Serpent Nebula, Widow
The huge blazing nimbus of the dust and gases of the Serpent Nebula was a familiar welcome sight. Having been responsible for the security of the system and the most important axis in the galaxy for a couple of centuries, it was like coming home after a long strenuous journey for Lidanya. She watched critically as the large screen displayed the on going progress of the two hundred alien ships attached to the hull of the Citadel. Having flipped the station around after exiting the mass relay, they steadily decelerated as they approached the "berth" for the station. Returning the Citadel to the exact same location it occupied for millenniums.
"Everything is going well," came Tevos's voice.
Surprised that the Councilor was not viewing the operation in her cabin, Lidanya turned as Tevos came up beside her.
"We can give thanks to the great consciousness for a safe transfer," she said. "Perhaps we can anticipate similar pleasant developments from home next year."
"Congratulations are in order," Tevos said conversationally and added to Lidanya's puzzled gaze. "I hear you will soon have a young one to cherish."
Lidanya's eyes brightened. She smiled. "Yes, my daughter is due to deliver soon. With the new mandate, the first stone of true healing will be laid to counterbalance the wounds that have been festering since the war. Thessia will thrive again. I am certain of it."
Tevos could not fault her optimism. Despite the gloom that weaved itself throughout the ship when news of the attack on Earth came through, tendrils of hope grew steadily as Operation Ardonnes neared its end. Being the symbol of what it was, the return of the Citadel could be the turning point in the fight against the lingering influence of the Reapers. The hunger for peace and prosperity had never been so sharply felt. For a brief moment, Tevos thought of Aria before pushing the image away. There were more pressing matters than the foolish dreams and yearning of her maiden days.
"The Citadel has returned but we have to be careful. Every inch and particle in this system and a parsec over will be scoured thoroughly to my satisfaction that there are no dangers lying in wait," Lidanya continued.
"Yes, of course," Tevos said softly before falling silent with a contemplative air about her.
Lidanya waited patiently for her to sort out her thoughts. Clearly the councilor came to broach a matter concerning the fleet. Tevos's next words confirmed her suspicion.
"I received a formal request from Councilor Flewinnie to withdraw half of their ships from the Citadel Fleet," Tevos said softly.
Lidanya nodded. Such a development was expected. "Defense of their homeworld is more vital now that they have lost one third of their strength," she said. "The withdrawal will not hamper Citadel Fleet operations," she added confidently.
"Nevertheless, the workload will strain our remaining resources. I am sure you will agree with me that isn't the best way for a fleet to function," said Tevos.
Tempted though she was to cut Tevos a little for pointing out the obvious; she was no middling recruit for Athame's sake! Lidanya said instead, "What are you suggesting?"
"Most of us are over extended, protecting surviving the colonies and interests, contributing the barest minimum that can be spared." Tevos ignored the flash of impatience in Lidanya's eyes. "Having pledged most of their efforts into helping the galactic community, most of the geth forces are scattered or they would have made up the short fall. There are two things I am very much afraid of. One is the uncharted capabilities of the Citadel. The other is the collaboration Cerberus had with the Reapers. They might have learned too much."
"That is a concern I often muse on." Lidanya allowed some of her anxiety to show. From a mass relay to the beam conduit, the unexpected displays of diverging capabilities of the space station was extremely alarming. "What other tricks would Cerberus let loose before they satiate their craving for supremacy?" she wondered. She looked at the large screen display of the Citadel. Would it one day be turned against them under another hand?
"There are no others we can call on to make up the numbers." She turned back to Tevos. "I have gone through all possibilities. Most of us will get new hulls in sixteen months. The geth are the only ones who will have new ships of the line coming in next year. Depending on where they are going to send them, we may still not have the numbers."
"What if I were to suggest a new possibility?" Tevos said slowly. "We can get additional ships within a month."
Lidanya knew who she was referring to at once. "Are you referring to these newcomers?' she said warily, careful not to name the alien ships aloud. Her eyes slide to the screen. "The Council have not been very forward with their origins, why would I put confidence in these strangers?"
Tevos faltered, wishing she had brought up the matter when they were in more secluded surroundings but she felt the luxury of time was no longer theirs to indulge in. That was the mistake they committed prior to the war and were still deluding themselves with back home. It was time to move faster. It was imperative that Lidanya should not put up too much opposition once the proposal she had in mind was brought before the rest of the Council and the Conclave. A meeting she intended to call once the Citadel was secured.
"They have not volunteered. In fact, I am not certain they would agree to the idea," Tevos said slowly.
Shepard had said the rachni queen preferred seclusion, desiring to return to the peaceful days before the protheans diverted them for their own purposes. The rachni ambassador had consistently supported this stance but this was a time of need, would the rachni queen refuse a request for help?
"Even if they do, you do not think the turbulence between us in the past is of import?" Lidanya asked.
"Have I suggested so? You read the reports from Shepard and Raltania. They shed light on the cause behind those ancient conflicts. The evidence pointed strongly that it was not their own will that directed the war. Their participation in the recent conflict and their contribution now put them in a better status to be accepted."
The forbidding look on Lidanya's face was not encouraging. Tevos plowed on, refusing to be deterred.
"They have chosen to seclude themselves after the war. Everyone has forgotten the aid they have given," she said persuasively, determined to reach a level of accord even if she did not get total agreement. "This is our chance to draw them forward, to be part of the whole. By doing so, it will create opportunities for us to understand them," she added as she sensed a shift in the other, "and allow us to keep track of them."
Valid and prudent arguments but the bridge was hardly the place to have such a discussion. Glancing around her, Lidanya saw no indication anyone was listening. The executive and operations officers had tactfully moved away when Tevos approached her, putting themselves well out of earshot but close enough for them to respond if she needed them. Still, there wasn't any need for wild rumours to spread.
"Let's move this discussion elsewhere," she said. Tevos couldn't agree more and followed her from the bridge.
Citadel
Normally, a ride down the MASR would send Tessie's blood singing. She usually pretended she was flying on her old gilder back home, sweeping lazily across swathes of beautiful green far below. Nothing but the sky, sun, wind and earth in her world. However it wasn't exactly the same on the MASR. It was a vertical drop or rocket booster either way but those several seconds or minutes created brief illusions of freedom. Right then, there were too many items on her plate for her to enjoy the drop.
Contrary to her fears, they were not attacked or blown up. The Citadel arrived as scheduled. It was right where it belonged but now, it was her family that took up most of her anxieties. Had they survived the attack? Why didn't they answer her call or email the moment communication restrictions was lifted? What was she to do if something happened to them? Her knees buckled when the d-wagon slide to a stop. Cursing under her breath for her inattention, she hit the button to release the foot stirrups, detached her carabiner and hurried after Challa. Just like a batarian, he didn't bother to wait for her but galloped his way out and down the corridor. If she had been a male, he would have waited. Maybe. At least he didn't look down on her when it came to work.
"Junction zeta-three-one-two-sub," he said aloud as he looked at his omni-tool, jogging steadily down the corridor.
"Round the corner," she said as she mentally wrestled anger, anxiety and resentment at Westir.
Why oh why did he have to run off in the middle of a big dust down to help some duct rats? Duct rats were rebellious and fiercely independent. They knew how to grease their way around the bowels of the station no one would go to. They wouldn't have survived this long to form their little cliques and territories if they were easy meat. Why did he have to put himself out for them when they probably wouldn't even appreciate it was something she couldn't figure out. There was no connection between them to the wife he lost in the war.
"What the..."
She skidded to a halt in amazement when she rounded the corner. She struck Challa, who had also halted, in the back. What was that shimmering wall? It was not part of the station, she was sure of it. Were they at the wrong place? She checked her omni-tool. They were at the coordinates Drake had given to them.
"Look." Challa grabbed her arm and pointed to a heap of bodies lying in the corridor a distance from the wall. Against the eye watering luminescence, it was difficult to make out any distinctive features other than lumps and feet.
"What are they?"
She kept herself behind Challa as they approached cautiously, wishing Drake had sent security instead of them to find out what had happened to the other half of their team. So what if they were more familiar with the station, everyone knew how to read maps! There wasn't any need to send them chasing down people who might have been swallowed up by strange creatures from the strange ships or whatever. At the first sign of trouble, she was going to run back round the corner. She was certain Challa would follow suit. He didn't say anything. He stopped his advance, studying the bodies.
"Should we contact security?"
"It's them." Challa began to run.
"Wait, what? Who?"
Torn between staying where she was and going with him, she nervously searched around her with wide eyes; were there enemies waiting to spring out at them? The corridor remained empty. Reluctantly, she moved towards Challa when he shouted to her. He knelt by the first lump. It was only when she neared the pile that she realised the lumps were human and they were children.
"Are they dead?"
She dropped beside a girl who looked no more than ten years old and felt her throat, searching for a pulse. Relief flooding through when she felt the throb beneath her fingers. "Alive. What happened to them? Where's West? Malon?" She looked around as she checked the next body. There had to be at least thirty children of varying ages.
"Here."
Challa moved to the two bigger bodies closest to the wall of energy and noted the slightly off colour of Malon's skin. The glister looked normal however. Next to him, Westir was very still, his chest hardly seemed to be moving.
"I don't know about West," he said as he felt for the pulse. It fluttered unsteadily. He bent close to Westir's face, listening. Taking hold of the human's left arm, he activated the omni-tool and hit the emergency button. "Set your PEM (personnel emergency beacon), Tess. Drake will send help," he said as he activated Malon's, then his own. "We have to move them away from that wall of energy. You take the children, I will take West and Malon."
He grabbed hold of Westir's arms and began to pull him away further down the corridor. Without a word, she gathered the smallest body into her arms and followed.
Local Cluster, Rhea
Standing perfectly still and at ease, Major Makris savored the rare opportunity to admire the sleek lines of the frigate hovering overhead as it slowly descended to the landing grid. Of all the ship designs in the fleet, the bird of prey mantle profiles of the Normandy and the Ain Jalut equated the roles they were designated to play; to hunt, to harass and to kill. Much had been bruited about this particular ship with that name. The keel of its predecessor barely two years old when it stamped its mark in the records of galactic conflict before it fell and thought gone forever. Only to rise again from the ashes under the flag of an enemy and redeemed itself in the Reaper War.
All of that under the command of one person whose resolve fueled the relentless pursuit of an enemy nobody believed existed and vanquished it. Whose name was often spoken with awe among the ranks. That she would scour the enemy into dust and made sure of it as she did the Reapers. He didn't bother to use his helmet visor to magnify the two figures standing at the top of the lowering ramp of the shuttle bay. He chose to watch them make their way down. The cut of the helmets made it easy to pick out Shepard. Even without the helmets, the N7 emblem on the hardsuit was a giveaway. She had a confident lithe straight back gait. No navy brat would be walking with that sensual air exuded by her companion who could only be the Thessian liaison.
He fancied he could see the piercing flash of Shepard's deep set blue eyes as she headed for him, the lowering of her arched eyebrows, the thinning of lips under a straight nose. All the signs of that 'let's get down to business' attitude of hers he had come to know quite well in the oft transmitted images of her interactions with the brass and the Council over the past years. There was hardly a visual of her smiling but no, he corrected himself. There was that marriage of hers to that asari. An affair or rather, an event that roused discontented rumblings among those who felt she ought to have chosen one of her own and made their feelings publicly clear. No doubt, her mailbox was deluged with their opinions and no doubt, like the grave light in her eyes he could see now, she didn't let it deter her from her intentions.
"Captain Shepard, I'm Major Makris, XO of the Rhea Research Facility." He returned her salute and blinked in startlement; she was taller than his five feet eight inches. But then military enhancements often kicked up all the physique markings in recruits. He shouldn't be surprised since he sprouted some more after he enlisted.
"Major Makris." Shepard turned to Hiaras. "This is major Ronoh."
"Major."
Makris saluted and shook the asari's hand. She was a match for Shepard in height. The official designation put her as an observer, ostensibly to help in the investigation but he suspected she was more of a bodyguard. Since Shepard had supposedly married into a family with blue blood, so to speak, the commando's presence was hardly a surprise. That they sent only one, was. Maybe they were confident Shepard needed no more than one.
Someone cleared his throat, a social cough, beside him. Makris turned his head to see his aide who he was ignoring, looking at him imperiously. The eager anticipation, revoltingly obnoxious, of the fellow wass hard to tolerate ever since the brass notified him of Shepard's visit.
"This is lieutenant Descroix," he said in a neutral voice and waited expectantly.
True to form, Descroix puffed out his chest and thrust out his hand at Shepard. "Lieutenant Alvacaro Kies Descroix," he said proudly, accentuating the family name. As if that meant something to Shepard. Makris doubted she bothered to familiarise herself with the names of business entities or the families who run them.
Shepard nodded but did not take the proffered hand. "Lieutenant."
Makris couldn't see the expression Descroix's face over the emphasis on his rank. It probably rankled that he was shorter than any of them. Shepard towered over him by a full handspan. The dissatisfaction and embarrassment was hard to miss in his stiffed posture. The lieutenant dropped his hand and tried to emulate a parade stance.
"You're all decked out." It was a question of affirmation than an observation as Makris looked at Shepard from head to toe.
"Yes." Shepard looked around them curiously. There was a double line of round hatches stretching from the landing grid. Entrances to underground chambers? There were no vehicles. Where were they to go?
"It's standard around here." Makris gestured at himself, similarly armed to the teeth. "The environment is not the usual run-of-the-mill research facility. If you're ready?"
Shepard nodded and spoke softly into her helmet comm. Behind them, the ramp of the shuttle bay closed as the Normandy lifted off on maneuvering thrusters, kicking up swirls of moon dust along the perimeter of the grid. With hardly a tremor, the landing grid began to descend below the surface.
"The materials handled here are remnants from the war and skirmishes against the TI. Hard and bio materials. Hazardous and unpredictable," said Makris.
"Any live materials?" asked Hiaras, watching the lieutenant surreptitiously.
His overweening introduction was atypical for a Systems Alliance officer. A junior officer at that. The sour tint in his aura also put her hackles up. She didn't like the way he was running his eyes all over Shepard. She had seen the same on Thessia and on the Normandy but the attention was respectful, admiring, curious, not this unpleasant avaricious vibe she was getting from the young fellow.
"Samples of organic and cybernetic tissues retrieved from oculus wreckage," said Makris. "Live TI specimens are easier to study back home."
The landing grid halted a hundred meters down to a axial passage.
"This way." He gestured at a set of huge double doors that could easily accommodate three makos. It led to a long corridor. "This is CMT or Critical Material Two where the most hazardous wreckage are stored and studied under cold conditions."
"Cold conditions?" Shepard wondered how many storage rooms there were as she stared at the long tritanium corridor bathed in blazing lights that stretched on and on in the distance.
"Remote contact. This entire section is hard vacuum." Makris traced a circle in the air with his finger. "Every storage unit can be isolated and flushed in emergencies using catapults beneath the containment repository. Every vent corridor is pre-sighted. Nothing is getting off this dead rock unless we say so."
He stopped at the first set of doors and keyed a code through his omni-tool. Expecting a large storage space, Shepard was surprised to see a small booth with a row of control boards under a set of large windows on the left.
"This is the control station for this storage unit." Makris stepped up to the bank of consoles. "To secure and lock down the specimen when they arrive. Depending on the type, mechs are used as operators to minimize contact."
He gestured to the large empty room beyond. Peering through the windows, Shepard saw nothing but a brightly lit room. It wasn't until her eyes roved to the far corner that she saw the single object. Toggling her helmet visor magnifier, she examined the familiar scrunched down posture of an inactive mech facing away from them in the far corner. Why was it placed so far away? Beside her, Descroix tapped busily on the consoles.
"Did you power down the Orcus mech?" she asked.
"No. It was completely active when we removed it from the shuttle. It shut itself off after an hour and didn't respond to further attempts to communication," Makris said. "It moved again," he muttered when he located the mech through the console screen.
Shepard pulled back. Was that a twitch she saw? "How often does it do that?"
"This is the second time," said Descroix, eager to contribute. "These are the scans taken when it first arrived. The latest, a minute ago." He waved at the schematics displayed on one of the screens. "As you can see, it has the basic design of the LOKI Mech but equipped with enhanced plating and upgraded sensors. It was originally armed with the M-96 Mattock Auto. Confiscated when it arrived," he added when Shepard made no comment.
"Where was its initial position?"
"In the middle of the retention platform." Descroix pointed. "It's retracted at the moment. The first time it moved, it stopped at this corner." He called up the plan of the storage room. A red icon blinked along a wall. "Here is where it is right now. Scans were conducted, nothing was detected. If it was attempting to find some weaknesses, there are none," he said confidently.
Crossing her arms, Shepard studied the display. "Which section of the facility was it facing each time it halted?" She looked over her shoulder at Makris.
Flashing a quick glance at the asari standing silently behind Shepard, he mulled for a moment before coming to a decision. "Pull up the floor plans, deck one," he said to Descroix who worked quickly to put up the data on another screen.
"The first time it stopped." Shepard frowned, mentally matching the two displays; it would have been facing the other side of the tritanium corridor. "What do you have in the other storage units?"
"Oculus debris dating back to the reaper war and the most recent specimen that were picked up from the skirmish in the Sahrabarik System," said Descroix.
Shepard could feel Hiara's antennae shooting up at that. Not that the commando didn't know about the mission at Omega or that the oculus were picked up. That they were right next door surprised her. She didn't like it one bit that Langdon did not see fit to appraise her of the complete manifest of the materials in the base. Perhaps it was on a need-to-know basis but that distinction was totally incongruous in her case.
"What about the operators of the oculus?" she asked.
"The operators and ordnance were removed before storage. The oculus are just shells," Descroix said dismissively.
"What about the power cores and operating systems?"
"Left in, the researchers..."
"Then how can they be shells?" Turning back to the screen, Shepard examined the mech's current position and the layout. There was a total of five different areas linked by the web of corridors. She pointed to a substantial block in the north-east corner. It was big enough to be the main hub of the facility. She'd bet that was where the researchers were housed. "What's over there?"
"Headquarters of the research base. Along with biolabs for organic and cybernetic specimens," Descroix said carefully.
Corpses, bits and pieces, that was what he was referring to but was that all there was? "Are there unusual organic specimens other than oculus remnants?" asked Shepard.
"Er...a Cerberus soldier recovered alive from a shuttle in the Verr System." Descroix shot a worried glance at Makris but the major remained silent.
Santino. There couldn't be any one else. Langdon had not told her where he was, only that she would have to interview him. Shepard was sure of it. "Why is he here? Wasn't he supposed to be shipped back to Earth?"
"His condition took a turn for the worst during transit. This is the closest facility with the necessary medical faculty. After he was stabilized, it was decided he should remain here, under observation," explained Makris.
Descroix stifled his impatience when she said nothing else, seeming to think. He opened his mouth, then closed it. Her response to his greeting told him he would have to play it by ear if he wanted her receptive. Still, she was taking her time with what she was supposed to do. He looked at Makris but the major appeared content to wait for Shepard to make the next move. What she said next wasn't what Descroix expected.
"Is it be possible to put all storage units on standby vent?"
"Yes but you can't do that," Descroix protested.
Did she know what she was doing? Venting would automatically trigger the defense turrets. The collection of oculus specimens, the parts of Cerberus fighters and cruisers that were retrieved. All that precious data that had yet to be gleaned. All to be thrown away?
"You don't know what you're asking. Do you know how much time and effort -," And credits but he wasn't going to mention that. "-went into collecting those? How much information we could lose? How much ..."
"How much probability of the mech triggering them?" Markris interrupted harshly. He ignored the glare Descroix directed at him.
Shepard shrugged. "I'd like to say none but I wouldn't like to have the oculus get out of hand, operators or no. They may not be able to shoot but they can create sufficient damage if they go online and manage to break out. The last thing anyone want is a bloodbath."
She eyed Descroix whose anger was perceptible. That he was very much against the idea was clear. That he wasn't a bona fide marine was stark the moment he presented himself. Now it was further enhanced by his reaction. How much of an investment did the young fellow have in the research here?
"Do it." Makris directed a hard stare at Descroix, killing the rising protests in the lieutenant's throat. "On my responsibility." His stare challenged the younger man who looked away. "That door opens to the room-," this to Shepard, he nodded to the hatch behind her. "We'll monitor up here." He reached for the consoles, making contact with central control and made preparations for the all out venting.
"Ready?" Shepard glanced at Hiaras who nodded. She hit the door control panel and descended the small flight of stairs. A small green light lit up on her helmet visor as air was pumped in. Gradually, she could make out the sounds of her boots on the tritanium floor as she walked across the room. Looking down as she passed the center of the room, she could see the wide rings that delineated the retention platform. The inner circle was darker, probably the catapult. To throw the mech out, they would have to vent the room. Hiaras would be prepared, she was sure.
"The younger one was trying to impress you," Hiaras said in archaic asari lingua franca, her attention on the mech.
"Yeah, he reeked of it." Shepard snorted as she answered in the same language. She scrutinized the hatch on the ceiling and numerous robotic arms along the walls of the storage unit. "Doesn't strike me as a real ground pounder."
"How can you tell?" Hiaras asked, grinning.
"Other than the manner of his introduction, his hardsuit. I'd bet a thousand credits it wafts factory spice, straight off the press. His manner, his words all stink of the nasty stuff pampered offshoots like to douse themselves with."
Shepard slowed as they came within several meters of the mech. If it detected them, it was not reacting. Rubbing her hands together, she took a moment to settle herself. "Ready."
Hiaras moved away a few steps to maintain a clear line of sight of the mech as Shepard moved slowly forward, stopping a few feet of it. Still no reaction.
"I'm Captain Shepard." Breathing steadily, she waited. A faint whine. The mech unfolded itself, its eyes lighting up. It turned until it was facing her.
"Further authentication is required," it said tonelessly. "After the destruction of the Normandy, you were taken to a Cerberus laboratory. When you first regained consciousness, to whom did you speak to?"
Cerberus laboratory? That would be Miranda. When the facility was under attack. Shepard opened her mouth to answer and then paused to reconsider. If she wasn't careful, if the answer was wrong, their only avenue to finding Cerberus would be cut off. Was that attack the only instance in which she was awake? Closing her eyes, she searched her memories minutely. In the control booth, Makris and Descroix watched with bated breath.
"Why isn't she answering?" Descroix boosted the gain of the pickups.
"Because she has only one chance of getting it right. Be quiet," Makris said sharply, ignoring Descroix's offended glare.
Darkness. Formless dreams. Then sounds began to filter in, the sharp pain of breathing, the hammering, confusion, the blinding light.
"There. On the monitor. Something's wrong." A female voice. Anxious.
A low rough voice spoke up. Male. "She's reacting to stimuli. Showing an awareness of her surroundings." He sounded awed by what he was seeing. "Oh my god, Miranda. I think she's waking up."
A woman, flashes of black and white. A bearded man.
"Damn it, Wilson, she's not ready yet. Give her the sedative." The woman, Miranda, sounded angry. Light blue eyes, her grasping hand was held. "Shepard, don't try to move. Just lie still. Try to stay calm."
The man, Wilson, spoke, sounding far away. "Heart rate still climbing. Brain activity is off the charts." Frantic beeping. "Stats pushing into the red zone. It's not working!"
Pain, pain. It seized her chest. She turned her head. It hurt to move, her bewildered gaze following one person to the next.
"Another dose. Now!" the woman barked.
A hiss. The cold hand around her chest eased.
"Heart rate dropping. Stats dropping back into normal range. That was too close. We almost lost her."
Anger crossed Miranda's face. "I told you your estimates were off. Run the numbers again."
The soft light in Miranda's eyes when she looked at her again was the last thing she saw as darkness closed around her again.
Shepard opened her eyes. "I spoke to no one."
"You are correct," the mech said.
Shepard breathed a sigh of relief and stiffened when it said, "This is the second and last authentication." The mechanical inflection suddenly changed into that of a man's. "On the night of Jessica's murder, I once spoke of this to you. The much vaunted policies of the Systems Alliance do not serve to protect humanity. Corruption and adulteration is inevitable, given its present course. Unless something is done, we will lose our identity. What else did I say to you?"
What the hell? Jessica's murder? Jessica. The name sounded familiar. Jessica. Shepard screwed her eyes shut, trying to remember. The night of Jessica's murder. It could not be during her time in the Systems Alliance, there was no marine with that name among the squads she was with, that she was certain. If there was a murder in the ranks, there would have been an inquiry. A court martial if the perpetrator was a fellow marine. There wasn't one. So it had to be before. Before her enlistment. She began to pace, sorting it out. It couldn't be her childhood, no one would speak to her like that. When? When she was fourteen? Fifteen? Sixteen?
Who is she? {She froze as an image leaped into her mind. A girl. Dark hair, green eyes, turned up nose.} She's beautiful. I hear they are called Asari.
Careful, Jess. You don't want to go too near her. There are stories about them. {A thin face. Solemn grey eyes under thick eyebrows, a narrow face, lips thinned in disapproval}
You and your stories. Tall tales from your burrowing and wallowing in those archaic books. Hobnobbing with the whiners makes you think anyone not bleeding red blood as you is guilty of something. Wake up, look around you. The real world is here. {the young girl snorted disdainfully and moved away}.
She does not understand. {He stared bleakly after Jessica}
She does have a point. {She nudged him gently} Hey, we're stuck on a mudball, boring in every way, every day. And that..asari? is the only blaze of colour here. Can you blame her...them {she corrected when she noticed the small crowd gathered outside the cafeteria, looking in} for flocking to the star attraction?
But you're not. {He looked at her}
Why would I leave you all alone? {she arched her brows} Someone has to keep an eye on you, you know.
{A slow smile brightened his face. He kissed her}
No, that couldn't be. Shepard stopped pacing and turned back to the mech, taking a deep breath. Wishing she was wrong. "You said, it will happen if we stand by and do nothing. I am not going to be a sheep. I am going to be the firebird."
"There is more."
Damn you. Her fists clenched. "I'm leaving. I want you to come with me."
"Do you know who I am?" The mech cocked its head. She half wondered if the man behind the voice was watching but that could not be.
"Lance Greenacres."
"Hello April. It's been a long time. I missed you."