CHAPTER SEVEN
Interlude I

"Captain, you wanted a word with me?"

"That's right, Kaidan," Kara said, turning to face the biotic marine. He looked tired, but not as bad as she felt. She'd spent the last four hours sorting out the remains of her crew, with limited success; some of the other marines had the technical knowledge to, with some extra training, fill out the engineering crew.

Keeping the bridge staffed would not be so easy. She had considered making Adams her first officer; he had combat and leadership experience, but his job was already critical. Doctor Chakwas, who carried the rank of lieutenant commander, didn't have the skills necessary to grow into the role. "I'm putting you in command of third watch."

"Me, sir? I don't have the training or experience—"

"You'll do fine," Kara replied. She had considered him for first officer, but that would mean relieving him of his duties as a marine. That left her with the unfortunate choice of Keyx Demas for the role. His training made him better suited than the others, but she didn't like his temperament. "Nasrin will be handling Ops. She's got years of experience, so don't be afraid to ask her for advice."

"How much advice did you ask for?" Kaidan asked. "Before… this."

Kara smiled softly. "Sometimes, you have to trust your own judgement."

It was actually a good question, and undeserving of such a dismissal. If she failed to ask for council, was it from self-confidence bordering on arrogance, or because she didn't trust those around her? If she didn't express her feelings, how was Kaidan, or anyone else, supposed to tell the difference?

"Even the best ideas need a little help, sir," the marine said.

"That's not your concern," she responded flatly.

"With all due respect, sir, yes it is," Kaidan replied, turning his attention to the nearest control station as a way to evade her gaze. "If we ever want to go home, we need this mission to succeed. Don't let your stubbornness get in the way of that."

That was why she didn't often ask for advice. She would have felt obliged to ignore it—and, when it came in the form of orders, to disobey them. "If you have suggestions, Kaidan, I'll listen, but I make my own decisions."

The biotic marine shook his head. She may have bypassed his concerns, but she did understand them. He wanted her to act more conservatively, to somehow make up with the Alliance. "If you have the time, sir… how did you really learn about Brain Camp."

That was the student's nickname for BAaT, less clumsy than the official label. "The early program did produce some biotics," Kara said. "One of them took up training the younger children at Arcturus Station, where I grew up. Anjay didn't have much control, and he wasn't a very good teacher. Sometimes he would show up drunk, and that's when he'd talk about what he'd gone through."

The problem for Conatix was a vexing one. Their trainers had no biotic potential themselves, and didn't know a thing about the mental processes that went into generating a stable mass effect field. Essentially, the students were test subjects, to be used as they saw fit.

"That's ironic," Kaidan said. "My group must have heard all the same stories from the older students, but we figured they were just trying to scare the piss out of us. It worked, by the way."

He sighed, his eyes unfocused, haunted by the same look that had caused her to believe Anjay, all those years ago. "They tried anything that might 'force open our neural pathways'; drugs, electricity, even pain. I was still learning to deal with my migraines when they put me on some sort of psychotropic. I'm grateful that I don't remember much of that first year."

When the program had first opened, they had tried mental and physical training, using all sorts of meditation and mnemonic techniques. Anjay had mocked it as a space age cult, praying to the God of Biotics to endow them with her power. Needless to say, a diminishing profit margin at Conatix headquarters produced pressure for results. With the students isolated from any outside support by a government restriction on comm traffic—for the biotics' own protection, ostensibly—things had predictably gotten worse.

"When the turians came in, they put a stop to that shit," Kaidan continued, "but they brought their own games. Their leader, Commander Vyrnnus, introduced himself by claiming he'd been at the helm of the dreadnought that killed our parents. I made the mistake of pointing out that mine were still alive, so he went out of his way to make my life difficult. Even when we didn't cross paths, the others pushed us physically and mentally, until we were all constantly exhausted. If anyone flagged, the turians would verbally abuse them, and the rest of us, for being 'weak humans.' That's when we started to lose kids… that I recall, at least."

The choice of turian mercenaries to train human students had been dubious from the beginning. The First Contact War was less than a decade in the past, with lingering bitterness supplemented by government propaganda that had only just ceased making them out as an official enemy. The turians came with their own biases, viewing humans as arrogant upstarts, saved from crushing defeat only by the diplomacy of the Council. Putting them in charge of a group of teenagers, some of whom actually had lost relatives in the war, nearly guaranteed a violent confrontation.

"Looking back, it seems like Vyrnnus was in charge for decades, but it was just two years. By the end, those of us who weren't competent biotics were broken or dead, so I guess they did something right. Anyway, it was August '68 when it all ended," the man said, rubbing his face with his hand. "Vyrnnus had one of the kids tied up for breach of discipline, and launched into one of his rants about how ungrateful we were, how useless.

"It didn't seem all that different from how he normally started our biotic exercises, you know? Crass and unnecessarily brutal. The kid had built a transmitter, and managed to link it up to the beacon network. Somehow that meant we were all wasting our education, and Vyrnnus had decided to change that, starting right then. The training session went on for hours, with the commander and his men watching closely, shouting insults at anyone who didn't keep pace."

Kaidan fell silent, once again staring blankly at the command station. This had all happened fifteen years ago, and she could see how the whole experience would be a formative one, but there was something else, held close. Smiling encouragingly, Kara laid her hand on his shoulder. "Go on."

"There was a boy, Rama… we were friends. He was quiet, soft-spoken… training always left him exhausted, and he'd been through a session that morning. I tried to help him keep up, but Vyrnnus noticed anyway. He started mocking Rama, going so far as to dangle a bottle of energy juice in from of him. When he reached out with his hand, rather than his biotics… Vyrnnus broke his arm in three places.

"I don't know why, but it was like suddenly too much for me to take, and I threw myself on Vyrnnus. He wasn't prepared, and I had completely lost control, striking out again and again until the other turians managed to get to us. They were too late, though. I had killed him, and looking down at his broken body, all I could think of was how weak he looked."

Kara sat on the edge of the console, and folded her arms carefully. She tried not to offer platitudes, but sometimes they seemed like the only way to respond. Kaidan's tale did fit her understanding of events—she knew something had happened to convince the Prime Minister to send a team of investigators, and that through a slow process the facility was closed. 'Ineffectual' was the label used on the report. "I didn't know about that," she admitted, finally. "I'm sorry."

"There's no reason why you would," the biotic marine replied. "It was covered up with everything else when they shut the place down, and I never talked about it. I was just thinking how human those turians were, even Vyrnnus. Asari, salarian, even the batarians, some are good, and some are bad."

"That's a truism, and misleading," Kara sighed. Not to mention useless. It offered no facts, no analysis, and no understanding. Individuals varied, but so did species; turian culture prized loyalty and obedience. The same could said of humans, but not asari society, which emphasized truth over individual associations.

Kaidan shrugged. "It wasn't meant as an updated Hitchhiker's Guide. I'm just saying, you should be careful about who you trust, including the Council. They're not above using you."

"I know," Kara said, smiling softly. Without another word, she pushed off from the console, and headed for the stairs.

Anyone who asked another person to march into danger, to risk their life, and all possible futures, was using them on a most fundamental level. Spectres were as much tools as any soldier, simply better trained and better paid. Neither made much difference to a corpse—but that wasn't what Kaidan meant. She wondered if it had even crossed his mind. They were dancing about the truth again, and again, he had nothing to offer but platitudes.

Of course the Council was using her. The question was, would she let them use her for anything else.

"Hello, Hannah," Kara said softly. She wondered again why she had contacted her mother; they had barely talked since Elysium, and when they did they argued. Certainly now would not be an exception, and she did not need the extra stress. Still, here they were

Commander Hannah Shepard, her regulation-length auburn hair tied back from her face, stared sternly at her daughter. Her grey-green eyes were intense, commanding, and cool. Kara had once found them intimidating, but that had passed when she was still a child. "Kara."

And what to say? How much did her mother know of the last few weeks? Rumors only, she imagined, but the heavy encryption and multiple proxies she'd employed to hide her identity would only confirm them. "Hannah, I—" she began.

"Tell me—" Hannah said at the same moment. They both stopped as suddenly as they began. Awkward silence fell again.

"I wanted to explain things," she tried again. "No doubt you've heard the rumors."

"I have. Orders have been sent out to all ships that you be taken into custody, along with your crew," the older Shepard said, her tone reproving. Kara grated under it.

"I answer to the Council now, not the Alliance," she stated tartly. "They have authorized me to continue my mission."

Hanna's mouth twisted into a bitter smile. "You never answered to anyone."

Maybe not. She had tried to, wanting to fit in, and succeeded for a while, but it seemed an ill fit even then. She made her own decisions, and they had always worked out well.

"Ambassador Udina has formally protested, and demanded that you be recalled. The Admirals are claiming the Council has endorsed mutiny, and the politicians insist that they violated our sovereignty. They're both right."

"They're both wrong," Kara countered. "Humanity accepted certain duties when it allied with the Council, which the crew recognized. They accepted my right to their cooperation."

Hanna sighed. "You never could see anything but your own side. You're a fool, Kara Shepard. Do you even realize how much damage you've done to our relationship with the Council? Or is this all about you and your 'I'm not a hero!' obsession?"

"Don't even go there," Kara hissed. "You haven't a fucking clue what I went through. You never even tried to understand. I was supposed to be your perfect soldier-daughter, your little heroine."

She drew back, surprised by her own anger. She had never done anything right, according to her conservative, career-military mother; her atheism, her sexuality, her pursuit of other cultures, they were all foolish whims, things to grow out of, except she never did. Even joining the service was done for all the wrong reasons. She wondered if they had ever gotten along, or if her memories of a better relationship were just an illusion. "The Alliance pushed itself away from the Council. I merely provided an excuse."

Hannah sighed, rubbing her face tiredly. "Yes. That's all you did."

"Enough," Kara whispered. "I don't know why I called. It certainly wasn't to argue." Space flight always left her feeling restless; perhaps that was the problem. Too much time on her hands, and too little to do. Even so, she could find something less aggravating than her mother's beratement.

"I know, dear, and I'm glad you called. I am. I guess I can't stop thinking of you as a little girl in need of guidance."

Kara smiled faintly. "Was I ever a little girl?"

"Maybe not," Hannah said, the bitterness in her voice directed at a career that had kept them apart most of the time, as if her guidance could have controlled her wayward child. "Speaking of girls, are there any cute ones on that ship of yours?"

Cute girls? Cute women, at the least, and even then Kara had never seen the sense of pursuing a romance with someone she worked with, nor been so swept off her feet that she couldn't keep control. It was also a breach of regulations, if she needed a reason other than her own judgement. The question felt more like an excuse to look down on her than an expression of interest. "Look, I should go. I'm short on crew and time."

"Yes, of course. Stay out of trouble?"

Kara laughed. "Goodbye, Hannah." She closed the channel.

So that was done with. Kaidan had been right, she did need someone she could talk to, without all the needless arguments. A friend, but someone she could also turn to for advice, when she needed it. At least Sayuri would listen, unlike her mother, but did not give much back. Karin wasn't a combat officer, and too apolitical to be of any help.

In the end, she kept her own council, and conversed only in illusions. It seemed like that was all she had ever done, though she knew it wasn't. At some point, she had changed, and she didn't know how to change back.

Kara sighed, and bringing up some of the files the Council passed along. They had almost no data on Saren, who had covered his tracks well, and nothing current on Benezia. The matriarch had been a public figure for most of her life, advocating greater involvement by the asari in galactic affairs. She had some commando training, and above average biotic strength, but had never served with the Republic's Defense Force. Over the years, she had gathered a small group of followers, some of whom had disappeared with her.

None of this suggested any leads. She had no known connection to Saren, no expertise on the protheans, and little to say on the subject of humanity. A keyword search of her personal database made no mention of a conduit or reapers, in any sense of either word, even loosely translated. What she did have was a daughter.

Liara T'Soni was just over one hundred years old, and held the equivalent of a masters degree in prothean studies from the University of Serrice, on the asari homeworld of Thessia. She might be the connection to Saren that was missing from Benezia's files, or her profession could be simple coincidence. Either way, the records indicated that she was currently studying prothean ruins in the Attican Traverse, on a geographically unstable world listed as 'Therum' in the Alliance database.

The Council had attached several papers which the young asari had written on the subject of the prothean extinction, which might help to answer her doubts. Kara brought up the first, and began to read it. The computer translation was awkward in places, but the style was unmistakably terse. She tried to scrape together a rough outline of the individual behind the words. Someone who preferred solitary exploration to social gatherings, self-reliant, and possibly shy or socially awkward.

So far, this imaginary Liara was not the type to willingly involve herself in conspiracies. Kara found herself smiling faintly, as she continued reading.

It was mid-afternoon by ship time, two days out of the Citadel, and mostly quiet in the mess. The few who were about talked quietly over a game of cards, relaxing as best they could between shifts. Someone had sacrificed a corner of their storage locker for them and a box of chips, even though the holographic entertainment system mounted above the table could replicate the game, and more. Friendly, structured social activities were an important part of life on a cramped frigate, along with a few quiet corners where people could be alone.

Kara walked over, carrying a mug of fresh tea. Two of the players were finishing up a round of Skyllian Five, a popular poker variation, with a sizable pile of chips in the pot, while their companions, cards face down on the table, waited for the next. Across the table, Ehigha's face was a well-practiced mask, revealing nothing about his hand. It was his brown eyes, she thought, that gave away his bluff. Their impassive stare was somehow tense. He concealed this well enough that his competition appeared conflicted, despite showing a strong hand. Finally, with a defiant grin, Sayuri tossed a chip into the pile and laid down her cards.

"Hey, Captain," the doctor said, looking up from watching the victor collect her winnings.

Kara had reluctantly accepted the title, pressed upon her by a crew reluctant to use her name. They were trained for formality, and it remained an important part of their identity, even though their CO was a rogue former-officer, wearing civilian clothes.

"Ehigha. I see you're making out well, as usual."

He glanced down at his pile, smiling ruefully. It was smaller than usual, though still the largest at the table. "Yes, sir. I have to keep an eye on Sayuri, but the rest of this lot are easy marks."

The other players grumbled amiably, but Japanese marine laughed. "What about you, sir, are you up for a round?" she asked. "I hear you're quite the shark."

Kara shook her head. Sayuri had heard nothing of the sort, because she had no such reputation. She had played a few hands, but had difficulty focusing on the game. "Sure, deal me in," she agreed.

They made room for her at the table, and set her up with a stack of chips. Her presence had interrupted their conversation, and they played the next round in relative silence. It was not her intent at all; she wanted conversation, to lessen the gap between her and the crew. She no longer had the authority of the Alliance at her back, if their trust in her failed, and the best way to prevent that was to let them get to know her.

"So, Captain, what do we know about this Doctor T'Soni?" Ehigha asked, as he began to shuffle the deck. "Just that she's an archeologist specialized in the protheans?"

"I could give a quick lecture on her theories," Kara offered. Liara's carefully constructed arguments had attempted to prove that the protheans were not the first species to build a galactic civilization, a theory which, if true, led to uncomfortable conclusions. She made reference to other, similar theories, put out by other scientists over the years, but they all shared a lack of hard evidence.

"I was more concerned with finding out which side she's on. If her mother really is working for Saren…"

"Guilt by association?" Kara suggested. From her reading, it remained her best guess that Liara was not helping Benezia or Saren, though the rogue Spectre had proven just how much a skilled hacker could hide from the Council. The best way to find out would be to locate the young asari, and to ask her. "She's on our side, until I say otherwise. Is that clear?"

The doctor's acknowledgment was interrupted by Sayuri. "So, uh, how about that lecture?"

"No worries, Sayuri," Ehigha laughed. "I don't wish to rush to judgement. I have not even met an asari."

"Then you should get out more, next time you're on the Citadel," Kara said. "They're generally friendly, but don't mistake them for women. They're not. Asari have an ancient culture, with records going back almost five thousand years, and legends covering another ten. A matriarch nearing the end of her life today could have witnessed the whole of Earth's industrial revolution. Many of them spend their first hundred years just learning what it means to be alive, traveling and studying, figuring out what they like, and what they don't."

By the time an asari turned thirty, she was considered mentally mature; an adult. Final, physical maturity took a few more decades. "Most of the time, they find a few interests to pursue, which they might focus on for the rest of their lives. Their brains have evolved in such a way that they can take advantage of their lifespan, exercising semi-conscious control over long-term memory and chains of association. Our approach to science is to hand off problems to a new generation, with new ideas and a fresh perspective, but an asari simply keeps adding to her knowledge, until she can see connections that come to us as inspiration.

"As a people they resist change, preferring to take the necessary time to question what it will mean for them and their children, but they are quick to adapt to what they see as positive. For example, they were slow to accept their industrial revolution, but dumped fossil fuels quickly when clean alternatives became available. Thessia survived the birth of a technological civilization almost untouched, while Earth will still be recovering in ten thousand years.

"Of course, they're as culturally varied as we are. Some of their artistic themes go back to the dawn of their civilization, drawing on divers roots built on and adapted as scattered tribes became city-states, and finally a united world. Some take their origins from Salarian sources; or turian. Some aspects of human culture have already found a place among the young, often twisting or mocking feminine themes. They have little tolerance for bigotry or discrimination; the idea that their species was made up of separate races never really took hold.

"A thousand years of life also gives them a deeper perspective on history. They are slow to trust authority, and their planets are cooperatively run, similar to what we call anarcho-syndicalism. Mundane or repetitive tasks are shared, allowing them to spend most of their time pursuing science or art. Their factories are more democratically run than our governments, which they consider a façade for corporate oligarchy."

"You sound like you admire them," Ehigha said, taking advantage of a pause in her rambling lecture.

Kara laughed. "Well, yes. I do. We humans are innovative, quicker to adapt, but we're quicker to follow as well, and more selfish. We're more prone to let our expectations cloud our judgement. In the end, there are things to admire about us, as well."

"Are you saying we shouldn't have followed you?" Sayuri asked, leaning back in her chair. She had no cards in front of her, Kara realized. The game had come to a halt.

"Am I? You made a decision based on experience, Sayuri. Your team trusted you. Ehigha, why are you here?"

He shrugged, rubbing his thin beard thoughtfully. "I don't know. What you said, it made sense, I guess."

"I'm saying that an asari crew would not trust my words, but they would trust each other. Sayuri's loyalty might have won that battle for me." She smiled faintly. "Of course, a turian crew would have thrown me out the airlock."

Kara looked around. The rest of second watch had joined them, drawn in by her unusual enthusiasm on their way to eat before their shift started. "Well, that's enough lecturing on my part," she said. They needed time to get ready, after all.

Evening found her in the cramped captain's quarters, now hers, half undressed and lying comfortably on the bed. Her pad, held above her, displayed some of her favorite asari poetry, while a fine example of their orchestral music played softly in the background. She felt more relaxed than she had in days, the mission forgotten for a while as she enjoyed the exquisite verse. If not for Saren, she might have found more time to relax, and less need of it, both prospects she found enticing. But for one rogue Spectre.

Kara sighed. The moment had passed in a haze of self-reflection, not to be recaptured. Her mind had a tendency to wander when tired, back to the problems of the day. Those thoughts were well-worn, and not worth reexamining.

Her brooding was interrupted by the door chime. She rolled to her feet, grabbing her shirt from the chair and pulling it on as she crossed the room. It was unusual enough for the crew to speak with her when she made herself available.

She checked her appearance in the mirror on the back of the door. Everything was on straight, and she looked only a little less kempt than usual. It was, after so many years, a well-practiced image, concealing as much about herself as it revealed.

She disengaged the lock and opened the door. "Brynja. Come in." She stepped back a pace, to let the younger woman pass.

Brynja stalked past her. The young officer's face was closed, hiding anger, or tension. Kara couldn't decide, but answers would come soon. She shut the door, and turned around.

"I wanted-needed to thank you," the blond began. She whipped about, her eyes meeting Kara's. They were terrified, and leapt away almost as soon they arrived.

"You don't," Kara asserted softly.

"Before we left the Citadel, when those marines came, I almost let them in. I felt as if, as if my future had shrunk until it fit into a cell, and I had to do anything I could to escape. I didn't know what else to do. If I helped them, they'd think I always meant to betray you, and then I'd be safe."

That young people had doubts was not a revelation, but an open admission of them was rare, and shocking under the circumstances. There was little she could offer, aside from understanding. "Why didn't you?" Kara asked, taking care to make it question only, not an accusation.

"It was you. When you looked at me, it was like you knew. And it didn't matter. You trusted that I'd make the right choice." Her eyes raised, their cool blue reflecting the admiration in her voice. "I knew I couldn't disappoint you."

Kara hesitated. She didn't appreciate the taste of hero-worship that lingered behind Brynja's words, but she didn't like the idea of confronting it. That was always a losing battle, and she couldn't afford another. "For no better reason than that?" she asked, finally unwilling to let go.

"What did you expect?" the blond demanded. "A well thought-out thesis? You gave us an hour, and you shut down all outgoing communications first. You think anyone else would give you a better answer? I wouldn't believe them. We're all here because we trust you, not because we have doubts about the Alliance. If that's a poor reason, you've only yourself to blame."

Kara grinned. She had allowed her hopes to override her expectations. "You're right. I'm sorry."

Brynja smiled, and nodded.

"Sit," Kara offered, pulling out the desk chair. She circled around the young woman, seating herself on the edge of the bed. "Tea?" she offered, lifting the pot from its place on the desk.

Brynja nodded. In the background, the music swelled to its final climax, point and counterpoint merged at last in a single entrancing refrain. A last high note and they sprang apart, each taking their turn at dominance as they descended into silence.

"Was that asari?" Brynja asked, before raising her mug to her lips.

"Yes. Cerith's twenty-third symphony, by our reckoning. Some asari mark it as the single best piece of music their species has ever produced."

"And the tea?"

"Ginger," Kara said. "One of my favorites."

The young woman nodded, and sipped again. "Kara," she began, hesitating briefly. Her eyes were focused on her tea. "You weren't wrong about me. I saw what the Alliance and the corporations did to Álfheimr, my home colony. All the colonist took out loans, to hire a transport and buy some wretched pre-fab houses. Every credit we made went toward paying them back, but it was never enough. Sometimes we didn't have enough to eat, or to pay for clothes. I don't know why Ferrel's gang of pirates thought we had anything left worth stealing, but they raided us more than once, and the Alliance never did anything to stop them. It was his thugs that killed my parents.

"I heard that corporations sometimes contract with pirates to raid colonies that refuse to pay out, and that they split the take. I never wanted to believe it, but…" she shook her head, and let the sentence end. "Thank you, Kara, for helping me to make the right choice."

Kara leaned forward, and placed her hand on the blond's knee. "Brynja, you should never feel ashamed for having doubts. You may not believe it, but I've been fighting them for years. I just make the best choice I can, and accept the consequences."

"Thank you, sir," Brynja said.

Kara didn't know if the minor formality was accidental or a warning to back off, but she removed her hand and leaned back either way.

The younger woman concealed a yawn behind her hand. She set her mug aside and stood. "I guess I need sleep," she said, pushing her chair back under the desk. "I'll see you on the bridge?"

"Yes," Kara agreed. She stood, too, to see her guest out. "Goodnight, Brynja."

A moment later and the door had sealed between them, leaving her alone. She felt better. Other people's problems were always easier to deal with, and she a welcome distraction from her own.

She stifled a yawn. It was time she got some sleep as well.

Note: Not too many changes this time. The conversation with Kaidan is new; someone needed to say, "don't trust the Council," and he was the obvious choice for… stating the obvious. Right?