Twenty-five years is a long time in a galaxy. Fashions shift and power structures fall. Some things don't change, including reverence for a dead hero. That remained, though the legend of Commander Shepard was not enough to hold together the feebly allied shreds of civilization left over after the Reaper War.
The image of the all-powerful Citadel Council died with the Reapers. In the postwar power vacuum, a coalition of human settlements came together in a bond of self-reliance, self-determination, and liberty from Alliance and Council interference. The Terminus Union was born.
Despite its human-centric views, non-human refugees immigrating from war torn worlds flooded the Terminus searching for opportunity and work. Shantytowns sprung up around resources and on garden worlds. The Union underwent a rapid ideological shift, eventually becoming a haven for all types who neither liked nor trusted the Council.
However a mixture of adventurous survivors didn't make for a particularly safe place. The new settlements were places of great opportunity and great danger.
The Terminus Rangers were established to protect the fledgling Union colonies. The intent was not to police the Union, but to prevent it from descending into total anarchy. Each Ranger operated like a one man-army: trained to operate without direct orders or even support from the Union high command. Their ranks were small but elite.
The rules were simple: do right, and stay the hell out of Citadel space.
Nash and her small crew flew around the Terminus, pursuing criminals and defending the civilians in the Terminus. At least, that was the idea. It still left a lot of time in between systems where Nash became bored.
Like right now. In what passed for the crew lounge, but was really the cargo hold with plastic chairs bolted on the floor, a live screen played Citadel Council transmitted media. Murphy, Sidonis, and Tinea watched the screen as Nash cleaned her revolver.
The woman on the screen was old for a reporter, but her celluloid features gave a facsimile of youth through surgery. "This is Diana Alenko for Citadel News Network. Today is the 25th anniversary of the end of the Reaper War. Human councilor Oriana Lawson says while we must never forget the destruction of the war, that we must remember the sacrifice of Commander Shepard and follow the Council's leadership, which Shepard always respected…. "
Without looking up Nash said, "turn it off. I've reached my bullshit level for the day. We need to brief our next assignment. We're going to Illium. Our target is probably going to hitch transport somewhere untraceable from there, and we can't count on that tracer bead staying on after his first shower. He has a few hours on us, so we have to be fast."
"Can we operate there? Isn't it Citadel space?" Said Sidonus.
"Illium enjoys being in between the Terminus and Citadel politically. Makes a decent profit that way. So yes we can operate, so long as we keep our noses clean," said Tinea. Tinea was possibly the most ugly Asari in the Terminus. Her features were mismatched, with a nose too large and a mouth too small for her face. She also battled psoriasis. A matron, Tinea desperately wanted children but could find no one to bond.
She still preformed adequately as the ship's biotics specialist. She had some talent, but was nowhere near skill level of Samara or Jack.
Nash pushed that thought away. "I've found that Illium is just as dangerous as Omega. It's just shinier. So Murphy, you don't leave the ship unless someone accompanies you."
"Yes ma'am."
"Also I've purchased an upgrade. We're getting our own Tupari vending machine here in the crew lounge. Try to contain your excitement."
"How can we afford that?" Said Sidonus.
Nash tapped het foot with irritation. "Corporate sponsorship. Alliance ships get vendors on board all the time, so I just implied we were Alliance. The package should be delivered once we reach Illium."
For the first time in his career since the Reaper War, Spectre Kaidan Alenko felt too old for his job. Chasing another man around empty Nos Astra alleyways on foot in full combat armor was not easy at age 60, especially with no backup. If Shepard was here, she would shoot the runner in the kneecap with her Widow. The man in front of him was younger, and not armored. Well at least there was always biotics…
The pull hit the perp square in the back. He fell over, landing flat. Alenko trained his pistol on the prone form.
"You are not under arrest, but are being held for questioning under Spectre authority." He reached into his belt for a pair of handcuffs, and knelt to attach them.
"No cuffs! I'll tell you anything you want!"
Suddenly a shot rang out. A blotch of red bloomed on the perp's shirt. Alenko leapt up on guard, looking for the shooter. Oh… shit.
A group of men blocked the exit. The shooter had a sniper rifle out aimed at Alenko's head. A quick glance behind showed what he already knew: he was surrounded and there was no escape.
"Looks like your number is finally up." Spoke the shooter in a clipped, Earth-British accent. "I get to tell my future grandchildren about killing the second human Spectre."
At least Alenko would go out fighting. He gripped his pistol with one hand and readied a lift with the other.
Several things happened at once. Before the shooter could react to Alenko's aggression, a pane of glass shattered on his head. The glass was followed an Asari preforming a textbook biotic landing from several stories above. Her singularity confused the ranks of gang members. In the shuffle, Alenko released his lift, and everyone on the field floated incapacitated.
The Asari gave a signal and two more figures dropped from above into the safety of her biotic lift. The first was a geriatric Turian with a very welcome heavy assault rifle. The second was a ghost.