbeat Monitor App, an Advanced Medical Diagnostics App, an IdentiChip Display App, a two-way communications App between linked 'Tools, a Punch App meant to shatter polymer glasses, such as alumniglas or flexiglas, a Megaphone App, a Lasso/Bola App, a Scanner App made to identify all objects within a framed area and distance, and even a Pacification App simply called 'seize'. She had to look that one up, and was shocked to see that it was to make its victim suffer a micro-seizure. Collins wasn't sure she was thrilled with that, but the company website indicated that it had been tested both safely and effectively with no long-term consequences. It was stated for use on those suffering narcotics symptoms, and had a very high rate of success.

Needless to say, she was quite happy with the additions.

There were other pieces of equipment that had been delivered to her, to include Springfield Arms XD Seven-Five Service Pistols, Nexus Engagement Reliable Firearms 2169 Lawbringer Assault Rifles, Glock Safe Arms Model 18C Machine Pistols, Ballistic Impact-Resistant Vests Level-IIa, and Rosenkov Materials' Medium Patrolman Armor. The Springfields were nice, a heavier-caliber service pistol that was popular with the federal-level law enforcement agencies, and the Glocks were good for situations that required a lighter caliber (such as interiors where the possibility of suspects and innocents being in the same room and stray fire was a concern). She had also gotten twenty-five kilograms of basic quality CeramiGel, PlastiGel, and MetalGel, as well as five kilograms of good quality MediGel. One box showed five sets of Elanus Risk Control Services Heavy Endurance Armor, standard riot gear found in the NAPD, NYPD, and the Met Police. She had pretty much inherited what was standard for a fully-functional metropolitan police precinct, at least for the first year, the rest undoubtedly coming out of her budget slowly but surely. Having some of it now was a boon, though, and gave her something to work with, as she wasn't exactly an expert on such things yet, though the addition of Master Chief Valentino meant that she would have some serious knowledge and experience on her side at the least. Staff Marshal Emilio Torres had really pulled in a few favors for her and set her up with some great equipment for her Office and the right equipment for her men. With this, she could run her Office fully and functionally once she had men and women to man their stations and start pulling patrols and working investigations.

Things were beginning to look up.

"Hey, Marse."

Sam looked up to see Master Chief Valentino standing there with a smile on her face as the Marshal inventoried the equipment that had been delivered to her, looking through the selection in their hard cases in what was to be the Detective's Office, pulling out the appropriate datapads that would go over each piece of equipment and explain their use and warranties. Val was already going to put most of it into the Armory, being the Master-at-Arms and responsible for the policies and procedures of the Armory, writing up the first steps mostly based off the Navy Provost Marshal's own regulations, which were some of the best and most attentive in all of the Systems Alliance.

"Hey, Val." Sam replied, picking up a BlueTool bracelet and showing it to the blonde woman. "Torres really came through for us. This is the best 'Tool for cops, literally top-of-the-line. Go ahead and start working out an Inventory Issuance List for distribution for you guys, and set it up for future Deputies. I'll give you a memo on what I expect a basic Deputy should have on patrols and investigations, and another for special services if we ever reach the point of having an actual tactical team."

"Easily done. The military form is a MOD form that's free-for-distribution, clear and concise for anyone to learn and use." The Master Chief replied, folding her arms across her chest. "I'll go ahead and check everything off. Your interviewees showed up and are waiting in the lobby." The Texan's eyes sparkled at that, a pleased tone to her voice. "Look like a good bunch from eyeball level. Well, the last one…" Her voice drifted off, Sam knowing what Stacy meant.

"They're all early." Collins commented, looking at her chronometer on her Apple Corps iTool, seeing that her appointments were actually almost an hour early. "Give me a few minutes to prep up and I'll call them back individually if you don't mind giving them the tour."

"And take away Royce's chance to give them the 'ole chinwag'?" Stacy replied, amused. "He's already talking their ears off, and none of them are looking bored, so we've got them entertained, at the least." There was a standard model Holovision monitor in the lobby, but no subscriptions to Alliance News Network or Westerlund News had been purchased yet. She had considered Citadel News Services as well, considering their location, but it was the most expensive one of the top ten news agencies, despite living right on the station itself. Right now, the HV was streaming police-oriented HV shows with the sound off off of ENetFlix thanks to Petty Officer Jane Shepard adding her account to the device. "Go sit at your office and sip coffee like a good Officer while us Non-Coms do all the grunt work."

"See? It's like you never left the military." Sam said with a smile, Stacy making a rude noise in reply.

- - - - - A Fox Amongst The Wolves - - - - -

Marshal Sam Collins sat at her desk, a little nervous when her first interview came walking to her door, knocking politely upon the wooden portal with its frosted window, her title and name monogrammed upon its flexiglas surface already as she took a deep breath, willing her mind to calm itself as she announced for the person in question to enter. She already had reviewed the resume of one Marcus van de Walt, former Officer of the Johannesburg Police Department in the Republic of South Africa. He had spent five years working in one of the worst precincts with the highest crime rate in all of South Africa, Jo'burg having such a reputation that Sam immediately saw a man who had probably seen too much. According to van de Walt's resume, he had gotten out because he had refused an order he wouldn't stand for during one of the more publicized food riots that plagued the country. He and his fellow officers, dressed up in heavy police armor, had been ordered to fire upon rioters with fully automatic weapons. Not above; upon. Van de Walt had refused to fire upon people he had sworn an oath to serve and protect, and that had her attention. She indicated in her message to him the admiration she had in that decision, and that an interview with her wouldn't be a waste of either of their time.

"Mister van de Walt." Sam stood up and reached over her desk to shake the man's hand, a tall Afrikaner with piercing blue eyes and a face set in stone. While not as large or as muscular as Senior Chief Mason or Captain Ryder, van de Walt was a large and imposing man. "Or is it vandeValt?" The man was born and bred in South Africa, and the native language there was of Dutch-origin, the 'w's sounding like 'v's'.

"'VandeValt' is correct." He supplied, his voice heavily accented as he shook her hand, obviously pleased that she tried to say his last name correctly, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly upward before their hands released and he sat in the chair stationed in front of her desk. He was dressed sharply but conservatively, in a black fitted suit oriented towards business, with a white-buttoned dress shirt and black necktie to complete the ensemble. Van de Walt was currently employed at Hillard Heintze Security Consulting, a Security Consultation Firm that dealt with private investigations and security risk management. This was a double-boon; a former Police Officer and Corporate Security would understand both sides of that line, knowing how the streets worked as well as the office environment. He worked as a Subject Matter Expert Consultant with the firm, offering legal advice pertaining to law enforcement organizations and private security firms on technical issues like use of force, officer-involved altercations, transparency, accountability, misconduct, procedural justice, and community relations. The man had 'supervisor' written all over his resume, and Hillard Heintze assumed her that van de Walt came highly recommended for use (they thought she was going to hire him as a consult, not steal him). "I admit that I am surprised to see a Federal Marshal on the Citadel, especially one intending to establish a Marshal's Office on the Citadel itself. To my recollection, it has not been attempted before." The man looked at her, assessing her. "Smart, finding someone with an established reputation that extends beyond Earth Space and Systems Alliance Space. I, of course, know of some of what happened upon Therum and Revan; part of my job." Collins had to admit that the man did seem to take his position seriously, and something like this was right up his alley. "How the Alliance got the Chamber of Governance to agree to it would be a subject of much debate. Political wrangling at its finest, I assume." For a man who didn't know the truth, he had gotten a good lead. This one was smart.

"Some wrangling, some necessity, I am afraid." Sam replied, offering as little breadcrumbs as possible. She hadn't expected someone to stumble onto an inkling of the truth yet, but van de Walt was obviously not a fool. "The Human Wards have been in a constant state of turmoil and upheaval, and the opportunity to have humans policing humans to ease the tensions and de-escalate the situation before it boils over was a big ticket item for the Alliance. There were other Marshals who were looked upon for the position, but it is as you said; we wanted someone recognizable for the other agencies on the Citadel, as well as someone who wouldn't inherently have issues dealing with the other species on the Citadel as well. We're here to help ease the issues and solve the problems, not add to them. Now," Sam began the interview, "you responded to my offer, which means you were either looking pertaining to your job at Hillard Heintze," she could see that a Security Consultant keeping tabs like that, and appropriately so, "or you were looking for personal reasons." She left it out in the open, a question without asking.

"I do like my job." The Afrikaner replied honestly enough. "I work in the office instead of the streets. I wear a suit instead of a badge. I help companies and agencies with extra-judicial issues and sensitive manners in which research and finesse are paramount. But," the truth was about to come out, and Collins didn't interrupt, "it is not the same. I miss going to the classrooms in schoolhouses and talking to children. I miss walking a street and people automatically straightening up and grooming themselves to a more acceptable appearance. I miss the feel of a good day's work at the end of a shift, the camaraderie of my fellow officers in the squad room or locker room. I miss… making that difference."

"Catholic or Christian?" Sam guessed, seeing the man give off another ghost of a smile.

"Lutheran. You?"

"Roman Catholic." The Marshal replied, nodding. A man who saw himself doing God's Work, but in the right way. It made sense now, that refusal; he didn't take a life unless it was absolutely necessary, probably finding alternative means to solve a situation because he believed in justice and compassion. Marcus van de Walt was the proverbial white knight now in a job that didn't satisfy his need to do good. "I won't lie, this job is going to be tough. Maybe not Jo'burg tough, but pretty damn close."

"I am aware. I live here, after all." The man supplied. His residency was in the 1300 Lower Wards, while his job was in the 0800 Sky Wards. "Half of the work will be the people, the other half… C-SEC." Yeah, wasn't that the truth? "Every C-SEC Officer in the Wards is Turian, and a very high percentage of them are not favorable towards humanity."

"Well, it's a good thing I have someone who happens to be a good consultant on such things as extrajudicial policy and intradepartmental relations." Sam smiled, and the man snorted, realizing that he had walked right into that one. "It'd be good to have someone who knows Citadel Security Law inside and out, especially the loopholes that would work in our favor while we push towards establishment and recognition, wouldn't it? Besides, there's a hundred and five square kilometers of real estate that needs someone to be that thin blue line, and two million people who need someone to look out for them, even from themselves."

"That is the truth." The ghost smile came back. "It is good that you are a negotiator, Marshal, I doubt you would be able to afford my rates at Hillard Heintze."

"How about a handshake, instead?" Sam supplied, and with that, she gained her first hired Deputy.

The second interview started ten minutes later after Sam reviewed the resume, and found this one as odd as she had the first time around. While Marcus van de Walt was a Security Consultant with prior law enforcement experience, this man was neither. He was, literally, a private security guard from a corporation, albeit at a managerial level. Jonathan Teller worked at an interactive entertainment tech-firm corporation that specialized in the console gaming industries, and even Sam knew of the name; BioWare Corporation. Teller walked in wearing a three-piece fitted gentleman's suit, the kind that came with a labeled name, as clean-cut and groomed as van de Walt. Unfortunately, there the similarities ended. Jonathan Teller wasn't nearly in the athletic shape that the Afrikaner had been, though he was lean. At first glance, Sam would call him… bland, almost unimpressive at first sight. But what had her agreeing to the interview was that his resume detailed him as primarily an IT Security Officer, and then later on a Security Operations Supervisor, and then promoted to Operations Security Manager. This wasn't a flatfoot cop, but someone who understood the logistics of running an office, with experience in software security. That was a big plus. According to his resume and letters of recommendation, not all of his work involved a desk or a computer, either. That was nice.

"Mister Teller." Sam shook the man's hand, seeing that he was in his mid-30's, with soft brown eyes and a lean face. His hair was a little on the shaggy side, though maintained. "Thank you for coming."

"A pleasure." The man replied as he took to the seat, unbuttoning his coat before he did so, Sam noticing the act. That was a normal thing for a businessman to do to keep their suits from being bunched up or wrinkled while sitting. It had been automatic, a habit of years. "I was surprised to see a Systems Alliance law enforcement endeavor being employed upon the Citadel. That certainly got my attention."

"And you were looking for law enforcement-related positions because…?"

"Downsizing." Teller winced, his face falling slightly. "Don't get me wrong; I absolutely love my job. I'm just about as important as a game producer, because I protect assets and intellectual property. Do you have any idea how many people try to hack into our servers to feed bugs or take parts out of our game engines on a daily basis? Don't get me started on the bribes and employees that try to take code and graphics out of the office and sell them to Green Hats." Okay, Sam had to admit that this interview was not at all like she was expecting. Most cops thought Corporate Security suit-wearing soft goons who hunched over video feeds. This man obviously knew his job and took it very seriously. Hell, he worked in a billion-dollar Corporation and worked at Management Level. That was saying something. "Company's getting bought out by EA," Sam frowned at that, shaking her head, "Electronic Arts. It's another game maker that produces a ton of sports-related video games and… you don't play video games, do you?"

"Nope."

"That's… not surprising, considering." Teller shrugged, obviously not deterred. "Anyhow, EA shelled out the big bucks to buy a winning team and their first act was to gut it. We've all gotten the pink slip because EA wants to use their own pukes-in-a-suit to keep their assets safe as oppose to keeping the guys who have been doing it for years. So… they picked the 'Red' option."

"'Red' option?"

"Destroy?" The man's mouth twirled to one side, stymied. "Control? Assimilate? That's right… no video games. You've never played Galaxy of War, have you? Would have been big when you were a teenager, final game's ending has you picking Red, Blue, or Green?"

"I'm an orphan." Sam replied a little frostily. "Not a lot of gaming consoles in a Catholic orphanage."

"Right." Teller chewed his lip for a second. "Anyhow, fifteen years, and they're canning us. Sure, the 'parachute' severance package they're giving is nice, but it isn't a retirement, and I love what I do. So I'm job hunting through security-related positions on the Citadel, mostly disappointing, when I saw yours." The man shook his head. "You've got balls, Marshal. C-SEC is going to be PISSED."

"Then what made you come?"

"Honestly?" Teller smiled a little. "This is big. Writing's on the wall that we're getting tired of being pushed around. C-SEC isn't bad, mind you, but they've seemed to have filled the Human Wards with every monkey-hating Turian they could find and plopped them right onto us. I've lived here for ten years now, and I remember most of the incidences that have occurred, the silent abuse and high-handed oppression. I don't have a bone to pick, but I don't mind rubbing it in just a little when it comes push-to-shove. I know I'm more computer geek than a flatfoot, and I don't doubt that you'll need someone who has some high-level computer security skills in the future. I've dealt with a fair share of physical aspects of the job," his resume and letters of recommendations did indeed supported that, "but a chance to make people hold their head up a little higher? Chance to look back and said 'yep, I did that'? At the end of the day, human lives matter, and I want to say that I did my part." That came with a shrug, and had Sam thoughtful.

"You mention the physical aspects of your job." Sam moved towards that point. "It says here you were in a hostage negotiation?"

"Yeah, that." Teller shifted in his seat, a little uncomfortable. "An in-office romance that blew up and out of proportion, unfortunately. One was a computer graphics designer, the other a lead. Designer was cheating on the lead with another man supposedly, and the lead brought in a gun, took him hostage, and was demanding to see the boy toy, otherwise he'd blow the designer's brains all over the office." It took Sam as second to realize that all three involved were men. "Anyhow, I show up about a minute in, trying to calm the lead down while one of my boys squirrelled the model actor away; that was the boy toy. Told the lead boy toy was out sick and wasn't anywhere near the office, and he began to panic. Designer was sobbing with a smuggled Moses Brothers' Self-Defense Frontier Model B pressed against his temple, and the lead is switching the gun between the designer and me." Teller just shrugged it off. "About two minutes in, lead kinda imploded from the stress of the situation, dropped the gun, and was hugging the designer when I confiscated the weapon and called C-SEC." His face went ugly after that. "The Turians took and arrested them both, making it hurt unnecessarily by contorting their arms and pressing their faces into the floor. They were both unarmed and compliant, and hell! I had them sitting in chairs in the break room, unrestrained but monitoring them. Lead ended up with five years in an IsoCube as well as a great deal of bruises and micro-fractures to his hands and arms from the arrest."

"That's one of the things I intend to change." Sam replied, getting a nod from Teller. "We are law enforcement, but we're also here to serve and protect. It is a very thin line to walk, and most make little mistakes in their careers, usually nothing more the overt intimidation in an interrogation room, or perhaps a little too zealous in an arrest. As long as they are rare and not the cause of anything worse than bruised egos and pride, I am a bit more understanding. But blatant excessive force is not acceptable."

"Good. I wouldn't want to trade one set of oppressors for another." Teller nodded in agreement. "I know I probably don't fit the bill for a patrolmen or whatever you call your flatfooted Deputies, but you're probably not likely to find someone with my skills in tech and computer security. And those are paramount in anyone who needs high-grade electronics which," he gestured towards the door, "I saw more than a few pieces on my way in. You need your security top-notched and a host of programs that will help you guys in investigations? You'll want me for that at the very least. I'm not too shabby behind a desk." That came with a half-smile, and Sam had to admit the man knew how to sell himself.

"Welcome aboard."

The third interview was a little bit of a letdown; Ray Johnston was nothing more than a young 'rent-a-cop' working at a Human Wards shopping center, meant to monitor loss prevention calls and direct people to the bathroom. Ray himself ended up being a bit overweight, dressed in probably the best suit he could afford (or rent), and had no actual experience or accreditations to his name, not even simple 'Employee of the Month' awards. He had been living on the Citadel for two years, and Sam briefly wondered how the hell he could afford a place on the Citadel at what appeared to be a low-paying menial job involving him scooting around on a hoverboard. While a nice young gentleman who was all 'yes ma'am's' and 'no ma'am's', he seemed a bit too meek to be someone who would be patrolling the streets of the Wards. She remembered the statistics that indicated the amount of crime the Wards had, and knew that Ray Johnston would likely be her first casualty if she brought him on. She went through the numbers on the interview, giving him the same chance as everyone else, and while his answers were positive, they were prosaic as well, no real sense of duty or drive to him. He wanted to become a Deputy because he liked the thought of humans policing humans, was rather unsatisfied with his current job directing people to the bathroom, and wanted more out of his life. When Sam asked him what he had done to accomplish that goal, he had looked at her sheepishly and told her that he applied for the position to do just that. That wasn't what she wanted to hear, an opportunist who seemed hopeful that good things would fall onto his plate as oppose to working for them. She did thank him for his time, and while she didn't hire him, she did intend to send a letter of recommendation on his file for another security-related position. Who knew? Perhaps EA needed guards.

The last personal interview was the strangest of all; she wasn't even human. Sam had been curious as to why someone like she had even applied, no one being that dense to realize that she probably didn't have a chance in hell to being accepted. Yet the Marshal approved of the initial interview, receiving a folder of performance reviews from past first-line supervisors in electronic form, and even a boot camp graduation certificate. There was no resume, which actually didn't surprise Sam at all, instead receiving an EN-Mail from the potential hiree explaining the same concept. Chances were she had never heard of a resume.

Walking into her office was a female Turian Hierarchy Sailor.

"Legio Nysiana Velyanis?" The Marshal asked as she saw a two meter tall Turian walking into her office, armored in Haliat Armory Light Legionus Naval Armor, colored in the traditional matte greys of the Palavenian Hierarchy. The female was tall but thin, with a lesser-protruding cowl and a short fringe that didn't extend past the crown of her skull, as was generally what humans recognized in Turian females. She was lithe for her species, standing before her desk and saluting her in the Turian fashion; talons-to-heart, fringe tilted forward. "At ease, Legio. Take a seat." Thankfully, Sam had experienced some military protocol with her time with the Naval Security Team when they served under her in Therum. The wording and procedures might not be the same, but they would be understood and recognized, at the very least. "I must profess, Velyanis, your application… surprised me." That was an understatement, but Collins was doing her best to be fair to everyone. Apparently, that included female Turians. "Not to insult your intelligence, but you are aware that this is a Systems Alliance law enforcement agency, correct?"

"I am aware, Vigilus." The female replied, her flanged voice light yet… tired? Perhaps worn. It was a little hard to tell, and Sam certainly wasn't an expert on Turians. She recognized the rank that Velyanis called her; a Vigilus was a Citizen Commander chosen to head Civil Protective Services, selected by the Hierarchy. Essentially, a Police Commissioner. There wasn't an exact direct equivalent of a Marshal in the Turian Hierarchy, though the Vigilus Comatatus of the Protectorate of Civil Services was the closest, running the Civil Protective Services for five years before bowing out and letting the next take over.

"Your Hierarchy service record indicates that you are a third-tier citizen, which is just above Boot Camp Recruit, as I understand it," the female's mandibles twitched with that, "and your position on the THV Valiant Resolution is… Boatswain's Mate, Third Class? That's ships' maintenance and sanitation, correct?"

"Correct, Vigilus." The female replied again, completely formal. Not an ounce of disrespect or stepping out of line. No small talk, either.

"It says here that you work the Orlop Deck for a Turian Dreadnaught. Now," Collins looked at the datapad that had Legio Nysiana Velyanis' military records on it, "I'm not Navy, but Orlop is the bottom deck. And you are the janitor."

"I scrape and clean the s'kak off the walls and pumps, if that is what you are suggesting."

Sam merely blinked at that response. S'kak referred to Turian defecation; shit, essentially.

"There are other duties, of course." The Turian sat ramrod straight, her talons on her knees, sitting in what Collins assumed was the position of attention in a chair. "Wires, connections, water pipes, electrical conduits, thermal paneling, Helium feeds, Slush tanks, depleted Eezo containment… but everything runs downward with gravity, even artificial gravity on a ship, and s'kak, as they say, always runs downward.

"But I always wanted to be in the Civil Protective Services."

"And this led you to look at a Systems Alliance Government Job posting?" Collins asked, a little confused. She wasn't sure how the Hierarchy worked exactly, with its multiple citizenship tiers and some seventy percent of the Turian population considered government employees in one form or another. Velyanis was still Active Service, serving in the military, and civil service was a quasi-military duty that shouldn't have issues receiving a military member into its authority, as she understood it. But something made it sound like she… couldn't?

"I apologize, Vigilus. You… are human. You wouldn't know." The Turian female went quiet for a second, looking… defeated, her mandibles dropping as her faceplates contracted slightly, souring perhaps?

"First? Relax, or… whatever the military equivalent is." Sam interjected, seeing the Turian looking at her oddly. "This is an interview, not a command-and-review. You're obviously tense, which isn't surprising considering, but I'm not about to have you arrested and hauled out of here so just… be yourself." Velyanis shifted slightly in the chair, and slowly, she did relax. Her talons went from her knees to her lap, interlacing together as she shifted her digitigrade feet a little more forward, her shin-spurs not pressed against the human-oriented chair's seat. She shifted again, leaning back a little on the chair's back, resting against it for the first time. "See? Not so bad, is it?" Collins encouraged the Turian, who murmured something that sounded like agreement. "Now you can explain."

"I… am a Velyanis, Vigilus." The female began, her mandibles quirking. "My grandsire was a Legatus Legionis in the Sixth Hastati Legion on Taetrus." A taloned hand rose to indicate her colonial face marks, indigo parallel lines that went down the center of her silver plates, with swipes decorating her jawline and mandibles. "There was a Separatist Revolt on the colony, and the Sixth was sent to pacify, to perform a hastist action upon the populous of the region. You… know what that is, yes?"

"I am from Shanxi. I know what a hastism squad does." Sam replied softly. Turian Military Doctrine called for a pacification of any troubled area by announcing a complete and utter surrender of forces before occupation, demanding that everyone come out with their weapons thrown to the ground and their hands up. When the announced time had passed, a hastism was performed; to the spears. The troops would move through the area, capturing the surrendered… and killing everyone else, regardless of whatever reason. Too old to move? Death. Too young? Death. Didn't immediately comply with orders? Death. Velyanis' mandibles twitched at the information.

"I apologize. I didn't know." The Turian responded, looking a little embarrassed. "My grandsire went in to pacify, but was besieged with an ambush that began with landmines, and was quickly surrounded on all sides. He and his men were forced to surrender and captured by the Separatists." Sam winced at that. What little she knew of the Hierarchy was that they took a very dim view at surrendering. "When they were rescued by members of the Blackwatch, my grandsire was arrested and tried for cowardice, and likewise convicted. He was stripped of his holdings, his citizenship, and his honor." One mandible twitched, likely a grimace contained. "I had been just born when this happened, and my sire, who was still in Active Services, was likewise stripped of his holdings, his citizenship, and his honor as well. Our clan paint was removed and this," Velyanis brushed a talon against her silvered face plates, "this became what was ours, to identify who we were. I suspect that you do not know what it means and do not recognize it, but it is the mark of cowardice."

"That's… fucking bullshit." Marshal Sam Collins replied, feeling aghast at the story. Sadly, she actually believed it, knowing something of the Turians and knowing what their views were on surrendering and losing in battle. Likewise, she understood that a Turian who happened to have a famous ancestor would be looked upon with both favor and greater expectation, so it made sense that the reverse would happen as well; a natural-born pariah. And that was Nysiana Velyanis, granddaughter of a pariah, inheriting the only thing left of her family's name; their shame. "I guess that explains a few things. You seriously looked on as SAGov website for security-related jobs, knowing that you would probably have your ass-plates laughed off?"

"Yes."

"Well, the Hierarchy has it all wrong, because I think you've got to be one of the bravest sentients I've ever seen." Sam replied, and she thought she could see this female's life right in front of her; abused and neglected, denied every opportunity while kept down. Legio Velyanis had endured it all, but now? Now she was sitting in her office, in a Marshal's Office. "If I accept you, you will literally be the least qualified person that I will have." The Marshal began, leaning forward and putting her forearms on her desk as she clasped her hands together. "You will be a human cop, and I cannot guarantee that you will have it easy at all. My species can be a bunch of assholes, though I suspect that there will be those who will give you a chance to prove yourself, which will be on you. And then there's your species… one look at you as a Marshal Deputy and you know they will not let it slide. I'm not even sure what they will do to you once they find out, and if they make a legal battle of it, likely I will lose."

"I understand. I've thought of all that already." That surprised Sam, but nodded. Yes, she didn't doubt Nysiana Velyanis had probably thought this through.

"I have no idea how to get you out of Active Service, or how to keep you from being recalled."

"I do. Already figured it out in a way that will be…" The female's flanged voice trailed off, and Sam suspected that the plan was likely the Turian equivalent of going AWOL or such, and being doubly-convicted of cowardice. At the least, humans wouldn't care of a Turian conviction that this female suffered, likely just taking one look at her and judging her for her species, and not her name. That might be the whole point of why she was doing it; she literally had no chance amongst her own kind, so she was technically jumping ship and siding with another. Whatever little chance she had among mankind was what she was shooting for, no matter how narrow and difficult.

"In all fairness," Sam said slowly, looking Nysiana in her gold-green ovaloid eyes, "you might have it easier with the Asari." She was doing her best to make that sound fair and sincere, not trying to make it sound like she was brushing the Turian off. "We've got a lot of humans that hate Turians on sight, and that won't change for a few generations, no matter what you or I do. The Asari are supposedly more accepting. I don't think they'll judge you by your family history, and their species won't hate you on sight like many of mine will."

"You give sound advice, but no." The strength of that answer surprised Sam. "I will not be anyone's pet." The Turian growled, showing that despite it all, there indeed was 'stiffness to her plates' as Nihlus Kryik once said to her when it came to convictions and standing one's ground. This wasn't an act of cowardice, or the act of a coward. Nysiana Velyanis had made a choice, and she was pursuing it. Unlike Ray Johnston, who had been unsatisfied with the way his life had gone and eventually came up with a way to change it without putting much more effort into it than filling out an application, Nysiana Velyanis knew that the road she was choosing would forever be an uphill one; which was better than the forever downhill one the Turian Hierarchy had set before her. This was likely the first chance she got, and she didn't do it stupidly, blindly, or without recognition of some of the issues and difficulties she would face. This was the hallmark of a soul that would give it her all, proud to serve, but all she needed was one person to believe in her to give her that chance. It was like what Sam said; Velyanis would be her least qualified person, with zero law enforcement experience. The Turian had passed basic Boot Camp, and worked as a Bosom's Mate; neither were geared towards law enforcement or the Turian equivalent of the Civil Protective Services. She was a big risk, and the both of them knew it.

A rookie cop. That had Sam thoughtful.

She went ahead with the rest of the interview, asking questions that she had asked the other potentials, questions on ethics and knowledge, inquiring about her skills (sadly, Velyanis was under qualified and they both knew it, but the Turian was honest in her answers), and what her goals were. There were some differences because of species, Velyanis being the model Turian; service to all before self, belief in the righteousness of the cause, obedience to the law and to superiors. Some were worthy, but some had Sam a little less than satisfied, not wishing for someone to take advantage of what Turians were famous for doing; complying to an order regardless if they agreed to it or not, lodging a formal complaint to escape repercussions. Humanity had too many issues with that in the past, and had clauses in the Military for such things, such as the Refusal To Commit Atrocities clause, and the Right to Defend clause in which a Sailor or Marine can act to save a life even if Military Command disagreed with the protocol. Regardless, Nysiana Velyanis was fully committed to this endeavor, and despite the lack of experience in law enforcement, had made several efforts to learn the topic and what might be required of her, having done extra reading (instead of watching HV shows) and having her own questions about human ethics and scenarios. That Sam found to her liking, showing the Turian to possess a good mind and a willingness to learn and adapt.

"Let me make a call while your here, because this is, as we like to say, untested waters." Sam offered, Velyanis nodding as Sam looked up a contact number, and smiled. She knew that she'd likely use her new hire just for this reason, but not so soon. She contacted Marcus van de Walt on her desk phone and connected it to the ExtraNet for a Phone2Tool call. It rang twice.

"Van de Walt here." The strongly-accented voice came over the phone in which Sam switched to speaker.

"Van de Walt, this is Marshal Collins. I have a question that's right up your alley if you have a spare moment regarding Constitutional Law."

"So soon? Ah! The Turian candidate?" The man was sharp. "While I do not have immediate access to any resources, I know the language well enough if you are asking what I think you will ask; the legality of hiring a Turian into a Systems Alliance Government position."

"That is correct."

"The framework of the Systems Alliance Charter was written in 2148, after the discovery of the Prothean Ruins and the Mars Archives, but before the First Contact War." The Afrikaner began, his tone serious. "In the Equal Opportunity Clause towards personages, it does state that no judgment or ruling shall be made in regards to race, creed, color, religion, or orientation. Now this was never updated after the discovery of living extrasolar species, so legally one could hire one and use this clause to their benefit if one were to wish jumping into a political maelstrom. The main issue will be 'race', Marshal; does that mean the Human Race and its many ethnicities, or all races? While the intent was ethnic diversity, with the right lawyer, one could indeed wiggle their way through to hire, say, a Turian or an Asari if one wished to deal with the ramifications. Even if it were ruled afterwards that race does mean just within the Human Race, a candidate prior to such ruling would still fall under the Ex Post Facto Clause, and would still be able to hold a position, though I would assume at a lesser degree and without hope of advancement, depending on circumstances. On the other hand, if one were to find a Civil Rights Advocate who wished to put in the time and make a go of it, the ruling could be swayed to any race, with legal literature added pertaining to the other races of the Galaxy. I know of Asari employees in human businesses, mostly bars and gentlemen's clubs, mind you, but there are those who would benefit from such. But for a Government Employee? Muddy waters."

"That's about what I thought, but wanted to double check." Collins didn't pretend to know the Systems Alliance Charter inside and out, but she figured what van de Walt said was true; the literature was never included pertaining to other species in the galaxy. It was a loophole… if one were brave enough to exploit it for the right reasons. "Thank you for your assistance, van de Walt."

"My pleasure, and… Legio?" That had the Turian perk up, the man obviously knowing that she was there when he was talking on speaker. "For what it's worth? I look forward to seeing how this fairs, but you've certainly caught my attention and earned a fair amount of admiration from myself."

"Thank you, Civus." The female replied, using the honorific for police officer in Common Cipritine. Sam disconnected the call and sat back in her chair, thinking it over. She wondered why she was about to do this, to stick her neck out for a female Turian she didn't know, an obvious mess that would be dropped upon her already overburdened lap. Perhaps she saw the parallels between herself and Legio Velyanis, and wanted to believe that it would likewise work out as it had for Sam. Perhaps it was sympathy for her plight, one that had Collins rather furious. She recalled her conversation with Staff Marshal Torres on the Arc, about having to step up and showing a level of cooperation with the other species of the Citadel. The Marshal's Office on the Arc might not approve of this method, but… they were use to having human jurisdiction on human colonies. This was different; this was the Citadel. She would have to play by different rules, and the possibility of a multispecies endeavor would bring a certain level of attention and acknowledgement that perhaps mankind wasn't nearly so 'barbaric'. "One more phone call." Collins promised as the Legio nodded, seemingly interested in what was going on. If it didn't work out, at the least Velyanis would know that Collins was indeed trying for her case. The Marshal typed in the contact information and had to wait a few minutes for the connection to go through the Comms NetWork from the Citadel to Arcturus Station. When the connection was established, the phone rang once before it was picked up.

"Torres. This better be good." The voice of the Latino man came through, sounding a bit surly.

"Torres, it's Collins." Sam identified herself, and the temperament almost immediately improved with the sound of her voice.

"Good to hear from you, Sam! Didya get my goodies?"

"Yes I did. Felt like Christmas, Emilio; lots of toys to play with." There was a very male chuckle on the other line. "But I got a question for you that you're probably going to rip my head off for. Remember the inquest on the Arc?"

"Yeah…" The tone was dubious, now.

"Remember how I said that I thought that being on the Citadel was going to be different because of the non-humans, and the level of cooperation I would need to bring?"

"On a scale of one to ten, how apocalyptic are we talkin'?"

"I'm… looking at possibly hiring a Turian."

There was dead silence on the line for the next ten seconds.

"Technically," Torres began, "there isn't anythin' sayin' you can't. Constitution wasn't written with aliens in mind, so you won't be violatin' the Charter. Also, as a Marshal, you are allowed to hire anyone you see fit to see to the duties of your Office, in which Headquarters has no say in it as long as it isn't illegal. Having said that… do you have any idea how fuckin' big this will be? 'Shitstorm' doesn't cover it, it's more like 'shit hurricane'. Media picks this up and they'll never shut up about it, good or bad. Half of the people will want your head, and the other half will want to have your back. You certainly don't think simple and small, do you?"

"I don't think it was ever in the cards for me." Sam admitted, looking to the Legio, who remained silent but attentive. "If you want, I have Legio Nysiana Velyanis in here with me if you wish to talk."

"He or she? Can't tell with the name."

"Female." Sam shrugged at the Turian, who shook her head, indicating that it wasn't an issue.

"I only got one question, Legio,"the Staff Marshal asked, his tone deadly serious. "You join the Marshals, you stay a Marshal. You're goin' to be a Turian in a human law enforcement agency, and a pretty big one, at that. How are you goin' to conduct yourself? And think that one through before you blurt out." To her credit, Nysiana blinked at the question, and did seem to consider it through.

"I know what Turian society expects the answer to be," the female began, "but I've read several manuals and articles on human law enforcement, and there are some fundamental differences. The concept to 'serve and protect' is similar, so I believe that will not be an issue. My biggest hurtle is that I was born-and-raised in the Hierarchy, and I will fall upon those doctrines when I do not know what to do. I know that may cause issues, but I do not intend to waste an opportunity to prove myself by acting headstrong or with brute force. The concept of the Civil Protective Services is 'Duty, Honor, and Integrity'. I believe if there was something to aspire to, those would be what I would work towards achieving. I will also have my fellow Civi to rely upon, as they will me. I believe something I read called it 'Brotherhood'. I know the path won't be easy, but I think it both worthwhile and respectable."

"You did think it over, and I'm glad to see that you are tryin' to integrate both sets of concepts." The Staff Marshal replied after a moment. "Technically, I can't stop you from hirin' a Turian, Sam. I wouldn't exactly advise it, but as you said back on the Arc; El Cit is a whole new ballgame, and it needs the kind of thinkin' you possess. Heaven help me, but you're givin' me more grey hair, Sam. Knew it would happen sooner or later, just hopin'… later." Torres chuckled at his own joke. "Never thought I'd see the day a Turian became a Deputy, but I never expected a Marshal to be workin' on El Cit, either. I'll write up some paperwork and push it through the system discretely pertainin' to the Equal Opportunity Clause and drop names like 'Bass Reeves' and 'Jackie Robinson' if the hard-liners get too bitchy. You train her up well and good, and we'll see about what we can do concernin' a future appointment with the Marshal's Academy. This is some new age merde that would be stupid to pass up on if it works out. Hierarchy ain't goin' to give us any grief with her jumpin' ship, are they?"

"Yes, I fully expect they will." Collins replied, already sending Velyanis' records and recorded story to Torres to keep him in the loop. She suspected he would see things in a similar light.

"Well… fuck 'em." That had the Legio's eyes blink in surprise as her mandibles flared out for a second before clamping back to her jaw. Sam doubted anyone had ever said anything of the kind about the Hierarchy in front of a Turian before. "And Velyanis?" The Turian looked to the speaker.

"Welcome to the team."

"I'm… in?" The female looked to Collins, her gold-green ovaloid eyes going wide as her mandibles quivered. She looked as if the rug had been swept from underneath her. Sam smiled as she stood from her desk and extended a hand, clasping wrists with the Sailor.

"Welcome aboard, Deputy Nysiana Velyanis."

- - - - - A Fox Amongst The Wolves - - - - -

"You went and hired a fu….reaking Turian?" Master Chief Stacy Valentino had to censor her words at the counter as Marshal Sam Collins had guests over that weren't over the age of eighteen. Master Chief Stacy Valentino, Senior Chief Royce Mason, Chief Jane Shepard, Captain Alec Ryder, Doctor Ellen Ryder, and the Ryder twins were all over at Sam's apartment at Shangri-La Towers, having already given the Sailors most of the tour (leaving out her bedroom) and showing Stacy and Royce their guest room, which was almost the size of the wet Container, Housing Unit they used in Therum, minus less appliances. They had stowed their gear when they had arrived and used the private bathroom and shower the guest room came with after traveling and working for the day. Jane, likewise, and placed her gear in a nearby closet, promised that sightseeing the bedroom would come later (she was aware that the bedroom would be… unusual, and not for company). The Non-Coms were sitting at the dinner table as Sam worked in her kitchen, working on making dinner for six adults and two kids with adult-sized appetites. In all fairness, she loved the thought of hosting so many guests and friends over, never having the opportunity to do so. She had an enormous apartment, so she might as well make the most of it. Dinner was to be spaghetti and meatballs with Caesar salad and bakery bread with butter. Royce had the duty of picking up booze (Sam wasn't legally old enough to buy alcohol, even on the Citadel), and had gotten everyone's selections, grumbling a little at the importation tax and inflated prices.

Dinner was coming along nicely as Collins worked her kitchen efficiently, having already read the owners' manual on her inductive stovetop heating unit, boiling noodles in water while simmering tomato sauce in a separate pan and cooking soy-protein extract hamburger on a skillet. Thankfully, the kitchen came with an equally impressive and ultramodern set of dishes, plates, glasses, cooking utensils and bake wear, so she didn't need to buy pots and pans. She really would have to thank Tela for her thoughtfulness (minus the bedroom). The salad was pre-packaged, certified fresh (unlikely, but still) as Sam dumped the contents into a colander and rinsed it off in the sink with a cold-water setting that would chill the salad slightly to give it crispness. The bread was currently in the inductive stove, baking. Along with Sam was Doctor Ellen Ryder, working the kitchen as well as she stirred the tomato sauce and added spices she brought from her own home to help liven up the meal, giving tips to Sam as they worked together. Sam had never cooked for anyone before, so she was enjoying the change, being able to cook for friends. She resolved to do so more often.

Stacy was sitting at the counter that separated kitchen from dining room, seated upon a stool that was set there for that purpose. Royce and Jane were currently embattled with Sara and Scott Ryder on the X-Box, playing some multiplayer third-person shooter where it was four versus everyone else, apparently. Alec Ryder had resolved himself to reading something on a datapad on one of the seats in the living room, catching up on something while Ellen and she worked in the kitchen making dinner.

"As well as a former Jo'berg Cop-turn-Security Consultant, and an IT Operation Security Manager from BioWare." Sam replied as she stirred the noodles in the boiling pot of water to keep them from sticking together, having learned what al dente meant. "I'm also in the process of looking to hire a Sergeant from the NAPD Vice Squad, a RCMP Lieutenant, a Texas Ranger, an Interpol Inspector, and a Master Sergeant from the British 22nd Para. That gives me twelve people in my Office for the first round of hires. I also turned down a terminal lance Marine who was an idiot, a Sheriff's Deputy from Elysium with a history of excessive force, and a Citadel Mall Cop who was way too timid and needed hand-holding. ONI has already given me the prelims on everyone for their background checks, and I think I really lucked out with the first batch. The worst thing that I saw out of them were collection notices, but nothing overtly bad or excessive in amount. Hell, Bioware was making more than the both of us put together, and technically you, Royce, and Jane are pulling double paychecks."

"We're really calling him 'Bioware'?" Val replied, getting an eyebrow up as the blonde woman looked over at the food, taking a sniff. "Definitely smells better than what you'll find in a Galley, that's for sure. But back to the Turian issue." Sam knew that if anyone were going to have a problem, it would be the Master Chief, a Shanxi Vet and a survivor of Operation: Repensium. While she wasn't exactly racist, like some amongst humanity were, she fully admitted that she didn't play well with Turians, something about an incident a few years back that she didn't talk about. "Why?"

"Stacy, look where we're at." Sam stopped stirring the noodles to look at the Texan, reminding her of their location. "The Citadel was the first place that species came together for cooperation and mutual benefit. It may not have always worked well, and there are issues, but we aren't in open warfare with almost a dozen species seeking to kill one another. That alone puts things in perspective." Stacy made a noise at that, but didn't interrupt further. "The First Contact War notwithstanding, sooner or later we're going to have to learn to play nice with the others, the Turians included. Likewise, they will have to do the same. Someone has to make the first move, someone has to take that risk and give it a chance. Legio Nysiana Velyanis came to us with the aspirations of wanting to be a cop, and though she has a different perspective on things than we do, her answers were both satisfactory and also showed someone who truly wishes to commit. The Hierarchy has basically blacklisted her family because of something her grandfather did, and she had to deal with that shame all of her life. She wishes to show that she is someone of worth and honor, and honestly, don't we all?" Ellen hmm'ed at that, not having said a word during the exchange. "She might have to turn her back on her government and her species in order to do so. And she's fully aware of that."

"Hmm." The Master Chief folded her arms as she sat back a little on the stool, not completely satisfied, but at least considering it. "So you want to give off the impression that we're hiring aliens? Sorry, non-humans." The Non-Com was most certainly feeling her oats. "We're practically sitting in the middle of a civil insurrection because of the C-SEC Turians, and you go and hire one of them?"

"First off, she isn't C-SEC. She's a Sailor." Collins corrected Val with a look that wasn't brooking insubordination. "She's a Bosum's Mate, Third Class, and a Tier-Three Citizen of the Hierarchy, kept there since Boot Camp. Her job is sanitation on the Orlop Deck of a Dreadnaught, so figure out what that means." Stacy's mouth twitched at that, but said nothing. "She's a pariah to her own kind, and her only way out, the only way she'll ever succeed… was to come to us. Can you imagine how that must have felt for her? She threw away pride and honor for respect and worth, Val. She's going to be working in an office surrounded by aliens, non-Turians, and she's already made the effort to try and learn about us and our culture, to try and fit in. Would you be so quick to turn a potential ally into a permanent enemy?"

Stacy did something peculiar; she did a double-take.

"That's… not the first time I heard that." The Master Chief replied softly, looking at something that wasn't in the kitchen, but a memory. Sam frowned as she wondered if she might have truly upset her friend. "I… was a part of an operation involving… your Blackwatch friend." Collins realized that Stacy was referring to Centurion Magnus Nihlus Kryik, someone they both knew to be a Agent of the Council; a SPECTRE. Ellen was within earshot, so the Non-Com was keeping it discreet. "You aren't the first, you know? Fifth or sixth, I think. At least that I'm aware of." Sam realized what she was talking about; potential SPECTRE candidates. "I was selected by this Turian Cabalist that had a huge chip on his shoulder when it came to us monkeys," the racial slur was filled with venom, "and I was joined by our mutual friend." Stacy's eyes touched upon Ellen Ryder, who was at least trying to pretend to ignore the conversation. "The mission was a damn joke; we were dropped on Taetrus to hunt down this Separatist Leader who had kidnapped some colonial Primarch's family member for ransom, and had bombs or whatnot stashed amongst a small urban center to detonate if he saw the Hierarchy coming. So they sent… us." The Non-Com leaned back in her stool, looking a little lost. "That was worse than Shanxi, honestly. On a Turian planet filled with Separatists Forces, having to rely upon this racist Turian Biotic and his protégé, only for the Cabalist to disappear on us, and I found myself fighting back-to-back with this Blackwatch member I just couldn't bring myself to trust." The blonde woman shook her head, obviously reliving the memory. "We were surrounded, outnumbered and outgunned, just me and him. Couldn't trust him, but I trusted him to watch my back, because there was nobody else." The Navy MP shook her head. "We were in this… I think it was the back of a hover truck of some kind, trying to buy ourselves a few minutes of respite when he said those words to me. Not verbatim, mind you, but pretty damn similar. I remember my response; cruel and uncalled for.

"I told him I would never be friends with a fucking Raptor."

Val looked off to one side, looking towards the living room but not seeing it, her face forlorn. Sam could see pain in that look both personal and emotional, the survivor in her that had overcome almost certain death at the hands of an Imperial militant race having lived long enough to see the shadows of that horrible war slowly receding, time marching forward while she lived with the echoing nightmares of those times. It was like what Sam herself said at the inquest; the older generation might not be able to let go of that fear and hatred upon discovering that not only were they not alone in the galaxy, but a highly-advanced race was seeking to obliterate them. Stacy was obviously struggling with it. The younger woman set down her ladle and moved towards the Master Chief and pulled her into an embrace, holding her close. The blonde woman's hands slowly pulled her in as well as she buried her face into Sam's shoulder, her body quaking from contained grief and rage, the memories that never truly died filling her once more. Sam would never fully understand what Stacy must have survived on Shanxi, though hearing Ryder's account pertaining to her discovery had been just a pale imitation of the struggle. Stacy had never spoken about it, and Collins was aware that she somehow earned a Navy Cross during the operation, the second-highest award in the military. But at what cost did she pay to make it out? What had she seen? Who had she buried? Stacy took a deep breath and composed herself, lifting her head up to wipe away at a tear that hadn't left her eye, looking a little less grief-stricken.

"Better?" Sam asked tentatively.

"For now, but never, honestly." The blonde woman replied, looking to her. "Nihlus saved my life that day. And I probably didn't deserve it. We were left behind and betrayed, surrounded and engaged on all sides, and… he could have thrown me to the wolves and left me there to complete that mission, to find his mentor and leave the monkey to die. But… he didn't. Said my candidacy was… incorrect, that I was selected inappropriately, not because I wasn't good mind you, but because my attitude wouldn't have been appropriate for the kinds of missions that I might be asked to take. And the one who picked me knew that. I was… a patsy, a way to make humanity look bad by picking someone like myself and dooming me to failure. Nihlus stood for the right thing, could have left me to die but instead chose to stand by my side in the worst kind of hell. The mission ended in failure, sadly; the Separatists had long since executed that Turian before we even arrived, using the threat and the bombs as a means to play the Hierarchy into their little fucking game. The Cabalist tried to pin it on me with the Council, but… Agent Kryik was the one who came forward with the truth, and told them that I was a good example for my species, and credited me with a good deal more praise than I deserved. He never mentioned how… how I almost abandoned him there, how I never just went with what he said, arguing with him almost every step of the way, calling him every name in the book. Didn't even know his full name until after they showed up on Therum." Stacy smiled a wintery smile as she shook her head. "He was right, I never should have even been considered." She looked to Sam, giving her a long look. "What we need is someone who can look past all that, someone that can be human, but also look past being just that. Seeing the value of a person, not just their apparent worth. Proud of you, kiddo." The older woman tipped her head to kiss Sam's forehead, giving her her benediction. "I will give the Turian the benefit of the doubt, and make sure she's trained and qualified the same as the others. Might be interesting trying to find a Marshal's uniform that might fit her. Or a hat."

"Hadn't thought of that." Sam admitted as she smiled at Stacy, glad that they were able to resolve the issue concerning Nysiana Velyanis. Collins was well aware that hiring a Turian would be controversial, and Val would make herself a sounding board for those who would have nothing to do with the sons and daughters of Palaven. Honestly, at the least Stacy was rather reasonable in her feelings towards Turians, having fought in and survived Shanxi, and then this other incident that she had admitted to where it sounded like another Turian SPECTRE had tried using Val like a scapegoat. Prejudice was going to run rife concerning the Turian race, but the only way to attempt to heal that rift was to attempt to repair some of that damage done, to show people that it was possible. She was a little shocked to hear Stacy admit that she was once considered to become a SPECTRE, and understood why she hadn't admitted to it before if the mission had been such a fiasco and the Non-Com hadn't been proud of how she had handled the situation. "I am glad to call you friend, Stacy, to have you by my side. Perhaps this time we can do it right."

---

Author's Note: I got pretty high-tech for this… so some expos!

OLED - Your monitor… as clear as glass and as thin as paper. Plus, it rolls up!

Haptic User Interface - a Gesture Recognition Device in which the keyboard is merely a hologram, and the computer calculates where you type.

Inductive Field Information Transfer - wireless information transfer based off of electromagnetic fields, not radio signals (see WiFi)

Immersion Video/Movies (ImmersVids) - ME CANON, Immersion Videos are like Virtual Reality Movies in which you watch from the POV of the central character. The movie Strange Days has this as a plot point in which the main character sells illegal ImmerseVids of deaths, murders, and drug-use. I will probably use this as the ME version of bootleg video piracy.

Q-Machine - Quantum Computing Machine. Involves electrons and micro-computing processors.

SuperCray - This… shows how old I am. The Cray was a supercomputer in the Nineties that was used to process Virtual Reality Simulators and… computer graphics.

Personal Area Networks - Technically, your Smartphone has one, as does any 'signal' device connected to a Network. If a device has biometrics involved (i.e., a fingerprint lock or optical recognition) then it remembers the access… as does anyone that takes these profiles. Read/Watch any Phillip K. Dick story, especially Minority Report, and Imposter. #NowhereToRunNowFucker

BlockChain Memory - what 'coin' uses; each transaction is a separate and secured block of memory that cannot be altered, only added to. This works great not only for financial transactions without the use of a government sponsor (like coin) but I see police using this for Chain of Evidence tags (as breaking it invalidates evidence if someone forgets to properly sign in/out evidence).

CyberLink System - My own creation, but a Network that works with not only area access, but personal user interface. If you touch a datapad, it logs you in. If you open a door, your OmniTool remembers. This will be prevalent through the story, as this is primarily a police story. More in line to what the Patriots were doing in Metal Gear Solid 4, but without personal control of the user.

Automated Virtual Intelligence Network Assistant (AVINA) - Yes… her. This will probably be the biggest CANON change I will make in the foreseeable future, turning a holographic directory service into a SmartCity Network. Imagine Traffic Control, Dispatch, Emergency Services, Public Transit Authority, Power Grid, light schedules and anything else that runs a town or city (and there are a host of departments that do that IRL) run by one automated service… that's AVINA. Think… Cortana from Halo, but with less personality and rampancy.

Stand Alone Complex - Not even an internal Network, but seriously just a computer with no extra data connection. No wifi, no phone jack… information is either imputed or inserted through hard copy (like thumb drives and CD/DVD's)

Crime Index - This is a Real Life thing you can look up on the internet. The statistics I used are very real, too; these are the reports of Northern Manhattan for the month of June, 2017. I changed one (Grand Larceny Auto became Grand Larceny) and combined two (Shooting Victim and Shooting Incidence) and turned it into weapons charges. Transit crimes became transient crimes (because all the vehicles on the Citadel are self-driven by AVINA, so now it's unregistered humans, i.e. Illegal immigrants) and housing crimes became specifically Domestic Violence instead of the big three (B+E, Burglary, and Property Damage). There are, btw, about 15,000 Officers in the NYPD alone, not to include other departments (NYSP, Harbor Patrol, Sheriff's, and the federal-level Officers and those who guard the UN building. NYC has a population of some 5 million, so… damn.

Sisyphus - The King fated to push the boulder up the hill, only for it to roll down the other side so he must do so again. Hey, he cheated Death twice, pissed off Zeus, locked up Thanatos, made Ares mad, and slighted Hades. I'm surprised they didn't set him on fire eternally.

Surprisingly, the Wall Street Journal is a great place to look for jobs, but they are certainly 'high-tier' jobs. If you want to be a Broker, an exec, or have a Masters, this is where you go.

I had no idea that Interpol was not an supranational police force. I always thought they were Europe's FBI. Nope, they are liaisons for international law enforcement agencies when criminals go across borders and the FBI needs to contact some jurisdiction in… say, Milan, Italy. And need a translator. And an idea who pulls jurisdiction and lead. Huh. Don't we have the Internet for that now? They do, however, provide great quantities of intel dealing with international crime, intelligence, and tracking. Just like Europol (who, again, don't actually arrest anybody. Huh.)

I like making Shepard have a hero, and making up the legend of Alec Ryder is fun. I know I would geek out if I had met Neil Armstrong when he was still alive or Buzz Aldrin.

Asperger's Syndrome - A sociodevelopmental condition that will probably not exist in the future, as it is now considered a sub-strait of Autism Spectrum Disorder. Asperger's is like mild Autism in which the person shows high-function cognitive capabilities, but misses social cues (crossing my arms over my chest while scowling means I'm mad) and can follow intensely in a subject (like rattling off stats and scores to a favored sports team that would have even rabid fans amazed).

The Green Bit MultiScan527g is a Real Life device, and the description I give comes from its website. It didn't come with a price, so you know that means it's expensive as shit. Some of the others were several thousand dollars, but this one was a 'Contact Manufacturer' for pricing. Ouch.

The IntegenX RapidHIT 200 is also a Real Life device, with accurate description. It's about three years old, now, and costs about a quarter of a million dollars. Expensive? A full lab requires a Spectroanalizer, DNA Sequencing Machine, and someone with a Bachelor's Degree. You've seen CSI, right? How expensive is that set-up? The RapidHIT was designed to fit in a squad car, like in the trunk, for investigative purposes. Damn. This thing works by taking a swab, sticking swab in a plastic cartridge, sticking cartridge in, and then activating it. There are some half a million DNA profiles in backlog because of the FBI's swamped lab, and they can't turn them out fast enough. Want a great paying job? Bachelor's Degree in Forensic Science, Lab Technician… $60,000 a year. You'll never run out of work. And everyone needs them.

Law Enforcement Firearms - Ever wondered why the .38 and the 9mm were 'the' standard round for Police for the longest time? These rounds have little chance of passing through walls in houses and hitting someone else in another room, dry wall, insulation, and framework able to slow/stop the rounds from having an accidental injury/death. That's why cops don't carry .45's or the Dirty Harry Magnums.

Hillard Heinzte is a real life Private Security Risk Management Consultation Firm based in America.

In real life, hiring a Police Officer takes weeks of work; background investigation (not a check), psychological profile, several interviews and tests, not to mention usually having a Degree in Criminal Justice or Psychology, and then Academy for a few to several months, depending on the jurisdiction. And that's just a town or a city. A major metropolitan area, like the NYPD, or a federal-level agency, like the FBI or ATFE? Double the requirements and anal-ness of everything.

I totally loved tearing BioWare/EA to pieces. Galaxy of War was a game in Mass Effect, mentioned by a Salarian game store employee, based upon the Multiplayer version of Mass Effect 3. And yes, I did the Red/Blue/Green option, and chose Red. Fuck you back, BioWare!

Moses Brothers' Self-Defense Frontier Model B - This is Captain Mal Reynolds gun, the official model name from the Firefly series.

Boatswain/Bosom's Mate - The Navy Maintenance, Sanitation, and Janitorial Services position. I know it sounds demeaning, but this is an important job, as maintenance on a ship filled with a million moving parts is incredibly important, and waste and debris will affect machinery, causing it to overheat and fault. Plus cleaning is a part of safety regulations, as oil and corrosion can cause slips, falls, cuts, and diseases.

Nysiana Velyanis - It's actually be a while since I made an Original Character that wasn't a minor character, Sam Collins actually having been created some two years ago for my 'Hale/Meer Chronicles', a human cop that was to be added onto the Normandy for investigative and intelligence purposes. I never actually got to use her, but I liked the idea of having a real cop (Garrus, despite being a Detective, uses a sniper rifle? Detectives don't use sniper rifles). Nysiana Velyanis will be my first major OC in a good long time, and will be as used as, say, Stacy Valentino and Royce Mason. Considering she's a Turian in a human law enforcement agency, yeah that's big.

US Marshal Bass Reeves - The first African-American Marshal of the United States Marshal Services, serving in 1870. Considering what popular and public opinion was during those times, Bass Reeves must have had a hell of a time being a black cop right after the Civil War, working in western Arkansas/Indian Territory. He did not know how to read or write, but is credited with thousands of arrests, and he legally shot and killed fourteen men. Bass Reeves, btw, was born a slave, and became a Marshal during a time when I'm fairly certain that African-Americans probably couldn't be anything but menial labor or something similar at the time. Black doctors and lawyers? No, probably not, save a very few such as Fredrick Douglass.

Wait? Stacy was a SPECTRE candidate? While Canon mentions that Captain David Edward Anderson was considered back in 2166 (See Mass Effect: Revelations), there is a decisive seventeen-year break in between then and Commander Shepard in 2183. If the humans gained an Embassy in 2165, and a potential SPECTRE recruit in '66, then what of the remaining years? There is NO information leading to the fact that there weren't others, merely that Shepard was the first 'public' SPECTRE, according to Al-Jaliani (and we know how credible she is). There are others besides Stacy and Captain Anderson, and they will be mentioned later on, and why it didn't work out.

So… is Sam going to be the first Human SPECTRE in this series, before Shepard? Stay tuned, true believers. I've actually got this covered. And don't outguess. It's more fun.