"Hey, Tra, how are you feeling?"

Trathal opened her eyes a crack, wincing as she did so. There was something large and blue looming over her. With another wince she closed her eyes again. Her first attempt to speak came out as a feeble croak, then she felt the rim of a cup barely touch her lips. With a valiant effort she took a few sips, forcing herself to swallow. The pain in her throat as she did so joined the background of aches and pains that dominated her world at the moment.

"I..." She paused to gather the strength to carry on, then realised that she'd have to give in. With a weak and trembling finger she brushed the pad that lay just beside her hand. Quickly the chorus of pain faded away to a faint and distant murmur. She'd be glad when she could do without the neural suppression field, and just use some normal painkillers, but at the moment the only ones that would work would knock her out, and the doctors didn't want that.

She opened her eyes more fully, and smiled faintly through numb lips. "I should be on my feet in a couple of days."

Orilai shook her head reprovingly. "Tra, I'm not your commanding officer. You don't have to bullshit me."

"... I hurt. Everything hurts." She made a feeble gesture indicating herself. "My skin, my eyes, my joints, my muscles. My antennae. Everything."

"Don't they give you pain control?" Orilai was scowling angrily now.

Trathal nodded wearily. "Yes. But... I don't like using it."

"What? Why not?"

"It makes me feel numb. All of me. I feel as if I'm not really here." She swallowed again. "Can you pass that cup?" Orilai passed her the cup and, when she struggled to grip it in her numb fingers, held it to her lips and helped her drink. "Thanks."

"No problem. That doesn't sound like fun, but it's better than hurting, isn't it?"

Trathal shook her head slightly. "I had a nightmare. Dreamt I was dead. Lying in a grave, rotting, not feeling anything. Then I woke up. Saw my reflection in the monitors, bloated and blotchy. And I still couldn't feel anything..." She choked up for a moment. Orilai leant forward, touched her cheeks. She hadn't even felt the tears. She took a couple of trembling breaths. "I screamed until an orderly came to check on me." She tried to force a smile. "Poor woman thought I was dying."

She fell silent again. Kept her eyes open, looking around. It helped remind her that the nightmare had been only that. She was in a curtained off area of a much bigger space, a cargo hold by the height of the ceiling. Can't still be on the Higgs, must be on DS6. I must ask if I can go back to the Ptolemy. There wasn't much in her little space; her bed, a few bits of medical equipment, a stand with some water on it that could swing across the bed when she needed to eat. There was only just enough room for Orilai, who sat perched on a too small chair beside her.

Beyond the curtains there was a constant quiet sound of conversation, the bustling about of medical orderlies, and what seemed like a steady process of patients being brought in as they came off close care and monitoring, and leaving when they were well enough to go back to their own quarters.

Orilai didn't say anything, but scooted her chair a little closer. Trathal relaxed a little. It was nice just having someone nearby. Then she frowned.

"Um... Chief S'Koil..."

Orilai grinned. "You Federation people are always so formal. You can call me Orilai, you know."

It's not just formality. Trathal didn't want to poke that subject, though. Not when everything else was so painful. "... all right. I just wondered, why weren't you injured too? The doctor said I suffered spatial distortion injury from an unprotected core ejection. My memory's fuzzy but... we were together when the core ejected, weren't we?"

"Oh. Right." Orilai looked a little shamefaced. "I was injured, but my suit pumped me full of medi-gel. I'm pretty sore right now, but nothing very serious."

Trathal half pulled herself upright. She knew she'd regret it later, but she was so outraged she couldn't help herself. "Well didn't I get any of this 'medi-gel'?!"

"Whoa, easy, you'll do yourself an injury. More injury." Orilai slipped her arms round Trathal and carefully eased her flat. "No, you didn't get medi-gel because it would be extremely dangerous." She hesitated, then shrugged. "Look, medi-gel isn't just some universal magic panacea. It's mostly nanites, with a bunch of additional drugs. It has to be very specifically formulated and programmed for each species, and we haven't got anyone on board who can do that."

Trathal stared at her for a moment, then relaxed. She realised she was very nearly pouting. "Oh. I didn't know."

"Of course not. We haven't told anyone that, though I'm betting your people know all about it now."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, we do have humans in our universe, so medi-gel is programmed for them. On your USS Higgs, the marines and huntresses were using it on any human they found who was critically injured. Saved a lot of lives, but I'm betting your medical people have analysed the shit out of it." Orilai looked gloomy. "That's probably going to come back to bite us." She sat a little straighter. "No matter. But that's why we disabled it on Myrashi's suit. Best case, it wouldn't do anything. Worst case, it'd turn your eyes inside out, melt your guts and make your antennae fall off."

Trathal gasped, and her hands reflexively flew to her head. "Don't... Don't say that! Not even as a joke!"

"Orilai looked startled, then tried to hide a smile. "They mean that much to you?"

"They're my antennae!"

"All right, all right, calm down. I won't say that again, I promise." There was a slight wobble in Orilai's voice, and her shoulders shook.

"...don't laugh at me." Trathal really was pouting now.

"Sorry."

There was a sudden burst of laughter and... cheering? It was some distance away, probably just outside the makeshift recovery ward, but very clear. Trathal frowned sulkily. "What's all that noise?"

"Oh, the party's getting a bit rowdy. I'll go and tell them to take it somewhere else."

"Party? At a time like this?"

"Ah. You haven't heard. You missed a lot while you were unconscious. Are you feeling strong enough for a story?"

Trathal closed her eyes. Now she thought about it, she was unutterably weary. "No. But I don't want to sleep, not yet." She reached for the pain relief control, hesitated, then turned it down just a fraction. Pain grew throughout her body, but also other sensations. It would do for now. "Tell me."

Forest sat at a corner table of the DS6 mess hall feeling intensely awkward. Martin had decided that a celebration of their victory over the Dominion was in order, and the DS6 and Recidivist crews had taken this up with enthusiasm.

Rather more enthusiasm that Forest was comfortable with. And even his own crew, who were usually sensible and restrained, were being drawn into the party spirit.

It wasn't as if there was anything dangerous going on. Martin had a short shift system in place so there were enough people on duty, but everyone had a chance to join in the (very prolonged) partying. And Forest had to admit that the Ptolemy crew could also do with some R&R.

Still, he felt that the celebrations should be more... decorous. As it was, there was a great deal of raucous singing, cheering and shouting. And Forest was sure that there was a lot of alcohol being drunk.

For goodness sake, alcohol? That's risky all on its own. What's wrong with synthehol?

Martin was in his element, moving from group to group and cheering up the people who were getting maudlin, smoothing ruffled feathers before arguments could start, and moving on people who looked like they were out to cause trouble ("Come on Ensign, you've got a lot of work on tomorrow, I need you clear headed for that; Why don't you go and get a couple of hours sleep? Ms Varul will help you back to your quarters if you're not feeling well."). The DS6 security team, at least, were on their toes, though they seemed to be spending most of their time steering the more tired and emotional crew to their beds.

Forest looked around the heaving mass of people crowded into the mess, which was looking decidedly overcrowded. A more generous minded man would have concluded the lack of space was the reason so many people were sitting side by side with their arms around each other, or tucked away in corners in very small, rather intimate groups.

But no lack of space could possibly explain the sight of one of the Recidivist's Krogan (Gucks, isn't it?), laughing hugely at some joke or other and... and cuddling a couple of the Ptolemy crew who were cuddling the Krogan right back in a manner Forest found most disturbing.

Hang on, that's June and Mark Fellows. They're a couple! What do they think... Ugh. Oh well, they're grown ups. I just hope Mathis won't have to pick up the pieces. Oh, damn and blast, am I going to have to have the crew checked out for exotic diseases?

He glanced around for Shepard, but there was no sign of her. Her XO was standing against one wall, utterly impassive (and most certainly stone cold sober), watching the gathering carefully. Pashzto was looking more relaxed, perched on a high stool, smiling and sipping a drink, but Forest was sure she was as ready as the Krogan to spot and intervene in any trouble. He was surprised not to see Xah anywhere, but the party had started to spread to other parts of the station. She must be off dealing with the overflow.

He caught Martin's eye, and waited until he came over.

"Rupert! I didn't realise you were still here! You must be bored senseless."

Well that's the polite way of putting it. "No, not bored, but this isn't really my sort of thing..."

"Hah, you're telling me! You know you were notorious at the academy, don't you? A good book and a solitary bottle of... well, something rather stronger than what people are drinking here!" Martin grinned at him knowingly. "Hope you've knocked that on the head."

Forest's insides writhed with a mixture of shame and regret; both at past overindulgence and current abstinence. "Ah, yes, need a clear head at all times." He smiled fleetingly, then his face fell. "Lately, it's a rare night when I can sleep through without an emergency."

Martin was immediately sombre. "Sorry Rupert. I know you've had it a lot rougher than we have out here."

"Until today?"

"Mm. Today was more exciting than usual. A bit of a reminder about what all the ships coming here for repairs have been going through."

They sat for a moment in gloomy silence. Forest glanced up at Martin, and saw his eyes were still scanning the room. "Martin, don't you ever stop?"

Martin shook his head fractionally, smiled thinly. "No rest for the wicked."

Forest sighed. "Well I must have been very wicked, because I'm going to say goodnight, and go off to write up my report of today's events for Starfleet Command."

"I'll send you mine a bit later in case you need to refer to it."

"Thank you." Of course his report's already done, or nearly. He was probably writing it while everything was going on. Forest stood to leave. "By the way, I'd better speak to Shepard, get her take on today's events; or whatever she's prepared to share, at least. Do you know where she's got to?"

"Just a moment." Martin went and spoke to Dorot for a moment, then came back. "It seems she stayed on her ship."

Forest smiled. "I think I'd better get back to the Ptolemy myself. I'll call her from there."

"Fair enough, see you later."

He threaded his way out of the mess, then paused outside as a bizarre sound reached him. For a moment he couldn't make any sense of the discordant mess; then someone must have adjusted the universal translators, and he realised the Asari were singing.

Some of them had surprisingly deep voices, and their part of the song flowed smoothly through gently shifting chords, like a stately river winding it's way to the sea. And over and around them, the others' voices trilled and swooped like birdsong.

He stood, listening to the eerie sound, his ears struggling to identify familiar chords or even a regular beat, as his mind's eye was drawn to an alien world, with alien peoples living their long, long lives in a culture so very different from all those he knew.

They look like us. They're people, like us. And yet, they are very different. I wonder if I've begun to understand them at all? Shepard said that some of the displaced humans in their system integrate; marry Asari. But how can a marriage work, when one partner may live ten times longer than the other? How can they ever be equals? Are those humans just like... pets to them? Dearly loved while they live, but soon gone, and the Asari is looking round for another?

So many of the peoples we've met among the stars are really very similar to us, in the essentials. And yet, since we left Earth and started travelling into space, we've gone to war seven times. Not even counting all the minor conflicts and attacks.

Are we even ready to meet people who are truly alien?

Eventually the song ended, and a more familiar, human song started up. Forest pulled his mind back to the here and now, and called the Ptolemy. "Forest here. One to beam aboard."

"Oh, come on Beni. My fabbers are just sitting idle, the Federation people are replicating almost everything Orilai needs. I could whip up something in a couple of hours! Pleeeease?"

Shepard resisted the urge to start shouting at Recidivist. And the urge to just give in. Is this what it's like having a kid? Ugh. No thanks.

"I already told you, no! You trashed your last remote on a stupid dare, you get another one only when it's an operational requirement. And that doesn't include going to a party!"

"It wasn't a dare, skiing's a proper sport." He was sounding sulky now. She could tell he was gearing up to whinge at her incessantly.

"Right. Sliding down a mountain on two bits of wood is a 'sport'. And even if it is..."

"It is!"

"... which it isn't, you were not authorised to wreck a valuable piece of hardware by throwing it off a two hundred meter cliff onto rocks!" She drew herself up to her full height. And don't I look ridiculous, trying to look big while shouting at an attack ship from the inside? "So the answer is still no! No partying. Especially when we're trying to keep the fact that you can think for yourself a secret!"

"Hmph. I don't see why, we're best buds with them now, right? We saved their fucking asses, right?"

"Don't swear!"

"Don't... what?! You swear all the time!"

"Privilege of command. You get promoted to command rank you can swear all you like. But while I'm in command you watch your fucking language!"

There was a long pause. Shepard stood, breathing heavily. Oh goddess, this is like the rows I used to have with Mom, only the other way round. And any moment now I'm either going to pull rank or try to placate the snotty shit, and either way will just lead to more shouting. I swear I was put in charge of Reci as some kind of punishment.

She glared off into space. Can't look him in the eye. Can't even remember where his cameras are.

A technician, still working on the wormhole drive, took advantage of the pause to edge past with a box of tools and a mumbled "...scuse me Sir..." and then scurry off, anxious not to get involved.

Shepard cleared her throat.

"Look, Reci, we're not their friends. We're trying to bribe them with favours, because we need their help. We have got to be careful about what we reveal, and I've read some of the history they sent us. These people are weird about AIs. They keep trying to make them, or making them by accident, and goddess only knows how they manage to do that, and half the time it ends up going on a rampage. So now they've got some sort of weird lust/fear... fetish. If they knew about you, they'd either try and duplicate you and create their very own reaper disaster, or they'd kill you and us in a panic. Probably both.

"I know you got hurt in that fight, but taking risks is part of your job. Like it's part of the huntresses job. Like it was T'Galle and B'vola's job. Only they got killed.

"So the answer's still no. You don't get a remote and you don't go to the party."

She wearily massaged her temples with her fingertips; dealing with Recidivist when he was in one of his moods always gave her a splitting headache. "Look, when we get back I'll put in a recommendation to the Matriarchs for a new remote to be authorised. But that is an end of this matter. No further discussion, is that understood?"

Oh, hooray for me. Try to placate him and pull rank. And hope he doesn't decide to space us and go on the run. He wouldn't do that, would he? No, of course not. He's a pain in the butt, but he's not stupid.

After a long pause, Recidivist muttered "Understood. Klachchak."

Shepard opened her mouth to shout him down for calling her that again, after she'd already warned him, then clamped it shut. Any other crew member she'd have put on punishment detail and dismissed, but there wasn't much punishment that she could hand out to her ship. And as for dismissing him, the closest she could manage would be to disembark onto DS6. Which would just be running away.

She turned back to her station, seething, and saw there was a request signal from the Ptolemy waiting for her. And of course the sulky little shit didn't tell me. She sat down and accepted the request.

"Yes. What do you want."

The image of Forest on the little screen looked startled. "Uh, Commander? Is this a bad time?"

As Forest stepped onto the bridge he glanced round at the skeleton bridge crew. He was pleased to see they were all busy and focused on various tasks, but was concerned that he couldn't see the officer in command. Then he saw that Junior Lieutenant Fluck was standing over the ensign at the helm. As he stepped out of the turbolift she glanced over, came to attention, and announced "Captain on the bridge." Not loudly or ostentatiously, but loud enough to make sure everyone noticed.

Forest had to make sure his face didn't show his disapproval. A Junior Lieutenant in command? We may be in dock, but there's still a risk of attack. Whoever put her in charge should have cleared it with me.

Still, he had to admit she was making sure the bridge crew weren't idling, and it looked as if she was taking the helm through a recording of the recent engagement.

"Captain, the bridge is yours."

"Thank you Lieutenant, but I'll be busy in my ready room. Please carry on. And signal the Recidivist and put them through to my console."

"Sir."

He stepped into his ready room, sat at his desk and started composing his detailed report to Starfleet Command while he waited. After a minute his comm beeped.

"Bridge to Captain. ARS Recidivist have informed us Commander Shepard is otherwise engaged. Then they started playing... music? I think it's meant to be music. It sounds like a lot of depressed cattle mooing in chorus. Do you want me to clear the signal and try again?"

What are they playing at? "No, wait for a while longer."

"Aye Sir."

It was nearly three more minutes before his console chimed and, when he accepted the signal, Shepard's face appeared.

"Yes. What do you want."

Forest couldn't hide his surprise. She was glaring at him in fury! When they'd spoken briefly after the defence of DS6 she had been very cheerful, though more smug than he thought courteous. Now she looked as if she wanted to tear his throat out.

"Uh, Commander? Is this a bad time?"

He'd hoped that might calm her down, give her an excuse for her attitude. If anything her furious scowl deepened. "Just tell me what you want."

"Ahem. My apologies if I've intruded, I just need to report on the engagement with the Dominion and I would welcome your input. But it can wait until..."

"Oh, thank the goddess, anything to get a break from this sulky, entitled asshole!"

Forest heard another voice from the Recidivist, though the universal translator seemed to be having trouble translating it. Shepard yelled... very nearly screamed "I ordered you to keep your insubordinate mouth shut!" Then, in more moderate tones "Forest, please hold on."

The call was put on hold.

Forest sat stunned not only at her unprofessional manner, but at the clear failure of her authority. I knew she had a more relaxed command style than Starfleet expects, but that's not command! A few moments later Shepard reappeared on his screen.

"You're on your ship, yes?"

"Well, yes, but..."

"I'll be there."

"That really isn't..."

The signal went dead.

"... necessary..."

Shepard strode into his ready room without a word, shoulders hunched and fists balled. Then she dropped gracelessly onto the couch with a groan and put her face in her hands.

After a few moments of awkward silence, and against his better judgement, Forest asked "Is there a problem?"

She pulled herself upright and waved her hand dismissively. "Nothing that involves you. Just an indispensable troublemaker in my crew." She smiled thinly. "He's a vain, arrogant bastard with no respect for the chain of command. And he's the best..." She hesitated for a beat, then carried on. "...the best pilot and gunnery officer I've ever even heard of.

"But he's my problem, not yours. So, what do you need for this report of yours?"

She's hiding something. What? Her pilot... might he be that Shosak creature? He does look like he'd be a nightmare to manage. But why doesn't she want to say it? Oh well, no sense in prying, they've shown they're more than trustworthy.

"Oh, just any observations you may have on today's events; your perspective. It will help me ensure Starfleet Command get a fair and accurate view. However, there's no great hurry." Forest stood and moved over to the replicator. "As I recall, our last drink was interrupted, and we do have something to celebrate. Can I offer you something?"

"Goddess, yes." Shepard grinned, suddenly cheerful. "I didn't get a chance to taste that whisky, how about that?"

"Of course." Forest brought back two glasses, and raised his. "To... survival?"

Shepard raised her glass solemnly. "To survival." She took a taste, and sighed. "Way better than the stuff we've got in the Republic."

Forest sat on a chair opposite the couch. "I didn't see you at the party. Because of your... ah, disciplinary problem?"

Shepard shook her head. "Uh uh. Me and parties, we have a long and dysfunctional relationship. And Dorot wouldn't approve." She took a quick gulp of her drink.

"Your first officer wouldn't approve?"

"Mm. I... well, when I was a kid I was a mess."

Forest cleared his throat awkwardly. "Ahem. If you'd rather not talk about it..."

She waved a hand, taking another slug. I'm glad that's synthehol, she shouldn't be drinking so fast. "Nah, it's fine. It was my parents you see." She glanced at him curiously. "You read the stuff on the Reaper wars?"

"I skimmed through it. I ah... I noticed you share a name with the Commander Shepard who first alerted the galaxy... your galaxy, to the Reaper threat. I take it your parents were perhaps a bit fanatical in their admiration?"

Shepard stared at him dumbfounded for a moment, and then started giggling. For a moment she seemed very young indeed, though Forest knew she had to be well over a hundred years. I wonder what she finds funny?

"Fa... fanatical in their admiration?" She leant back, grinning broadly. "Weeell, my mom was fairly fanatical in her admiration. I mean she did stick by the great Commander Shepard, unifier of the races of the galaxy, destroyer of the Reapers."

Abruptly as if someone had flipped a switch, she seemed sunk in gloom. "Shepard was my father. A human, just twenty nine years old when the war began. A human who uncovered the Reaper threat. Who destroyed the vanguard, the Reaper called Sovereign. Who died and was rebuilt, brought back to life. My mother's doing. Or at least, she arranged it. Brought my father back from the dead, a human! A human who destroyed the Collector base, one of the Reapers' main assets at the heart of the galaxy. Who escaped from Earth as the Reapers smashed through its defences and started harvesting its population. Who fought the reapers at every turn, who unified the Geth and the Quarians, the Krogan and the Turians. And who destroyed the Reapers."

For a long time she just sat there. Forest knew there was nothing sensible he could say, but he couldn't resist the urge to fill the awkward silence. "He must have been a remarkable man."

Shepard looked up at him, then shook her head in mock despair. "You're lucky my grandfather isn't here. She'd curse you halfway back to Earth. She used to say that humans are just an anthropocentric bag of dicks, assuming that 'father' always means 'male'."

Forest blinked, then pulled a face, irritated with himself. "I'm sorry. That was in the information you shared, that with Asari the parent who doesn't bear the child is always the father, male or female." He smiled, tried to look self deprecating. Stupid mistake. Most academy second years would be embarrassed to make a blunder like that. "But it's a hard habit to break."

Shepard just shrugged.

"So, was your father a man? Or a woman?"

"Does it matter? My father was a soldier. Always leading from the front. Inspiring. A galactic saviour, bringing together sworn, vicious enemies in a joint cause. Destroying anyone who dared stand in the way of that cause. The cause of destroying the Reapers.

"And my mother was... hell, she was just a child. Barely more than half my age, when my father recruited her. A precocious child who fancied herself an academic. And within a few years she was one of the most powerful people in the galaxy, the head of a vast and secretive intelligence network, the instigator of the Quantum Daisy Chain project. And pregnant with me."

She stared at her glass, though Forest himself had stared at a glass in the same way often enough to know that wasn't what she was looking at. "She was one hundred and nine years old at the end of the war. A hundred and nine." She looked up sharply at Forest. "Do you have any idea..." She took another gulp of her drink. "... any idea how young that is?"

"Well, I do know..."

"It's stupidly young! It's like... like a human sixteen year old suddenly becoming one of the great powers of the galaxy!" She suddenly came to her feet, went over to the window and rested her forehead on it, staring out at the stars.

Forest stared at her, worried. Should I say something? She doesn't sound proud of her parents. She sounds as if...

"Goddess, I hated them so much. I hated them, because they were the great saviours of the galaxy. And I was..." She sighed, turned away from the window, and lifted her arms in a helpless gesture. "Me. I was just... me."

Slowly, as if she was desperately tired, she wandered back to the couch and sat heavily. "Unremarkable. Not very clever. Strong... freakishly strong. But, really.." She looked up at him, and Forest was shocked to see tears in her eyes. "... in a galaxy of high-tech force multipliers, when did that ever count for anything?"

Forest finally found his voice. "Commander, I don't think you should be sharing this with me."

"Oh, getting cold feet in your mission to learn about the strange aliens you're harbouring?" Shepard was glaring at him challengingly. "Or just upset to learn that we're just a bunch of inadequate screw-ups?" She laughed, bitterly. "Well get used to it, because that's everyone you'll ever meet."

She dropped her gaze back to her glass, then held it out to him.

"I don't think you should have any more." She can't be drunk, can she? Not on synthehol.

Shepard shrugged. "Eh, one glass of hooch never got me drunk." She leaned back and closed her eyes. "I'm just tired. Tired and lost." She laughed softly. "Heh. If you think this is bad, you should have seen me seventy, eighty years ago. My... eh, you'd say my 'teenage rebellion'... was nothing grand or impressive. Just a string of bars and clubs and parties, drink and drugs, and picking fights with anyone and everyone."

She opened her eyes, and fixed Forest with a stare that was stone cold sober. "And that's where Dorot found me. Getting the shit kicked out of me because I'd finally managed to pick a fight with a bunch of Krogan veterans who had brought down far stronger and nastier than me."

Her anger and weariness seemed to drain away, and she started smiling. Abruptly, her mood seemed to switch in a mercurial instant to eager and excited. "He saved me. He charged into the pack of them, sent them flying like skittles, smashed two of them senseless and sent the rest running! He was... magnificent! Then he carried me to a clinic. And the next day, when I'd been patched up, he dragged me down to the nearest recruiting office and ordered me to sign up.

"He was my commanding officer. My mentor. My disciplinarian. He straightened me out, made me grow up. I loved him so damn much. Ended up getting promoted over his head, and isn't that a sick joke?" She lifted her empty glass in an exuberant salute. "Here's to the navy, corrupt and full of favouritism. The last resort of screw-ups and disasters."

She went to take another drink, looked in astonishment at her empty glass, then dropped it on the floor with a giggle.

Damn, something's wrong. Badly wrong. Forest stood and took a step toward her, tried to speak in a calm, authoritative voice. "Commander, I really think you should come with me to our medical centre, get checked out."

"Nonsense, I'm fine!" Shepard jumped to her feet, abruptly seeming full of febrile energy, her eyes sparkling. "What else do you want to know? You want to know all about our universe, don't you?

"Hanar! I haven't told you about Hanar! They're so pretty! All shimmering and colours! Sit down, and I'll tell you all about them!"

As she started jabbering away excitedly about tentacles, Forest tapped his communicator, and murmured as quietly as he could "Forest to medical."

"...and have you ever met a Volus? They're so cute! Like big, grumpy, greedy teddy bears! I always wanted to do a sex with one, but Mommy says that would kill me but I don't think it would!" Now Shepard was scampering round the room, waving her arms excitedly.

"Medical here."

"Medical emergency, Captain's ready room. Bad drug reaction, mania. It's the Asari Commander Shepard."

"We're sending a medical team..."

Abruptly Shepard stopped running around and darted over to Forest, grabbed his shoulders, put her face right up against his and, with a huge, happy smile bellowed "Let's play hide and seek! I'll count to ten, you hide!" She hopped backwards and put her fingers over her eyes in a very childish gesture.

"Send a security team as well!"

"Aye..."

"Onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightnineten! Found you, yaayy! My turn, close your eyes!"

Forest hesitated. Better humour her. He narrowed his eyes and raised his hands, looking through a narrow gap between his fingers.

"And no peeking!"

"I promise, no peeking." Please please please don't do anything stupid like...

Shepard bolted for the door.

"Damn it! Commander, come back!"

Forest ran after her, onto the bridge. She was already out of sight, and Fluck was sitting on the floor with a startled expression.

"Sir, I couldn't stop her!"

"Where did she go?!"

"Down the turbolift maintenance duct..."

"Damn! Forest to security!"

"Security..."

"The ARS Recidivist commander is mentally unstable, manic, and loose in the maintenance ducts! For her own safety, and the ship's, she must be located and restrained for urgent medical attention!"

Forest turned toward Fluck, and saw she was already on her feet and at the main tactical station. She glanced hurriedly over at Forest. "Attempting to set up a sensor filter to track her... with your permission?"

"Permission granted. Security?"

"Here Captain. Two teams have been dispatched with medics, but we're very short handed."

Forest swore under his breath. "That damn party. Inform Commander Pashzto and recall off-duty security crew."

"In hand Sir, and getting them on board as quickly as we can, but I'm afraid not all are fit for duty."

You mean they're drunk. Martin, what were you thinking? "Understood."

He moved over to check on Fluck. She was working methodically, if slowly. "Problem, Lieutenant?"

She glanced back at him again. She was looking worried and flustered. "I'm sorry Sir, sensors are having trouble pinning down her location. There seems to be some sort of... of gravitational distortion causing interference, sensors think her location's jumping around randomly, and she keeps vanishing altogether. I'm feeding security an averaged estimate of her location, but it's not precise."

Gravitational distortion? What the hell? No, wait, didn't Trathal say something about their suits generating gravitational fields? But she's not wearing a suit...

Forest shook his head. No, something to puzzle over later. Focus on the problem in hand. "Right. Good enough, but keep trying."

Forest went and sat in the command chair to wait for developments.

Shepard was very happy. She was the best at hide and seek. Her mommy called her 'My little taleeloo'.

She slid through the black, narrow space, arms stretched ahead of her. A cool breeze flowed past her. There was no room to move her arms and legs, but she just used her special pull to get through. When she reached the end, she peered through the thin mesh that closed it off.

She had to purse her lips on her giggles as she saw people in yellow shirts running past, some going one way, some the other, arguing about where to go.

"Look, I'm sure we had a reading for this corridor. See? She should be right here!"

"Well, where is she then? Cloaked?"

"I don't know! Maybe!"

"I have been informed that a blue skinned woman has been sighted in engineering."

"We just came from there, it was just Lieutenant Trathal!"

"That is not possible, the Lieutenant is still in DS6 sickbay."

"Hang on, did you personally see her in engineering?"

"Well, no, but ensign Tarkoff..."

"Well go back there and check again... Oh damn and blast, now we're getting readings from the next deck up! Poulsen, T'Sul, head up to deck six and check, I'll go with Wen back to engineering. Zont, you stay here and stop anyone leaving the ship."

"Er... anyone, Sir?"

"Zont, are you sure she can't change her appearance? No? Then stop anyone leaving!"

Shepard waited until they'd almost all gone, just leaving one man standing by the big door, alertly peering down the corridor in completely the wrong direction.

Her sides aching with the effort of not laughing, Shepard silently eased the mesh open and slid out, dropping down just behind the silly man. A quick push and a grab, and she was through the door and running, clutching his little badge because that's how you proved you'd won.

"Hey! Hey, stop. Come back! Zont to.. oh damn, bring my comm back!"

Shepard ran on through the corridors, laughing merrily as his silly shouting faded away behind her.

"What do you mean, 'She escaped?'"

"Sir, she ambushed crewman Zont by the hard docking port. She must have a personal cloaking device because she just appeared from nowhere, subdued him, and got off through the port onto DS6."

Forest clamped his mouth down on the exasperated yell that threatened to erupt, and took a deep breath. Even so, when he spoke he couldn't stop his words coming out in an angry hiss. "Crewman, I thought I ordered a general lockdown. So would you kindly explain just how she opened the port?"

The unfortunate crewman stuttered for a moment before gathering his wits. "Sir, we had to allow security personnel to pass unhindered, so lockdown points were keyed to our comm badges. When she subdued Zont she... she must have known that, because the took his comm badge."

Forest groaned. "Wonderful. Wonderful! Now she's loose on a station full of drunken revellers. And what if she hurts herself on some equipment? Or passes out in some maintenance duct, or has an aneurysm... Did you consider that?! Contact Commander Pashzto, and Lieutenant Xah on DS6, let them know what's happened. Dismissed!"

Forest knew it was unprofessional of him to take his frustration out on the security crewman. The sort of bullying he wouldn't tolerate from one of his officers. But short of smashing his own head against a wall until he fractured his skull, there wasn't much he could do to punish the one person who was actually responsible. However, what he had to do now...

"Lieutenant, contact Captain Carew and put it through to my ready room. You have the bridge."

As he stalked into his ready room, wondering how to admit to Carew just how badly he'd messed up, he felt that fracturing his own skull might be the easier option.

Slowly, slowly, light footed and unseen, creeping through the crates and the shadows, Shepard stalked her prey.

They were oblivious to their approaching fate. One was searching on the wrong side of the room, shining a light into the dark spaces. The other was standing nearby, looking round helplessly.

"Anything?"

"Nothing."

"Are you sure? If she's unconscious... have you checked under the equipment racks?"

"Yes, I've checked! I'm telling you, she isn't here."

Shepard carefully, quietly, drew her sniper rifle. She was the best assassin ever, the heroic villain who always got away. The Wicked Law might hunt her, but they never caught her, and she always escaped with the money and the pretty girl. Or the handsome boy.

She took aim. Her cross-hairs settled on the Evil Policeman's head.

"Bang."

A whisper, no more, but she had won again, and all the poor people cheered and threw confetti.

"Did you hear that?"

"No, what?"

"A voice... I think. Over the other side."

"You're imagining things."

"No, I'm sure..."

He was coming towards her, his Evil Minion following him, complaining. She ghosted backwards, sliding behind a crate, slithering under a shelf, creeping away from where she'd been, away from where they were heading, and toward her goal.

The Special Door. Where there would be jelly for tea.

Nearly... nearly... Now!

She ran! Sprinting past crates, diving between shelves, vaulting over the Evil Minion who made a funny, squeaky scream, and then she was running wildly to the Special Door, waving her arms in the air and cheering!

"... Are you alright?"

"I... uh... I think so. Should we follow..."

"No."

"No?"

"She's back on her own ship, she's clearly fine. So she's not our problem."

"That... that didn't look fine to me."

"She's not. Our. Problem. Mattis to Lieutenant Xah."

"Xah here."

"Confirmed, eyes on sighting of Commander Shepard boarding the ARS Recidivist via docking port. Permission to stand down?"

"... Permission granted. Xah out."

"Dodo!"

Shepard crashed enthusiastically into Dorot, and gave him a big hug.

"Commander?! Are you alright?"

She let go of him and twirled round. "I'm fabulous! Captain woody two-shoes gave me some funny water that makes everything better!" She looked up at him and grinned happily. "I'm going to fly us to Mommy now and we can all eat jelly!"

She started running to where she could fly them all home, but huge arms swept her off her feet.

"Medics to infirmary!"

She looked up at Dorot's face and gasped. "Oh no! Dodo, are you hurt?"

"No."

"I can kiss it better."

"No."

"Are you going to do a sex to me?"

"NO!

Then they were in the little room where ladies would poke her if she was hurting and make it better, and Dorot dumped her on a little bed. But she wasn't hurting, so she hopped off the bed giggling. Silly Dodo!

Before she could even take a step she was picked up and dumped back on the bed, and Dorot's massive hand pressed down on her chest, holding her there.

"Stay. There!"

She gazed up at him, her eyes wide.

"Yes Daddy."

It was very puzzling. He'd said he wasn't hurt, but as he turned away he looked as if he was in terrible pain. He said something quietly to the ladies who'd come in, and then left.

For a while she lay, watching the ladies as they fussed over their machines, waving them over her and giving her and the machines anxious looks.

"I want jelly."

"Uh... Commander?"

"I want jelly! Green jelly, in squares!"

"Do... do you mean a blood loss cube?"

"Green jelly in squares! And a blankie."

One lady looked at her in horror. The other scrabbled in a drawer, and gave her a couple of her favourite treats. She popped the green block in her mouth and sucked it happily. "'ank 'oo."

Then a rather stiff and scratchy blanket was put over her, and the ladies went to a corner to talk in worried whispers. The blanket was nice. It was like the blankets she had when she and her mommy were still living on the ship where she was born, sailing to a far away place her mommy said was home. But that cramped little ship had always been home.

She was sad that her mommy wasn't there to sing her favourite night-night song. It was scary being on her own with all these grown-ups. But she was determined to be a brave girl, so she pulled the blanket over her head so the Reapers couldn't find her, and very quietly sang herself to sleep.

"Well, that's it, nothing we can do now." Carew stood up from his desk and stretched. "I've asked Doctor Tsosie to provide them with information on synthehol and the enzymes that denature it, but I'd be surprised if they'll trust us enough to use them."

"Isn't there anything we can do?" Forest had his head sunk in his hands, and didn't bother lifting it to speak. He'd been sitting that way as the chaotic search for Shepard had unravelled. He didn't know why he'd come over from the Ptolemy to Carew's office. It wasn't as if he'd been able to contribute. But after giving Carew the bad news that there was a drugged maniac running round his station, he'd felt he at least had to face the music in person.

"I'm pretty sure anything we did would only make matters worse. I must say, Rupert, I've never seen you screw up before. But this screw-up was impressive enough to make up for that!"

Forest looked up then. Carew's tone of voice and expression was amused and mocking. He actually had the gall to find this funny!

"Oh come on Martin! How was I to know? Shepard herself said she was fine with anything that was safe for humans!"

Carew shrugged. "Maybe they never invented synthehol in their universe. So how would she know Asari were ok with it?"

"Oh... oh damn. I've been so... Shit! Have there been any other incidents?"

"Nooo, no others." Suddenly Carew's manner switched from amused to angry. "Because I had the basic common sense to make sure the DS6 replicators wouldn't produce any synthetic psychoactive drugs! I mean, Rupert, how could you be so stupid! I didn't think you needed pointers on how to deal with aliens, that's pretty much your field of expertise!"

"I don't know." Forest sank his head in his hands again. "I don't know. You're right, that's... ugh that's basic academy level stuff."

"Oh well." Carew put his hand on Forest's shoulder. "It could have been worse. All we can do now is wait for the dust to settle."

Abruptly there was the sound of a raised voice outside. Xah's voice.

"And if I'm not mistaken, there's a dust-storm coming."

The door to Carew's office slid open. Then the huge, armoured form of a Krogan rammed it's way through the opening. Forest actually saw sparks scraped off the sides of the door as the figure forced its way through the too narrow opening, not bothering even to turn sideways to fit. His helmet was on, obscuring the features, but it was clearly Shepard's XO.

I never noticed before, but the other Krogan moves a lot more gracefully...

As the menacing figure thudded forward, Forest came to his feet. He felt like a rabbit caught in headlights, frozen and unable to flee. Then Dorot stopped. Forest felt absurdly glad that Carew's desk, a sturdy old antique made of rodinium, was between them.

"Mr Granar, how is Commander Shepard?"

Dorot said nothing. Forest felt panic rising. Perhaps he should have kept his mouth shut, waited for the Krogan to speak, but he couldn't help trying to smooth things over. "I realise you must be angry, but I assure you I meant no..."

Suddenly the Krogan's fist came up, and he was wreathed in a blue, glowing plasma. Then his fist came down on Carew's desk.

It was if a bomb had gone off.

Forest staggered back as if he'd been punched in the chest. The desk, one of the harder materials known to the Federation, hadn't been dented. It had buckled, and practically collapsed. If Forest had still been sitting, he thought his legs would have been sheared off above the knee.

He saw that Carew had taken a standing jump backwards, halfway across his office, and was in a half crouch, his phaser in his hand and his mouth open. Forest couldn't hear him for the ringing in his ears, but was sure he was shouting at Dorot to stand down.

Then Dorot's roar cut through Forest's half deafness.

"BE SILENT!"

Then, slightly quieter but still oppressively loudly; "I didn't come here to listen to your excuses!"

For several seconds, nobody spoke. Carew had obviously given up trying to shout down the Krogan, and he kept his phaser pointed unwaveringly at Dorot's visor. Then, as Forest's hearing came back, he realised Dorot was speaking again in a low, menacing growl.

"My commander's mind has been destroyed by a drug. Which you gave her. If she doesn't recover, I'll kill you."

His helmeted head turned slightly, toward Carew.

"And anyone who gets in my way."

Without another word he turned away, and paced implacably towards the door. Forest heard Carew say "Stand aside, Xah", and realised that Xah had followed Dorot into the room and was pointing a phaser rifle at him. She stepped sideways, letting Dorot leave. Forest was convinced that if she hadn't the Krogan would simply have walked over her, phaser rifle or not.

Forest realised that she looked as if she'd been in a fight, with an impressive black eye and a cut lip.

Did he assault her? No, she's got a dressing on her face, that happened before this.

As Dorot passed her, she glared at Carew disbelievingly. Carew murmured "Follow him. Tell your team to clear his path. Escalating this will only cause deaths we can't afford."

Xah hesitated. Then, with a tight and angry expression, she nodded and turned to follow Dorot, tapping her comm badge and starting to speak softly and rapidly.

And then it was just Forest and Carew.

"Well. This has been an exciting day! What next, eh, Rupert?"

Codex

The Quantum Daisy Chain project

At the end of the Reaper War, the use of the Crucible weapon to destroy the Reapers also destroyed the mass relays, along with the network of communication buoys. As a result, almost all inter system communication became impossible.

It is not known for sure who instigated the Quantum Daisy Chain project, but it is generally agreed that it was the individual (or organisation) known as the Shadow Broker. Word of the project was spread through the few QEC communicators that had survived the war, and then further by the fastest ships available.

Despite the widespread infrastructure destruction, any facility capable of manufacturing QEC communicators began to produce new pairs of QEC devices. These were then distributed (albeit slowly) to all major centres of population, industry or military resistance which had been known to still stand at the end of the war. Any location that received two or more devices linked them together with standard switching gear.

Gradually, over more than fifty years, an extensive network of these daisy-chained communicators arose, linking the galaxy once again, if only in thought and word. The Quantum Daisy Chain project, and the technological innovations it allowed to spread across the galaxy, is widely credited with preventing (or at least delaying) the splintering of the intelligent races in the galaxy into a collection of fiefdoms not even linked by a common language.

Taleeloo

A small, common pest creature native to Thessia. It is both celebrated and resented for its ability to hide in the most unlikely nooks and crannies in even the cleanest home. Despite its reputation for spoiling food and spreading disease, since the Reaper war it has become a symbol of survival and of hope. Indeed, those civilians who evaded the Reapers' forces and their harvesting of the population on Thessia are commonly referred to as Taleeloo, a nickname of admiration rather than contempt.

The closest Earth equivalent would be a mouse.

Elcor Opera

Following the moderate success of Francis Kitt's fourteen hour long performance of Hamlet with an all Elcor cast, further all Elcor performances of human art were produced, including a fifteen day long performance (without breaks) of Wagner's ring cycle of Operas.

Critical reviews were unanimously scathing.

"Fifteen days of depressed cow noises left me praying for death." The Arts Journal.

"A terminal bowel movement would be more entertaining." The Galactic Review.

"I should have brought bigger earplugs." Parnitha Record.

"I am seeking the contact details of any assassins who wish to make money in a good cause." Irune Mercantile News.

Bizarrely, the performance became commercially successful, as recordings were highly sought after as on-hold music, by companies seeking to avoid dealing with customer complaints.