Nowhere can a secret keep

always secret, dark and deep,

half so well as in the past,

buried deep to last, to last.

-Dean Koontz

"The Book of Counted Sorrows"

September 02, 2182 CE

Saren Arterius leaned back in his seat, several different screens flashing information up at him from the panel. Most were reports that needed his attention and one was showing several newscasts from various locations in the galaxy. The turian only turned his focus to that screen at one point, his eyes narrowing slightly. It was a report on the progress for the halfway constructed ship being filmed from every angle; the much vaunted SSV Normandy. A masterpiece of combined talents, both turian and human, the reporter enthused.

On one hand, he was completely disgusted with his people. If the turians had been half the warriors they'd once been, they would have been figuring out a way to wipe the humans out like the vermin they were. Instead, they were pandering to them.

On the other hand, there was a bitter amusement in knowing what he knew. In knowing exactly how pointless all of their efforts were in the grand scheme of things.

Saren shook his head and turned the report off, dismissing the SSV Normandy as inconsequential.

He had work to do.

Captain David Anderson walked slowly through the half finished command deck. He'd been coming here every chance he had between duties, slowly familiarizing himself with this ship that would be his to command in a few months. They'd named it the Normandy, following Alliance tradition of naming frigates after famous battles despite the fact it wasn't a conventional frigate.

The First Contact War that had been the result of humanity's reaching out into space and breaking into turian territory had been a less than stellar introduction for humans into the galactic community. It had left bitterness and distrust on both sides. The Normandy, mixture of turian and human design, was a step...a large one, hopefully...toward breaching the rift that still existed between the two races decades later.

And maybe it was a good sign humanity was getting a step up in the galaxy.

It also meant the Normandy was unlike any ship he'd commanded before, the design familiar and yet not. He wanted to be used to it long before they took it to the skies, which was a time coming even sooner than expected. He chuckled as he exited the ship. There were both turian and human workers building the ship, each wanted to show the other how it was done. A little competitive spirit made for good progress when it didn't go too far.

Anderson pulled out a datapad. The ship was coming along fine, now for the crew. There were several new notes on the dossiers from Ambassador Udina, one of the few who also had access to them. Because the Normandy was such a big deal diplomatically and Udina acted as humanity's voice to the Citadel Council, he had more say in things than Anderson liked. But the final say was Anderson's, since he'd been given full permission to handpick what crew he felt was best.

That didn't stop Udina from trying to meddle every chance he got. He was less concerned with how well the crew would function together and on missions than he was with how good they'd look to the public.

So far, Anderson had the opinions of Admiral Hackett and several other well decorated Alliance officials, so Udina hadn't managed to overturn any of his decisions. Udina wanted the Normandy to be remembered as a great moment in human history, and Anderson fully intended to gather a crew that would make it so.

The captain paused and glanced back at the Normandy. He couldn't properly describe the sudden thrill of foreboding that passed through him in that moment with the setting sun tracing over the lines of his ship. He turned away, shaking himself, dismissing it as a case of nerves. Everyone was entitled to them once in a while.

He looked down at the file currently on the screen to give himself something to focus on. It was one of the few he still had to settle on, one of the important positions he'd been playing tug of war with Udina over for the past month or so as he combed over candidates. Udina's choices he'd already dismissed. For the missions the Normandy was likely going to be performing he needed someone with experience on several different levels, something Udina didn't understand.

He studied the fuzzy picture at the front page of the dossier for a moment, tapping the edge of the datapad. There was a secondary note from Admiral Hackett that made him smile dryly: "Good choice, but you're going to have to dig your heels in hard."

The citizens of the Citadel, that glorious bastion of the civilized galaxy, were so used to the sight of the little insectoid critters that maintained their home, they barely noticed them anymore. The Keepers did their job with almost eerie efficiency and had a way of just appearing to be part of the surroundings. Like they were a part of the Citadel itself.

So part of the place were they, that only a couple of the scientists studying them from a distance even took notice when a couple of them suddenly paused in their work and stood completely still, little heads cocked as if they were listening to something.

The scientists had no idea, of course, that every single Keeper in the Citadel was doing the exact same thing at the exact same moment.

Angelus Colony

Attican Traverse

September 03, 2182

Lieutenant Commander Arian Shepard climbed down the supports of the defense tower and dropped to the ground, turning to regard the tower thoughtfully. She whipped the bandanna out of her hair and scratched her head, making her short crop of hair stick out in pale spikes. One turret was all she'd been able to coax out of the higher ups but it was better than none. And it was more than most colonies got. Angelus's spot near an intersection of several trade routes going to and from the Terminus Systems made it an important spot, creating a more prosperity and diversity than most colonies in this area got. It also made it a nice target for pirates and slavers.

Maybe in a few years the colony would have proven important enough to gain more attention from not just Alliance officials but companies...even corporations...that had business in the area and would appreciate a safe haven for their freighters. She hoped so. Angelus was a rare success of colonists and Alliance managing to get along.

It took a certain brand of stubbornness and pride to carve a life out here. For colonists, it formed into a level of independence that was as necessary as breathing. When the Alliance wanted to establish relations with them, it wasn't always welcome. They didn't like being meddled with and they hated admitting when they needed help. The trouble was they did need it. The events at Torfan had choked back the bands of batarian slavers that trolled all of space somewhat but they were still a danger. Colonists had a better chance of holding them back with the help of trained fighters.

They didn't have to like it, though.

Shepard had been stationed at Angelus for almost two years, a longer stint than was usual, a suggestion of hers that had actually gone through. Most of her career since she'd graduated from the Academy had been spent out along the Traverse. She supposed it was probably a polite way of shuffling her into the background but she didn't mind a bit. Away from the main bulk of the Alliance Navy, the crews stationed there to help relations with the colonies didn't have as much backup, but they also had a certain amount of freedom not found in the fleets. It helped that she'd grown up on a colony, as had most of her boys. Not always. Sometimes they just couldn't do anything beyond be ready to defend a colony if it came under attack, no matter how hard they tried. When they were lucky, the colonists cautiously opened up to them, allowing them to help set up defenses and give training with fighting and weapons to colony guards.

Angelus had been such a success, and she hoped it would be a stepping stone. Using colony born soldiers helped ease tensions, taking the time to make sure a military post wasn't being built in the middle of a field helped ease tensions, actually listening to what the colonists had to say helped ease tensions. Swaggering in expecting awe and gratitude did not.

Shepard headed down the hill toward the main street, pulling a hand rolled cigarette out of a battered leather case. You'd think after all this time we'd have picked up a clue or two. The same people who made Akuze a bloody training mission are still the same people sending out orders. We never learn. She ran her hand over her left shoulder absently, running her fingers over the whorls of scar tissue that covered it, trailing down her collarbone and up the side of her neck. She pulled her mind off that path and lit the cigarette up, hurrying down toward the colony.

Evening was coming on and people were either heading home or heading out. She could hear shouts and music coming from the largest of the colony's bars. The sights and sounds made a wistful smile tug at her lips. She was going to miss this place. But duty called. There were other colonies having trouble so most of them were to report to the nearest cruiser to receive orders.

It had been a good colony when they'd first come and had grown even stronger over the years. It would be a veritable bastion in a few more years and for once she was quite sure they'd be able to hold up against any disaster thrown their way until then.

Shepard slowed as she reached the road, her pace growing leisurely so she could soak in the sights, the sounds, the atmosphere of a place that was a genuine community. She exchanged smiles and greetings as she passed, waving to a couple of her boys that were spending their time off in town. It filled her with happiness and melancholy at the same time. You would have loved it here, Maman. And they would have loved you.

"Hey, Shepard!" One of the colony guards looked up from his drink as she passed by the bar's patio. He waved cheerfully. "Howard was lookin' for you earlier, said he had an important message coming in." He dropped his voice to a mock whisper. "Real top secret, I think." A chorus of oooohs came from his friends.

Shepard cocked her head and raised her eyebrows. "Must be the Alliance getting back to me about making you a Spectre, Morrison. I recommended you, you know."

Morrison clutched his chest and fell back in his chair dramatically. "You did?"

"Christ, that means you'd be working for the Council, Morrison, I don't think we could bear the shame," one of his friends cracked.

"Yea, I think I'd rather take up with the pirates, they're less tight assed." Morrison took a drink and grinned angelically at Shepard. "Sorry, Commander, was that a treasonous statement?"

"What statement? I didn't hear anything." She hummed loudly as she strolled away, inciting more hooting and laughter behind her. She bit back a grin and went to look for Howard.

She didn't have to look far, Howard was coming down the road from the Alliance Outpost at the edge of town. He met her, huffing a bit, a cigar still burning between two of his fingers. He managed a sloppy salute with his free hand which he ruined immediately as he spoke. "Got an encrypted message for your eyes only, Ari."

Since no one was around she didn't correct him. Sargent Howard Kell had been working the Traverse for nearly twenty years. He'd taken her under his wing from the moment she'd been stationed out on the Traverse, continuing to guide her even after she'd advanced further than him. Officially, he was her communication tech but in truth Howard had a gift with pretty much anything that ticked, from weapons to electronics. He could work anywhere from the most advanced starship to the most backwards colony. He'd been absolutely invaluable in working with the colonies over the years, so well known among Alliance and colonists both even the most straightlaced official was willing to overlook the fact he viewed formalities and protocol with hearty disdain.

He was one of the boys that would be coming along with her when the next Alliance ship came around to pick them up. Thank God.

Howard hit a button on the omni tool clasped around his left hand. Shepard lifted her own omni tool and studied the message he'd just forwarded to her, dropping her cigarette to the ground and stamping it out. She cocked her head. "Anderson? You know him?"

Howard shook his head, falling into step beside her. "Don't know anyone that high up named Anderson out here and I know most of them. Has to be someone big for that level of encryption."

"Newcomer, maybe? Did you hear anything about one of the fleets sending out a new ship?" She wracked her memory, trying to think if a new Alliance ship had been coming around to get them.

"The Shiloh is the one coming round to take us. Unless you've heard different."

"No..." Shepard frowned, curious now. She waved to the guards at the outpost's gate, nodding in response to their salutes, and headed for the communications center...well communication shack... to respond to the message. She glanced at Howard, cocking an eyebrow. "Encrypted means secret. As in only for the person it was sent to. As in don't listen outside the door, Howard."

"You're no fun," he complained, dropping back as she pulled the shack's door open.

"I know, I have this selfish resistance to seeing you court-martialed, sorry." She looked around to make sure the comm center was empty and locked the door behind her.

Shepard sat down at the terminal furthest from the door and booted it up, bringing the message up and following the decryption process that allowed her to type in the comm address of whoever had sent the message. She turned her eyes toward the screen as it buzzed softly and she found herself face to face with Captain David Anderson.

For a long moment she could only gape wordlessly. She'd been expecting someone named Anderson, maybe a captain or an admiral. She had not been expecting it to be the Captain Anderson. Her training caught up with her and she snapped to attention, giving him the salute he was due. "Captain?"

He nodded in response. "Commander Shepard."

"Y-yes, sir. Forgive me for not getting back to you sooner, but..." But she hadn't been expecting the Alliance's greatest hero to be calling out here in the middle of nowhere.

Anderson waved a hand. "Not a problem, Commander."

He was studying her closely and Shepard remembered that she had all her piercings in, including the one in her nose and her eyebrow, her hair was a mess, and she wasn't in uniform. She was also pretty sure she had dust all over her face since she'd been working on the defense towers all day. Not exactly professional. She shifted a bit self consciously and straightened in her seat, trying not to look like a complete disgrace to the N7 program. "What can I do for you, sir?"

"I wanted to see you before I sent new orders though."

She blinked at him slowly, jumping from surprise to confusion to alarm as visions of the kind of godawful disaster that would require someone of Anderson's caliber to take over danced through her head. "New orders, sir? What's wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong, Commander, I need you to report to me at the Citadel regarding the SSV Normandy. You have heard of that project, I presume?"

She forced herself out of disaster mode and back into simple confusion. "Yes, sir, she's a new class of ship, yes? Testing out a new stealth engine for deep scouting missions?" She'd been watching the newscasts that were filtered through about the Normandy with some interest and more than a little delight. In her opinion, humans and turians building a whole new kind of ship together was a damn fine way to start making peace.

"Correct on all counts. She'll be finished and ready for a shakedown run in a few months."

Shepard still didn't get it. "She needs a place for the shakedown run, sir?" Did they need to come out this far for a shakedown run?

Anderson smiled suddenly. "No, Commander, what she needs is an XO."