Domus, a popular game among turians, was played on a round black board showing green circles and blue diamonds, representing planets and space stations respectively. It reminded Shepard of chess, although the game pieces were modelled after ships from the Hierarchy's Fleet rather than the feudal armies of medieval Europe. Another disconcerting difference was the way that pieces could zing across the domus board at a moment's notice, depending on whether one made use of the nearby mass relays, shown as yellow squares. The ultimate goal of the game was to colonize every planet on the board and wipe out all the forces of one's opponent. The emphasis on empire-building was not coincidental, coming from a culture obsessed with spreading its military might and influence to a thousand worlds.

Considering it was her first time playing, Shepard thought she'd managed a few clever moves, but it was evident that Garrus was a skilled domus player and that his victory was almost inevitable. He already occupied most of the planets on the board and his offensive forces were circling her strongholds with malicious intent, picking off her lesser pieces with each turn. She suspected that he might've defeated her earlier, but instead had humoured her by opting for some weaker moves, sacrificing some of his pieces to extend the life of the game.

Garrus rested his cheek on his clawed hand, pondering his next move. "Hmm...That's a tough one."

Evidently, it wasn't quite as difficult as he'd pretended. A second later, he moved one of his dreadnoughts through a mass relay, landing next to Shepard's last remaining space station.

"Now you're just toying with me," Shepard said. "I get the feeling you're much, much better at this game than you let on."

"Oh, I'm alright at it. I've been playing since I was a kid."

"It shouldn't be long until your dad's here," she said. "I surrender. Take your victory. You earned it."

He stared at the game pieces as if a real battle were in progress over Sinear Station. "I'm not sure I want to see him. How'd you talk me into this again?"

"The same way I talk you into most things: excessive amounts of charm."

He chuckled. "Well, that's one theory."

In retaliation for this dig, she reached across the board, knocking over his fleet of dreadnoughts with a flick of her hand. "Oops. The Reapers got your ships. Sorry. Guess you lose."

"Ha, real mature, Jill. You just can't handle my scathing wit and incredible tactical prowess."

"You dare to mock the Reapers by calling them immature? We will crush you, pitiful organic!"

Shepard was about to swipe her arm across the board, toppling all the pieces, when she saw Cereus Vakarian limping across the metal walkway, towards the Quorum Archives, where the series of domus tables had been set up for public use.

She immediately straightened up in her chair and tried to look like a responsible, law-abiding adult, the kind who drinks in moderation at respectable bars, has a retirement savings plan and never, ever overdraws on her credit chit. She was hoping that she wasn't immediately identifiable as the sort of person who hangs out with AI, lets geth, criminals and hormone-crazed krogan run rampant on her ship and keeps a partially-disabled Reaper indoctrination device lying around in hopes that it will prove her theories about galactic invasion. You know, the batshit insane, screw-it-all-to-hell, death-defying type, with one foot in the grave and the other usually lodged in her mouth. Not that the charade was likely to help anything - Cereus had pegged her as bad news from Day One.

Garrus noted her change in demeanour. "Damn. He's coming, isn't he?"

She nodded. "It's okay. Relax. You're here doing him a favour. That's it."

Cereus spotted them, his eyes training in on Garrus and then darting over to Shepard. She could see why his son had become a sniper. Under a gaze like that, she felt as if she were locked in the scope, as if he might fire at any second with deadly accuracy.

They'd arranged to meet the old turian at the front of the Archives, a place that he and Garrus knew well from earlier days. Garrus hadn't elaborated much on the memories they'd shared here, but Shepard sensed that they might have been pleasant. At the very least, it was a public venue, not so uncomfortably close to Garrus' childhood as the run-down apartment by Honoria Station, which he refused to revisit.

"Hello, son," Cereus said. "And good day to you, Commander Shepard."

Shepard rose from her chair, offering him her seat. As she did, Garrus caught hold of her hand, shooting her a reproachful look that told her that if she thought she could drag him into this and then beat swift retreat, she was dead wrong.

"I'm going to get another chair," she said.

He gave her hand a light squeeze before releasing her, a reminder not to stray.

"I see you're playing domus." Cereus attempted a conciliatory tone, one strangely out of keeping with his grim expression. "It's been a long time, I suppose, since you put your hand to the game."

"Seven years," Garrus said, from between gritted teeth. If there was a special significance to this number, Shepard didn't know it, but it seemed to put a distinct chill in the air. It was funny how Cereus' solemn paternal presence could turn a balmy day on Palaven into a forced march across the peaks of Noveria.

Borrowing a chair from an empty table, Shepard set a place for herself in the only place available - right between the two Vakarians. She felt as if the combined intensity of their glares might burn a hole through her skull.

"Garrus was a champion player all through academy," Cereus said. Shepard presumed that this information was directed towards her, although the old turian kept his eyes resolutely focussed on his son. "He made third in the national tournament, as I recall. If he would've applied himself, I think he might have gone even further. Domus is the game of generals, you know."

"He's very talented," she replied.

This didn't seem to appease Cereus. "Talented, certainly. He has always shown an enormous potential. But talents must be developed and put to the public good. Otherwise, they're little more than vanity."

"We're not here to talk about me," Garrus said. "I came here to let you know that I won't be staying on Palaven. If you want to keep your citizenship, you just have to go back to the magistrate and ask for it. Shepard spoke to one of the Primarchs and she said that, legally, no one can withhold it from you."

Cereus' eyes narrowed and he tapped his cane absent-mindedly at the metal tablestand – clink, clink, clink. The noise seemed calculated to express his frustration. "So you've chosen. I fear that you haven't chosen well, but perhaps, that's my own fault. I know I've never given you an easy path, Garrus. I'd hoped that you would learn to distinguish the easy way from the right way."

"Trust me, coming here wasn't easy. It was the furthest thing from."

"That's because you realize that you have been leading yourself into dishonour. The pain you feel in coming here is shame. It is a sign that not all is lost with you yet."

"If I don't like coming here, it's got nothing to do with honour or dishonour. It has everything to do with the way you treat me."

"All I have ever asked of you is to behave with due decorum and to show proper respect for the Spirit of the Law, which regulates all actions and calls all people to account in their time. I do not think it unreasonable."

"I've stopped caring what you think is unreasonable. I just came here to inform you that you don't have to lose your citizenship. What you do with that information is up to you."

Garrus started up from his seat, jostling the table and knocking down the remaining domus pieces.

Shepard folded her arms over her chest, giving him a cautionary look. He'd assured her that he wouldn't bail at the first sign of trouble. She couldn't understand how he could be dead-calm when the enemy was hailing bullets down on them, barely showing a pulse, but as soon as his dad showed up, he was as jittery as a recruit on the first day of Basic.

"Is that really the last thing you want to say to him?" she asked.

"No. What I want to say is that I've found my own way of doing things. If he can't handle that, well, that's unfortunate. Maybe when the Reapers come, he'll realize that what I'm doing is important, much too important to give up."

"I have never doubted that you have good intentions," Cereus said. "But I believe it's even more likely that your understanding of duty has been twisted by other concerns. You are too emotional and you make careless decisions in the heat of the moment, ones that you are bound to regret."

"I'm not going to regret this."

"You may when you cease to want her."

Shepard's hands gripped the bottom of her seat, her fingernails digging into the plastic. The turian's words lashed at her, stinging so bitterly it was as if they'd left scourge marks across her face.

Garrus leaned forward on the table, his mandibles pushing back to reveal his teeth. His fury had a white-hot precision, a focus that had the potential to be terrifying, turning his pale eyes to knife-points. "I love her. That isn't going to change."

Cereus watched his son, scrutinizing this rash display, and Shepard was again struck by his stillness and the sense of rightness that he managed to project even when he was dead-wrong.

"Affections have a way of changing when confronted with realities. You cannot be truly mated with a human. She cannot bear your young. Perhaps an unusual biology fascinates you now, perhaps you find it interesting to rebel by taking an interest in humanity and their upstart culture, but one day you will want to be among your own kind. You will tire of this phase and then the gravity of the decision you have made will hit you. It will cause you unspeakable pain to know that you have given up all the security of your home world and all the dignity of your native culture for the sake of a childish whim."

Cereus eyed Shepard, taking in her response with a clinical interest. Perhaps he was pleased to discover that the prospect of losing his son would hurt her, proud as he was of Garrus' accomplishments and abilities, all the potential his son and legacy might offer for the good of the Hierarchy. She met his eye coldly, reminding herself that he had no power over her and that his control over Garrus had ended a long time ago.

"I am sorry if my words seem harsh, Shepard. But it is my experience that a young man's infatuations are short-lived, particularly when the match is unsuitable and presents many difficulties. I imagine your own father would offer similar objections were he here and could see you engaged in an affair that can only end badly."

Shepard thought of her father, a laughing, careless man, a charmer and a bit of a rake, if truth be told. He'd passed away a year before she'd joined the Alliance, his death sped on by a love of food, drink and women, always women, a ceaseless parade of them appearing when she was young and her mother was off-base, innocuous 'aunties' who'd painted Shepard's nails or bought her root-beer floats. After the inevitable discovery, the separation and the divorce, he'd settled down with another wife and given her the same treatment, unwilling to learn his lesson or perhaps eager to test how far he could push someone else before she'd cease to love him. Shepard's old man would have blessed any match she'd made as long as she said she was happy and the man was willing to laugh at his jokes. If he'd lived to see her entangled in a public scandal with a turian, he would've simply called it 'an experience' and chalked it up to his adventurous genes showing themselves in her again. Cereus Vakarian and Robert Shepard would never have understood one another.

"If my father were here, I don't think he'd have anything bad to say about Garrus," she said.

"He would be remiss not to do so. But it is a different culture and I cannot pretend to understand. Perhaps human fathers are less troubled about the welfare of their children, trusting that they will learn from their own sufferings."

"Aren't you glad we came to help him?" Garrus said to her. "He really has a way making people pay for their good deeds."

She rose from her chair, regarding Cereus as if from a distance. It was easier to disregard the strength of his convictions and perceive his smallness and his fear when she was looking down at him. "I think you're making a mistake here. You can dislike me all you want, but you care about Garrus. This approach isn't the way to keep him in your life."

"My life means little anymore and I intend my honour to outlast it," Cereus said. "All my future hopes, Garrus, were in you."

Garrus shook his head. "Find somewhere else to put them and get on with your life. That's all I've come here to say to you."

"I will not go back on my word. I have renounced my citizenship. I will stand by the consequences of my decision. I do not bend."

"I admired you. You've always had my respect. I still...want you to be well. But one thing you taught me was to search out what is right. For me, this is it, whether you like it or not. I'm not going to back down on this."

"Very well. If I have lost you, it is not for lack of fighting. Goodbye, my son."

"Take care of yourself," Garrus told him.

Cereus nodded at Shepard, dropping his cane against his knee. "You take the victory, Commander. Prove worthy of the trust he has placed in you."

"I intend to," she said. "Always."

They left the old turian there with the fallen domus pieces, the remains of a forfeited game. She could feel his eyes upon them as they walked away, but she had no pity left for him. She'd thought to help him, but he wouldn't help himself and so the consequences were his to keep, along with his terrible pride. It was a relief when they turned a corner and were out of his sight.

Garrus didn't speak for a few minutes and Shepard was careful not to press him before he was ready. She wasn't sure if seeing his father again had been helpful or if it'd only made things worse. It hadn't gone as she'd hoped, but perhaps she'd expected too much, having been brought up on vids where lovers had last-minute reunions right before the shuttle blasts out of port and parents admitted their love for their children in heart-warming death-bed confessions, thus erasing all doubts, all pain. At least father and son had spoken and some semblance of acceptance had passed between them. Considering Cereus' unyielding nature, that might be the best that anyone could prise from him.

"I can't believe he brought up that domus tournament," Garrus said, at last. "It was so long ago."

Shepard glanced at him, surprised at how well he seemed to be taking it. She'd expected at least ten more minutes of brooding before she'd get even a hint of what he was thinking. "He's proud of you, in his way. He just has a screwed-up way of showing it."

"Yeah, well, it's not a big deal. It was good to finally tell him where I stand on things, even if he is stubborn as hell. I'm just sorry he started sounding off on all that...biology crap. He doesn't know what he's talking about."

"He has a point," she said. "I mean, if having kids is important to you, then -"

The anger that had simmered behind his eyes melted away, replaced by an air of bemusement. "Have I ever expressed interest in children? Other than sharing my opinions on juvenile delinquency in the Wards?"

"No, not really."

"That's because, for me, they're not a priority. I get that children are the future and all, but actually having them would totally cramp my style," he said. "Why, Jill? I didn't think that was something you cared about, but maybe I'm wrong on that point..."

She laughed, relieved. "Nooooo. I can barely take care of my fish, remember?"

"Well then, crisis averted."

"Were you really in the national domus championships?" she asked, eager to change the subject. "Funny how you didn't mention that."

He shrugged. "Have to keep a little mystery, right? Especially now that I don't have a secret identity."

"I feel a lot less stupid now that I know I got my ass handed to me by the third best domus player on Palaven."

"I doubt I still hold that dubious distinction." His voice betrayed a hint of embarrassment. No doubt his mastery of domus had started as yet another concession to his father, something he'd undertaken out of a sense of obligation to be the ideal young turian. "But I'll tell you what: if you'd like, I'll teach you to play the game to win. It'll be good strategy practice for the Reapers. You know, for when we end up getting those armies."

"Sounds good. I have one condition though."

"And what's that?"

"Next time we play, it's new rules. Strip domus. If I'm ever going to beat the great Garrus Vakarian, tactical genius, I could use the extra motivation."

He chuckled. "Okay then, I'll head right out and get us a board. Fair warning, though: with what you're wearing now, I could have you naked in two moves."

"And how long would it take you to colonize all of my planets?"

"Mm, that...that's something I would take my time with. We turians treat empire-building as a very serious matter. Besides, I like to savour each and every conquest."


Awakened from their long hibernation, the Reapers glide through dark space. They are gargantuan and although they do not appear swift, their pace is steady and determined, maintaining perfect formation. As they cross the abyss, they flex their tentacles, testing their powers after millennia of lethargy. The void is soundless, but their voices stab into her mind, a screeching cacophony that flatlines into the whirr of a drill. If it is language, the words are beyond comprehension, beyond thought, and she wills her ears into deafness.

Shepard didn't even have to be asleep to see them anymore. The visions were quick flashes, lasting as long as it took to blink, but still not brief enough for her liking. It would be a relief to get the presentation to the Primacy Council finished so that they could destroy the pieces of the device. Once they'd cleared out the ship, life on the Normandy would return to normal – or at least, to its usual level of abnormal. The readings they'd collected from the machine were promising as evidence, especially since they could now prove that machine manipulated dark energy to create psychological effects, a phenomenon that known sentient races had never been able to replicate in their own technology. Still, she had to wonder if the potential benefits were worth the risk, a question that always cropped up when they were dealing with unknown quantities.

Rubbing her eyes, Shepard sat down at her desk and opened one of the data files Legion had forwarded to her laptop. Lately, these files had become her primary reading material, particularly the diaries of Saren Arterius, which exerted a strange fascination upon her. She knew it was morbid to pore over the account of his indoctrination and deterioration into madness, but she found his dilemma frighteningly similar to the one she now found herself in. They both knew about the Reapers, realizing the necessity of swift action against a menace that few would understand – but where he had chosen appeasement, she had chosen full-scale galactic war. Hopefully, she would succeed where he had failed, but there were no guarantees. Perhaps there was something she could learn from his history.

From all appearances, Saren had started writing the account a few years before he'd discovered Sovereign, intending to leave the works as historical documentation of his significance on the galactic stage. While he couldn't claim credit for many of his Spectre missions, he seemed determined to leave his mark on posterity. This concern with the way that history would perceive him had only increased over the course of the journals as he'd fallen under the sway of the Reapers.

She scrolled down the page, reading an entry dated two months before Eden Prime.

It is impossible to oppose the Reapers and live. If the Council races are to survive, we must understand the logic of the machines and demonstrate our usefulness, before it is too late. It is better to collaborate with the immortals than to be obliterated.

It would be folly to inform the Council of my discovery. I doubt they would be able to conceive of such a grand design. They would dismiss it as madness. The councillors are near-sighted fools, concentrating on the petty problems of this colony or that planet, the trifling matter of a few hundred lives lost or saved, unable to see the patterns weaving around them. When we face mass extinction, the sacrifice of a thousand planets and a billion lives means nothing.

I have considered inviting Nihlus to join me on this most important of missions. On several occasions, I have been ready to broach the subject with him, but he insists on filling his schedule with trivial assignments. Recently, the fellow has also shown a disturbing and misguided interest in "uplifting humanity for the greater good", a charity project if I ever saw one. If he thinks to help induct humans into the Spectres then I fear he is lost to reason and would not be a worthy representative of the turian race to put before Sovereign.

Shepard remembered the first time she'd encountered Nihlus on the Normandy. He'd been stern and exacting, with stiff manners and a gift for silence that most of the crew had found distinctly sinister. She hadn't trusted him initially either, perhaps because of the ominous rumours floating around the sub-decks or maybe because she didn't have much experience working with turians. Nowadays, it was easier for her understand and appreciate the incredible risk Nihlus had taken in evaluating her for the Spectres. It was odd to think of him as one of her mentors, but he had played a crucial role in her development and his early support had been important in gaining her Spectre status. She'd later discovered that he had been an outsider among his fellow turians, always kept at a suspicious distance, and so he'd rejected their insular world and opened himself to the possibility of a partnership with the Alliance.

There was an addendum to this entry typed at the bottom of the page, a chilling afterthought:

I have difficulty keeping my thoughts clear at times. It started as hallucinations and alterations in mood. Those were easy to recognize and counter, merely an introduction. Now it's more insidious. I know the voices are there, but I cannot map out their influence. I must question every decision I make, tracing the thoughts back to their sources. I must prove myself an ally, not a slave. These writings will help remind me of my goals.

The facility on Virmire will provide more answers.

Virmire had provided answers, although they were not the ones that anyone had wanted to hear. Saren had hoped to find a way around the indoctrination process, a fail-safe measure that he could use when he felt his autonomy slipping away, but perhaps, at that point, it was already too late and the testing was more for the Reapers' benefit than for his own.

Reading his words, Shepard knew that she was also treading along a slippery ledge. The evidence that she intended to use to convince the Primarchs of the Reapers' existence – some of it was dangerous and getting more so by the day. When it came time to destroy the device, would something click off inside her head, something that would prevent her from doing the right thing, the necessary thing, and blasting the machine to shrapnel? She'd trusted to her mental strength and the repeated assurance that it was only four days until the madness was over, four days until she could secure the forces she needed and be rid of the damned thing, but what if her confidence itself was madness, a sign of indoctrination? Looking up from the screen, she tried to calm herself with a reminder that there was only one night left until the Primacy Council heard her case. Surely they could carry on with this gamble for a few more hours.

When her eyes returned to the document, she was surprised to see that she had reached the final entry in nearly three years' worth of journals. It was not dated, but it was easy to put into the context. It was the only part of the account to mention her or her quest against him.

The Council have sent Nihlus' little human protégé to capture me. A fool's errand. Having inherited my old friend's files, I am already in possession of Shepard's service record, her psychological profile and personal history. If she is as easily manipulated as her mentor Anderson, I have nothing to worry about. More likely, the geth will kill her. They hail me as a prophet, although their true allegiance lies with the Reapers, who the creatures stupidly call the 'Old Machines'. They build shrines to their gods. Sovereign speaks of them with contempt. He finds their adoration insulting. I must be careful to show that organic species are different, that we can offer more than mindless praise.

It is bitter to be called a traitor, labelled bare-faced and a rogue. I am the only Spectre worthy of the title, because I have never shirked my responsibilities. I have undertaken the dirty tasks that no one else could handle, my arms bathed in blood up to the elbows. Ignorant fools will judge because they do not comprehend necessities, because they are weak-hearted and place undue value on persons rather than on societies. I would save civilization and yet they will admonish me for a few dead colonists! When I am acknowledged as the redeemer of all life in this galaxy, they will regret their insolence.

I do not know why Shepard's obstinacy gives me doubts. I am doing what is right because it is what is necessary. In the future, organic and synthetic parts will unite to create a glorious new whole. It is the dawn of a Golden Age - enhanced abilities, a more evolved intelligence, order and peace driven by the logic of systems rather than the useless passions of individuals. I am the vanguard and the visionary. Sovereign recognizes my worth and has promised me a suitable reward before the day of judgement comes.

Shepard considered sharing this at the Primacy Council to drive home the terrifying, mistaken pragmatism that had motivated Saren's collaboration with the geth. It might just work, although she had no doubt that Velarn would argue that she'd just fabricated the file or that Saren had cooked up the journals as a trick, hoping to get the last laugh on the naive junior Spectre who had brought him down. She took a few notes in her omni-tool, ideas on how she might use the journal to reinforce the data they had already collected about the geth cults and indoctrination methods.

The door whooshed open behind her and she closed her screen before Garrus could catch her skimming through the journal. For some reason, it bothered him to know that she read them, as if by learning about Saren's perspectives, she might be conceding that she had something in common with the hated traitor. Garrus seemed content to believe that she was good and that Saren was evil, the distinction rendered in his favoured shades of black and white, without any gradations of grey. For someone so inclined to doubt himself, he placed an awful lot of faith in her.

She spun in her chair and saw that Garrus was carrying a round black board covered in green circles and blue diamonds. There was a small plastic bag of playing pieces in his hand.

"Found it on sale at the market," he said. "I figured we might find a use for it."

She smiled, wetting her lips. "I think we might."

He put the board down on her coffee table and started setting out the pieces in careful rows, first the black ones and then the white. Turning off her computer, she took a seat on the couch across from him and helped to finish off the last row.

"Just a friendly match?" she inquired.

"That would depend on your definition of 'friendly'," he replied, putting the last piece in place. "Let's just say I'm playing this one to win."

"We're playing by my rules then?"

"Of course. I believe I said I'd get those clothes off in two moves? "

"That was your boast."

"No. That was my promise. I'm pretty good at keeping those."

"I'm playing black then," she said, spinning the board so that the black pieces were on her side. The player on the black side always took the first turn and she knew she was going to need every advantage she could get.

Scanning the board, she made her move, already anticipating another crushing defeat. Of course, this was one of the rare occasions when there were pleasures even in loss.