Well, this one is a longer chapter, so please do bear with me. We must give a glimpse of both the characters and the situation before jumping into everything. With so large a premise, I can't just dive headlong into things. However, we'll have a chapter or so before the action starts and the team really kicks into gear, so stay tuned! All the while, through this story, we'll start to see more and more of the new reality and everyone who inhabits it, for both good and bad. I have a grand plan in mind, and this is only the very beginning. I'm very excited for this, and I hope you are as well! Enjoy the story!

LezGo35: Yes, they are, to a certain extent. There are a few minor factions that aren't aware, but we'll be getting to the governments soon enough. I'm looking forward to it.

CommunistBaboon3: Indeed. Vir is from an excellent series called Empyrean Iris by one of the individuals kind enough to help me with this story, starrfallknightrise. Drake is my own character, and is used as a catalyst to get this going.

BonesofSmite: So am I! I have almost all of those planned, and I'm really looking forward to them all!

Austin: There won't be a full-out conflict just yet, and we'll see some teaming up, but there will be conflicts. As for our favorite kleptomaniac [spoiler], of course we'll be seeing him, along with a certain shadowy assassin, trickster god, and mysterious Marine...

gabekaykwok: I'm glad you enjoy it. As for the grim-dark, I have plans. Fear not.

oOo

"Do you think he plans it all out, or just makes it up as he goes?" -Lieutenant Groves, Pirates of the Caribbean: At World's End

"I wanted to meet interesting and stimulating people of an ancient culture… and kill them." -Private Joker, Full Metal Jacket

oOo

Of Masks and Men

Aboard the Apocalypse

The Apocalypse was the command of Captain Thomas Drake and the pride and joy of every single soul aboard. A light cruiser by class, sleek and fast yet powerful, it was the headquarters of the Apocalypse Mercenaries and both their mode of transportation and mission delivery.

At the present moment, three pairs of boots were ringing through the metal floors of the silver halls in flawless synchronicity. Two were calf-high black work boots, drawn up with laces and heavy in their comfortable efficiency. The leading footfalls clicked with the metal-shod heels of shined knee-high boots of the same color, but much more elegant in their style. They were still boots meant for combat, though, and though they looked elegant, it wouldn't do for anyone to underestimate their wearer.

Captain Thomas Drake strode through the corridors of his ship resolutely beside them, knee-length black trench coat swirling around him, ice-blue eyes blazing, blacked gloved hands moving neatly at his sides. Behind him was his executive officer, Eric Richter, the second-in-command of the ship and the mercenaries as a whole. He wore the typical gray jumpsuit of most aboard; its ease of taking on, off, and cleaning was far simpler than any other style of uniform. His brown hair was short and slightly receding over a huge scar slashing diagonally across his forehead. Seemingly short beneath the tall and slim Drake, he was simply of medium height and slightly more on the stout side, wearing a small perpetual frown.

The second individual behind the captain was Sarah Ordelphine, the ship's pilot and chief navigator. Her sleek, glossy midnight black hair was drawn up in a neat bun as she stared upward with her usual expression of benign amusement. Her jumpsuit was navy blue and much more form-fitting than the style of Richter's, and there were tiny indentations of carefully torn-off rank insignias on the collar. The shoulders were much the same, though those markings had been covered by a new Apocalypse Mercenary logo where the old had been taken off.

The three walked in perfect step, their feet falling together, left, right, left, right, left, right as they made their way through the Apocalypse's interior. As they continued through the halls, Richter opened his mouth to speak.

"Captain, are you sure about all of this?" he asked, looking up to Drake. The black-coated man simply smiled in reply.

"Of what?" he asked, mouth quirking upward.

"Of all of this," replied Richter, gesturing around vaguely. Drake laughed, though he knew what Richter meant.

"Well, no one can be sure of anything," said Drake with another smile. Noticing Richter's exasperated look at him, the recognition that his second was tired of his games, he smiled again and quickly became serious. "As I said, I can't be certain of anything, of course, because we are literally dealing with people from different realities, but from what we know, this could most certainly work. It's definitely far better than mucking around or trying to get governments involved. No, I think I chose rather well. All of them seem to be nice and honest enough."

"There are so many variables, though - so many different groups and peoples," replied Richter. "Forgive me, for I don't doubt, but raising these questions is what you pay me for, after all." He looked back at Ordelphine, then to Drake again. "And keeping everyone's lunacy here in check." The pilot smiled; Drake laughed aloud.

"Indeed, indeed," he replied. "That's certainly an important part. But in relation to our newfound friends, I think they'll do well enough. They seem to have a decent handle on things, and we all seem to have the same goal: peace." Drake frowned, his tone shifting. "Though, of course, there are problems."

"Like a full A.I. robot with enough weapons to blow us from the inside out sitting in the hangar," continued Richter. Beside him, Ordelphine nodded.

"Yeah, I'm not exactly… comfortable with that, either, Captain," she said. Drake shrugged.

"Well, the good thing about all of this is we're ahead of the game." Drake gave a wicked grin, eyes dancing dangerously. "We know who and what all of them are, what all of them have done, and that helps. And from what we know of Titans from Cooper's reality, they are loyal to and will respond to their Pilot. What Cooper orders, the Titan will do, and so we have to make sure he's on our side."

"What if that thing goes rogue, though?" asked Ordelphine. "It has enough munitions to cause a lot of damage."

"It won't go rogue," reassured Drake. "From the information we have, that doesn't happen."

"But what if it does?"

"That is absolute worst-case scenario, and hopefully Cooper will have some insight on that. But it won't happen," replied Drake.

"Hope for the best, plan for the worst," replied Richter glumly. Drake laughed, a high, cheerful sound.

"Well, there is that. The armsmen are on standby, of course," he said. Both Richter and Ordelphine nodded.

"Of course. Even if we trust Cooper and that… thing… we still hope for the best, plan for the worst," said Richter. All three of them smiled. They were friends… well, not friends, not really. The relationship between the three was hard to describe. They were not acquaintances, friends, not coworkers, not master-and-subordinates, but rather connected on a simple intrinsic scale. They knew each other absolutely and trusted each other without question; nothing more, nothing less. That was the complete expansion: total knowledge of each other, and yet still the limit of interaction with each other.

"What worries me most are the Imperials," said Drake, frowning deeper. "Cain and his group… They have the propensity to cause… problems."

"Yeah, that's for sure," said Ordelphine with a snort. She glanced back up at Drake with a grin. "It's a fortunate thing we were on the edge of the galaxy when that time-thingy happened." Drake nodded back.

"Very fortunate." As… well, whatever event brought the galaxies together happened, the Apocalypse had been on the very edge of the galaxy on a specific mission to find and return a specialized item to a company it had been stolen from. Drake had quickly realized what was happening, and leapt at the chance to go into new galaxies.

They had promptly found a treasure trove in information from each separate reality (now conjoined). Some of it personal, some of it professional, some of it slightly frightening… all of it valuable, each and every word of it.

"'Suffer not the alien to live'," quoted Drake, rolling the words around his tongue as the trio continued their walk through the hallways. "A very… disturbing motto for an empire to have." That much was true. Each and every faction they had come across had their secrets, but from an out-of-the-way treasure trove of information from Cain and the Valhallan's galaxy, they had found both an armory and database there. Apparently it had belonged to one Inquisitor Eldorec, now long-gone and forgotten, his old hideout gathering dust on the very edge of the galaxy.

"Some of the stuff we found about their history seems… made up," inputted Ordelphine. "I mean, c'mon, an empire of a million worlds that's ruled the galaxy for ten thousand years? There are super-soldiers that are basically walking tanks? They worship a singular Emperor that's been sitting on a life-support throne for those ten thousand years as their god? They fight demons? It seems more like propaganda or legend to me."

"I don't know," admitted Drake. "That galaxy is by far the most bizarre," he continued. "There's no… Unified database. Nothing like the internet, or holo- or extra- or whatever the other 'nets' are. Just the…" Drake paused a moment, trying to remember. "Inquisitorial archives, I believe they were called. But not complete. Not the full thing. Just some bits and pieces that whatever that guy's name was brought with him to his little hidey-hole."

The greatest fortune was in that small database were two very important volumes: one on the history of the empire that ruled that reality, the Imperium of Man, and one an unfinished, unpublished, but mostly complete autobiography written by one Commissar Ciaphas Cain.

"Well, we don't know everything about a lot of these realities… but we know a lot more about the others then they know about us or everyone else, which is our current advantage," said Richter succinctly.

"Indeed," replied Drake. "Spartans, Cain's autobiography, Project Lazurus, Steel and Iron Eye, A.I.s of all sorts, ship types, shields, weapons, gadgets, a few facets of certain individuals'... interesting personalities and tastes… all of it. Who knew actually taking the initiative while being sneaky would be so helpful?" he said with a shrug and a grin. "Knock and it shall be opened unto you, it seems."

"You would think the various governments and organizations whose secrets we stole would have better security," drawled Ordelphine, cocking an eyebrow. Drake merely shrugged again.

"Well, we are professionals," replied Drake with yet another wicked smile. "Besides, overconfidence and human error are the greatest and most exploitable flaws, of which governments in general have no shortage of. Also, I like the word borrowed more than stole. We're not going to do anything too terrible with them…" he trailed off dramatically. Ordelphine and Richter laughed.

"But we gave them information on us…" mentioned Richter, trailing off with a frown. He looked up at Drake. "Why give them our information, then? And nothing on the others? Why let out our advantage?" Drake smiled easily.

"They can find out information on us if they look hard enough," he replied. "If we give it to them, then we're trustworthy. Besides," continued Drake with a shrug, "We've got nothing to hide. As for info on the others… We don't want them to know we know, and that would be a breach of trust, in a way."

"And it's not to have it in the first place?" grumbled Richter. Drake merely shrugged easily.

"Well, since we have all this information on everyone… What are we doing with it? Why assemble this… team in the first place, Captain?" asked Ordelphine.

"Excellent question. The team is here because of exactly what I told them all: we learn about each other, we keep the peace, and they're a good assortment of various heroes from their own galaxies rather than a group of blubbering politicians." He paused a moment as they continued to walk, their boots still ringing in perfect step on the deck. "As for the information… Well, as is to be expected with a wide variety of various and incredibly different people and species from different backgrounds and literally different realities, it's so we can manage them and understand them to keep them all in line. We can't have them killing us or each other."

"So… blackmail?" stated Richter bluntly. Drake frowned, but still made some sort of indecisive noise.

"No," he replied. "We don't want that… Unless we have to use it as an absolute necessity. No, the real purpose is to understand where they come from, understand them, and use it to keep the peace. That's what we want: a team, not a group of malcontented servants," he finished. Drake's two companions nodded.

"Well then, Captain, sounds like a plan," said Ordelphine with a nod. Drake flashed a grin.

"Indeed. The only difficult part is getting it to work…"

oOo

In the Apocalypse's hangar, Jack Cooper sighed as he paced before the large frame of BT-7274. His Titan looked down at him, head and optics curiously cocked as if finding his pilot intriguing. All around them, they were surrounded by the various crewmen and mercenary armsmen of the ship. All stared at the large mech with apprehension. While most conducted drills or maintenance, a few armsmen were in loose combat gear and holding weapons, nervously standing around or frowning up at BT. Cooper sighed to himself.

He understood. He really did. A.I.s were a tricky subject, even in his home galaxy where there were quite a few of them. Many, especially the farmers or other frontiersmen constantly accosted or slaughtered by hostile Interstellar Manufacturing Corporation forces had quite a healthy fear of Titans, and for good reason. Cooper's own farmer family had died beneath IMC guns. He understood.

That still didn't mean he had to approve of it. BT was, for lack of a better term, his best friend, and he didn't like seeing people treat his best friend with hostility and suspicion. He understood that there were different facets and views on Artificial Intelligence in each of these different realities. Some had them and embraced them, others were distrustful. Drake's galaxy was among the latter; there wasn't much actual walking, talking A.I. there. But still, Cooper was annoyed. He knew Drake and the others were accepting of himself, his Titan, and all the others: a good starting point, considering the backgrounds of some, especially Cain and his golden-eagled men, whom Cooper learned had a shocking distrust and hatred towards aliens.

From what Cooper could tell, Drake was a good man in spite of being a mercenary. His men were cheerful, jovial, and quite interested in having a newcomer on their ship. They greeted Cooper with politeness. They were simply nervous of an A.I. off the rails, a legitimate fear, and one that Cooper and BT would work to amend, among both the Apocalypse and the others of this strange group Cooper now found himself a part of.

"Are you well, Pilot Cooper?" The deep metallic voice of BT sounded through the hangar. Cooper looked up from where he was pacing. BT's optic was tilted down concernedly at his Pilot.

"Yeah, just fine BT," replied Cooper. He grinned up at the Titan. "Just thinking." BT nodded sagely.

"There is much to think about," he replied. "My internal processors have been running ever since the Fold Weapon Incident, trying to comprehend what happened. So far, I have run through nine hundred and sixty one quadrillion calculations, and none have been satisfactory to explain my survival." Cooper grinned again.

"Well, I'm glad you survived," he said simply.

It was true. When BT had sacrificed himself to destroy the Fold Weapon, months ago but still seemingly yesterday to Cooper, he didn't actually die like he should have. Instead, BT had reappeared with Cooper at a nearby Militia evacuation site as soon as both had been consumed by the explosion's shockwave. Neither knew how they got there; neither knew how they had been saved. It was presumed to be some strange side effect of the Fold Weapon's ability to bend time and space, which made sense, but it was still strange nevertheless.

At least they were both still alive. Now they were here, aboard this ship, run by people from a different galaxy in what seemed to be an entirely new world. How very bizarre.

"Pilot Cooper, I wish to speak to you," stated BT. Both looked around at the various Apocalypse armsmen standing around, watching them but still not particularly caring about the duo's movements or words.

"Okay, BT," replied Cooper. The Pilot was expecting something of the sort, but he didn't fully predict that BT would grab him and promptly deposit him within his cockpit. It was still a familiar gesture; BT's metal hand reaching out and ever-so-gently reaching around Cooper's torso was something that to one who was not a Pilot might have been very uncomfortable, but to a Pilot was normal and even comforting.

"Pilot Cooper, I have…" This was followed by a pause. Titans never paused unless calculating. Within BT's cockpit, listening to the interior audio of his Titan and without the outside world to intrude, Cooper frowned in worry. BT rarely, if ever, paused. "I have been calculating based on the newfound information we have been provided," continued the Titan. "I am unsure of our present course, Pilot Cooper. There are many new and unknown variables to this new reality, many we nor our new comrades know about." Within BT's cockpit, in his comfortable Pilot's seat, Cooper frowned once more, his emotions only visible to his friend.

"What do you think about them? The others we met, I mean," he asked. BT took a moment to reply.

"It is hard to say, Pilot Cooper. While I can read human emotions, I am not an expert on the subject." Cooper smiled. That much was certainly true. While he had been getting BT more acquainted with notions like sarcasm, hurt, facial expressions, and why a human might hide feelings, it was nevertheless hard for an A.I. to understand human emotions. "However, Captain Drake has given us information on himself, his crew, and his galaxy. He also seems to be what humans might refer to as straightforward and honest. This is corroborated by the fact that he has given us this information. He appears to want to work together for a unified whole and foster peace between our groups."

"Yeah, well, from being on his ship, Drake seems nice enough," allowed Cooper. The Pilot got the distinct impression that Drake had an easygoing and outwardly cheery, dramatic personality, but there seemed to be hints of horrifyingly sharp intelligence hiding behind those crystal blue eyes whenever Cooper caught the man staring at something intently. There seemed to be more than met the eye… But they all had secrets, and Drake was upfront and nice enough. This was probably just the nerves and paranoia of the situation talking.

"I am concerned, though, Pilot Cooper." BT's deep voice interrupted Cooper's thoughts. The Pilot turned to the cockpit around him.

"What?" he asked. "What's wrong?"

"While most of the individuals we have met seem to want peace, we cannot know for certain. What we know is what Captain Drake has given us, plus the small information some of the others have offered up. Thus, we are in this situation without all of the variables." BT paused again. His voice seemed more… hushed as he continued. "In addition, I have detected two other signals nearby, within this fleet, that seem to be some form of A.I., as powerful if not more so than myself."

It was silent for a moment. Cooper frowned as he considered the possibilities of BT's words. He found it hilariously ironic that he was now in the position of the Apocalypse's crew; now he was nervous of what these other A.I. might be.

A.I., or at least Titans and the ones he was familiar with, operated much like human beings in the sense of personality and knowledge. Some, the crew of the Apocalypse foremost, were worried that Titans, with all their weaponry and power, would slaughter the humans beneath them. However, BT would not, as many Titans wouldn't.

First off, a Titan had three distinct protocols: link to Pilot, uphold the mission, and protect its Pilot. It would only do as the mission, Pilot, or other lawful superiors ordered it. A Titan was programmed as a support to human beings, and while it had something of a free will, it would still abide by directions. Secondly, a Titan, much like a human, was shaped by those around it. If, for instance, a Titan was in a mercenary group, it would support the bloodthirstiness of its humans as these were the actions it knew. Cooper rather hoped he and Captain Lastimosa, BT's previous owner, had a better effect on BT. He rather thought his Titan knew right from wrong.

But another A.I., from a different galaxy, with different people and different rules, might be much different. Already, Cooper knew one of the groups, the Imperium of Man, represented by Commissar Cain and his ilk, were aggressively xenophobic, which, considering many of the other groups had aliens, was likely to cause a problem. An A.I. built by them would likely share the same traits. This had the propensity to cause issues…

"Do you know who these A.I.s are or what groups they're with?" asked Cooper. Mentally, he could tell his Titan was shaking his head.

"No. However, I can attempt to contact them or we can attempt to ask." Cooper frowned once more. BT continued. "However, be warned, Pilot Cooper: these A.I.s feel like powerful analytics A.I.s, much like Spyglass. They likely know who I am and what I am. I am limited to my chassis, and my primary function is battle. I can do little against something as powerful as them."

Well, that wasn't good. Cooper looked around the cockpit nervously. All of a sudden, the Apocalypse's fears of BT being hacked didn't seem so far-fetched. He was nervous that his friend's mind might not be his own. Though he knew it couldn't happen in his reality, what about the others? Could a machine overtake another? It would be like a human's mind being brainwashed and overtaken by another human. That surely couldn't happen…

Could it?

There was so much to learn of this new reality, and Cooper was suddenly uncertain if he wanted to find the answers.

oOo

Aboard the Normandy

Commander Jane Shepard raised a ginger eyebrow from above a luminescent green eye in resigned amusement and equal annoyance as she drummed her fingers on the table in front of her. Across the table, Miranda Lawson, the Normandy's appointed second-in-command (not appointed by her, mind you), continued her report.

"The Enterprise, Omen, and Millennium Falcon seem, at the present moment, to be the least of our concerns." Lawson's sharp Australian burr cut through the room as it always did, flawless and commanding. Shepard sighed to herself. She did not like Lawson. Lawson did not like her. They made no secret of it. It was an odd relationship for a Commander and second to have, but it was there nevertheless. Shepard never had a choice in this matter. But still, she listened as Lawson continued. "The first two are more exploratory, and they seem to be more diplomatic and want peace. The latter is a smuggler ship with only two people aboard, so they shouldn't give us any issues. The others, however…" Miranda trailed off.

Jane looked over as Miranda's left wrist glowed orange and the holographic form of her omni-tool sprang to life around her forearm. She also grabbed a stack of paper files, honest-to-goodness paper files, from beneath the table and plopped them down with a deep thud. Jane cocked an eyebrow.

"The other ones concern me." The dark-haired woman glanced up at Shepard with a slight frown. "Probably the most concerning part of this entire situation is the fact that we don't have a lot of information on anyone else. This is a first-contact situation. The fact is that many of these people are somewhat secretive for now. Then, of course, there is the issue of getting information across galactic lines. However, what we do know is rather concerning and only raises more questions."

"How so?" asked Shepard, as much a question as it was to tell Miranda she was actually listening. Her second-in-command frowned as she browsed through her omni-tool.

"Well, the Milano seems a lot like the Normandy, actually," continued Miranda. "It's much smaller, of course, with a crew of six, but it's a strange collection of experts and species from across the galaxy. Quill's in charge of that one," she said with a frown. "We don't know a whole lot about him, and he doesn't seem incredibly competent, certainly not as much as any of the other commanders, but he apparently is a mercenary or outlaw of great repute where he's from."

Shepard nodded. Her fingers found the hem of her N7 sweatshirt and she fiddled with it as Miranda continued to speak. At least she wasn't wearing her armor, only her casual clothes. She wasn't sure she could stand to sit and listen to Miranda this long otherwise.

"Cooper seems fine enough, though he does have an A.I. battle mech of some sort, called a Titan." Shepard perked up in interest. Now this was interesting. Leave it to her to get excited about mechs, but that was just her nature.

"Like an Atlas?" she asked. "But A.I.?" Miranda merely frowned again.

"It's larger and more powerful than an Atlas. Apparently Cooper, the human Pilot, works in tandem with the A.I. We don't know a whole lot beyond that, unless you want to ask Cooper or have EDI scan or try to contact the A.I." It was Shepard's turn to frown. EDI was the Normandy's (technically illegal) A.I. She didn't want to reveal they had one just yet, or intrude on the other A.I.'s privacy. Yet. Hopefully it didn't need to come to anything more drastic.

"And the others?" she asked.

"The others… well, they concern me, as I said," replied Miranda. "This one," she brought up a picture on her omni-tool and showed it to Shepard, "Is rather frightening. The Master Chief." Shepard nodded. The strange, silent figure in green armor from the first meeting was rather off-putting. "I can't find a lot on him, but he's a super-soldier or some sort, and from what little we've seen, he's very dangerous."

"You think Grunt can take him?" asked Shepard jokingly, trying to lighten the mood. Miranda frowned. Shepard tried not to roll her eyes.

"I have no idea," snapped Miranda. "I don't know if I could take him." Well, that was surprising, especially coming from miss-perfect herself. "We don't know anything about this man, or exactly what was done to him, or his psychological profile. You'd probably have to talk to Kelly about starting one on all of our new friends, but if I were to say, he's either a very disciplined soldier who doesn't waste words or a sociopath. Neither bodes well."

"Then there's the last two: Drake's mercenaries and the Imperium of Man." Miranda gestured to the paper files on the table. "We know a lot about Drake, because he gave us his files, and it's rather concerning." Shepard cocked her head. She knew about this, of course, but now it seemed strange.

"Why would Drake freely give us information about him and his crew?" she asked, trying to work her way through it, yet coming up blank.

"I don't know," replied Miranda with another frown. "But look at this." She went through the files, picking them up, reading them, then placing them nearby in a rapid-fire fashion that betrayed she'd carefully combed through them all before. Shepard sighed. Of course she did, and didn't even inform her. "Special forces. Special forces. Special forces. Special forces. Dual-PHD in nuclear physics and thermodynamics, kicked out of the military due to illegal work on explosives. Special forces. Special forces. Ex-cruiser pilot in a governmental navy; highest scores possible. Special forces. Special forces. More special forces." She looked up exasperatedly at Shepard. "This one doesn't even have a background. No passport, no records. Not even a driver's license. Just a birth certificate." Well, that was concerning.

"That's… concerning," said Shepard, putting her thoughts into words dryly. They seemed to be using that word a lot lately. Miranda nodded, still looking at the files.

"Their ground crew, what they call 'armsmen', has some of the best ex-special forces soldiers from their galaxy… At least from what I can tell. From the looks of these," she gestured to the files, "They're just as good, if not better, than our team."

Shepard sighed. She didn't really think anyone could beat her, an N7 soldier, plus the greatest sniper in the galaxy, the greatest technological expert in the galaxy, the greatest assassin in the galaxy, the best human biotic, a thousand-year-old Asari Justicar, and one very large, very angry Krogan, but you never knew. The Apocalypse outnumbered them ten, if not fifteen or twenty to one, and all of their ground crew (or armsmen, apparently) were on her level. It was food for thought. Very concerning food for thought.

"And the last ones, Cain's group, the Imperials, are apparently products of a ten-thousand year old theocratic, xenophobic empire that rules their entire galaxy and whose motto is literally suffer not the xenos to live." Jane's eyes shot up. It was rather obvious that Cain's group didn't like aliens, considering the glances they threw at Garrus and Tali at the meeting, but this was something else entirely.

"Well, I would have thought Cerberus would like people like that," drawled Shepard. It was a cheap shot, she knew, and she almost felt bad about it, but she did it anyway. Cerberus was known for being very pro-human… occasionally violently pro-human. Shepard was employed by Cerberus, and Miranda, the ship, and the crew all belonged to the organization. She didn't like it, but she didn't have a choice. Dying and being miraculously brought back to life by said organization left her with few options.

Miranda frowned at Shepard, arms crossing beneath her chest as she stared at the Commander.

"There's a difference between humanity first or wanting humanity in a good position against other species that have been doing this a lot longer than us and suffer not the alien to live," she put succinctly. Shepard nodded.

"I'm sorry, Miranda," she apologized. Lawson waved it off. Their relationship was strained, but they were still outwardly polite to each other.

Of course, they couldn't have been in this situation in the first place if not for Cerberus. Jane was alive because of Cerberus. The Normandy was rebuilt because of Cerberus, and they had added not only an A.I., but some experimental shenanigan technology that allowed them to traverse at FTL speed much faster than they would normally be able to. Of course, Jane had no idea how they got it, or if it was influenced by the time shenanigans, and she wasn't entirely sure she wanted to find out how it worked. She had some suspicions, and none of them were good.

Of course, there were other problems that were more pressing, so that would probably have to wait.

"I've got to look into all of this more," muttered the second-in-command. Shepard nodded in reply. She would too. And she would absolutely not tolerate any of what might be Drake's sneakiness or the Imperials' outright hostility to her best friends.

Hopefully Vir, whose ship Cain and the Imperials were actually on, and who had many aliens in his crew, was up to the challenge.

oOo

Aboard the Omen

Admiral Adam Vir wore a crooked half-grin as he looked around the wide table to his various friends and crewmates as they all discussed the various groups that now made up reality. Of course, the foremost and most important were those that now shared the ship with them.

"So what do we know about these guys, beyond the fact that they don't like aliens?" asked Dr. Katie, the second doctor of the ship and Kril's assistant.

"Not much," replied Simone, the executive officer. "Beyond the bit of history they gave us, only themselves. But still," she glanced around at the others. "It's concerning." There were murmurs of ascent.

"Well, they're aboard now, the entire group of them, which concerns me, but they've been fine for the present moment. Cain, Kasteen, and Broklaw might not necessarily like aliens, but they seem to be willing to let the issue go." The Omen's chaplain, Maverick, summed it up succinctly. The murmurs continued.

"They seem nice enough; at least those three," inputted Simone. The others nodded. Cain had been nothing if not perfectly polite. Perhaps a bit strained, but still perfectly friendly. They were all strained though; this was a bit of an unorthodox situation, to put it mildly.

"What I'm worried about is the fact that we have a good portion of a regiment of, from what we've heard, very experienced planetary-assault shock troops aboard our ship, who come from an empire that's very militaristic and very hostile to aliens. What if they decide they don't like us?" asked Sunny, ever the practical one, always concerned about security. "What if they decide to kill us or take over?" There was more murmuring, this time more subdued and troubled rather than in light agreement. Adam cleared his throat.

"Well, the idea is for us to try and get them on our side," replied Vir with a grin. "This is a first-contact, after all." He looked around at the various faces around the table. His grin widened. "It's so exciting! There are now eight entirely different realities that make up our universe, eight entirely different galaxies!" Next to him, Sunny and a few of the Marines who knew him well sighed, amused, grins on their faces as their commander showed the full excitement of his true personality. "There's so much to know, so much to understand, so much to explore!" He was particularly excited for all of the various new alien species that populated them all.

"What exactly do we know, then?" asked Rameriez, one of the Marines, grinning behind his mop of black hair, eyes dancing as he gently prodded the Admiral to continue. Vir continued with unabashed enthusiasm.

"Look at… well, everything!" he grinned. "Shepard had two distinct aliens with her; Garrus and Tali, if I remember correctly," Vir double-checked a notepad he had in front of him, "I wonder what they are, how they work, why the one was in a suit, what she looks like, if she's actually a she because she looks like a she - Solo had an alien on his crew, Chewbacca, Quill had two, though one looked very remarkably like a human besides the green skin, and what looked like a raccoon - I wonder if he actually is a raccoon - and then there was Spock, with Kirk, who might be human but he had weird ears, so who knows?" he finished. He beamed to the rest of the table. "Who knows? So much stuff to figure out; to learn!" Most of those around the table were grinning along with their commander.

"How do we know they don't carry diseases?" worried Kril. "What about all the different compatibility issues? What if someone's allergic to someone else? Vaccines, medical information, blood types, food rations, allergies, the list goes on!" he grumbled. Most of the Marines were now fighting to keep grins off their faces at the radically different approaches of their commander and chief doctor.

"I'm sure you and Dr. Katie can liaison with the other medical officers to figure all that out," reassured the Admiral. Kril grumbled to himself under his breath; something about stupid humans. Vir grinned again.

"I'm also quite curious to learn more about the Imperials," he admitted. A few of the others actually looked surprised by that. "I want to know more about them and their galaxy, and why they are the way they are. That's the only way we can calm things down: by getting to know them, by listening to them and respecting what they have to say." More nods. A few skeptical looks.

"And if they get hostile? What then?" asked Cannon. He was a very large Drev, one of the many aboard, and Sunny's older brother. Unlike Sunny herself, who worked as the Omen's weapon officer, Cannon was the leader of the Drev clan aboard, and a functionary liaison between his race and the others (though the time of distrust between them was long past).

"I won't let it come to that," promised Vir. He smiled softly at Cannon. "Drev and humans, Drev and other species, Vrul and some other species, and humans and… well, a lot of people, didn't quite get along first, but look where we are now," he stated, gesturing around to the table.

"That much is true," said Maverick, amused. It was, of course, in no small part thanks to the work of Vir himself, and many of those sitting around this very table.

"And if we can do it with ourselves, who might have been enemies in the past, then we can do it with them, too," assured Vir. "It's only a matter of doing."

oOo

Commissar Ciaphas Cain sighed to himself as the officers of the Valhallan 597th argued around him. Golden eagles flashed in the light as the gray-blue uniforms of Valhalla rippled. Behind Cain, Jurgen, his ever-loyal, scraggly, filthy, but utterly reliable aide stood silently, melta gun in hand, observing and ready to back up the Commissar in whatever function he might need. They were, of course, all aboard the Omen, Admiral Vir's ship. The Admiral, his officers and his crew had been kind enough to allow them there, considering their lack of other viable transportation. He was a kind man, it seemed; the others whom Cain had met seemed equally kind and wary of each other, just as he tried to be. Yet, nevertheless, there was a problem. A large problem.

Aboard this ship, infesting it, as one might say (Captain Sulla used the phrase earlier) were xenos. Everywhere. Of multiple different species. All living together, speaking together, allied with one another and the humans aboard. But it did not stop there. Oh, no.

The others all had xenos too. The only ones that did not were Cooper and the strange green-armored soldier known only as Master Chief. There were no xenos in the former's reality, and the latter's humanity had apparently found out what xenos truly were and were waging a war for the survival of the species.

But the others… The others. They all had aliens aboard their ships, in their crews. They worked with them as equals. Shepard, Kirk, Solo, Quill, and even the seemingly level-headed Drake had aliens aboard. The latter had few, and few in positions of authority (apparently due to the fact alien species were much fewer in number in his galaxy, which was only proper), but he still had them nevertheless. And the others… they were even worse. Xenos all over. Best friends; with their commanders as either equals or seconds in that first meeting.

Commissar Cain thought of himself as a practical man. He was not one of the stereotypical overzealous Imperial clergymen or Commissars; he didn't start screaming propaganda slogans while gunning down anything remotely non-human on sight. He had gotten along with the Tau and Eldar when required; even been helpful and perfectly polite to them. No, Cain much preferred to keep the peace. It was so much easier that way, after all.

However, the total inclusion of xenos everywhere was, to be put rather dryly, not good. Xenos were, of course, extremely self-serving. Cain didn't hold it against them, of course: he was very self-serving (not that anyone else had to know, of course). But the fact remained that xenos would look after xeno interests first, which were often diametrically opposed to the work of His Divine Majesty's government and the human race as a whole. The fact that aliens were so prevalent in all of these other groups meant that the humans were either unassuming to the threat posed, or already compromised, much like the sycophantic human supporters of the Tau. Neither was a particularly good option.

"But we can't just do nothing!" The words of Captain Sulla broke Cain out of his thoughts. She was frowning, her brown hair framing her long face and nose. Cain sighed. Sulla had always been the most… enthusiastic officer of the 597th, even when she had been a Lieutenant. "We're surrounded by heretics on all sides, and the xenos can simply do whatever they want! It's our sworn duty to the Militarum and the God-Emperor to purge the xeno and the heretic!"

"If you haven't noticed, Captain Sulla, we're surrounded and outnumbered," interjected Captain Detoi mildly. Cain refrained from giving input (yet; he'd wait for the opportune moment), but he glanced at Detoi approvingly. The commander of Second Company was always one of the more level-headed officers besides Kasteen and Broklaw.

"We have more firepower than them, we're better-trained and better-off than them, and we could easily take them all out," pointed out Sulla, crossing her arms stubbornly. A few of the other officers nodded along. Sulla turned to Tope, the regimental chaplain and de-facto voice of the Ecclesiarchy in this debate. "What about you, Chaplain?" she asked respectfully. "What's your opinion?"

Tope simply sighed, rubbing his forehead uncomfortably. He was usually rather enthusiastic, but the current situation and merging of realities seemed to have hit a sober note in him. Besides, as Cain remembered, he reserved his enthusiasm and hate for the more… dangerous and problematic enemies of the Imperium over distaste for aliens.

"I'm not entirely sure," admitted Tope. There were more mutterings. Tope shot the rest of the table an annoyed glance, and they fell silent. "As we've already mentioned, we're in a completely unique situation. This is something that has never happened before, ever. Not for us, not for any of them. We are all from literally different realities. Who's to say everything works the same everywhere?" Another officer opened her mouth to speak, but Tope held up a hand. "I know what the Emperor and His Imperium says about xenos. We all know they're treacherous and self-serving. However, we can't go into this all guns blazing without thinking first." It looked like there would be another round of arguments, but Cain cleared his throat. Everyone looked over to him.

Summing up his thoughts to himself, Cain put on his very best 'mild-mannered and thoughtful Commissar who's trying to make everything alright' look. A slight tilt of the head, a small smile, and a knowing crinkle about the eyes; it was a look he'd perfected over the many long years in his service to the Commissariat.

"I think Chaplain Tope is right," he interjected mildly. "This is a completely new situation. We need to take stock of things before we start doing anything rash." He glanced around to each of the others in turn. "It's a lot like the situation on Gravalax. We worked with the Tau, and found a greater threat to everyone and subsequently destroyed it. Perhaps it was not to the letter of Imperial law, but it was in the spirit and ultimately served the God-Emperor better than anything else we could have done, especially going in weapons first, brains last, and dying under Tau guns." Cain tapped a gloved hand to his forehead, just beneath his Commissar's cap. "The greatest weapon in humanity's arsenal, and the greatest weapon for any good soldier, and you're all good soldiers, is the mind. We need to take stock of things first, then decide what to do."

Colonel Kasteen and Major Broklaw looked to Cain approvingly. The other officers nodded, listening intently as if hearing the words of a great mentor.

"Besides," continued Cain with a shrug, "Admiral Vir and his crew were nice enough to offer us their ship. From what I can tell, even if they might be heretics, they're kind." He shrugged. It might not be a lot in the face of Imperial zeal, but it still made them all stop and think. The crew of the Omen had been kind to them when they had no reason to, probably did not or could not trust them, and when the Imperials probably would not have returned the favor had the roles been flipped. "Also," interjected Cain as his final trump card, the nail in the coffin, as it were, "We're here on orders of the Inquisitor. Our job is to gather information for the Imperium; not start a war."

Now that was something that would get them to see reason, if nothing else. While many of the enlisted troopers and the non-coms did not know for certain, the officers all had heard the mission briefing from Cain and Kasteen as given to them from Inquisitor Amberley Vail of the Ordo Xenos. Otherwise they wouldn't and couldn't be here in the first place.

Of course, they had been chosen not only because they were one of, if not the best regiments in the region closest to these other galaxies, but because Cain knew Inquisitor Vail personally… and Inquisitor Vail was nothing if not perceptive and on top of her game regarding current events.

"That's all quite true, Commissar," said Kasteen politely, nodding at him. Broklaw wore an amused expression on his pale face. The other officers were silent, waiting. What to do, what to do? "We simply stay here and wait, gathering information. As the Commissar said, the mind is our greatest weapon, and to use it to its full extent, we need to know everything before acting. Besides, again, our hosts don't seem to be hostile." Everyone else nodded. Cain made sure to visibly agree with the Colonel. "For now, we simply go along with this plan, and we see what's going on while we try and figure everything else out." Kasteen paused. "Any questions?"

There were none. It looked as if Sulla and a few of the more impetuous officers were still thinking things over, but, ultimately, they would do what the Colonel said. The regiment had a great respect for the officers and Cain himself, a far cry from their original foundation. Cain smiled to himself fondly. Ah, how far they had come.

But now they were going even farther, into the unknown, into new realities that were diametrically opposed to the will of the Imperium. He had no idea what was to come, but hopefully with his wit, plus Jurgen's help, they'd make it through.

oOo

Aboard the Milano

"So do we get to kill these guys or not?"

"No. No killing. No killing anyone." Peter Quill looked around, exasperated, in the open 'recreational' space in the middle of the ship. "C'mon, guys, we talked about this. We're not going to kill them, they're not going to kill us, we figure out what's going on first. Okay?"

Around him, the various members of his crew, all five of them, were lounged around in various stages of interest, from fully listening to not even pretending to care. Quill sighed.

"But why not?" asked Drax, munching on some unidentified food. Quill wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know what they were, though it was probably harmless. Probably.

Drax was a large, very muscular, powerful humanoid. Of what precise species, Quill honestly couldn't quite remember at the moment. Really, all those species, all the stuff, it was so hard and annoying to figure out. It wasn't a big deal.

But, yes, anyway, Drax was tall with a broad chest and shoulders. His skin was a strange mottled orange and gray. He was a joyful individual, in a strange sort of way, who only understood things literally and had a childlike glee for violence.

"Because," interjected Gamora before Quill could speak, "They're the only contacts we have from these other galaxies, and Drake promised a lot of money for this." Beside them, Rocket, the small furred master of weapons who shared Drax's love for violence, though in a far more sociopathic manner, snorted.

"So what? We're better," he said dismissively. He grinned wickedly. "Besides, what can they do to us?" Gamora looked at him grimly.

"A lot. A lot. They're all good, in different ways. Lots of soldiers, and really good ones. All sorts of different specialists like us, but from different places," she continued. "We're still getting paid a lot, so no stealing, no killing, no nothing of any sort." She crossed her arms and looked over to the duo. Rocket shrugged.

"Eh, you're no fun," he said teasingly. Promptly losing interest with the current conversation, he started to fiddle with a few gadgets laying around. Gamora sighed and looked back at Quill.

"What do you think about all of this?" she asked. "What do we do?" Quill could only shrug in reply.

"I have no idea," he admitted. He shifted uncomfortably, boots clicking lightly on the ship deck.

"Not even with the stones?" asked Rocket. "Big genius Quill doesn't know what happened?" Both Gamora and Quill rolled their eyes.

"Okay, one, I never said I was a genius, and two, I have no clue," replied Quill. That much was true.

He had been on the ground for the final battle between Thanos and the various allies that opposed him. Iron Man, or whatever the hell that guy's name had been, grabbed the stones and used them. Then… well, that was how they found themselves in this current situation.

They had gotten far away from Earth and the various issues of the groups that permeated it, only to find a message from Captain Drake. Curious, they had arrived here.

But there was more, at least to them. At least to Quill.

The Infinity Stones, those strange artifacts that had the power over time, space and reality, had been obtained by Thanos at a price. A terrible, terrible price.

Gamora had been sacrificed by Thanos to obtain one of those gems, thrown from a precipice to her doom. She had died, and a part of Quill died with her.

There had been even more time shenanigans that Quill knew had happened but did not fully understand. There was a wizard (yes, an actual wizard; he was still trying to figure this out, alright?) who probably knew, but he was a very strange individual and Quill didn't want to ask.

But, yes, regardless, at one point the old Thanos from before this had come back with a Gamora still loyal to him, who had promptly abandoned her adopted father to join them. However, after the time-blast thingamajig that caused all of… this, old Gamora, the Gamora they all knew and loved, was back in her double's place.

To Quill, the greater mysteries of this entire situation were of far greater import than his new allies, whom he knew they could figure out. However, he would never tell his friends that, and he knew he probably wasn't clever enough to figure it out, so the mystery would remain.

"Well, I hope we're paid soon," said Rocket. Quill rolled his eyes.

"Is that all you think about?" Rocket shrugged.

"Is that a problem?"

"Well… no, not necessarily," sighed Quill. "But there are bigger things going on." Gamora nodded in agreement.

"Yes. He's right. We have to try and figure all this out." Well, at least someone was on his side. Quill smiled at her. Though, then again, she had always been on his side, even when they were trying to kill each other when they first met. Benefits of being a practical person, he supposed.

"So… what do we do then?" asked Rocket. Quill stared at the ceiling, trying to think. This was all so hectic. He'd never show it, but he really did just want to sit back and try to find answers instead of diving headlong into this thing.

But, hey, he was Star-Lord, the famous outlaw, so he could do it either way.

"I say we try and get to know these guys, then we try and figure out exactly what happened that ended in all of… this," he said. The others looked at him approvingly.

"Sounds good," agreed Gamora. "Until then… we keep our cards close and try to find out exactly who these guys are. Agreed?" The others nodded.

"Sounds good," said Quill. "The only question is exactly how everything is going to go, now that everything has changed…"

oOo

Aboard the Enterprise

Master Chief John 117 triple-checked the carefully closed, sealed, and locked door of his assigned cabin aboard the Enterprise. It remained closed, sealed, and locked. Again. He nevertheless went through the exact and precise details of making sure for the third time.

It was a mixture of ingrained military discipline and paranoia accompanied by the nervousness and distrust of being aboard a strange ship from a different reality. Those few, very tiny precious few that actually knew him might have said it was a part of his personality: his slight nervousness and distrust, his yearning want for privacy. He himself knew deep within his soul, and knew his best friend would tell him later, but he still persisted in the behavior.

Some said he was the luckiest soldier alive. It was not luck in his opinion. It was habit; the double checking, the quietness of his mind and soul and the preparation for anything that might come that made him a good soldier.

Satisfied that the door truly was closed and there were no listening devices in the room (he'd previously gone over every inch three times), he walked to the chair near the table he had been provided with. It was sized to fit his massive frame, a fact which he was silently grateful to his hosts for.

The quarters themselves were much more luxurious than he would have liked. They had a table, comfortable chairs, creature comforts, and a large, very soft, very comfortable bed.

He would have preferred a cot and an armory, and told his hosts so, but they had laughed good-naturedly and gave him a typical guest cabin.

He didn't mind, though he might end up sleeping on the floor.

He pushed these thoughts from his mind. Deep breath in, deep breath out. There was only his breath, and the security of his armor and weapons.

He thought. Considered. Organized his thoughts, as a man filing papers might. Each and every learned detail was put away for careful ponderance and reference.

Finally calmed, he stood and made sure, one last time, that there was no one listening in from the outside. He supposed they could still be doing so anyway, and that Cortana would know better than he and lightly mock him for his quadruple-checking, but he still did so.

It was what made him a good soldier, after all.

It was what kept him alive, after all these years, through all these trials.

With a deep breath, John held out his left hand, palm up.

The holographic image of a woman, wearing a jumpsuit, with dark hair and laughing eyes, made of violet-blue light, appeared in John's palm. She grinned up at him. John made no expression behind his helm.

"Oh, c'mon, we're alone. You can take off your helmet," said the holographic woman teasingly. John didn't make a move, both in the armor and behind it. The woman sighed. "Oh, very well. I do know what your face looks like, just so you know," she said with an amused smile as she crossed her arms.

"I know," said John suddenly. The woman looked up at him. The super-soldier got the distinct impression she hadn't been fully expecting that answer, or even an answer. Now that caused him to internally smile.

Cortana, the A.I. who currently manifested in her chosen holographic form in his palm, was perhaps one of the most intelligent and clever beings John 117 had ever met. More than that, she was, though he would never admit it aloud and rarely even in his own mind, his best friend. One of his only friends.

But still, it was rare that he'd surprise her. He relished in it when he did, or when he made her laugh. Some may have found it odd that he was such good friends with an Artificial Intelligence, but she did pretty much live in his head, so there was that.

"Well, what exactly do I have the honor of being summoned for, and after you checked the room no less than four times?" Cortana grinned again. "You also do realize that you just could have asked me? I already checked, and neither Kirk nor anyone else on the Enterprise have any listening devices. The ship isn't really rigged for that sort of thing, and if it was, I could easily stop it," she finished.

John merely shrugged. He knew all this. It didn't hurt to make sure from his end, though.

"Soooo…." Cortana trailed off, arms crossed as she paced in his palm. "What exactly did you want to ask me? I assume you brought me out for a reason."

John merely shrugged. Cortana sighed in an overly-exasperated fashion.

"Well, fine then," she replied. "I guess you just want input, or to go over everything." John nodded. Cortana looked slightly amused, slightly exacerbated at her super-soldier's lack of verbal reply. "Anything in particular?" John shrugged again.

"Anything I should know? Any threats?" he asked. Cortana nodded approvingly, though if it was due to the content of his questions or due to the fact he actually spoke aloud, John did not know.

"Well, most of the others are very organized and experienced soldiers or fighters in general," replied the holographic form of the A.I. "Cain's group, or, perhaps Kasteen's group, the Imperials, are an experienced planetary assault regiment. Besides their strange culture and hate towards outsiders, which I'm looking into, mind you, nothing out of the ordinary there. I'll keep you updated though," she promised. John nodded again. "Drake's organization is made up of a bunch of very experienced mercenaries. From the information I've got from them, they're a very experienced and high-quality mercenary outfit. They work for big corporations, and they always get the job done, no matter what." Cortana frowned. "They're like the ONI of large corporations, it seems…"

John frowned. He did not like ONI. Drake was an odd person. He didn't quite know what to think.

"Anyway, those guys don't seem to be too hard to figure out, and Drake's so-far honest with his information and wants, but I'll continue to look into it. The others are more interesting." Cortana started to fiddle with holographic data flowing above her head, scrolling and piecing it all together. "Cooper is alone with an A.I. battle mech-"

"An A.I.?" interrupted John. Cortana looked up.

"Yes, an A.I. Though not as powerful as I am. It's mainly restricted to its chassis and performing battle functions as a combat mech. Though it can do research, analysis, and other things like that, it's not nearly as powerful as I am. Push come to shove, you don't have anything to worry about," reassured Cortana. John merely nodded again. "Anyway, to continue, there's Cooper. Then there's Solo and his ship. He's only got one person with him: his first mate, of a species called the Wookies, named Chewbacca. They're smugglers; a fast ship and not much else of a danger to us."

"Anything that could be a particular problem?" queried John.

"No, I don't think so. They all seem peaceful enough, though, again, I'm making sure," replied Cortana. "I don't think any of them could take you one-on-one, and they'd be hard pressed to take you on in a group. While there are a few of what could be called 'super-soldiers' of various types around, Cooper and Vir being two of them, it's thanks to exterior suits, not their own bodies. I'm confident in your abilities."

John said nothing. There was nothing to say. Overconfidence was a weakness. He would still prepare the same way against any opponent; the only thing that would change was the strategy based on the enemy.

"As for the others, Vir and Kirk are very similar. More explorative, something of jacks-of-all-trades. They work for their galactic governments, and their roles are to basically explore and/or solve problems. Lots of different individuals of various backgrounds and species." John frowned at that. He didn't really know what to think of aliens. The only ones he'd ever met wanted to kill him. Cortana noticed his shift in mood. "Well, the aliens seem to be nice enough and not part of a genocidal religious cult, so that's good," she said with a shrug. Internally, John chuckled. That was a plus.

"Anything specific we should know about our hosts?" he asked. Cortana shrugged.

"Nothing comes to mind. They're smart. They're not particularly good fighters; not on the level of some of the others or you." John didn't react to the praise. Cortana sighed and stared at him. He stared back. "I think the best way to get to know them or anything about them would be go asking them," she stated, arms crossed, strangely amused expression on her face.

"No," replied John simply.

"Oh, come on. You can't just hide in your cabin in your armor for however long you're here, and, believe me, with this situation, it could be a very long time." John gave no reply nor reaction. His A.I. sighed again. "One of these days you're actually going to have to talk to someone besides me, you know," she said. Again, John gave no reply. Instead he tilted his head, as if to say continue with the information she had been giving.

"Shepard and Quill's groups are probably the most interesting. Or, at least, I think so." Cortana cocked her head, studying more data flowing in front of her face, visible only to her. "They're groups of wide varieties of different individuals from seemingly mostly different species and groups; all experts of some sort or another. They've got some very interesting individuals…"

"Anything important?" asked John.

"Yes, actually. Apparently, the best assassins from each of their respective galaxies are with Quill and Shepard…" Cortana mused over her data for a bit before a slow smile crept over her face. "And the Normandy has an A.I. Called EDI." John cocked his head.

"Another A.I.?"

"Yep," replied Cortana, voice somewhere between gleeful, smug, and excited. "She's attached to the ship. A full analytic A.I. Very interesting… I wonder if I should contact her…" she mused.

"No," replied John, a slight tinge of panic in his voice. "Don't." Cortana looked back up to him with another smile.

"Why not? What's wrong - or, what's the worst that could happen?"

"A lot," grumbled John. "Who knows? These are completely different A.I.s- we don't even know how they're made." Cortana shrugged with another smile.

"Trust me," she replied. "I can handle myself, you know."

"I know," replied John, perhaps a tad too petulantly. Cortana smiled again, this time much more softly, and reached a hand up towards John's face.

"It'll be fine. Besides… making new friends never hurts. You should try it, sometime." The super-soldier wanted to reply with something along the lines of why? or I already have you, but decided to keep quiet over suffering more A.I. pushiness. He was fine the way he was, thank you very much.

"I just don't think it would be a good idea to reveal yourself yet. We don't know what all these other people might think of A.I.s," he said, trying to keep the tension out of his voice. Cortana merely shrugged.

"Fair enough," she replied. John cocked his head again, exasperated. He knew that all-too-innocent tone. But, ultimately, there was nothing he could do about it, and he did indeed trust Cortana to take care of herself. She'd done it many times before.

"I trust you," he said softly.

"Thank you," replied Cortana in the same tone. She nodded at him. "Now, get everything together, get some rest, and get used to this place. Who knows what might happen next?" With a small nod, John 117 deactivated Cortana's holographic image in his palm. He would simply sit and think for the ostentainable future. He wouldn't remove his armor; not yet. Not when he didn't know this place.

oOo

"Well, I think he's a perfectly fine guest, if a little bit on the quiet side," argued Doctor McCoy, the chief medical officer of the Enterprise as his footfalls echoed through the pristine deck of the ship's hallway.

Beside him walked Captain Kirk and Spock, the second-in-command of the ship. Spock wore his typical emotionless, yet still slightly superior and annoyed look he usually had on when arguing with McCoy, and Kirk wore the typical amused smirk he always had on when his two chief subordinates argued.

"We hardly know anything about him," replied Spock with a nearly-invisible slight frown (or, maybe that was simply his usual expression; Kirk sometimes couldn't tell). The half-human, half-Vulcan looked back to the fully-human McCoy. "In fact, we know little about any of these other groups, besides what little they've volunteered on themselves. Suffice to say, I think we should be very cautious moving forward." McCoy sighed deeply.

"Yes, you're right, of course, but you're missing my point," he replied. Spock merely cocked an eyebrow at him, as if to say oh, really? What could I be missing? Kirk hid a grin. McCoy sighed. "You're missing any sense of trying to figure out who the man behind the armor is and not just your logical rationalizing." Spock stared at the doctor.

"Unlike you, he seems like a perfectly reasonable individual," he stated mildly. "He only talks when he needs to." McCoy snorted.

"Of course you would like that and see it as perfectly fine," he said derisively. The doctor turned back to Kirk. "But I'm worried about this guy, the Chief, or whatever his title or name is. We hardly know anything about him; not even his name or face! What we do know is that he's a super-soldier, and far bigger, stronger, and more powerful than anyone on board. Who knows what he could do, or what he wants to do?" As they continued walking, McCoy turned frustratedly to Kirk. "I can't even run any tests on him to see what he is or if he could be medically dangerous to the crew! We know nothing about him, and he's not cooperating!"

"I do see your point there, Doctor," said Spock in his usual mild, perfectly calm voice. McCoy turned over to Kirk.

"See! Even he admits it, and if he's agreeing with me, then-"

"Although you are not helping your case by stating it in such an emotional, overly-hysterical manner," interjected Spock. McCoy turned back to the first officer.

"Overly-hysterical? Why, the health of this crew is my responsibility, and-"

"Gentlemen, enough." Kirk decided it was finally his time to interrupt. While McCoy and Spock's bantering was something between friends and held no malice, and while the captain found it quite amusing, it was now time to get serious and talk about the elephant in the room, as loathe as he might be to do it. "You both do have excellent points. Our guest seems perfectly rational and so far has shown zero desire to harm us. However, his lack of cooperation and our lack of knowledge about his motives could be dangerous." They continued walking in silence for a moment.

"Then what do we do?" asked McCoy. "We can't force an eight-foot armored super-soldier to do something he doesn't want to." The silence, and the footsteps, continued. Spock frowned in concentrated thought. Kirk rubbed his chin, considering.

"There are a variety of different solutions to this issue, none of them ideal," mused Spock. "None of them perfect. The issue is our lack of information, something I do not like and something that we must rectify." McCoy and Kirk both nodded. Spock was the brains, and though he might have an intellectual disdain for emotion that could sometimes cross the line, he was often the best for solving problems.

Not that it stopped Kirk from doing idiotic things to solve problems the human way, of course.

"I agree," replied Kirk. "We need more information - on everyone. I don't like going into this blind."

"But what do we do about our… erm, guest?" asked McCoy. The question was met with more silence, more thinking.

"I suppose the only way to find out more about the Chief is to get to know him," said Kirk with a thoughtful tilt of his head. Both of his friends looked at him, the same thoughtful look on their faces. It might have been odd to call subordinates friends, but Kirk did. There had been too much danger, too many long days shared between them to call them anything else. If nothing else, the three of them would see this new, so incredibly strange reality through.

"How do you propose we do that?" asked Spock neutrally. Kirk shrugged and grinned.

"Well, how do we do this to any of the various interesting individuals we've ever met throughout our long mission to explore the stars?" asked Kirk. "Go talk to them, and tell them more about ourselves, our ideals, our goals, and our mission."

"And how, precisely, does one open a conversation with an eight-foot, faceless, very grumpy super-soldier?" enquired McCoy. Kirk laughed.

"Carefully, I suppose. But we can do it; he's certainly a lot less hostile than many others we've come across before." Both the doctor and the first officer nodded.

"And the others? What about them?" asked Spock. "We know little about them as well, and some of them don't seem to be of the same subdued disposition as our guest." That much was true. A few of the groups were quite problematic, not to mention the fact that there were a lot more of them.

"I'll admit, they certainly do seem to be a problem," said McCoy. Kirk nodded, frowning.

"The worst ones are the Imperials." He chuckled humorlessly. "In fact, from what little we know, they seem to be something of the complete opposite of us, our ship, our mission, our government, and our ideals." Kirk's accompanying duo nodded gravely.

"I'm especially off-put by their anti-alien and cooperation rhetoric; at least, what little we've heard from them," inputted Spock, still rather emotionless and mild-mannered. It would take a lot more than a theocratic, xenophobic empire from another reality to throw him off-kilter.

"I would agree," agreed McCoy. The doctor turned back to Kirk. "They are certainly an issue. And that's not to mention the mercenaries." The others nodded glumly.

"Ah, yes, the mercenaries. Solo is, by admission, a smuggler. His ship and personality speak mostly of a man who simply enjoys space. He's a criminal, but harmless," said Spock. "The others… I'm not so sure. Quill's group is, from what I can tell about them, primarily motivated by profit, and thus not trustworthy. And Drake's group…" A slight frown. "They've given us information on them, and they're rather ruthless. They're a very well-outfitted military organization: very ruthless, very well-connected, and Drake seems to be rather powerful. Not a good combination."

"Mercenaries," spat McCoy disapprovingly. Kirk couldn't help but agree. As much as it seemed the Imperials were an anathema to them, mercenaries were equally-so, but in a different fashion.

But, on the other hand, Drake had been the one to invite them all here in the first place, and he did seem upright and honest enough with both his intentions and information about himself. Ultimately, they really just didn't know. This was an entirely unique situation, and they had been sent because they were on the edge of the galaxy already, because Starfleet command trusted them the most, and because Drake specifically requested them.

"The only thing we can do at this point is feel it out," said Kirk, "As much as you probably hate that notion, Mister Spock." Spock raised an eyebrow, telling him that was precisely his point of view. "We'll try and get the crew to be more friendly to the Chief; maybe he'll feel more at home with them than us. As for the rest, the only thing we can do is learn more about them, and let them learn more about us."

"Very well, Captain," replied Spock. "What steps should we take to do this, then?" Kirk sighed.

"I don't know," he said, slightly annoyed. "We get Chief to come out of his quarters more, we act kindly to the others, and try to figure out this whole mess as it is." Spock raised another eyebrow, this time slightly amused.

"Very well then, Captain. As you say." So saying, he turned on his heel and took an exit. McCoy watched him go and sighed.

"I'm not so sure about this entire situation, Jim," he admitted. "With all of this going on, I'm just not sure." Kirk shrugged.

"I don't think any of us are, from any reality or group. That's just the thing, though: we have to recognize that, and work together to figure it all out."

oOo

Aboard the Millennium Falcon

"Chewie, can you pass me the torch?" asked Han Solo, captain of the Millennium Falcon, turning towards his large, brown-furred first lieutenant. The Wookie in question gave a small nod and passed his very dirty captain the requested tool.

They were deep within the bowels of the Falcon, in the engine room, working on all of the miscellaneous wiring and engine parts that always seemed to be acting up to one extent or another. The sharp tang of engine grease and the acrid stench of heated wiring permeated through the hold. Both the captain and his first mate were on the ground, crammed into corners and positions that were certainly too small for their frames. Somehow, they managed to fit nevertheless.

It always did seem as if the ship needed maintenance. All of Solo's good friends, either out of respect or distaste, said his ship was a piece of junk. The latter Solo would not tolerate, the former he understood perfectly: it was his piece of junk, and the best piece of junk in the galaxy. Yes, there always seemed to be one problem or another, yes, there were the occasional issues with the hyperdrive (which, by the way, was the fastest in the galaxy), and yes, it probably would have been much cheaper and less time-consuming to simply get another, newer ship, but Solo would never do that. The Millennium Falcon was his, through and through, and had experienced a lot together.

Such sentimentality aside, it was one of the fastest, if not the fastest ship in the galaxy. (It depended on who you talked to, but among the Galactic Empire and the Rebel Alliance… well, the latter respected it and the former had spent a war's-worth of time hunting it, and they both knew the truth.) He had made the Kessel run in less than twelve parsecs. Could anyone else beat that? Han Solo didn't think so.

Now they might need such a fast ship, especially considering what their competition was. His face covered in grease and grime, Solo popped out of the hatch he was working in and looked over to Chewbacca's large frame, currently wedged between maintenance panels.

"Chewie, what do you think of the other ships?" he asked, partly curious, partly to get his first mate's opinion, and partly to figure out where his beloved Falcon stood.

For his part, Chewbacca grunted back a non-committal answer as he fiddled with some tubing. Solo sighed.

"Yeah, I know we haven't seen what they can do yet," replied Solo as he reached for another tool. "But I'm asking you what you think." Chewbacca let loose with a string of growls and whirring moans in the language of the Wookies: something that Solo could speak, but few others. It had given him, and them, the advantage many times.

Hopefully, considering Wookie was not on the translators that Drake had given, they could continue that advantage even now. Solo did wonder where those things came from or how they worked, all things considered. He assumed Drake had read or stolen translator programs from each galaxy, or at least figured out the major language. He didn't dwell on it, though. It wasn't his area of expertise, and he didn't really care.

"Yeah, well, I guess so," he replied to Chewie's answer. "They're all bigger than us, mind you, but we're faster." Solo had faith he could outrun any of them if need be. He was actually rather grateful the Falcon didn't have anyone else aboard, like a few of the others. That would be a potential issue, and one he couldn't outrun.

The other ships certainly were fine. They were also fast… but not fast enough. They had more firepower, the Normandy apparently had a stealth system, and he was certain the others all had tricks up their sleeves. But, ultimately, it didn't matter. They could get out of trouble; they'd always done so before.

"And the guys? The people? The captains? What about them?" asked Solo.

Chewbacca gave a noncommittal answer. Solo shrugged from the hatch he was currently in.

"Yeah, I don't know either," he admitted. He couldn't quite place some of the others. Each of them were different, each of them from a different background and reality, and Solo was sure they were all hiding secrets.

He wasn't. He was just a man with a starship trying to find his way through this crazy universe, and it had only gotten even larger and more complicated. That was just how it worked, unfortunately.

But, hey, they'd always figured it out, and they would continue to do so.

Hopefully.

oOo

Well, there we have it. I do hope you all enjoyed. Now, I am sure I'll get a few questions along the lines of: how does Drake know all this stuff? 'Cause he spent months trying to figure it out. How is Gamora, the actual Gamora, not her old-version clone, back? 'Cause time shenanigans. Honestly, if the writers of the most popular movie franchise of all time can get away with "Somehow, Palpatine returned," then you guys can give me these for the sake of a crossover story on the internet. Yes, maybe a bit of hand-waving, but this is a crossover, and to set it up right, then there's going to have to be a bit of that.

Anyway, next chapter is interpersonal relations, which is perhaps one of the more fun and well-liked aspects of crossovers, so I do think you'll enjoy it. As usual, if you have any comments, questions, concerns, criticisms, or reviews, I would love to hear 'em. Stay tuned for more!