Vega hovered over the weapons maintenance table on the hangar deck of the Normandy. He used an all-purpose brush soaked in a cleaning lubricant to feverishly scrub a handful of different weapons scattered before him. There wasn't much Vega did to pass the time or relieve stress. He had only a few hobbies; working out, hitting the heavy bag, drinking, playing cards and performing weapons maintenance. This was where he could find serenity, a place he could arrange his thoughts and forget the woes that populated his life—which were overwhelming.

He'd been at it for over an hour now and if it were possible to wear away the durable material the weapons had been constructed out of he'd have succeeded. The weapons were clean. They had been clean for weeks because using them had not been necessary. But Vega was there scrubbing away nearly every day.

He put the Carnifex he'd been toiling at down and let out a sigh which echoed in the cavernous, empty interior of the Normandy's hangar. There was no Steve Cortez to banter back and forth with. No side conversations and laughter erupting from other crew members. It was just a hollow place he'd once felt so at home in.

What was the Normandy now without Commander Shepard? He had been the lynchpin that brought an eclectic mix of humans and aliens together under a shared banner, unified them behind a single cause that he was driven to achieve. But now he was gone and only some of the crew remained. Kaidan Alenko had been called upon by the Citadel Council to fulfill his duties as a Spectre. Instability, political intrigue and violence had already begun to appear across battered systems throughout the galaxy and he was bound to do what he could to maintain order in a shattered post-Reaper existence. Javik had returned to the Cronian Nebula, where he had slain his indoctrinated crew, stating he wished to join them in the afterlife. And then there was EDI—EDI whose freshly realized life was extinguished all too soon for reasons none of them could understand. All that remained were Garrus, Liara, Tali, Samantha, Joker and a handful of the Normandy's crew. They were leaderless and the ship seemed empty of the energy that had characterized life aboard the vessel.

"Lieutenant Vega?" Samantha Traynor's voice interrupted his thoughts. She was speaking over the intercom from the CIC. "Admiral Hackett is on the QEC and would like a word."

Vega scratched the back of his head feeling slightly bemused. "I'll be right up."

The ever-familiar vision of Admiral Steven Hackett materialized before James Vega's very eyes, cloaked in a sheath of whitish-blue hue thanks to the quantum entanglement communicator. The Admiral stood before the young Lieutenant clad in his Alliance service uniform, his face scarred and weathered, old and weary. Yet he still stood erect with practiced military rigidity. The monumentally challenging task of picking up the pieces of a devastated galaxy had fallen in his lap and he was making due as best he could. And though his eyes may have betrayed his fatigue to the young Marine, his bearing would not. "Lieutenant Vega," the seasoned Admiral greeted.

"Sir."

"How did your visit to the Citadel go? Did you find Shepard?" Hackett asked evenly.

Vega dropped his head, abashed. "No," he admitted plainly. He had failed; something he felt was an ever-increasing reality of his chosen profession. Failure had populated the landscape of his life thus far. "We found his service tags, but he wasn't there."

Hackett looked puzzled. An aged hand reached up and stroked the hairs of his goatee. "Any ideas on what may have happened?"

"We intercepted a comm-signal. We think scavengers might have found him," Vega explained.

"I don't like the sound of that, Lieutenant," Hackett stated, although his voice betrayed no change in emotion.

"Neither do I, sir. He deserves better than that," Vega proclaimed icily. If there was one thing the Marines had drilled into him, something that his time with Delta Squad had reinforced, it was that you never left a comrade behind. The sad reality of that lofty goal was that many of the dead were often left to rot. Vega had learned as much on Fehl Prime, where so many of his compatriots had been slain fighting the Collectors and their abominations. As time passed he learned the glamorous ideals and noble undertakings the vids often showed were just pipedreams. Shepard's body was in the hands of some disdainful band of scavengers now and Vega had been powerless to stop that. Commander Shepard had beaten the Reapers. The greatest hero in the history of the universe deserved to be laid to rest and Vega couldn't even do that.

"Then find him, Lieutenant."

"Sir?"

"You have command of the Normandy for the time being. Commander Shepard was more than just a hero for humanity. He united bitter enemies, brought together the most powerful fleet in history and destroyed the Reapers once and for all. His actions saved the entire galaxy. He deserves the highest honors and a military burial. I aim to give it to him, but you need to find him first," Hackett declared eloquently. He meant every word he spoke. He had already presided over far more military burials than he cared to remember and there were many more to come. But Shepard's was the single-most important sacrifice in the galaxy. It was hard to quantify one person's sacrifice over another's, especially when it was the ultimate sacrifice. But if it wasn't for Shepard it was likely the entire galaxy would still be fighting a desperate, losing war against the Reapers.

"I'm just not sure having me in charge is the best course of action, sir," Vega said sheepishly.

"Why not?"

"I'm not… I'm just not sure if I'm cut out for command, sir."

"You're the ranking officer aboard the Normandy, Lieutenant. I don't have any officers to spare. I can't put an alien in command of an Alliance ship and you and the crew share the greatest kind of cohesion—the kind only gained from saving the galaxy," Hackett argued. The old warhorse was very familiar with Lieutenant James Vega and his reluctance to take charge. His experiences on Fehl Prime had affected him deeply. His confidence was shaken. But Hackett knew a good Marine when he saw one and he understood that more often than not the greatest thing that could hinder a good leader was the individual and their own misgivings. If James Vega could learn to get out of his own way he could be something great.

"Commander Shepard—"

"Commander Shepard thought very highly of you, Lieutenant. He said as much in his dispatches," Hackett interrupted. "I'll tolerate no further discussion of the issue, Lieutenant. You're in command."

"I… yes, sir. Aye, aye, sir."

"I wish we could provide you with more assistance, but things are a mess right now. Earth and the Citadel are in horrible disrepair, there are tens of thousands wounded and even more refugees. We're trying to locate and account for the dead and missing.

"We've managed to cobble together a few small fleets and dispatch them to distant colonies in order to protect them from mercenaries, pirates and slavers and we're laboring to get communications back online with the other council races' home planets," Admiral Hackett explained. Vega could almost sense the exasperation in his voice. The preceding weeks had been an immense trial for him, the labor he committed during the war notwithstanding. "Worse than that there are rumblings that what remains of the batarian Hegemony might be massing for an attack. Relations soured quickly and just about their entire fleet left the battle against the Reapers at the most dire moment. They've completely disappeared. We may have rid ourselves of the Reapers, but I'm afraid things are looking grim."

Vega listened to the avalanche of bad news and realized he had been right to think there would be a time when he'd need his weapon once again.

All the races of the galaxy had united and then survived against the greatest threat to life any of them had ever known. And now that the threat was gone the galaxy was already prepared to tear itself a part. Slavers? Pirates? It was hard to imagine there were people out there so willing and ready to take advantage of the fallout from the Reaper war. But maybe Vega shouldn't have been that surprised. After all, he had every reason to believe that opportunists had seized Shepard's remains.

But he was going to get Shepard back. He suddenly felt a surge of confidence that had been lacking moments before. "Don't worry, sir, we'll get the Commander back."

"Good. I expect nothing less. Hackett out." And just like that he was gone and Vega was left alone in the QEC chamber. Only the gentle purr of the Normandy's powerful engines could be heard reverberating through the bulkheads. He stepped out into the war room. The circular room was littered with an assortment of various consoles that controlled and coordinated logistics, administration and supply systems so that war could be waged from this very spot. The concentric center console, where unit readiness and assets could be viewed and evaluated sat unused.

It was vacant. Not a single service member manned a station. There was no galactic war now and no need to manage war assets across the full spectrum of operations. Just like much of the ship, it was empty and damaged to a degree. The systems within were of little value now and had therefore received the lowest priority for repair.

Was it his war room now? Was it his ship? No. It never could be. He was a placeholder. It was Commander Shepard's ship and it always would be. Even when the Alliance eventually appointed an appropriately ranked officer to command the Normandy it would always be considered Shepard's ship.

The entrance to the war room slid open and the hiss of the automatic doors drew Vega's attention. He looked over to see Samantha Traynor enter. "Lieutenant Vega," she greeted with a hospitable grin.

"Traynor."

"Should I be congratulating you?" she asked playfully.

"You were listening?" Vega questioned interestedly.

"Sorry, curiosity got the better of me." She clasped her hands innocently behind her back and rocked back and forth on her heels and toes.

"Well, I don't know that congratulations are in order," Vega admitted, glancing down at the calloused palms of his bear-like paws. He turned his back to the war assets console and leaned against it. He crossed his thickly muscled arms and shook his head.

"Why not?"

"Look at this place," he told her. "This ship doesn't belong to me. This is the Commander's ship. It always will be. I mean… how can I follow after a man like that? How can I replace Shepard?"

"I don't think the point is to replace him, James," Traynor offered. "I think the point is to give this crew someone to follow. We have a mission, but we need a leader."

"I don't think that's me. Don't get me wrong, I believe in the mission and I want to succeed, but the last time I was in charge… well, a lot of people paid a heavy price," Vega lamented.

"Leaders are burdened by hard choices. Making them, being decisive, it's the most important part of being a leader. You have to live with the consequences. But it doesn't change the fact that this crew needs a good leader," Samantha asserted. "I may not have known Commander Shepard very long, but in the time I did I saw that he didn't shy away from the hard choices—even though they weighed heavily on him. He accepted responsibility, he was accountable for the choices he made, and he carried the burden of command well. Now it's your turn, James. I think you'll make the Commander very proud."

James scoffed lightly. "We'll see," he muttered.

But he wasn't so sure.