Semper Vigilo

by CunkToad

Due to a drive core malfunction, a human vessel arrives just in time to save the Council Envoy from the yahg. What happens when humanity enters the galactic stage not as the race that got attacked by the turians for breaking a law they weren't aware of, but as the race that saved a turian platoon from certain death? M for wartime violence, pre ME1 - ME3, no OP humanity.

123. Memento Vivere

Chapter 123. Memento Vivere

---

11. May 2417 AD, Cronos Station

"Another three then?"

"Yes Sir. They're on the way to the black site for disposal now."

Harper frowned and leaned against his chair. Standing before him was the hologram of Commander Holderman, still clad in his T5-V Armor. The commando had just returned from another raid where they'd reclaimed three more of the missing pieces of Sovereign. Out of the sixty-two missing pieces, Cerberus had now found twenty-seven. The real big ones, those related to Sovereing's weaponry and processors, were still missing though.

"Could TAS ID them?"

"Yes, Sir. We found a leg-servo, a chunk of armor plating and some bio-mechanical wiring," Holderman reported.

"Any more intel on the ship?"

"Plenty. Too much to collect with one team, actually," the command shrugged. "I've ordered it impounded for now. We should haul it to the black site, for a more thorough sweep."

Harper squinted and then nodded.

"Good idea. Give the order," his techs at the black site were overworked, but they were also idealists. They'd make it work. "If that's all you've got to report, you're dismissed."

Holderman glanced down at his armor in response to the statement. The action was uncharacteristic for his strike team leader. The man couldn't hold a conversation without staring a hole through your skull, so Harper immediately noticed when he broke eye-contact.

"There's one more thing, Sir," Holderman started.

"I'm listening."

"There were some mercs with the smugglers, Sir. They match the profile you told us to look out for," Insight. Harper had been informed about them some time ago and looking back, he'd realized that Cerberus had had more than one run-in with them over the years.

"I suppose you didn't happen to detain one of them?"

"The opportunity didn't present itself, Sir," Holderman said, "but we already identified one of the KIAs."

Harper peeked up.

"That was quick," usually it took at least a day or so before a Strike team verified who they'd killed.

"Machai-Two knew him from his ASOC days, Sir."

"How so?"

"They served together in 1st Battalion," Holderman stated. "Problem is, the guy's supposed to be dead since Eden Prime. Or at least that's what his file says," the hologram of Holderman brought up his omni-tool and Harper straightened himself to read what had just appeared in front of him.

'Staff Sergeant Fredric Huan-Tzi. Killed in action 04.01.2415, Eden Prime, Cooper-Wells CFB.'

The man had been one of the dozens of special forces soldiers who'd died alongside their turian comrades during Sovereign's opening volley.

Yet here he was. Dead in a Cerberus cryo-bay two years later, defending smuggled Reaper tech.

"And Ocampo's sure that's him?" Ocampo was Machai-Two's actual last name.

"Afirm, Sir. They went through the pipeline together and served in Fifth Battalion up until the whole Stone situation on Elysium. Then they both got transferred to First, where Ocampo served as a Team-Lead of one Weirua-Squad with Huan-Tzi as his second."

Harper picked up a cigarette from his chair and lit it up.

"Stone you say?"

"Yes, Sir. Major Stone. I assumed you'd be familiar with the incident."

"I am," Harper replied before exhaling a breath of smoke. "Ocampo and Huan-Tzi weren't the only ones to transfer to First Battalion from Stone's unit, weren't they?"

"No, Sir. Fifth Battalion got shit-canned after the incident. Complete changing of the guard. They were dissolved to fill up the ranks of the other ASOC battalions and a lot of them went into First because of how many from that unit didn't make it out of the Blitz," Holderman explained. Harper already knew that part of course, mostly because several of the veteran-ASOC operatives involved in the Stone-incident were now serving in the Strike-Teams – including Ocampo.

Harper considered the commander's explanation for a second and thought back to the other PGI incidents, including the one with Miranda and Captain Haugen where the captain had gone on the (unofficial) record to say that he was certain that the foes he'd engaged on the Messina had ASOC training and even raised the possibility that they might be cybernetically-enhanced survivors of the Cooper Wells CFB attack. His reasoning had been the findings on the ship.

Back then he'd heard the soldier out but privately dismissed Haugen's notions as the input of an ASOC officer who'd been a little to close to a PGI-slaughterhouse experiment, an environment that was bound to have an extreme impact on the judgement of just about anyone, even if their name was Tore Haugen and they were held in the highest possible regard by all sorts of high-ranking military officials.

Evidently, he'd been wrong.

"Forward me the report as soon as you can, I'll redact some parts of it and sent it HSAIS' way," the director of Cerberus ordered. HSAIS naturally couldn't know that Cerberus was working off-the-books and engaging in what was technically piracy under Citadel Law (they were just attacking these ships without any reason whatsoever other than suspecting the presence of Reaper pieces). Hence they (Rei) would get a redacted report.

After giving the order, Harper looked at his watch. He had an appointment with Chancellor Goyle and the head of government wasn't someone you made wait. "I've got another appointment now, Commander. So if that's all…" he suggested with a wave of his hand.

"It is, Sir," Holderman nodded.

"Dismissed."

"Yes, Sir."

Harper pinched his nose and dipped his cigarette in the ashtray, frustrated at himself for dismissing what was now shaping up to be an on-point assessment.

If only they'd had a body back then, then the captain's claims would've had some evidence to support it…

Before he could waste any more breath on crying after opportunity's lost, the holograms in front of his chair informed him that it was now time to call Chancellor Goyle. They were supposed to discuss Blue Solstice … and what to do if it failed.

After the woman's hologram assembled itself in front of Harper, the man noticed just how tired the chancellor looked. It shouldn't really have surprised him, all things considered. Ever since the turian probes had picked up on the Reaper armada heading for the galaxy, Goyle had been given the Sisyphus task of convincing the HSA's parliament that there was an imminent danger for human sovereignty gathering within batarian space.

While Goyle had briefly considered to come clean and tell the Human Systems Alliance that the Reapers were coming (again) – a situation the HSA's joint staff had been planning for ever since Sovereign's destruction – she'd been down that road before. As such the chancellor had quickly drawn the conclusion that the vast majority of the elected representatives of humanity were no longer in favor of preparing for a threat they considered vanquished.

Following the year after Sovereign's destruction, in which the HSA's armed forces had been fully mobilized in anticipation of a second wave and subsequently crippled its economy to the point where it had become over reliant on trade from the CIP, the general opinion towards once again preparing for an invasion most now suspected was never coming wasn't positive.

As such, a tangible threat needed to be created and after some deliberation, she'd asked HSAIS to … help along – using the batarians.

Goyle's solution had been simple and if Harper was being honest, scarily manipulative.

He'd been impressed, actually.

The idea easily could've come from a high-level HSAIS director, or himself.

According to the chancellor, everyone involved in politics these days remembered the Skyllian Blitz. Some had fought in it, others had fled from it, a few had even suffered through batarian occupation or captivity but every representative and government worker alive had seen the vids from the front lines.

The threat posed by the Batarian Hegemony was one everyone understood and no one could deny. So as far as parliament was concerned, the armed forces of the HSA were currently placed on Threat-Condition Shield-2 (the anticipations of an attack on human territories) and being mobilized in all theatres – including Earth - because of supposedly observed batarian fleet maneuvers and troop movements which indicated the build-up to another invasion of the Verge.

While these movements and maneuvers really existed, the reports that HSAIS had presented been edited. The HSA knew that the real target of the maneuvers were the internal rebellions that had consumed the post-Blitz Hegemony. But with a few creative changes of course and a couple of zeroes liberally added to troops strengths, someone who didn't have the ability to look at the border systems of the closed-off Hegemony would easily be fooled into thinking that the batarians really were coming in for round two.

Thanks to Goyle's deception (something that'd cost her the office and her freedom if it ever came out), the HSA was once again mobilizing.

Truth be told, he didn't think Goyle had it in her.

Another thing he'd been wrong about, apparently… because the chancellor hadn't stopped at a mobilization of the armed forces either.

Using the same reports, she'd convinced the government to green-light the activation of the HSA's reservists.

Out of a population of forty-six billion, approximately seven hundred million humans currently served in the armed forces. While the human navy was disproportionally large for a state of its size (the number of human combat vessels outnumbered those of the asari and salarians by now) and the HSA's armed forces were on average the most combat-experienced soldiers in the galaxy (in no small part thanks to the Skyllian Blitz), the HSA was still the smallest military in of the Council members due to a simple fact: population.

The human population was tiny compared to that of the 'big three'.

There were hundreds of billions of asari and turians spread out over Council Space and well over a trillion salarians living in the Union alone.

The turian military was essentially their entire population, the salarian's armed forces were not exactly countable due to the fact that in addition to the Union's armed forces, every minor Dalatrass also maintained levies. Finally, every asari city state or republic had its own militia or some other sort of armed group which relied on the Republican Navy for spaceborne protection. The asari militias were also exclusively combat-rate biotics, of course.

So on paper, the HSA's armed forces were vastly outnumbered and only a 'drop' in an ocean of manpower.

However unlike the asari and the salarians, the HSA had a distinctive advantage that otherwise only the turians possessed:

An integrated military reserve.

In addition to the seven hundred million active-duty personal, another six hundred million humans were currently serving as active reservists. They had personally assigned gear, regular training and their command staff was fully integrated into the armed forces and ready to activate at a moment's notice – which wasn't the case for the salarian levies or asari militias.

So in total, about 1.3 billion humans could be called upon to quickly deploy in a time of crisis.

Still not as many as the rest of the Council, but still plenty.

Most of these soldiers served were in the army and the navy and the majority of them were centered around the four major human settlements, Earth, Terra Nova, Arcadia and Horizon. With all troops – active and reserve - combined, the Sol System alone had ninety million troops at the ready. Most on Earth, some on Mars and Luna and a couple spread around the outer planets.

During the height of the Fringe Wars, the HSA-AF had consisted of 950 million active servicemen, facing off against nearly six hundred-million militia forces and another five hundred million IFSDF regulars. So in total up, over two billion humans had been willing to kill for what they believed in – voluntarily.

And that had 'just' been a civil war.

Harper figured that a war for the survival of the human race was bound to draw in more recruits.

That were a lot of soldiers who'd need a lot of gear.

And that was exactly what they were here to talk about now.

After going over the logistics of Blue Solstice and informing the chancellor that the Blue Suns would help, Goyle and Harper started to speak about what would happen if Blue Solstice failed to prevent a Reaper invasion at the end of the month.

"There's bound to be an influx of recruits once the Reapers hit. And a lot of refugees too… are we prepared for that?" Harper wondered off-mindedly. Supply and logistics that didn't concern black-ops weren't really Cerberus' focus.

Much to Harper's surprise, Goyle answered with a nod.

"Thanks to the National Defense Act of 2385, the armed forces have been stock-piling just about every piece of gear they've been issued since the Fringe Wars unless it was literally falling apart in their hands," she explained. "Just as an example, there's apparently about a thousand bunkers buried under the Terra Novan basalt desert filled to the brim with nothing but old infantry gear," the blonde woman waved her hand. "And that's just the small stuff. Don't even get me started on the motor pools and airframe moth pools hidden all over the core worlds… Apparently, we've got so many 24th century weapons lying around that the army could double its size overnight and still not run into a bottleneck for anything outside of actual housing. Say what you will about my predecessor… but he didn't exactly leave us with dry stockpiles. Someone more mean-spirited might even call Noé a paranoid hoarder for this level of preparation."

Harper almost let out an unprofessional whistle. He knew there were stockpiles, Noé had always suggested that he was taking care of that, he just didn't know how large they were.

Apparently, he'd had a positive influence on the man after all.

… not that it'd change his opinion on this war being unwinnable in a conventional manner, mind you.

"That's good," he observed. "Now if we are just as prepared for the humanitarian crisis that's bound to hit us, I might even say that we've got a chance."

Sadly enough, Goyle's face fell flat.

"Civilian crisis response is sadly lacking," the chancellor stated. "We've got plenty of crisis supplies, HSAIS tells me that it's more than just about everyone that isn't the turians … but it's still not nearly enough to sustain us through a long conflict, especially not if we start losing the agri-worlds in the Fringe like Benning or Camelot."

"Which will probably happen eventually," most of the agricultural focused planets in the HSA were thinly populated and relied on the navy for protection, a system that wouldn't work when thousands of Sovereign-like Leviathan-class Reapers were burning their way through human space and blowing apart every frigate, destroyer and cruiser that came along for a patrol.

"Unless they focus on the population centers first that is," the chancellor offered in return.

"In which case the population is just going to starve because no one can bring them supplies," Harper extinguished his cigarette.

"Exactly," Goyle muttered, "no matter how this turns out, a lot of people are going to die, Director. Even more if we don't succeed in the Bahak-System."

"We always knew that," the grey-haired man retorted solemnly. "No amount of preparation in the universe could've prepared us for something like that. It'd take a miracle for that."

Goyle was silent for a moment.

"Speaking of miracles. What about the turian's guest from Eden Prime? Has there been any progress?"

Harper narrowed his artificial eyes.

"I'm afraid not. He's not exactly … forthcoming."

---

Meanwhile, 2158 CE, Menae, Installation 237

Liara had spent most of her life being fascinated with the protheans. They were a benevolent, enlightened people that had set the galaxy on the course it was on today before mysteriously vanishing. Their empire had been the apex of society, a utopia where all species came together as one, united under a shared, optimistic view of the future and their technology had been the foundation upon which the galaxy as they knew it was build. They were everything the asari strived for and the reason they'd taken the burden of galactic leadership upon their long lived shoulders…

Except they weren't.

Ever since waking Javik, Liara's view had been shattered and the general's cautious words about how the protheans weren't what the asari hoped them to be kept echoing through her head.

The protheans hadn't been benevolent, enlightened leaders working together towards a utopian future.

They had been xenophobic, imperialist conquerors fueled by their ambition for galactic dominance at any cost.

A part of her was desperate to cling on to the notion that Javik was simply a product of his time, that the protheans before the war hadn't been … like him… but with every time she spoke to Javik in the hopes of unraveling the beacon's mysteries, that part was having a harder time holding on.

'Your people are a disappointment, asari. You were supposed to dominate this cycle and enact our revenge. But instead of obeying your purpose and leading this cycle to victory, you chose to be diplomatic, weak. Had we anticipated the course your species would take, we would've picked the primitives that built this installation instead. At least they understand the value of strength,' those had been some of the first words Javik had set to her personally, outside of the countless of times where he had admitted that the Crucible had been nothing but a rumor in his time – a supposed superweapon that would turn the tide of war that he personally had dismissed as a rumor to maintain morale in an increasingly lost war.

The war.

That was another part that stood out to Liara.

According to Javik, the protheans had fought the Reapers for six centuries.

Six hundred years of fighting.

Would their cycle offer even a hint of that level of resistance?

The turians might have a decade or so in them but her people certainly wouldn't last that long, that much Liara was certain of. They were too fractured, too complacent, too… unused to hardship.

Suddenly and seemingly out of nowhere, a human hand was waved through her field of view, obstructing the terminal she'd been staring holes in for the last hour. "- calling Liara T'Soni. You there, Doc?"

The archeologist looked up to see the face of Kaidan Alenko. He'd come by rarer since their return from Eden Prime, mostly because his Spectre-mentor Jondum Bau was also currently housed in the turian SLD base and the two of them were once again back to what they'd been doing before running into Blackwatch, something she was only aware of thanks to the mindmelds they'd shared.

Truth be told, Liara still had a hard time wrapping her head around the fact that the human biotic lieutenant she'd met two years ago while serving on the Normandy alongside Commander Shepard was now (unofficially) a Spectre too.

"Yes, yes, I'm here," she replied quickly, realizing that Kaidan was looking at her in anticipation of an answer to a question she hadn't heard. "Sorry, you were saying…?"

Kaiden offered a sympathetic smile.

"I was asking you if you wanted to grab a bite. You were in here when I passed by this morning and now the turians are about to turn the lights off and you're still in here," the human Spectre offered. "I know you've heard this plenty already, but you're not going to do anyone any favors if you work yourself to death over this."

Liara briefly looked at the human and then back at her terminal. Normally she would agree but given what the probes had found in dark space…

"We're running out of time. You've seen the data. You know what's coming for the Viper Nebula."

"If General Arterius says that we've got a solution, then I'm inclined to believe him," he replied. "I'll be the first to admit that I haven't always seen eye to eye with the guy but he hasn't led us wrong yet, has he?"

"I guess not."

"So we might as well give him the benefit of doubt, eh?"

"I suppose."

"So dinner it is, then."

Liara frowned.

"I really have to finish this, Kaiden."

The Spectre sighed and then sat down on the empty chair next to her.

"Fair enough. What's keeping you awake this time?"

"The same thing that's been keeping me up since the meld with Emily," Liara admitted, too tired to care about the implied intimacy of using the commander's first name. Then she gestured at the notes spread out in front of her in the form of various holograms and actual on-paper scribblings. Due to the traditional education of her mother, Liara was part of the minority of asari who could (and did) still write with their hands instead of tablets. It was a skill most of her people hadn't cared for in the last three millennia. After all, why bother with hand-written texts when everything was digital anyway. "Given what Javik's said, we know that the Crucible is probably some kind of theoretical anti-reaper-superweapon and from that context, I can guess that the Catalyst, if it's related to the Crucible at all, is probably required to use the Crucible," the asari explained. "What I don't understand is what the beacon was trying to tell you when it talked about a kaleidoscope. What's does a child's toy have to do with a super-weapon?"

Kaiden frowned for a second and then put his hands in front of his mouth.

"You ever consider that maybe it's a mistranslation?"

"What do you mean?"

"The beacon used words that I know to describe what it was trying to tell me, right? That's what you said, isn't it?" Liara nodded, that was her understanding of how a prothean beacon worked. Javik sadly had limited knowledge of the subject. "So what's to say that maybe kaleidoscope is just the closest word the beacon could find in my head to describe what we should be looking for?" Kaiden offered. "I mean I read a lot of extranet articles but I'm not exactly well-versed with all that… science vocabulary…"

"Don't sell yourself so short, you're very well-read. I've been in there, remember?" Liara offered before tapping her own head. "Either way, yes… I've thought about that. A lot actually. As a matter of fact, I've spent weeks trying to see if there's any piece of prothean tech that we know about that functions in a similar way to a kaleidoscope."

"… and?"

"Nothing. We've catalogued thousands of pieces of prothean artifacts over the years … but nothing even remotely resembles a kaleidoscope in form or function."

"Great."

"Not exactly, no."

"I was being sarcastic."

"Ah… of course. Then yes… great."

After the brief exchange, both faded of into silence with the human watching the asari work. For a few minutes, Liara said nothing. But when she remembered why Kaiden had come here to begin with, she spoke up. "Weren't you going to get something to eat?"

"Not unless you take a break and tag along."

The blue asari looked up from her terminal.

"That's blackmail, Kaiden."

"I consider it enhanced negotiation tactics. I mean it's still your choice isn't it, sit here and keep working knowing full and well that I'm starving… or indulge me and take thirty to take care of yourself."

Liara frowned and listened to the grumbling in her own stomach.

"Twenty."

"I'll take it."

---

12. May 2417 AD, Mirage of Halegeuse

Miranda and the rest of the task force had been on the salarian stealth cruiser for little more than a month now. In that time, the Cerberus operative had gotten quite good at figuring out the internal rhythm of the ship and its salarian crew. Salarians slept far less than humans, only two to three hours on average. But they also went to bed later, so there was still an overlap of sleeping times. The early morning hours, around 04:30 and 05:00 ship time, were when the vessel was the least crowded and most silent, or in short: the perfect time for Miranda to have some time for herself.

She wasn't a people's person.

Never had been, never would be.

She blamed her father for that. Her upbringing had been solitary. No one at the residence outside of the caretakers, no social contacts that didn't absolutely have to be, no friends… and to top it all of, no one to confide in. If you grew up like that, chances were that you didn't want to have people around you.

Her system to avoid people had worked reliably for the last month. She hadn't run into a soul aboard the ship during its early hours, so imagine Miranda's surprise when she opened the cantina door only to find the lights on and one of Phantom Team's members sitting at one of the large tables, a field-stripped anti-material rifle in front of him.

The soldier was Staff Sergeant Jordan Miller, who'd recently put a gun to the back of her head after her failed attempt at stopping his team leader from de-orbiting the derelict reaper.

The bearded, brown-haired man looked up from what he was doing for a second, probably as confused as Miranda that someone was up at this time, and then focused back on the disassembled weapon in front of him.

Why he was doing all of this in the cantina of all places?

Miranda had no idea, but she suspected that the small tables in the salarian's armory were part of the reason. Union handguns were relatively tiny, which became problematic when you wanted to take apart some of the larger weaponry that the ASOC team had brought with them. So the man was probably just being pragmatic in his usage of space.

… or he was actively doing this to piss of the salarians. Given the views he had displayed since their first meeting, that possibility wasn't all that unlikely either. While human xenophobes mostly hated batarians, krogan and vorcha for their role in the merc-intervention, salarians and asari, who'd made up a large part of Eclipse and also happened to have aided Councilor Tevos in her attempts to subvert human-turian relations, weren't popular either. Especially not with the Hardline brand of xenophobes which the soldier could definitely be labeled as.

Staff Sergeant Miller was an interesting case, in Miranda's mind at least. And for more than one reason too.

He'd been reassigned to Phantom Team just prior to the Blitz, alongside Staff Sergeant Mavuto Oluwaseun Arendse. Both the teams had lost half of their soldiers, so ASOC had been pragmatic and simply fused them together under Haugen's callsign.

Despite not having been a part of Haugen's squad for that long, it had been Miller who'd worked alongside Haugen as part of a sniper team for the second invasion of Mindoir – an event that Haugen himself had called formative for the person he was today and that Miranda figured had left as much of an impact on Miller as it did on the captain.

From his file, Miranda recalled that Miller was Terra Novan and had been born thirty-three years ago. He had a large family, five sisters to be precise, and much like the rest of Phantom, he'd been an academy graduate fast tracked towards ASOC. Like most ASOC fast-tracks, he'd been part of the top-percentile of his school, the desired product of a well-designed assembly line that used the disguise of a school program to churn out the martially-indoctrinated elite of humanity's military.

True to his nurture, Miller had turned out to be a splendid soldier capable of following orders to a letter and willing to display immense bravery whenever required to. The staff sergeant had seen intense combat; slaver interdiction in the Verge, the Skyllian Blitz, the post-Blitz clean-up, the Battle of Torfan, hunting Balak… Vermire… he'd been with Haugen every step of the way and on that path he'd been awarded a Maroon Ribbon and three Combat Injury Ribbons.

The Maroon Ribbon he'd received early on, during the same mission that had seen the number one and two of his and Ardense's squad killed. According to the after-action report, Miller had charged and eliminated a slaver machine gun emplacement by himself to clear the way for the extraction of his injured teammates. While it hadn't made a difference in their survival, his actions had still been recognized. Though given his strong dislike for them, Miranda couldn't help but wonder if maybe those batarians had been willing to surrender anyway and he'd just mowed them down anyway…

Moving on from his military honors, Miranda took a second to consider the man's career path.

Since he wasn't already an officer, chances were that he wasn't going to become one either. Once you were past the age of thirty, the armed forces had usually decided on what kind of career you were going to stay in.

His file had indicated that Miller was a reliable cog in the machine, one of several hundred million servicemen who did their job well enough so that standouts like Captain Haugen or Commander Shepard could be produced and from what Miranda had seen up to now, she'd agree.

Sure, there'd been the incident on Jasintho where he may or may not have shot several batarian civilians who'd been in the process of getting torn apart by varren and huskified batarians. In the wake of the mission, Doctor T'Soni had filed a formal complaint with her, accusing the soldier of war crimes while throwing around rules and regulations Miranda suspected she'd learned on the Normandy.

After hearing the doctor out, she had dismissed the charges, partially because back then she'd believed that it would somehow give her power over Captain Haugen and partially because well… like the soldier had insisted, they'd been dead anyway. You didn't walk away from a varren attack unless you were wearing body armor or happened to be krogan.

While his file had also indicated that Miller had a problem with batarians (like many veterans of the Blitz) this incident had made Miranda wonder if maybe the soldier wasn't just prejudiced against batarians but maybe all types of non-humans. While there hadn't been any incidents with the rest of the recon unit until their demise, Miranda knew that human xenophobes had a weird exclusion rule when it came to the turians. For a reason that wasn't apparent from their set of believes, which lacked logic to begin with, the plated aliens were fine. Everyone else just wasn't…

She knew for a fact that Miller subscribed to the Hardline ideology. His taste in music and the tattoos on his arms made that abundantly clear. The diving eagle and the abbreviation 'NMLB' that were sticking out below the rolled-up sleeve of his army uniform were a dead give-away…which brought he rback to her earlier line of thought of him doing this just to piss of the salarians

"Something on my face?" the man suddenly asked while glancing through the barrel of the precision rifle he'd been cleaning, making Miranda realise that she'd maintained eye contact a little too long.

The Cerberus operative shook her head.

"No, no. I'm just surprised to find someone here this early in the morning doing," she gestured at the weapon, "that," she said before going on to do what she'd come her to do, eat in peace.

Miller placed the barrel back on the table and shrugged.

"Couldn't sleep and the gear needs constant maintenance anyway," it was more of an answer than she'd expected considering the last thing he'd said to her had been a thinly veiled threat about how she should get moving, unless she wanted to get caught in the explosion of the Messina. Despite feeling like he should know that he owed her for her preventing him from becoming the focus of an investigation, she knew for a fact that the man didn't trust her, probably even less so than Haugen trusted her.

While she couldn't claim to know a lot about Miller outside of what his file revealed, she knew enough to know that he was one of the soldiers who put his martial brotherhood over virtually everything in his life.

Hence, her betrayal of his captain had sealed the chance of him ever finding common ground with her. He'd fall in line with her orders if Haugen did… but beyond that there was little to nothing that she could expect from him. The same could be said for Arendse and Hofmann, although she was somewhat more optimistic about the latter than she was about Miller's battle buddy. They seemed to share their passion for the Hardline.

"What's your excuse?" the brown-haired soldier suddenly asked, prompting Miranda to look up from her breakfast; salarian protein sludge, most likely made up from crushed bugs… best not to think about it. The soldier's attempts at small talk surprised the Cerberus operative at first. Like mentioned, he didn't seem like the type. Then again, most ASOC and NSOC operatives were deeply social creatures, at least in her experience. So maybe it was just Miller's nature and his own curiosity that was overwriting his dislike of her.

"I'm always up this early."

"Right. Of course you are," the soldier stated, somewhat snarky, before inspecting the scope of the weapon. He looked through it, squinted and then, after seemingly being satisfied with what he'd found started to reassemble the weapon at an admittingly impressive speed. She probably shouldn't have been surprised that the man possessed this talent, considering that he was twelve-year ASOC veteran… but somehow what she knew about him, namely his tendency to get into trouble with alien allies, overwrote what she should be able to assume about him, among others, his level of competence. After he'd finished assembling the weapon, he packed it in its protective casing and walked by her, "If it's something about Blue Solstice that's keeping you up, I suggest you talk to the captain about it. This ain't the op where we can afford another lone-wolf fuck-up on your part," there it was. The remark she'd been waiting.

Miranda looked up from her food.

Something was bothering her, yes.

But it wasn't Blue Solstice.

"It's not Blue Solstice," she said plainly.

"Alright," he replied, clearly not interested in anything else related to her.

With that Miller left and after she was sure that he was gone for real, Miranda opened her omni and finished reading the headline that had caught her eye when she'd gotten up half an hour ago.

'Popular entrepreneur Henry Lawson announces his ambition for independent candidacy in upcoming election! Is he counting on support from fringe elements of SAF and the Hardline wing? Find out here!'

… what in the damn hell was her father planning this time?

Politics weren't his forte. Yes, he liked to play pretend and indulge in the fantasy that he was building a royal-like dynasty that would last through the ages. The direct product of that craziness was after all her very existence…

But an actual candidacy?

That required a level of idealism that she didn't see in her father.

Henry Lawson only cared about three things in his life: appearances, legacy and wealth… and he already had all of that… so why bother putting himself in a position where the entirety of the HSA would take a very close look at him; a look that would threaten the cardboard house he'd built over the years…

After scrolling down the article a little, Miranda found a clip where her father was posing in front of a crowd of Hardliners, throwing their weird bird hand gesture at them and relishing in their standing ovations.

"Fucking poser, that Lawson guy," an amused sounding voice from behind Miranda suddenly stated. She glanced over her shoulder and was startled to find Miller standing there… a dirty rag in his hand. "Forgot something," he said, holding the rag up with a slight smirk… Had he done that on purpose? "The family resemblance's there, though," he added with a shrug. Yes. He had done it on purpose..."He's your old man, ain't he?"

For a second, Miranda wasn't sure if she should just outright deny it. Lawson wasn't that common of a name, but there were over forty-five billion humans alive today so there would be a good probability that they were in fact not related, so there'd be credibility in her lie.

However instead of lying…

"From a technical perspective, yes," she admitted, unsure why she did so. "We haven't spoken in years, though," she added.

"Figured that much out already with the way you were just staring daggers at him. No offense, but that just screamed father-issues," Miller replied before stuffing the rag into the pouch of his BDU pants. "So. What's his deal?"

"Excuse me?"

"What's his deal," Miller repeated before gesturing at the article, "what's an arcadian businessman want with the Hardline and chancellorship?"

Miranda closed the article and turned around to face the man sitting on the table behind her.

"Given your interest in the subject, I would assume you've already watched the clips?"

Miller nodded.

"Yeah. And like I said… he's a fucking poser. Thinks throwing a phrase here and doing an aquila there is going to make him popular with the roots…" the man looked at her with his blue eyes. "Don't get me wrong, I can see where he gets the idea from…but nothing he says actually explains what he really wants and why."

"Trust me, I know just as much as you do… my father … he's not exactly the type I would've expected to go into politics. He doesn't stand to gain anything from it."

"Other than power."

"Which he already has anyway since he's filthy rich," Miranda observed.

"Mhm," Miller murmured before leaning forward on his knees and scratching his beard. "No offense, but your dad seems like the sorta guy who's never gonna have enough. Yeah, he might be super fucking rich and he might be powerful… but he could always have more, you know? And when's a narcissist ever not wanted more?"

"That's … rather accurate," the Cerberus operative admitted, somewhat surprised by his rather accurate assessment of her father's psychology. After once more bringing to mind the fact that Miller wasn't just a dumb, aggressive weapon to wielded at her discretion but rather someone who'd excelled so much at what he did that he'd become one of the HSA's most intensively trained military assets – something only a few thousand out of forty five billion could claim, she squinted at the younger man and made an observation. "Truth be told, I'm surprised to see you disapprove."

"Hmm?" the younger spec-ops soldier murmured.

"Everything you've said up to now would've led me to believe that you'd support someone like him. A Hardline-aligned candidate seemed liked the sort of thing you'd want," the older woman stated before nudging her head at the tattoos visible on his forearms.

"Ah…that…" Miller said before looking at his arm and turning it so that he could read the lettering. While doing so, Miranda noticed a woven bracelet he was wearing. Interesting choice of fashion. "Yeah. I get where you're coming from… but your dad isn't exactly what I'd think off when I picture my ideal candidate."

"Why not?" Miranda wondered.

"Because he's a spoiled arcadian rich-kid who's never kicked dirt in his life?" the man blurted out. Somehow that assessment of her father made Miranda chuckle, but only for a second or so. "Again, no offense," he started.

"You really don't have to say that when talking about my father. Nothing negative you say could be taken as an offense from where I'm sitting," Miranda assured the soldier.

"That bad, huh?" Miller figured.

"Did I mention that I ran away from home as a child and that he sent bounty hunters after me?"

"You did not. But that explains … some things at the very least," the man rubbed the back of his head and looked around the empty cantina for a couple of moments. "Not getting along with your family's rough… but having them actively chase you? Shit… I mean I love my old man and it'd never happen anyway… but if one of my sisters ran away from him and he sent someone after her, chances are I'd go to jail for patricide."

"Well, luckily for Lawson-Senior, I don't have any older siblings willing to kill on my behalf," Miranda said, realizing her slip-up only when her current conversation partner's attention to detail made itself known.

"Older? So you got siblings?"

Miranda avoided biting her lip and considered omitting Oriana… but she'd already talked herself in a corner just now.

"A younger sister. She's … not with him," the operative stated before thinking of a way to redirect this trainwreck of a conversation before it moved past a subject she was comfortable with, i.e. discrediting her father, to a subject she was not comfortable with, namely Oriana. "Your sisters, they're all younger than you?"

"Yup. Oldest one's twenty-five, youngest one's twelve," Miller stated. "Parents started early with me… teenage accident," she'd been about to ask about the age difference between him and the next eldest child but since he probably got that question every time, the soldier had been one step ahead of her.

"Growing up with that many sisters has got to be… interesting," Miranda observed.

"… you could say that. I had to do a lotta weird braids over the years... and there were hair ties everywhere," the man mumbled before pointing at the floor with both of his hands. "Like… seriously fucking everywhere," he repeated before cracking a smile. "Still wouldn't trade it for anything, though," Miller replied. "Having a family like that gives you something worth fighting for, you know?" she did not. After his statement, Miller started inspecting the woven bracelet on his right wrist right (made by his family she'd presume) until his watch buzzed 05:00 and he got up from the table he'd been sitting on. "Well… nice chat and all… but duty calls. I still got two LMGs to get through before the morning session with the captain and by the looks of it, your protein paste is getting a bit… alive…" Miranda glanced at the bubbling food on her table and grimaced.

"By all means, don't let me keep you," she retorted as the soldier grabbed the case of the long rifle and offered her a brief smile.

"Enjoy your meal," he offered with a wave of his hand.

"I'll… try," Miranda replied before watching him leave.

… that certainly hadn't gone the way she expected.

Much to her own disappointment, the first though Miranda had was that maybe her control over the man was still salvageable after all. She was a little ashamed of her mind going to that place immediately, because this had definitely been the most pleasant conversations she'd had with a Phantom member, a spot previously held by the brief chat with Captain Haugen on Unification Day.

But much like her father, she couldn't shake who she was… at least not entirely.

After overcoming her instincts and forcing herself to not think about Oriana, Miranda forced herself to ignore the subconscious voice that was telling her that she was nearly as cold-hearted and manipulative as her father.

Then she plunged her spoon into the paste and started her breakfast.

Just another day.

---

13. May 2417 AD, HSASV Normandy

Following the incident during shore leave, the Normandy had spent the last week in the HSA's dock and much like Harper had suggested, Shepard had told the crew to take care of any unfinished business they might have. Most had taken a trip to their respective embassies after, sorting out their wills. Others had taken the suggestions as an invitation to let loose one final time. Some had done neither. She'd approached those few. Thane, Samara, Lieutenant Callius, Garrus… they'd all told her the same thing: their affairs were settled a long time ago.

In between handling the Normandy's daily routines and getting the ship ready for the trip through the relay, Emily herself had taken her own (and Harper's) advice and tidied up her life, something made infinitively easier by fact that she'd spent the last two years listed as MIA, presumed dead.

First she'd looked over her own will and realized that this was still up-to-date. Everything she personally owned would go to her mother and since she didn't really own that much to begin with (even the clothes she was wearing right now were government-property), that particular affair had been settled quickly.

After checking over her will, which covered all of three pages (one and a half of which was the legally required about her naming the notary as her legal representative), Shepard had called her mother and told her that she was about to do something dangerous and unpredictable, that was ultimately necessary and unavoidable and that she wanted her mother to know that she loved her, in case something went terribly wrong. In response to that statement, the older Shepard had simply replied that she already knew that and asked if it was more dangerous and unpredictable than any of the things she'd done since the Blitz.

After an honest moment of self-reflection, Emily had to shrug and admit that it really wasn't. In between running into a tunnel filled with a hostile armor formation, getting caught up in the events of Saren Arterius' crusade, exposing her literal mind to the will of several ancient, enigmatic and malevolent beings, driving an IFV through an experimental mass relay, being buried alive by pieces of a Reaper, nearly dying in the SR-1's destruction and literally every op she'd been on since being brought back by Lazarus… putting her faith in the ability of human engineering and facing whatever appeared on the other side had suddenly seemed rather sane.

Or at least she'd told herself that much.

Her mother had mostly just listened to her ramblings, now that she thought about it and the conversation had ended on a rather simple note. After she was done with her mission, she was supposed to call immediately and tell her what little she could tell her. Those had been acceptable terms in Emily's mind and as such she'd agreed and ended the conversation before it went … somewhere darker.

Following the conversation with her mother, the N7 had gone on to check on the inventory of the vessel. With Nagato dead, tasks he'd previously taken care of had fallen back on Shepard and Callius. Truth be told, she'd halfway expected there to be sabotage when starting out. Surely someone who was trying to kill her didn't have that much of an interest in making sure the Normandy was well stocked for its upcoming mission.

Much to her surprise, that wasn't the case.

Nagato, maybe out of a twisted sense of duty or maybe simply to avoid supiscion, had made sure that the frigate had everything it needed for a combat op. They were stocked. Medical supplies, ammunition, provisions, everything was in working order.

Adding to Nagato's preparations, the HSA had already sent them a new medical officer, a rapid transfer from one of the cruisers docked at the Citadel. Lieutenant Commander… something.

Shepard frowned. She'd forgotten and truth be told, with the Omega-Four transit coming up, she hadn't found the time to chat the woman up either.

Speaking of the transit.

With Nagato's sabotaging influence removed, the Cerberus technicians had finally managed to install the IFF. The last tests were being run right now and if all went well… they could be on their way in a couple of hours. She'd already told Harper, who'd simply instructed her to call again when they were at the relay… he'd seemed in a rush, less empathetic than last time too… but then again that had been the exception anyway, not the rule.

After dealing with the logistics of the ship, Shepard had found herself in a rather a-typical situation. There'd been nothing else to do.

She didn't like that.

It offered her time to think, mostly about the situation brewing in the Viper Nebula but also about how a success in batarian space would only delay the inevitable by a couple of months…

If they survived the Omega-Four recon-mission, they'd see the Reapers bear down on the galaxy before the year was over.

… that was a lot to take in.

Hence she was rather glad when her terminal informed her that someone wished to speak to her on a secure Spectre line.

Not HSA officials, not Cerberus, not C-SEC… another Spectre.

Needless to say, her curiosity was peaked.

After taking the call, she found herself looking at the salarian who'd accompanied Kaiden. Jondum Bau. The alien blinked after recognizing her and offered a smile, something salarians in her experience rarely did. It was probably good that he did so because from his relation to Kaiden alone, the only reasonable explanation she could come up with why he'd call was because something had happened to her former teammate. Since he was smiling, it probably hadn't.

Well that or the salarian Spectre was a sociopath…

"Shepard," he greeted quickly. "Free to talk?"

"Bau," she replied. "I wouldn't have picked up if I wasn't."

"Good," Bau nodded. "Will keep this brief. SLD informed me you are about to embark on mission past Omega-Four Relay, yes?"

"We are."

"I've looked into the Collectors since we last met," he had? "Believe I've reached likely conclusion that should be brought up to you prior to transit. Concerns abductions and possible motive."

"I'm listening."

The salarian exhaled.

"Aware that Reapers are partially organic vessels? Essentially blend of organic and cybernetic components encased in starship hull?"

"I can't say that I know what exactly that means or how it works for them, but yes, people have told me that," she really didn't see how there'd been anything organic in Sovereign but then again, she wasn't a scientist.

"Recall conversation with Sovereign?" Bau asked.

"It's not exactly easy to forget," she admitted. Back when she'd still had dreams prior to Lazarus, she'd dreamt about that every other night.

"Recall segment about harvest?" Bau went on.

"I do," Shepard confirmed again, wondering why the salarian was asking this many questions when he'd just said he'd keep it brief. She wouldn't say that out loud though, that'd just be impolite. "It's what they said they were doing to each cycle."

"Exactly," Bau nodded eagerly. "Part of task force charged with studying the ideology of the Reapers believed it to be a quasi-religious term employed to describe genocidal war. Subscribed to the idea long as well," the grey alien went on.

"Past tense?" she observed.

"Yes. Have looked at data and considered evidence in front of us. Now believe it to be actual description of Reaper actions and part of their creation process," Bau closed his eyes and exhaled. "Shepard, I believe Collectors are abducting large numbers of human colonists with intended goal of constructing new Reaper to fulfill Sovereign's role. Second vanguard."

The commander narrowed her eyes. She was skeptical… but she also had to admit that it'd make sense in a twisted way.

"What makes you say that?"

"Reapers don't act out of sheer malice. All of their actions have clear objective. Number of abducted individuals too large for selective experimentation. Method of live-capture not viable if pre-harvest genocide is intended purpose. Live-capture also not necessary if huskification is desired aim," the salarian started.

"Nutritional needs for Collectors also unlikely. Collectors essentially organic machines. No digestive tracts, no orifices, are… charged in pods within their vessels… Collector nature also eliminates slave-labor as motive. Collectors and husks much more effective than living slaves. Living slaves require shelter, nutrition, enforcement… Collectors and husks neither…" Bau continued.

"Have considered de-moralization campaign or distractive operation as well… but again, if the case, why bother with live-capture and risky planetary incursions? Orbital bombardment or biological warfare as observed with Omega plague much more viable… Omega plague, other point in favor of theory... Why attempt to wipe out all species inside of closest population hub to Collector home other than humans if humans don't serve other purpose? After considering all evidence laid out in only logical conclusion left, living captives needed by Reaper for creation of another Reaper."

When he was done with his rapid-fire speech, with which Shepard had trouble keeping up with to be honest, the commander frowned.

What (she thought) he was saying made sense. Except for one point…

"Why do you think they are making a Reaper out of us?"

Bau blinked again.

"Because Sovereign referred to itself as 'the Nazara', not Nazara," the salarian stated plainly. "Crucial difference. Nazara is vessel name like Destiny Ascension… the Nazara however is name applied to a group… like the salarians or…"

"… the humans," Shepard realized, suddenly finding herself convinced.. Goddamn… talk about attention to detail.

"Precisely," Bau nodded before glancing over his shoulder. "Still possible that personal conclusion is false… but certain enough of findings that I had to inform you… good luck, Shepard," and just like that he hung up without giving her a chance to ask questions or to say thank you or goodbye.

… so they were making a Reaper.

This was getting more complicated than a recon run, wasn't it?

She'd need talk to Harper…

---

Meanwhile, 2158 CE, HSASV Normandy, Maingun

"So how is she?"

"Not good. But not worse either. Last round of treatments didn't go so well…"

"Damn it."

"There's a center on Eden Prime that we want to try. Corpalis is similar to something that humans can get too… they've cured their version of it... and the treatment seems to work on about half of all turian patients…"

"Do you need money, Solana? I still got credits lying around from the last job."

"It's covered, actually."

"It is?"

"Eden Prime's got a lot of turians living on it… and humans don't charge residents or Hierarchy personal rotating in and out for healthcare."

"But mom isn't in the service," Garrus stated while looking up from his terminal.

"But dad is. He's not stationed on Eden Prime and he's in the admin branch, but it still counts."

"That's… surprisingly good news."

"Yes… but it's still Corpalis, Garrus. I don't want you to get your hopes up," his sister muttered. "Where are you calling from anyway?"

"Citadel," he lied quickly.

"Through a ship's comm-id?"

"… I can't talk about it, Solana."

"… alright… where you going then?"

"… also can't talk about that, Solana."

"Well, what can you talk about then?"

"How's dad?"

"… got recalled to Cipritine. Emergency meeting… I'm getting my orders soon too. Since you can't talk about where you are or what you're doing, I'm just going to guess that unlike me, you know what's got the Primarchs so spooked."

Garrus didn't answer.

"Where are they sending you?"

"I'm staying on Palaven. Someone needs to take care of mom."

"Combat posting?"

"Comms."

"Where?"

"Here on Palaven. Cipritine."

'Prime Reaper-target', he thought. "That's a good posting. Sounds safe," he straight up lied, again.

"It's close to mom and home. That's all that matters," his younger sister responded. "Garrus, you didn't just call me in the middle of the night to catch up. What's going on?"

The turian was silent for a moment.

"I'm going on a trip soon. Might be away from the relays for some time."

"And this wouldn't have anything to do with why you can't tell me where you are and where you're going?"

"You know I can't answer that."

"… of course," there was a pause. "How bad?"

"Solana."

"More dangerous than what you did with Shepard two years ago?"

"… different."

"I see…"

"Solana, I sent something over family's secure line. If you don't hear from me in two weeks…"

"Spirits Garrus… what are you doing this time?"

The turian once again looked up from his calibrations.

"Something that's in equal parts irresponsible and necessary."

His sister audibly sighed.

"We could really use you here on Palaven, you know?"

"… I do. Listen, Solana. I'm sorry but-"

"Just make sure you come back, alright?"

"I will. Give mom my greetings. Don't tell her, though."

"And dad?"

Garrus paused.

"… all I want to say to him is on the files I sent."

"Garrus… you're going to have to work things out eventually."

"You know it's not that simple, Solana."

"It could be…" his sister paused. "Take care of yourself."

"I will."

"And call me when you get back."

"The second I've got a buoy, you're my first dial."

---

Meanwhile, 13. May 2417 AD, HSASV Normandy, Machine Deck

"Alright, alright, next one," Nader stated before pouring her and Leng another glass. "If you weren't doing this, what would you be doing?"

The N7 sitting opposite to the biotic lieutenant downed his shot and grimaced as it burned on the way down.

"Like for a job?" the Asian man responded before painfully exhaling. "God damn where did you get this shit?" he wondered after trying to ignore the fiery sensation in his throat.

"Ran into a buddy from BAR at the docks. Asked if he'd share his stash and that's what he gave me," the brunette lieutenant explained while Leng coughed.

"They brew that crap in the reactor or what?"

"Damned if I know. And yeah. For a job. Say you aren't a marine. What do you do? Where are you right now?"

"Considering I didn't even finish high school… probably crimes and in prison?" Leng retorted before setting down the glass. They'd been sitting down here for about an hour now. Nader had approached him in the armory and asked if he was doing anything prior to them field-testing the Normandy's IFF. Leng had answered no, his affairs were settled a long time ago and this wasn't his first suicide mission either. In response the younger biotic had produced a bottle of what the N7 could only describe as Satan's personal brew and pointed out that the Normandy's machine deck was devoid of people.

It hadn't been the most subtle offer but with their possible disintegration-induced death looming on the Horizon, he wasn't going to turn down a good time.

"You didn't finish school?" Nader raised an eyebrow.

"Nope."

"How'd that happen?"

"Remember how I said I got into a knife fight with a krogan?"

"Yeah. I think it was about eight rounds in but yeah."

"I had issues growing up. Loads of 'em. Got into a lotta fights because of 'em," the man said, noticing his slight slur. "Long story short, I started one fight too many and I got kicked out of school… and since I obviously don't learn from my mistakes, I got myself a fake-id the very same day and knocked on the recruiter's office the morning after instead of you know… actually figuring out why I was being an asshole all the time."

"And they didn't figure it out?"

"Nope but it wouldn't've mattered anyway. By the time bootcamp started I was 17, so it counted when I took the oath," Leng gestured for the bottle and the biotic handed it to him. He poured them both another. "Hell maybe they did figure it out but didn't give a shit either way. This was just after the first attack Mindoir… they needed soldiers. And I was young, eager and down for a fight."

"Perfect marine material."

"Exactly."

"Alright…" Nader shrugged, "but say you had a choice… what else would you be doing?" she really didn't want to let go of that topic, did she?

"Honestly?" he asked and she nodded. "Fucking nothing. I wouldn't want to do anything else," he admitted. "The Corps whipped me into shape and being an N7 has been the best thing that's ever happened to me. I was born for this and you can't convince me of the opposite."

"That sounds… fatalist."

"Big word alert. They teach you Philosophy 101 at Grissom?"

"Among other things."

"What about you then?"

"Hmm?"

"What would you be doing if you weren't here right now?"

"I'm a top-percentile biotic. It's not like I got options."

"They give you a choice though, don't they? Military or not?"

"Yeah."

"So say you picked not. Where would Jennifer Nader be right now?"

"Well if I still pulled through the Grissom curriculum, I'd probably be the boss… of something now."

"You're an LT."

"Yup."

"So you're already the boss of something."

"On paper maybe. I haven't led shit yet," she downed her shot. "Right as I started training, there were rumors that some cadets just disappeared. Rumors were HSAIS took 'em. Maybe that's where I'd have ended up. Most powerful biotic in years… they don't just let someone like me walk away…"

"Whaddya mean took them?" Leng asked while observing the brunette woman.

"No idea. Smelled like super-secret spook shit, though," Nader stated. "One day they were there… and then they just weren't. Poof. Up in smokes right before their last year. They were L1s though, so who knows… maybe their implants just…," Nader made an explosion gesture next to her head with her free hand, "and then they made up some reason why they wasn't there for graduation."

"Oh come on, that doesn't happen."

"Officially," Nader stated before pointing at her neck where Leng could see a faint scar. "Personally, I'm just glad that I've got one that can go out… even if I don't need it."

"That bad?"

"Your teeth rattle every time you get near Eezo and there's always this weird feeling in your spine when you've used your biotics a lot… but you get used to most of it. Showers are always weird though."

"Why?"

"Cuz the implant cools itself when its surroundings get hot so it's… tingly and chilly."

"Sounds neat, actually."

"The first couple of times maybe. Gets annoying after a couple of years though. And you're never really warm either because there's always something trying to cool you down."

"Okay, I get how that could be annoying. But you do get to move shit with your mind in exchange."

"Yeah… that part's pretty useful," Nader stated before gesturing at the bottle.

Leng shook it.

"Empty."

"Darn," the biotic responded before setting down her glass and getting up from the crate she'd been sitting on.

"So game over and we go our separate ways?" Leng figured as he sat the bottle down on the metal floor.

"Depends," Nader retorted before walking up to him.

"On?" the N7 asked.

"Whether you're up for the post-game follow-up," she said with a smirk before dropping into his lap and locking eyes with him. His own switched between her eyes and her lips…

Fuck it.

"I think I got a couple more in me…" he said as his hands started to wander up the biotic's back until they stopped at the back of her neck.

"Oh yeah?" Nader asked while leaning forward.

"…definitely…"

---

One Hour Later, 2158 CE, HSASV Normandy, Engine Room

Ever since coming to the Normandy, Tali had made a lot of strange experiences… but this one was easily taking the top-space.

"Do you require us to repeat ourselves, Creator-Zorah?" the geth, Legion, who'd just walked up behind her, inquired.

"… sorry… what?" she'd understood its question the first time around… but she wasn't quite grasping the surreal situation she was in.

A geth…

… asking for help…

… from a quarian.

Keelah…

"We inquired if you would be willing to lend us assistance with this issue," Legion's damaged eye-socket rotated before looking down at the piece of Blackwatch armor that had replaced its damaged chest.

"I… just so that we're clear… you want me to help you fix your balance."

Legion's remaining two eye-flaps clicked.

"Affirmative."

While they'd both met Shepard around the same time, namely after Haestrom, Legion had joined the crew prior to Tali, as such they weren't exactly close to one another. And then there was of course the matter of the geth having murdered several billion quarians during their war…

They hadn't had a confrontation yet, mostly because Tali stayed clear of Legion whenever she could and also because Tali understood that this particular geth platform was held in high regard by the Normandy's crew. It had put its … functionality … in harm's way twice, after all… So the quarian was willing to give it the benefit of doubt – if only to not strain her relation to the rest of the crew and Shepard, who'd gone out of their way to help her twice already.

"How am I supposed to do that?"

In response to the quarian's question, the geth opened one of its mechanical hands and showed her… a small ball very reminiscent of those that quarian youths played within the confines of the Migrant Fleet.

"With a ball?" she asked, confused.

"After completing six-hundred and thirteen thousand in-depth scans of our platform's performance during the last encounter with the enemy, we've determined that the repairs made by you and Solus-Doctor appear to have off-set our center of gravity by 0.00012 percentiles," Legion explained. "On uneven surfaces, this could impact our long-range combat effectiveness. To determine the nature of the necessary corrections, we require someone to forcefully project a pre-calculated mass at us during several trial runs."

Tali blinked behind her mask.

"You want me to throw you the ball."

Legion's eye-socket rotated.

"Affirmative."

Then it moved its hand forward ever so slightly.

Tali eyed the geth and the empty engine room. Best she could tell, their only witnesses would be EDI. She'd heard Nader and Leng pass by earlier but suspected that they were… occupied differently.

After some deliberations, Tali took the ball from Legion.

"And I just… toss it?"

"Affirmative," Legion said before seemingly nodding.

Tali looked to the left and right of herself and then half-heartedly threw the object at the Project Kaziel prototype, which expectingly caught it with ease. When she made a move towards him to retrieve the ball again, because Legion had after all said that it needed several trial runs, the geth held up his arm.

"Creator-Zorah, it would also be beneficial for our trial run if we could forcefully project a precalculated mass at you."

"So now you want me to catch the ball?"

"Geth design is based on quarian physiology. Quarian physiology is capable of self-balancing without calculations. Observation of the process would give us access to valuable data."

Tali was confused, mostly because she now realized that Legion could definitely look all of this up on the extranet… but since she wanted to continue the 'non-confrontational' approach with the geth – especially when they were all alone – she shrugged.

"… okay," she said before opening her hands. She had expected Legion to throw the ball with perfect precision and perfect force… but much to her surprise, the geth lobbed it in a way that she actually had to move forward to catch it, like a child who'd been handed a poor pass by a playmate. After barely catching it, Tali stared at Legion.

"We require repetition," the geth stated, to which the quarian nodded.

They continued throwing the ball between one another for one or two minutes until Legion managed to send the toy into the middle of her unmoving hand while making it look effortless. Then, after a final throw on her part, his flaps clapped inwards.

"Observations completed," he stated. "We thank you for your contributions, Creator-Zorah."

"Sure thing, Legion," Tali replied before her curiosity gave way to her desire not to cause conflict. "Couldn't you just have looked all of that up?"

Legion's eyesocket spun.

"Due to recording quality, live-observation provides data-input that non-live-observation cannot offer," of course a geth wouldn't talk about 'real' and 'digital'.

"But even so, you should've gotten it after the first time, no?" she added. Part of what made the geth so dangerous was their ability to learn instantly…Legion didn't reply, prompting Tali to push the subject. "Legion… did you just want to play ball with me?"

The geth's eye rotated.

"Our study of organic behavior suggests that joint physical activity can improve unit cohesion and functionality. With our incursion beyond the Omega-Four Relay coming up, we reached the consensus that a maximization of unit cohesion between this platform and Creator-Zorah would be beneficial to the mission," it explained. "We apologize for the deception."

After the geth was done talking, Tali, for a split second, forgot that the Legion's kin had slaughtered several billion quarians, and chuckled. Then the images of the Haestrom came back to her and she stopped to look at the damaged face of the geth.

"Next time just be honest with me. That'd improve unit cohesion too," the comment came off ruder than she'd meant to. But then again, the programs inside Legion had killed billions of her ancestors…

Legion's flap expanded outward.

"Affirmative."

And then it just left, leaving Tali all alone with her thoughts again…

---

Thirty-Five Minutes Later, 2158 CE, HSASV Normandy, Observation Deck

Just like exercise, meditation was an essential part of a justicar's daily schedule. If one wanted to serve as a vessel of the goddess' will, one needed to be steeled in both body and mind.

The average justicar devoted about two hours a day to these meditations.

Unless her internal clock had failed her, Samara had been at it for four.

Given the journey they were about to embark on and the challenges that might be waiting for them, it had seemed appropriate to Samara to extend her usual session.

The crew of companions that the commander had gathered and Shepard herself were capable, yes, but most of them were also rather inexperienced and young – especially by asari standards. As such Samara understood that if the worst came to pass and they ended up in a fight for their lives against the Collector horde, she might be relied upon to protect the crew more than say… Tali-Zorah or the other biotically ungifted and inexperienced members of their band.

The drell assassin, Doctor Solus, Lieutenant Callius and the geth war platform she suspected would be more than capable of pulling their weight. Krios and Solus were old warriors, in the context of their respective life spans at least. With that came a certain wisdom, a unique confidence and a pool of experience that'd be invaluable in combat. Lieutenant Callius meanwhile had probably seen more combat than just about anyone else aboard the vessel and possessed something that was as intangible as it was valuable and rare; a true and honorable warrior spirit. She'd die before she'd fail her comrades, there was no doubt about that.

Finally, Legion was a machine literally created for war. Due to their synthetic nature, the geth possessed abilities no organic could ever hope to come close to mirroring and were inherently superior to most, if not all, individual fighters.

Commander Shepard would be an asset as well, in Samara's mind at least. Even if she lacked biotics, experience or more specialized skills of the others and was essentially just a regular soldier, the young human had already proven that she could do the impossible twice over. She'd beaten Saren Arterius and she'd beaten death. That was something no other living person in the galaxy could claim. Adding to that was the Commander's unique charisma. Her presence alone inspired others to fight harder than they otherwise would, to push beyond their limit. Samara had met plenty of soldiers and leaders over her centuries of life and she'd lie if she said that many of them managed to impact their followers in a way similar to Shepard.

While she continued to focus on her breathing, Samara turned her mind to the rest of the team, the ones that could prove… disadvantageous.

Vakarian. Tali'Zorah. Leng. Nader.

If the wrong circumstances presented themselves, they'd become a liability very quickly.

She wouldn't deny their courage or skills in a particular field. They were all extraordinary individuals in their own right. But even so, she recognized that an absence of special abilities like biotics or a keen understanding and clever usage of tech as it was the case with Vakarian and Leng or the lack of experience, which both Nader and Zorah suffered from, could lead one to a fast grave when faced with an overwhelming number of enemies. While simply shooting at the enemy was a viable tactic when you were fighting alongside dozens of other, likeminded invidiuals, the effectiveness of rifle fire became questionable when faced with overwhelming numbers of unfeeling bio-mechanical terrors. Similarly, the lack of experience in an environment as stressful and unforgiving as war could produce a decision that not only killed the person who'd made it but also those standing beside them.

While Samara realized that she was being overtly critical of her allies' abilities, she wasn't about to deny that there could come a situation where she might not be an asset either.

Justicars were not trained for sustained combat or operating withing a larger theatre.

Whereas Vakarian, Leng, Shepard and Callius had spent years learning how to fight as part of a larger unit within the context of sustained combat and were prepared for such engagements, Samara had perfected the art of short-burst, high-intensity conflict where individual abilities mattered much more than logistics, numbers and fire-support. A similar logic could be applied to Krios and Solus.

So if they somehow ran into a situation where those abilities suddenly became crucial to the success of their mission, Samara would be the liability.

The justicar dwelled on that notion for a moment until she heard the door of the observation deck open.

Most people usually announced themselves or spoke up when the wanted to speak with her.

But Samara heard or sensed nothing…

As in literally nothing. No sound of feet hitting the ground or of clothes brushing against each other, goddess, not even the sensation of air being pushed past her as someone moved through the room.

That could only mean one thing: the person who'd just arrived was deadly quiet and understood that one shouldn't disturb someone else during meditation. That left only one crew member to consider: Thane Krios.

Out of curiosity, she opened her eyes and realized that the drell had already sat down next to her. He'd done this once or twice before, although they usually missed each other with their routines. Since she'd vastly extended her period of meditation today, she was to blame for this… inconvenience.

Samara glanced at the side-profile of the assassin and considered the irony of this situation.

By the order of the code, she was to strike down any murderer she saw on sight.

Thane Krios had killed hundreds, in the name of the Illuminated Primacy first and then out of his own, personal desire for revenge.

If not for the oath she'd taken towards Shepard, the two of them in same room could only end with either one or both of them dead at the hand of each other.

Yet here they were, sitting side by side, peacefully.

The goddess really had a sense of humor sometimes, didn't she?

"I can sense by your breath that my presence has disturbed you," the drell stated suddenly. He really had honed his senses, hadn't he? "Do you wish me to leave, Justicar?"

"It is not my place to demand that of you."

"You were here first."

"But only because I never left the room to begin with. Unless it disturbs you, we may meditate together."

Thane turned to look at her.

"I intended to maintain my blade while viewing the stars, not meditate," he stated before looking to the door. "I apologize for disturbing your meditations. I shall return later-"

"Nonsense," Samara stated. "This is not my domain. You may continue as you please," then she glanced at the weapon laid out in front of Thane. It already looked meticulous. "The sound of a blade being treated has never bothered me anyway," she added after a second of staring at the silver steel.

"Very well," the drell said with a nod before procuring a rolled-up black piece of cloth from his coat. After he'd unfolded it in front of him, Samara saw the usual tools needed to maintain a mono-molecular blade. Justicars also carried bladed weapons. As such her curiosity once more got the better of her.

"Did you make it yourself?"

"Excuse me?"

"The blade. Did you forge it yourself?" Justicars did.

"No," Thane looked at the silver blade and its black hilt for a second. "The craftsmanship is too complicated for a child to learn." he admitted, reminding Samara that Thane hadn't been hundreds of years old when he'd chosen his path. That was a luxury only asari had…

"When did you start your training?"

"Too early," the drell replied vaguely and the asari didn't push. The answer said more than any number ever could. So instead of prying, she simply returned to watching the drell go about his practiced weapon treatment.

She did allow herself one observation though.

"You seem troubled," she pointed out just as he was starting to apply oil to the blade's cutting edge.

"I am."

"Do you wish to talk about it?"

Thane never answered and Samara once again didn't push.

It wasn't her place to and sometimes silence was the best ear one could ask for.

---

Five Hours Later, 2158 CE, HSASV Normandy, Laboratory

Given the time they'd spent waiting for the all-clear to go ahead with the task he'd originally signed up for, the work on Cerberus' project Leukocyte had been a welcome distraction for Mordin. While he hadn't come anywhere close to a breakthrough in regard to Cerberus' dreams of an anti-husk chemical weapon, it had kept his mind occupied – both from the prospect of a violent disintegration and the fact that Shepard had yet to be informed of the fact that Cerberus fully intended to use a weapon he'd created to wipe out the Collectors.

While Harper had naturally assured him that his role in the subject would be kept quiet, Mordin had actually come to like the people he was working with these days. Sure, they weren't anything like the other project leads of the Project Firebreak or his comrades at STG … but they were still companions with whom he had shared experiences. As such there was a certain sting to the notion that he'd gone behind their backs and helped Cerberus as well as them. Yes, they were allies and yes, everything he'd done had been in the interest of the greater good… but the people around him weren't going to focus on that, at least not if he had learned to read them properly.

"Mhmhmhmhm studied species turian asari and batarian mhmhmhmh," he hummed while looking over the numbers in front of him and realizing that he'd once more succeeded at killing absolutely everything within the weapons zone of impact. If he was entirely honest with himself, he didn't know why the self-written tune was something he always came back to or why it helped him focus. It just did. Other salarians chewed hard carapace or played with flat coins while going about their work … he … hummed.

"Doctor Solus, there's a personal call for you," EDI's voice suddenly informed him, prompting him to stop the tinkering on the weapon's details.

"There is?" Mordin asked, perplexed.

"Yes," the ship's AI responded.

"… must be mistaken. Haven't told anyone where I am," he said before continuing with his work. His curiosity got the better of him though. "Said who they were?" he asked, off-mindedly.

"It's from Major Kirrahe, Doctor."

At the mention of the name, Mordin stopped what he was doing and closed his eyes.

What did he want?

There was an audible exhale from the salarian.

"Put him through."

"Yes, Doctor."

There was a second of silence and then the high-pitch tune of his old CO's voice piped up.

"Solus. You can hear me?"

"Yes."

"You've become hard to reach."

"Didn't want to be reached," Mordin paused and looked at his screen. "Calling from… Sur'Kesh?"

"Yes."

"Work?"

"Yes."

Mordin closed his eyes.

"Require help?"

Kirrahe was silent for a moment.

"Yes."

"No longer in the know, Major," he pointed out.

"Not my call," Kirrahe responded. "Yes or no."

Mordin paused for a second. Kirrahe and him had last worked together as part of STG cell Veshok-16. That had been the Project Firebreak days.

The salarian thought about his answer carefully for a few moments.

Kirrahe was a cloaca.

But he was a comrade and he would never reach out unless he had a very good reason to do so.

"Yes. Line not secure for STG purposes, though," he advised. Despite EDI's claims that she would not monitor private calls… this was still an HSA warship with an HSA AI. Every call was monitored and no one was going to convince him otherwise.

"Suspected as much," Kirrahe responded. "Can you step off?"

"No. Needed right now," he stated. "About to embark on mission."

"Ah… call me after?"

"Mission might not make that possible."

"I see. That kind of mission?."

"Yes."

"Call me after, if still able."

"Will do," Mordin stated. "How bad?" Kirrahe was silent for a moment. "Line not secure," he reminded him.

"Might be old, but not that old, Solus," Kirrahe stated. He was in fact younger than Mordin… "How bad you ask?"

"Yes."

Kirrahe paused for another moment, probably trying to come up with a scaling that made sense to Mordin but no one else.

"Worse than Firebreak," Mordin paused his work entirely at the mention of the project's name. His fingers hovered over his terminal for a moment.

"Need any immediate help?" he would figure out a way to, if necessary. Firebreak had been the solution to a problem deemed the most severe threat to the Union in the last four centuries – worse than the geth. If what Kirrahe was calling about was worse than the possibility of a second krogan uprising… the situation was bad, especially considering the fact that the only (non-reaper) threat that STG considered a more severe issue than the krogan was a hypothetical scenario of the turians turning hostile and seeking to enforce their will on the galaxy through the means of conquest instead of cooperation; a scenario STG was quite frank about not being solvable without curing the Genophage and using the krogan as a weapon for a second time around.

"No. Only someone I can trust."

"Will call as soon as possible," he promised.

"Make sure you can," Kirrahe responded. Then the line closed itself.

The mention of Firebreak brough up memories. Good and bad alike.

They also brought Mordin back to Tuchanka… and back to Maelon.

He glanced at a small drive that had just been sitting next to his console for the better part of the last month. It contained the data Maelon had procured through his unethical experiments, the ones that had gotten him killed in the end. He had taken them with him in case the Union ever needed to adapt the Genophage again but he had never actually looked at them, always distracted by something else.

Mordin shut his eyes. If the silence outside was any indication, the working crews were done with installing the IFF, which meant that it wouldn't be more than a couple hours before Shepard gave the order to journey to and through the relay. He'd naturally made sure that the files would reach STG and not get lost alongside the Normandy … but if these were his last hours… he wanted to know just how far Maelon had really gotten. He owned his protégé that much.

With his eyes still closed, Mordin grabbed the drive and connected it to his personal console, the one he'd brought from Omega, not those provided by Cerberus.

The file loaded for a moment and then announced that it was ready to be opened.

Mordin touched the hologram with the tip of his finger and then he started to read how one could go about if they ever got to a point where they wanted to undo his work.

---

Thirty Minutes Later, 2158 CE, HSASV Normandy, Armory

There was a right way and a fast way to sharpen a military talon.

The right way took hours but ensured that the weapon would never lose its edge.

The fast way however was actually feasible to apply in combat and required less tools and less time.

Callius had neither the proper tools not the right amount of time, so the fast way was the only way.

After pulling the blade over the whetstone one final time, Callius spun it in her hand and inspected the pitch-black mexta-style weapon in her hand. The decorative, golden engravings that should've been on the side of the weapon had long since lost their glint thanks to the toll of time and the hilt of the weapon lacked the usual kill marks, mostly because Callius had never seen the point in destroying a part of her gear for the sake of tradition. At the bottom of the hilt, the leather wrapped around the grip was starting to come loose and now that she actually looked at the surface of the blade, the former cabal noticed that the black protective coating covering the metal below was also starting to shear away, revealing matt grey metal.

Callius gave the weapon another spin.

It might slowly fall apart, but it would never lose its meaning.

Nearly thirty-seven years.

That's how long the weapon in her hands had been in her possession and also how long she had been a part of the Blackwatch. Over twice as long as the mandatory service period for turians and fast approaching the forty-five-year service limit at which most turians, even the 'lifers' were asked to retire from active duty, unless of course they happened to hold a rank akin to that of a general, had 'Arterius' for a last name and had managed to earn four Nova Clusters over the course of their career.

The Blackwatch officer sighed, sheathed the blade and placed it in her footlocker with the rest of her prepared gear.

On her way up to the armory, she'd seen that the work on the IFF was done and that Shepard was already talking to the technicians, likely because their departure for the relay was imminent.

She'd been in the military for forty years. Three as a cabal, thirty-seven as a Blackwatch operative. In that time, she'd been on a dozen suicide missions and on hundreds that could've easily turned out to be one. She was mentally prepared for what might happen, had been for most of her life really. Yet this part, the anticipation of the go-sign, never got any easier, no matter how often you waited for it.

If she would've still been with the honorguard, Galviat probably would've made a stupid joke right around this time to which Veltax would've offered some dry reply before she'd half seriously reminded both of them that they were in the presence of a general and should accordingly.

But Galviat, Veltax and Arterius weren't here.

And that was really the major difference to all the other suicide missions before today.

Whenever she'd envisioned the possibility of being killed in the line of duty, it had always been as part of a Blackwatch assignment, alongside the same elite cadre of handpicked comrades who'd stood by her side for the majority of her life and ultimately for the sake of the Hierarchy.

Yet here she was, ready to go down for a human cause alongside a band of mismatched individuals who under normal circumstances and without Shepard's intervention probably never would've seen eye to eye with one another.

It was the polar opposite of how she'd imagined her (possibly) final day and she was honestly surprised her how little that seemed to bother her right now.

"Attention all crew members," the voice of the aforementioned Commander crackled through the intercom and the second it did so, Callius felt a chill through her spine. This was it. "The installation of the IFF is complete and we're now starting our trip to the Omega-Four relay. All posts have just received a detailed briefing as to what their assignments will be once we get there. Every member of the ground team, please meet me in the conference room."

Callius flicked the lid of her footlocker close and turned on her heel.

Finally.

---

Codex: Omega-Four Relay

The Omega-Four Relay, famous for being untraversable for an as of now still unknown reason, is the colloquial name given to the Sahrabarik-Two Relay. Located in the similar named Sahrabarik system, the home of the infamous Omega, it stands as the only example of two mass relays occupying one solar system and the only case of an active, yet unexplored relay connection. Suspected to have been moved into the system by alien interference, i.e. a space faring civilization 'towing' the relay into the system for unknown reasons, the nature and origin of the Omega-Four Relay continues to mystify the galaxy to this day.

First mapped by batarian explorers in 93 CE, the relay quickly grabbed the curiosity of the Hegemony. After their exploration of the Sahrabarik system, the batarian explorers of the similarly named survey vessel Sahrabarik were ordered to traverse the relay. After engaging the transit protocol, they were never heard of again, involuntarily becoming the first of several thousands of ships and countless of probes that have been sent through the relay only to vanish upon the completion of the transfer sequence.

While many theories have been raised about what is causing this, with the most popular ones pointing to either the transit corridor of the Omega-Four Relay accidentally having been aligned into the event horizon of a black hole or the presence of an unrivaled paradise on the far side that none seek to return from, the most widely accepted cause for the Omega-Four anomaly is much simpler.

Proposed in 160 CE by salarian explorers, it is currently believed that the relay suffers from an unknown defect that leads to the ships engaging in transit being caught in a rapidly shifting mass effect field, which rips apart all vessels on a molecular scale and spreads their debris alongside the intended mass-free tunnel between the Sahrabarik system and whatever place near the galactic core the Omega-Four Relay is supposed to be aimed at.

Another, less accepted theory, suggests that the destination of the Omega-Four Relay is home to an unknown, hostile alien species that simply destroys every vessel that makes the transit. These proposed 'Omega Entities' have been the source of much speculation and – if real – could possibly be one of the missing 'Non-Prothean Precursor Societies' (see Codex Entry 'Non-Prothean Precursor Societies'. Alternatively, they might also be one of the observed but officially uncontacted space faring species believed to inhabit parts of the Terminus Systems.

In either case it should be noted that several member states of the Citadel Council have publicly acknowledged that they do not rule out the possibility of there being a hostile alien power on the far side of the Omega-Four Relay, with the Turian Hierarchy going as far as dispatching several probes carrying formal warnings through the relay in an attempt to communicate to this civilization that any incursion beyond the Omega-Four Relay will be met with indiscriminate force.

---

A/N:

And here we are, the last chapter prior to the Suicide Mission.

I missed SV's anniversary by several weeks, as I predicted... yet this still feels like a milestone.

We've been building towards this point for over three years (SV ME2 started in September 2019, I went back and checked.) Truth be told, I never expected to take THIS long to get here, but ultimately I'm glad that (nearly) half the story up to this point has been post-lazerus. It gave me a lot of time to develop the characters and really give them their own voices; some of which you might just have just heard for the last time.

My (current) plan is to try my absolute hardest to get out at least the first chapter of the (probably 2 part suicide mission) out before the year ends. But I can't really promise that so on the real chance that I don't ... I hope you all have pleasent holidays and slide into the new year easily.

2022 has been a weird chapter for SV because I had very little time to actually committ to the story, a trend that will continue in 2023. Even so, now that we are actually at the point where the Normandy is going through the relay, it finally feels like ME3 is around the corner. For those who might not have read all A/Ns, ME3 is the part that I've looked forward to writing the longest and after the suicide mission is finished, there are only two 'minor' events that still have to take place before we hit the grand finale of the trilogy. These events are obviously related to Haugen and the Arrival and Morneau and PGI, no spoilers there I guess. Once those are out of the way, there'll be a timeskip ... and then it's going to be chaos.

So savor this chapter.

It's the last time things are going to be 'normal'.

I'll leave you on that note. Review and let me know what you think.

For the record we're at 905 reviews, 1500 favorites and 1574 follows.

See you around next time.