DISCLAIMER: Mass Effect video game is the property of its respective owners and the author has no financial gain from it. Original Characters and story concept are mine though.

A/N: Here is the second part of Chapter 2. It is slightly longer at nearly 7k words to compensate for previous shorter update. Hope you enjoy it! Due to the whole mess with splitting the First Chapter, I'm posting it earlier than planned.

Beta is still the one and the only Redentor

Chapter 2, part 2

After putting on my uniform I checked myself in the mirror. I admit that I looked very professional as my hair was still very short and reminiscent of military haircut. Thanks to Galtieri's instructions I knew how to wear my uniform according to regulations and not even Lox could find any fault with it. The fatigues had pixelated camouflage pattern with black, dark grey and light grey patches rather similar to American ACUs. I wore dark grey boots with it, grey dura-canvas belt and a blue beret, which I angled to the left hand side like the French Army did. I had no distinctions on my uniform apart from the silver Confederacy semi-cog and three stars on the collar, which marked me as an Officer Cadet.

As per Galtieri's instructions I showered and dressed in fifteen minutes and waited for him in the corridor. He was dressed in the same uniform, but he wore a flash on his blue beret – it represented a coiled serpent, but I had no idea what that meant. Captain Galtieri motioned me to follow and I fell into step beside him, resolved to ask about the coiled serpent flash later. We crossed the parade ground and entered one of the larger buildings, which housed the mess hall. We passed a short corridor, which was empty with the exception of few latecomers who hurried into the hall to catch the breakfast.

The moment we entered the mess hall I was aware that many eyes were on me. Recruits had no way of knowing who I was beforehand as I lived in the officer's prefab and I did not take part in their exercises yet. Many of them probably were curious who I was and I couldn't help but overhear few murmurs. I felt very apprehensive, but decided to put on a brave face as I confidently marched next to captain, following him into the officers table. Galtieri stood at attention in front of the table and presented me to the sitting officers. Apart from Major Sharpe I did not know any of men and women at the table.

"Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce Officer Cadet Peter Dubois, our newest recruit from Interactive Dislocation Department. It's his first day in the mafia." He finished the introduction with a smile.

I stood at attention and saluted crisply. The Confederacy salute was very similar to the one used by British and Commonwealth militaries on Earth. You saluted with your right hand and its palm facing forward. The salute could only be performed when you were wearing a headgear and soldiers were also required to salute indoors.

Officers nodded politely at me with smiles of their own. There were about two dozen of them at the table, apart from Major Sharpe. The Asian looking gentleman that sat in the middle and seemed to be in his 50's greeted me first, "Welcome to Security Branch, Officer Cadet Dubois. My name is Brigadier General Edouard Anjou and I am in charge of this training facility in addition to commanding the 213th Infiltration Brigade stationed here. Please have a seat." He indicated one of the empty chairs at the table – it was the one across from General with my blinking name on its display. It seemed like they thought of everything.

I may be stereotyping a little, but despite his French-sounding name Brigadier General Anjou reminded me very much of Imperial Japanese officers. His graying, short cropped hair and sharp eyes only cemented that impression. There was no doubt that he was a veteran soldier and I suddenly felt very inadequate in his presence.

"Yes sir, thank you sir." I responded with a quick nod and took the offered seat. I took of my beret and placed it under one of the shoulder straps as other officers did. I looked up at General Anjou and he nodded at me. Great, now I was sitting across from those all-seeing eyes – as if I wasn't nervous enough. A plate with a healthy portion of bacon, eggs and bread was placed by a flying automaton along with a cup of coffee with milk and brown sugar. The workout made me very hungry so I quickly tucked in, hoping against all hope that I won't have to make small talk with the officers of this space NKVD.

No such luck, of course. One of the female officers, an attractive blonde who seemed to be in her late twenties addressed me. She wore colonel's insignia on her collar.

"Officer Cadet Dubois, how old are you exactly?"

"I was twenty six years old when I was taken from my 'verse, but the temporary vessel that I currently inhabit is physically twenty two, ma'am." I explained.

She nodded thoughtfully at that and pursed her lips cutely. I caught myself staring at her mouth and amused look in her eyes confirmed that she was aware of it. It was a blunder of monumental proportions, as she was my superior by three ranks at least, but it didn't seem like anyone else noticed. Blonde colonel didn't comment on it out loud, for which I was immensely grateful. Only now I realized that I've seen quite a few women here and all of them could be considered at least attractive. I guess I shouldn't be surprised – for a civilization that could throw money away to create a brand new body and transfer consciousness from different universe altogether, some minor adjustments to genetic code would be a simple fix.

Blonde colonel asked me a few questions about my previous life, which I answered to the best of my abilities, trying to at least appear professional about it. I was still quite embarrassed about my previous behavior but I would keep appearances no matter what. I also noticed that some officers while outwardly appearing disinterested in the topic nevertheless listened carefully to what I said. One or two of them even had their wrist-comps (omni-tools?) out and it seemed that they were comparing notes. If my rather bland life story got such a reaction from them it could only mean one thing – whatever mission they were sending me on was vitally important to Security Branch and they were taking every single detail into consideration. While on intellectual level I was always aware of the risks and potential gains it was only sitting here, surrounded by trained soldiers and spies that hung on my every word, which made me realize the huge responsibility that was on my shoulders now.

I've eaten my share of breakfast with gusto and drank all the coffee from the provided cup. I wiped my mouth with a napkin and looked around the table, wondering what's going to happen now. From what I saw most of the people either finished eating or were nearly done. It seemed like everyone was waiting and looking at the Brigadier General Anjou. The old veteran cleared his throat and stood up from his seat. All conversations in the mess hall halted. Every recruit and officer stood up as well and I followed their example. Brigadier General Anjou swept the mess hall with his sharp eyes and said loudly. His voice carried a commanding presence.

"Today we welcome to our ranks Officer Cadet Peter Dubois. I expect each and every one of you to extend him the same courtesy that you would show to any officer."

I noticed some soldiers giving me a quick look, but most of them proved their discipline by staring straight ahead. Everyone stood at attention for a couple of seconds more when one of the non-coms at the table further down shouted.

"Morning meal concluded! All units, dis-missed!"

I watched curiously as soldiers filtered out of the mess hall in a near complete silence. Not a single word was spoken and you could only hear subdued shuffling of the feet as soldiers marched out one by one. Seeing as there were at least three hundred souls in the large mess hall it was very impressive. I looked at Captain Galtieri and he nodded at me. I followed him swiftly outside. When captain turned to me I stood at attention, waiting for him to speak first.

"Follow me to the armory, Dubois. Normally we wouldn't have supplied you with weapons or armor this early in training, but the circumstances are exceptional. Your profile shows that you have fairly extensive theoretical knowledge of firearms of your 'verse, but only very basic practical familiarity – we will work on rectifying that."

We walked away from the mess hall deeper into the building. The architecture of the large facility was also very spartan, similarly to the prefab barracks for soldiers. Workers tried to liven it up a little by putting a potted plant here and there but they would have better results if they tried to decorate a morgue. The walls were dark blue for some reason and there were fluorescent lights at equal intervals to lighten the way, but other than that the offices were sterile and boring. I followed Captain Galtieri as we passed various cubicles. There were clerks in Security Branch uniforms everywhere, typing on holo-tablets. The plate on one of the doors informed that it was the Accounting, Supply & Logistics subdivision – not the most excitable job in the firm, but one that was necessary to keep things running.

'At least the pen-pushers, unlike field agents, are guaranteed to live long enough to collect their generous pension.' I thought wryly.

We left the accountants behind us and took a ramp that led us down. I calculated we must have gone beneath the surface proving wrong my theory about the lack of underground complex. The quick scan that I did with my wrist-comp also displayed a small map confirming that there was much more to the Camp Bravo Two than just the surface base. Here the walls were dark grey and made of some hard metal. Lights here seemed to be the same fluorescent bulbs that we encountered upstairs, but they seemed much colder. Despite wearing full uniform I shivered slightly. Finally, we reached our destination. There were two guards standing in front of a large and very robust durasteel door with large white letters that said: 'Armory no. 3'. The door was placed in a wall that looked like it could withstand a direct hit from an RPG. Knowing the Security Branch and their paranoia it probably would.

I took a good look at the guards as it was the first time I saw anyone here fully armed and kitted. Surprising, considering that we were in a military base, but so far I'd only seen a few officers and gate guards that had sidearms with them. These two guards at the armory wore some sort of rugged-looking, full body combat armor. It had the same gray pixelated pattern that you could find on the Security Branch fatigues. Both of them had full face helmets with narrow visors. Their body language said it all – they were professionals who would not hesitate to kill us should we prove to be hostile.

Galtieri activated his wrist-comp and transferred his access codes to one of the guards, who turned on his own computer and scanned it. Meanwhile, the other guard never stopped eyeing both of us with a PDW nonchalantly held in his hands.

After a few seconds the guard with wrist-comp moved to the side while still typing on the display and the door to the armory opened with a hiss. Galtieri nodded at the guards, who stood at attention and we entered the room.

I noticed that armory was very large, nearly half the size of the mess hall where we had breakfast and if the name was anything to go by there were at least two more of them. There were couple of work benches with some tools I did not recognize and multiple weapon cabinets placed in neat rows. Each cabinet was filled to the top with various firearms. There were assault rifles, carbines, heavy machineguns and pistols. I even noticed something similar to anti-materiel rifle from Earth and at least a dozen rocket launchers. There seemed to be enough weapons here to arm all recruits twice and there would still be some left. It only increased my suspicion that Camp Bravo Two was something more than just a training facility.

That train of thought had to cease as Galtieri marched over to one of the plasteel crates. It was large enough to be a sarcophagus. He connected his wrist-comp wirelessly to the lock, typed in password and the lid of the grate raised slowly. I noticed that white clouds of vapor escaped the plasteel crate as if the contents of it were kept in freezing temperature. It looked pretty ominous, but contents of the crate were basic: there was armor similar in design to the ones the guards wore, but leaner and less bulky. Helmet was also full face, but the visor was slightly larger. Unlike the guards whose armors were adorned with chevrons, unit badges and Confederacy flag on the armguards; this one had no distinctions whatsoever. I looked at Galtieri and asked the obvious question.

"Sir, is this my armor?"

Galtieri nodded.

"Correct. I want you to take off your uniform, apart from the underwear. You will put on the skinsuit as that will allow you to fully connect with your armor's AI. Afterwards I will show you how to put your plates on."

I decided to ask the question that was bugging me since this morning.

"Sir, what does the coiled serpent on your beret stand for?"

Captain looked at me quizzically and said.

"It's the unit insignia of 591st Special Operations Battalion, codename 'Vipers' of the Confederate Special Forces Command. We are comparable to British SAS, American Delta Force or your Polish GROM with one, but fairly significant difference. It's the only unit in Confederate Armed Forces which takes part in Security Branch, External Affairs Bureau operations. Of course, you won't hear about it in the newsreels. 'Vipers' personnel are also forbidden to wear their Security Branch medals on their Army uniforms."

"Of course, sir." I agreed. After all, the most important military operations are the ones of which civilians will never know about, and government won't be boasting about. But my curiosity was piqued and I asked Galtieri.

"Do you have any good stories from your time with the 'Vipers', sir?"

Captain Galtieri seemed to ponder my question and finally responded with a question of his own.

"Can you keep a secret, Dubois?" he asked, leaning in confidentially.

"Yes, sir!" I responded enthusiastically, eager to hear some juicy story.

"So can I." he said with a smirk. (1)

I smiled, knowing that I've been had. To be completely honest, I shouldn't have expected that Galtieri would be talking freely about those operations. Even back on Earth, real Special Forces operators were famous (or infamous) for being exceptionally tight-lipped about their time during the service. It was the fake internet tough guys who tended to boast about their supposed exploits in all sorts of military outfits.

Speaking of which, I had another question to Galtieri.

"Sir, will I be assigned to some unit like other recruits, after my training is complete?"

"Of course, Dubois. You may be an artificially created citizen, but you will still be part of our chain of command. You will be placed directly under my command and we are part of 3rd Battalion, 213th Inflitration Brigade. Our battalion commander is Major Sharpe who reports directly to Brigadier General Anjou who is in charge of the brigade. Strategically our brigade is an independent unit and it falls under no. 524 Security District."

"Yes sir," I answered crisply. "Uhm, what does that mean sir?"

Galtieri looked at me with exasperation.

"It's your unit designation, Dubois. You need to remember the battalion and brigade number if anyone asks. The number of the Security District indicates the universe which falls under our responsibility, but its way above your pay grade."

"Which universe is that?"

"That will be addressed during your debriefing with Major Sharpe, later today. Now, let's get what we came here for."

We turned back to the plasteel crate. Galtieri took out his tablet and started cataloguing the parts stored in it. It seemed ridiculous as the crate was obviously sealed when we got here, so whatever was placed there before would still be inside. I was wondering whether in Security Branch you had to provide written inquiry if you wanted to go use a bathroom.

"I'm afraid that a knowledge transfer will be required as we simply do not have time to do full Armor Combat Training, seeing as you have to yet integrate with the AI."

Captain looked slightly apologetic when he said the next part.

"I was made aware by Dr. Koeckritz that your body reacts badly to data transfer via holo-tablet – it must be one of the drawbacks of the Temporary Vessel. I'm sure that your final body will not have this flaw, but there is nothing we can do for now."

"Understood, sir. I will grit my teeth and deal with it." Perhaps it was foolish bravado or mule-headed stubbornness on my side, but I really meant it when I said it.

I picked up the skinsuit and went behind the crate to change. After putting it on I went back to Galtieri who was taking out pieces of my new armor. He waved me closer and explained.

"This is Interceptor Full Body Armor - lightweight model. It's a trimmed down version of standard issue ballistic armor supplied to Security Branch Tactical Squads as well as Confederacy Armed Forces. This and its heavier version will be provided to you during your deployment and you will be wearing them according to the mission parameters." Galtieri smiled slightly "Of course, final decision on which of the armors to wear will be at your sole discretion. A word of advice though – If you have even the slightest indication that you will need to vacate premises very fast, choose the lighter armor. It's still very durable, but there are few attachments that will make you very hard to catch or locate."

I raised my eyebrows at that.

"So the lighter armor is for stealth and heavier armor for combat, sir?"

Galtieri rapped his knuckles on the chest piece of the lightweight Interceptor.

"That's putting it very simply but in essence you're right, Dubois. Even the light version is a formidable piece of equipment, though. It will stop 90 percent of modern ammunition at long-to-medium distance and it will protect you from pistol and sub-machinegun calibers at short range. We also included a very efficient energy barrier to slow down projectiles and dissipate energy and plasma weaponry."

Captain helped me with putting the armor on. All in all, it wasn't very complicated but it still took some time. I was also told that in emergency situations soldiers were required to put it on in less than three minutes. As expected, I was a long way from such proficiency so I was still struggling with one of the gauntlets after ten minutes. After the suit was sealed I activated the uplink with my combat AI. At the same time Galtieri linked his tablet with my wrist-comp and I cringed in pain. While the transfer was more bearable than before it was still incredibly painful and my throat was too contracted for me to even whimper. Once again, I felt the familiar and feeling of the data package being crammed into my head. To my surprise, I found out that some of the info was actually Galtieri's personal memories.

All of a sudden I saw an unknown world through his eyes. I found myself wearing a bulky combat armor and carrying an assault rifle. People from my unit and I were creeping through some dense forest in the middle of the night. Suddenly, there was a flash of a signal flare fired upwards and a man behind me swore loudly. The forest became bright as during the day and rebels opened fire on us. All our soldiers dove for cover as lines of tracer fire flew above our heads. The loud, whizzing sound of fired projectiles filled my ears. As quickly as it started, the memory ended and my mind skipped to another one.

I was flying through the atmosphere in a heavy armor, surrounded by a kinetic field. I could see other troopers being launched from shuttles overhead. I noticed one of the shuttles getting hit by a rocket. The machine rocked back and started losing altitude rapidly. Fear clenched my throat as my AI guided armor approached surface of the planet, zigzagging between shots fired by the flak artillery groundside. I barely started to recognize larger buildings and swaths of forests, when another memory kicked in.

My right arm felt as if hit by a sledgehammer and my body did an about-face of its own volition. One moment I was running between two ruined concrete buildings and the other I was laying on my back watching the burning sky. Groaning, I turned my head to see what sort of damage was done to my body. I felt bile rising in my throat when instead of my right hand I noticed a bloody stump. My right arm laid further down the broken tarmac road, still holding the grip of a submachine gun. My vision slowly went dark as I slipped into unconsciousness and into yet another memory.

My fireteam disembarked from the shuttle in the middle of the city square. Artillery was pounding the city strongpoints with indirect fire and you could hear the roar of close air support aircraft as they emptied their munitions containers into entrenched defenders. Our bird came down under the suppressing fire from nearby office building. One of our spotters scanned the building and pinpointed machine gunner in my HUD. I lifted my grenade launcher while armor's AI calculated the trajectory of the shot and I fired three grenades in quick succession effectively silencing the machine gun. I barked short order through the radio and my men started advancing toward the objective.

I opened my eyes hyperventilating, fully expecting another memory to start, but I found myself back in the Camp Bravo Two armory. Sometime during my data transfer I slipped down on the floor and now I was sitting on it with my back propped against the side of the plasteel container. I felt all my muscles and joints hurt with pulsating pain, but it was quickly muted when my armor's AI analyzed situation correctly and injected me with small dose of painkiller. Galtieri sat on the chair nearby and monitored the readings on his tablets while looking at my shaking body from time to time.

When Galtieri noticed that data transfer was complete he sighed and approached me. He helped me get up, as my hands and knees were shaking too much for me to do it on my own. He took off my helmet and passed me a bottle of water, which I drank greedily. Galtieri watched me with unreadable expression and said.

"Once again I apologize, Officer Cadet. If there was any other way…"

I interrupted him quickly.

"I can handle that!" I stopped mid-sentence and reflected on the fact that I just shouted at my senior officer. "Uhm… sorry about that, sir."

Instead of getting mad for my slip, Galtieri just chuckled at my embarrassing expression.

"You have some guts, Dubois, I'll give you that. But sometimes even guts are not enough. You'll do well if you remember that."

I stood at attention again, which was somewhat difficult given I was still wearing my full armor. Despite its lightweight designation Interceptor was still bulky and performing drill in it was a formidable challenge.

"Yes sir! Thank you, sir!"

Galtieri waved at the plasteel container and said.

"Okay, get it together and follow me. Take the package with you. We will place your equipment in the lockers with the Duty Platoon, so we could have easy access to it. Unlike other recruits, you will be required to train with it every day."

"Yes sir!" I acknowledged and turned on my wrist-comp. Despite me wearing armor it appeared over my forearm just like omni-tools did in Mass Effect. Thanks to my newest data transfer I learned how to use a few more useful things in the wrist-comp even if I paid for it with horrible pain and a headache. I turned on correct app, which activated anti-grav suspension in the plasteel crate, which was elevated about a half meter high. I programmed it to follow the indicator in my wrist-comp and we left the armory, container trailing behind us like an obedient dog.

After checking my equipment out with the guards and filling in necessary paperwork we dropped by the officer on duty, who signed off on my equipment and placed it in a separate locker with the Duty Platoon. He passed locker access to my wrist-comp, so I could pick up my stuff at leisure from now on. I also left my armor there and changed back to my fatigues. As per Captain Galtieri's orders I went to Major Sharpe's office. Once again, the indispensable Pathfinder app proved its usefulness.

As I entered, the office door opened for me automatically. I stood at attention and saluted. Sharpe looked up from his tablet, got up and returned the salute. He indicated chair in front of his desk and said.

"Have a seat, Officer Cadet."

I sat in the chair and waited for Sharpe to finish his work. With his serious expression and in his gray garrison fatigues he didn't look like Draco Malfoy so much. His office, just like all the others in the building, also subscribed to minimalistic school of interior design. He had one of the sad-looking potted plants that seemed ubiquitous here, one desk with elegant leather armchair and two metal and plastic chairs in front of the desk for supplicants. There were simple yet stylish steel bookcases but not surprisingly there were no books on them, only few binders with holographic markers. The desk was similarly impersonal and looked just like any other: tablet, holographic display, headset and a small Confederacy flag, which stuck out like a sore thumb in this empty space.

The only thing that indicated that this room belonged to Sharpe was a nice and stylish wooden frame with photographs that switched every few seconds. On each of the photos you could see a very pretty black girl, sometimes solo, sometimes with Sharpe. It was unreal to see the severe Security Branch officer as carefree as he was on these pictures.

Major Sharpe noticed me staring and said, pointing at the wooden frame.

"This is my wife, Samantha. This picture was taken in our summer house in Freetown, Main Sub-verse 'Promised Land'."

"She is very pretty, sir." I said truthfully.

"That she is." Sharpe acknowledged curtly. "I keep this picture here to remind myself sometimes what we are fighting here for. Repeating Constitution verbatim and using words like 'country or 'flag' is all nice and well for propaganda broadcast. But it's our families who are the living and breathing reminders of what the word 'people' in the Constitution stands for, Officer Cadet Dubois."

He stood up from the desk and took a step toward one of the bookcases. He turned back to me and said.

"Everything I do, no matter how ruthless or heartless it might seem, is always for the good of Confederacy and the Multiverse." I looked up at Sharpe and his eyes were cold.

"I give assassination orders, Cadet Dubois. As External Affairs Bureau we can arrange a coup d'état in any given universe at any given time if it suits our needs. Should we decide it necessary, we could engineer a full-out war between your Poland and Belarus just like that," he snapped his fingers.

I felt chills in my bones. Sharpe didn't change his tone for a second, but his offhand comment sounded more dangerous than even the most imaginative threats. It came with such calm assurance, that I immediately believed him.

Sharpe must have noticed my reaction as he raised his hands in a placating manner.

"That was a very bad example, Officer Cadet Dubois." He admitted. "But it gives you the idea not only of the scope of our abilities in Security Branch, but also of the great amount of responsibility that we have. Imagine what would happen if someone mentally unsound was given access to Security Branch resources?"

I wasn't sure whether Sharpe wanted me to answer that question, but apparently it was a rhetoric one as he kept talking.

"For that reason screening potential field agents is vital to External Affairs Bureau. While not desired, we can afford to have few bad apples in Confederacy proper. We can weed them out easily enough. That is not so for our intelligence networks in the 'verses that are beyond our borders."

"I understand sir. What is the goal of my mission and where will I go?"

Major Sharpe typed something on his wrist-comp and I heard message arrive on my tablet. Our uniform actually had a special magnetic pocket, where I could keep it. I took out my Interius, checked out the message from Sharpe and opened up the attached file.

I scanned its contents quickly and looked up at serious-looking Sharpe. I asked him.

"Sub-verse F-Out number 524, colloquial designation: 'Mass Effect Universe'. Do you mean Mass Effect as in video game, sir?" I asked, feigning ignorance.

"Correct, Cadet Dubois." He replied curtly

"And my task is to 'establish information and espionage network'." I shook my head at that. "I am honored by your trust sir, but that is not something I can accomplish alone, no matter how much training I have."

Sharpe sat down in his armchair and waved his wrist-comp above the desk. A large holographic image appeared. To my surprise, it turned out to be a large map of the Milky Way galaxy, similar to one in the Normandy. Major Sharpe activated my wrist-comp remotely and run 3D-Map app. It allowed me to zoom in and out in the holographic display. I played with the map a little and noticed that it showed exact deployment of space fleets of all galaxy races. The Turian fleet was clearly the largest, followed by Salarian and Asari fleets. The Systems Alliance had fourth largest fleet with Batarians close by. Hanar, Elcor and Volus fleets were comparatively small. The map even showed the disposition of STG teams and Cerberus bases as well as hidden Prothean facilities like Ilos. All major galactic powers were also represented by constantly changing graphs, different colors and dozens of other indicators. I looked at Sharpe with wide eyes and said.

"That's… very impressive, sir." They had access to most guarded secrets of the Mass Effect universe. Say what you want about External Affairs Bureau, but they were nothing if thorough. I preferred not to think how this information was obtained.

Major Sharpe nodded at that and he used his wrist-comp to move the galaxy map to its very borders. We went beyond the scope of the map and suddenly we noticed large area, drowning in a sea of red dots. For the second time this day I felt fear creeping up on me, for I immediately knew what these dots meant.

"The Reapers…" I whispered. Sharpe zoomed in on one of the dots. Zooming scroll went all the way up and the map showed us a single Reaper. It was in deep slumber, as they all were between their murdering cycles, but it still was an imposing sight. I almost chuckled when I noticed map casually marking the reaper with a small yellow box:
id: Harbinger
type: Reaper
subtype: Leviathan-made
age: unknown, speculated hundreds of millions of standard . years
desc.: sentient synthetic-organic hybrid, starship capable of FTL travel, tasked with preservation of genetic material of advanced life and eradication of said life in Milky Way Galaxy, Sub-verse F-Out no. 524 a.k.a. 'Mass Effect Universe'; Harbinger in its capacity as Reaper representative, was approached by agents of Multiverse Confederacy with the proposition of the alliance. Proposition was refused as it went beyond the initial programming of the Reapers, but the agreement of non-belligerence between Reapers and Multiverse Confederacy was reached.

"An agreement of non-belligerence…" I turned to Major Sharpe. I was pretty sure that my jaw at the moment reached the floor. "You've negotiated with the Reapers?!" I asked shocked.

Major Sharpe corrected me sarcastically.

"I think you meant: 'you've negotiated with the Reapers, SIR', Officer Cadet Dubois." I stammered at that.

"Uhm, yes sir. Sorry sir." I was still new to military discipline, but two slips were definitely enough for today.

"To answer your question – yes, we have negotiated with the Reapers. Nobody here liked the idea, but let's face it: they are the largest military force in this galaxy. We could not afford to ignore them."

I still had my doubts. Although I had to admit that it put a funny image in my head of Harbinger sitting at the negotiating table with Confederacy diplomats, sipping tea and munching on biscuits while discussing finer points of the non-belligerence treaty.

"I suppose sir, but…" I just shook my head. "They are the Reapers, sir. They've been committing genocides for millennia and they have no wish to stop any time soon. That thing with Shepard and The Crucible in Mass Effect Trilogy was a giant fluke. Do we really want to risk non-interference with Reapers on the loose? What about all those people, sir? There are billions, if not trillions of beings in this galaxy."

Major Sharpe looked me in the eye again. He rested his elbows on the desk and rested his chin on folded hands.

"I have a question for you, Dubois." He asked. "Do you really care what happens to these people? You've never met any of them and until a few days ago they were nothing more than video game characters to you. What does it matter how many of them die?" He pressed on, "Hell, why would it matter if they all died? Think logically about it – the Reapers would be more powerful allies than all races of the Mass Effect galaxy combined. And furthermore officer cadet, think of the scale on which we operate. Trillions of sentient lifeforms exist in Sub-verse F-Out number 524, but in the Confederacy, there exist a hundred times that number. Which takes precedence to receive resources and funding? The external, or the internal?"

I had to agree with that, but it was cold and heartless logic.

"Yes sir. You're right; I don't emotionally care about the people of this Galaxy. They aren't my people – they are just characters in a video game that I used to play."

I looked again at the galaxy map. Turian and Alliance fleets were moving about. Alliance also gathered some of their vessels on the Skyllian Verge, monitoring their Batarian counterparts. The Galaxy looked like a dangerous place with pirates, slavers and whatnot, but at the same time it was thriving with life. Mass Effect 3, no matter how hard you tried in the game, left the galaxy a giant graveyard with survivors fighting for their lives. I looked back at Major Sharpe and said.

"At the same time, I'm not comfortable with the idea of sacrificing so many of them, sir. You've said it yourself before – External Affairs Bureau of the Security Branch works for the betterment of the Multiverse. We are the good guys, who sometimes do bad things. But letting all those people die for the sake of political convenience is not choosing the lesser evil. It's going against everything we set out to do. There is no excuse, sir. We can't compromise on that."

Sharpe relaxed back into his armchair with an approving expression. I think it was the first time I saw him smiling a really genuine smile. He said to me.

"That is absolutely correct, Officer Cadet Dubois. Now I am certain that Consciousness Acquisition department made the right decision, when they chose you for Security Branch. You're right, death toll that Reapers cause in the Mass Effect Universe is absolutely unacceptable for the Confederacy. We don't expect you to stop the war, but thanks to the espionage network you will establish we will be able to reduce casualties to a reasonable level."

"Reasonable level, sir?"

He smiled again, but this time there was none of his previous mirth.

"Keep the casualties at the level which will not inconvenience the Confederacy's voters. Our people don't like tyrants, genocides and murderous ideologies, but they like even less sending our soldiers to fight someone else's war."

At first I was really disappointed. Here they were, Multiverse Confederacy – cosmic equivalent of the boys with the biggest sticks on the schoolyard. They could clean up death squads, space Nazis and even Reapers from the multiverse with a snap of their fingers. The problem was that none of them could be bothered, until the bodies started to pile up in uncomfortable numbers. Most people here were completely fine with sitting at home and watching holo-vids on the news about yet another monstrous horror that battered a galaxy in some 'verse or the other. At best they'd say: 'Yeah honey, that's terrible and quite shocking, indeed. Could you please pass the butter?' At worst they would ignore it completely, because who cares – if it doesn't directly affect me it's someone else's problem.

On the other hand – had we on Earth been any different? I remembered reading about Rwandan Genocide and Yugoslavian Wars and the world's reactions that varied between complete indifference and ineffectual military interventions. People had their lives and they were quite happy with them – they didn't want or need to see the ugliness of war and the suffering of the innocent. I couldn't put the blame on people of Confederacy when the exact same thing happened back home.

I looked back to Major Sharpe who watched me intently. From what he told me I could make an educated guess that he wasn't happy with that fact. I only knew him for a short time, but he made an impression of a man who genuinely wants to do the right thing.

"I understand, sir." I said, silently acknowledging the sad state of affairs. "I will do my best to prevent the worst from happening."

"I know you will, Dubois. That is why you were chosen to lead this mission. We will teach you everything you need to know, but in the end you will be the one to make a decision. You can't protect everyone in the Mass Effect galaxy, but you can help them to the best of your abilities."

"Yes sir!"

"That will be all, Officer Cadet. Dismissed." he stood up and I followed suit. I saluted as was customary after dismissal by superior officer and left Sharpe's office.

END OF CHAPTER 2

(1) This dialogue is a nearly direct quote of a conversation between Sir Christopher Lee, OBE and one of the journalists who interviewed him. Sir Christopher Lee served in RAF during World War 2 and after allied invasion of Italy he was attached to Special Operations Executive and the Long Range Desert Patrol, which was a precursor of the famed British SAS. Lee would never go into details of his military service at the time as he was 'forbidden to discuss any specific operations'.

When Peter Jackson was shooting 'Lord Of The Rings - Return Of The King' he had on scene in mind of Saruman being stabbed in the back by his servant - Grima Wormtongue. He wanted Sir Christopher Lee (who played Saruman the White) to scream in pain. Sir Christopher Lee then asked the director 'Peter, have you ever heard the sound a man makes when he's stabbed in the back?'. At Jackson's negative answer Sir Christopher Lee said: 'Well I have, and I know what to do' and then went into a great detail explaining, that when a person is stabbed in the back of the chest they do not scream as in fact the air is pushed out of their lungs and they simply 'groan' with an exhalation of air, very quietly as their lungs have been punctured.

Just when you thought that a man who played Saruman, Scaramanga and Dracula (last one multiple times) couldn't get any more badass. He was also the cousin of Ian Fleming (author of the James Bond books), the only man of the LotR cast to have met J.R.R. Tolkien in person and a musician who released his first heavy metal album at the age of 80. Yes, this is the moment to have a total nerdgasm and cry Manly Tears of joy. ;)

A/N: I just couldn't resist adding that last factual tidbit and that dialogue line in the story, as it was just too good to pass. I have a great respect for Sir Christopher Lee for his service in WW2 and his impressive acting career. If I could, I'd nominate him for Badass Of The Week. Forget Shepard, Christopher Lee is the Man!