Well, I'm back! Sorry for the delay. I have written a codex, which includes a list of characters, for the story. For those of you asking, or interested, or who need additional help with all the multitudes of people in the story, it's there for you! I hope you like it. It'll be updated to contain the necissary information as the story continues, so stay tuned for both!

As for this chapter, it's dedicated to the technology of the various galaxies. Unfortunately, I couldn't go nearly as in-depth as I wanted, but I hope you enjoy it. We also see some deeper meanings, thought processes, and interactions here. Character development; I hope you like it!

Of course, this is a comedy, so I hope you enjoy at least some of the humor here.

I also will have one of my (in)famous List of Things [blank] are No Longer Allowed To Do written up for Magnificent Scoundrels shortly, so when that comes out, I hope you'll get a laugh from it! I hope you like the chapter, and on to reviews!

hunter 139: Yeah, you may have a point. I know this might not be the most popular way of doing things, but I think it's the best: I usually try to scale everyone on a somewhat similar level. Of course, some are more powerful than others, but curb-stomps are no fun. I'll give them their due, though, so don't worry. They can certainly take a beating.

CommunistBaboon3: Thank you! As for the big bads, we'll be seeing them very shortly. It's going be great!

BonesofSmite: I think it'll be quite fun, especially if they ever run into another A.I., like another Titan, a Forerunner A.I., or, God forbid, something like the Spirit of Eternity or a Reaper. I'm glad you're enjoying it, and I hope you like what's to come!

Clare Prime of Ultra: Thank you! Cain's always fun to write. Like you said, it's weird and interesting to write Cain not in first person, so I have to jiggle things around a bit so that he looks like the legendary Commissar Cain to outsiders but the reader can still tell who the man beneath it is. As for the big bads, we'll be seeing them shortly in a chapter where our various space wizards realize exactly how bad things can be... I hope you enjoy what's to come!

Amon34: Thank you! I'm glad you enjoyed Cain's part. It was very fun to write.

JamieReyne: Thank you! That's a very high compliment, so thank you again for that. I try my best to keep them all in-character without having them murder each other. I hope you enjoy what's to come!

oOo

"There are over 550 million firearms in worldwide circulation. That's one firearm for every twelve people on the planet. The only question is: how do we arm the other eleven?" -Yuri Orlov, Lord of War

"A gun is a tool, Marian; no better or worse than any other tool: an axe, a shovel or anything. A gun is as good or as bad as the man using it. Remember that." -Shane, Shane (film)

oOo

Lock and Load

The journey had been… interesting, to say the least. Jack Cooper wasn't quite certain if he'd ever been on one like it.

Captain Drake and his crew were perfectly polite and kind to him throughout. That much was never in doubt. However, there was a certain amount of getting used to them involved in the process.

Every day, Cooper woke up at exactly the same time, joining in on the Apocalypse's ground teams' soldiers in their routine. Breakfast was early in the ship's cafeteria. It was an affair of hearty food and griping troops, pranks and over-tired glaring at said pranksters. Cooper fit in like a fish to water.

Then came training. It was held in the Apocalypse's hangar bay: the largest area in the ship. The soldiers were split into three rough 'companies', each led by its own commander. The trio were all equal, each good friends and trusted subordinates to Captain Drake. Each was also an ex-special-forces soldier of terrifying prowess.

The training was a very relaxed but intense high-end military affair; combinations that Cooper wasn't quite used to, but grew to enjoy. It certainly wasn't anything like his Pilot training. (Especially because, you know, the troopers didn't have Titans or jumpacks or anything that was conducive to Pilots' high-octane, constantly-moving style of warfare.)

They started with exercises (of course) and swiftly moved to weapons and hand-to-hand training. As a Pilot, Cooper was quite good at the latter. The others, even the martial arts experts and ex-special forces soldiers, seemed quite impressed by his skill. He'd grinned to himself at that. At least he was getting along well with the other soldiers by way of martial skill.

However, the most intriguing things were the weapons drills. It wasn't because they were anything weird or wildly new (in fact, they were quite similar to what Cooper was used to). No, it was because Drake had somehow picked up a plethora of weaponry, gadgets, and gear from seemingly each and every one of the galaxies that now made up their universal reality. How exactly he got all of it was beyond Cooper.

All of that weaponry was directly related to the current situation.

The fleet had finally reached their destination: a small, unassuming, very gray and brown planet on the unimportant edge of Drake's home galaxy. The fleet had rendezvoused behind its moon, and Drake had promptly invited all of the other commanders and anyone they wanted to bring along aboard the Apocalypse to discuss the mission.

They were all now in the cruiser's hangar, dozens of different colors, uniforms, outfits, and species all gazing around the massive room and all of the happenings within. Drake stood at the front of the gaggle, his all-black clothing and swirling coat marking him out against the sea of light gray floors, walls, and ceiling.

Around the hangar, gunships, shuttles, equipment, and dozens, seemingly hundreds of weapons stations and soldiers spread from wall to wall. BT was off to the side, helping a few of the ship's crewmen move cargo crates. Cooper had to smile at the sight. It seemed his Titan was getting along well enough with the crew. BT had always been incredibly helpful.

Behind Cooper were all of the various other commanders and their crews. Cooper recognized the heads: Shepard, Cain, Vir, the Chief, Solo, Quill, and Kirk. They were the ones who he and BT had been pondering over for the length of the voyage. Their followers were a blur of half-remembered names and species, of scowling, straight-laced officers and aliens starstruck and curious to be in such a unique situation.

"Well, I think we've gone far enough that the gunship pilots won't accidentally flatten any of you," drawled Drake, snapping Cooper out of his thoughts. A few of those behind him shared slightly apprehensive glances, wondering if Drake was being serious about the shuttle pilots squishing them.

Instead, Drake spun around, boots clicking neatly on the metal deck, trench coat swirling dramatically around him. Cooper stifled a sigh. He'd only known the man for less than a week, but he already knew Captain Thomas Drake had a massive penchant for drama.

"Welcome, honored guests, aboard the Apocalypse!" Drake grinned, arms spread out wide in an expression halfway between a greeting and dramatically showing off the general area. Behind him, Solo was cocking an eyebrow. Shepard crossed her arms with a smirk. Most of the others seemed either interested or vaguely intimidated. "It's so very good to have you all aboard!"

Drake bowed, long and low, like something after a theater play. With one fluid motion, he stood up, almost spinning on his heel, and motioned them forward.

"As I'm sure you all well know, we are now orbiting this rather disappointing looking planet in the middle of nowhere because this is not only an excellent opportunity to retrieve something that certain parties will pay quite well for, but also an excellent opportunity for us to know both each other and our capabilities." Cooper blinked. Hard. That was probably the most complex sentence he'd ever heard. "However, we can't just go in there willy-nilly, and thus I have seen it conducive to provide a plethora of various gear and weaponry that I have… borrowed from various entities throughout our now-united reality." Cooper blinked again, trying to absorb what Drake was saying.

"Translation?" asked the small, raccoon-like creature standing beside Quill dryly. Drake fixed him with a blunt stare.

"While I was going around gathering information on all of you, I picked up a bunch of shit from all your galaxies. You want it or not?" The alien chuckled.

"Well, why didn't you say so in the first place?" it asked. Drake cocked an eyebrow, amused.

"Might want to tone it down, Captain," came a now-familiar voice to Cooper. Farther ahead, behind Drake's now-turned back, the figures of the Apocalypse's three armsmen commanders stepped forward. The trio looked quite amused at the reaction's to their Captain's eloquence.

Two were humans: Derrick Saul and Jean Garang. The former was an elite reconnaissance specialist from a colony world that didn't exist in Cooper's reality. He was the very definition of an old soldier, gruff but knowledgeable, with sunburnt skin, a scarred face, and hair cut so short he might as well be bald.

Garang was a shock trooper, born in Sudan on Earth. She was much the same as her counterparts: an old soldier at heart, dark skin somehow still sunburnt, her hair cut the same buzz-cut length as most of the troopers. However, instead of being a stealthy specialist of Saul's sort, she was a power-armor wearing shock trooper, used to open battlefields and heavy tactics.

The last was an alien called Rilgaldis. He was of a large, lizard-like species called Dracus. It was a minor species from what Darke had told Cooper: not nearly as widespread as some of the other aliens in the other galaxies. Regardless, Rilgaldis was a very good soldier. He had served in all positions there were to serve: grew up in service to the Dracus army, was discharged and became a mercenary, and served in innumerable mercenary outfits before ending up in Drake's employ.

All three were special forces soldiers of extraordinary skill and competence. That was without mentioning their countless years of experience. They reminded Cooper of Blisk and some of the Apex Predators, except nicer, more professional, and without Titans.

"Ah, yes," said Drake, nodding at his ground commanders. "Saul, Garang, Rilgaldis, meet everyone. Everyone, my three armsmen commanders, Saul, Garang, and Rilgaldis." The three nodded in greeting. Cooper could feel the others behind him looking them over; assessing them.

"So, where are you guys from?" asked Kirk, crossing his arms. His tone was light, but Cooper could detect a hint of suspicion behind it. Who were these three, and how did they end up as mercenaries? What were they like?

"Colony planet called Pyrithia. Joined the 317th Expeditionary," replied Saul, at ease in the face of questions. Like the other two, he wore a half-finished combination of undersuit and battle gear. They had apparently walked in on the Apocalypse's soldiers readying for the coming mission. "Got discharged. Ended up with you, Captain, because you're the best and I don't have anything better to do with my life. Besides," he continued with a sly side grin to his two compatriots. "You pay a lot better than the Federal Army." Garang and Rilgaldis returned his expression.

"Same with me. From Sudan, joined the 1st Federal Guard, discharged, came here," shrugged Garang.

"Dracus Army, Imperial Foreign Legion, a few others here and there… then the Captain," added Rilgaldis. "He's the best in the business, after all."

"Why, thank you," drawled Drake. The armsmen grinned. "Of course, it's a wonder you two," he pointed at Saul and Garang, "Get along as well as you do." Drake was faced mostly away from the group, but Cooper was still able to catch a glint of amusement in his eyes directed back to the rest. He was setting them up for something…

"How so?" asked Kirk cautiously. He didn't want to get involved with inter-ship politics, but if there were tensions, then it would be best to know…

"Well, you see, we're on opposite sides of one of humanity's oldest questions," replied Saul. A few of the aliens perked up at this, suddenly studying intensely. "Matter of fact, since we have all of these new realities and big people here, why not settle this once and for all, Garang?" The shock trooper grinned. "So, here it is, and I know you'll all agree with me: nine millimeter Parabellum or .45 ACP?"

Most of the others stared as if Saul had just spoken in Wookie. Cooper hid a grin behind his hand.

"...what?" barked Solo, baffled. The armsmen commanders were openly smiling now.

"Oh, come on. I had at least some of you figured for weapons enthusiasts or ground-pounders," replied Garang. Shepard looked vaguely offended. The rest just looked confused. "What, bullets don't exist where you come from or something?" Cain shook his head in a silent no before the Chief's resonant voice spoke up.

".50 cal," he said simply. Saul gave a whistle.

"Dear Lord," he sighed. "Though, if anyone can handle that consistently, it'd be you…" he continued, stepping up further and comparing himself to the Chief's massive size.

"What's all this about?" asked Cain, not really pleading, but coming close to it.

"Sidearms, my good sir, sidearms," replied Drake. "The logical starting-off point of all the gear I have that you'll be reviewing today. Of course," he continued, uncaring of the looks being leveled his way, "Not all sidearms use bullets, like ours do. Within all of our various galaxies, there are a great deal of different weapon systems, many of which we'll be going over." He grinned at the others. "And, of course, you get to take your pick."

Now that got a lot of them excited.

"Now, of course, you all have your own stuff, of course," continued Drake, seemingly oblivious to the excitement behind him as he continued his walk forward, the armsmen commanders falling into step behind him. "But should you feel the imminent need to go poking through new weapons for the advantage they might offer or the fact that you're just curious," Drake threw a small smile back at the violet enviro-suited alien in Shepard's retinue; she stiffened, shocked as Cooper tried to remember her name, "They're all here should you wish to take… samples."

There were mutterings behind Cooper. The various commanders were talking with their crews (or in Cain's case, regiment). Cooper suppressed a sigh and feeling of vague loneliness. The only one here from his galaxy was BT, and while the Titan was excellent company, he sometimes wished there were other humans from his reality here as well…

"So, uh, what is this question over your, uh… numbers?" asked Kirk, still valiantly trying to keep up with Saul and Garang's earlier conversation. They both looked over to him, amusement dancing in their eyes.

"Bullet calibers. We have ballistic weapons, and the calibers are the diameter of the bore," replied Saul. "Nine millimeter is slightly smaller than .45, which means you get more of them for what is nearly the same amount of punch. Better all around." Garang rolled her eyes as if Saul were telling them that the planet Earth was, in fact, completely flat.

"Uh huh, yeah, sure," she scoffed as they continued towards the huge stockpiles of weapons Drake had deeper in the hangar. "Tell me that when your target shrugs it off. Especially in the day and age of high-tech personal armor. Besides, shooting anything other than .45 ACP, God's own caliber, is heresy. Aren't I right, Mark?" she asked, turning to one of the armsmen standing nearby, checking his equipment.

"Damn straight!" came the reply.

"What?" interjected Vir, getting even more flummoxed. Garang turned to him, her expression suddenly more serious and matter-of-fact.

".45 ACP was created by John Moses Browning, the American gunsmith and inventor, for his new prototype Colt semi-automatic pistol, which would then be produced as the M1911. The United States Army needed a more powerful bullet after the lack of stopping power experienced during the Philippine-American War, and thus the .45 and 1911 were created." Garang shrugged. "Browning was a devout Mormon, so we jokingly call it 'God's caliber'." The others stared, impressed and more than a little wary. Cooper sighed.

That was the most baffling thing about the people aboard this ship. They could go from being goofy, ridiculous, ignorant jokesters to firing off a doctoral dissertation on the philosophical differences between Plato and Aristotle at the drop of a hat.

Cooper would know, because Drake had done exactly that just yesterday.

"Hey, enough of that," said Drake, tilting his head towards his armsmen commanders. "Most of 'em don't even have bullets where they come from, a lot like Rilgaldis." The tall, lizard-like alien nodded, amused at his comrades' good-natured argument. Drake shrugged. "Honestly, it doesn't even matter to me," he continued, looking at the wide variety of pistols situated on various hips.

Cooper was still shocked Drake allowed everyone to walk around his ship fully armed. There were many words to describe the Apocalypse mercenaries, and 'gun shy' were not among them.

"Everyone has their own preferences that work for them. All a good weapon needs is to be reliable and do its job," continued Drake. He grinned wickedly. "Which means if your sidearm isn't illegal in Britain, I don't even want to talk to you." It was Cooper's turn to stare at Drake blankly as Shepard and Vir cracked up behind him. The aliens in their crews were looking at them desperately, trying to figure out the joke.

"So, is that the litmus test, then? Illegal in Britain?" asked Shepard, struggling to get herself under control. Drake grinned.

"Yes. It would appear that some things are just universal." He rolled his eyes. "The state of Great Britain being among them."

"Hey!" piped a distinctly British accent from among a few nearby armsmen. Drake winked at the man.

"Well, is your gun illegal in Britain?" asked Vir, crossing his arms with a grin on his face. Drake snorted. He drew his heavy matte-black revolver from his holster, spun it around his finger like an old-fashioned pistolero, and holstered it again in one fluid motion.

".44 revolver with plasma-infused bullets? You kidding? Of course it's illegal."

".44?" asked Cooper, once more graced by knowledge to allow him back into the conversation. "Hey, Wingmen are .44," he said, patting the Pilot's sidearm on his own hip. Drake grinned again and stepped forward, throwing his arm around Cooper. The Pilot couldn't help but smile and shake his head good-naturedly.

"I knew there was a reason I asked you on board." He looked down at the shorter Cooper seriously. "You're my new best friend, Pilot Cooper." Cooper couldn't help it. He cracked up. Drake had an amused expression on his face as he let go of Cooper and turned around to face everyone else. "Right, okay, so, non-.44 enjoyers and new best friend, let's get to it."

Drake led them farther into the hangar, where stacks upon stacks of guns, weird gadgets, armor, and explosives were laid out, stacked, or displayed. Quill and his crew immediately gravitated towards the explosives (especially the raccoon, who looked over them in what could only be considered pure, unrestrained glee) as Shepard cocked an eye towards Drake.

"So you just have everything from napalm bombs to frag grenades and everything in between just lying around in your hangar?" she asked, incredulous.

"Are those gravity stars?" asked Cooper, peering at a crate more closely. "Where'd you even find whole cases of IMC ordinance like that?" he muttered. In response to both questions, Drake merely shrugged.

"Out here in the cold, dark void of space, the ethics board cannot reach us," he replied with a grin.

Cooper was still wondering how Drake managed to get his hands on crates of very expensive, very official IMC munitions (not to mention the other stuff, not the least of which were several boxes stamped with the Imperial Aquila that Cain and the Valhallans were staring suspiciously at) when Drake began a rather impressive impression of a used car salesman.

"You are perfectly free to take whatever you like for the mission, or for… technical use, so long as you tell me what you're taking first," he began. "Now, we have our weapons, beginning with shotguns."

Drake picked up a sleek, slender, pump-action model of a type Cooper had never seen before and carefully checked it over, being sure not to point it at anyone even though it was unloaded.

"Of course, shotguns do the same thing from galaxy to galaxy, regardless of precisely how they might work." Cooper recognized a few Mastiffs and EVA-8s from his home galaxy among a variety, including a few very sleek, very futuristic models and a few very heavy, brutal affairs that looked as if they had just come from the trenches of World War I. "Thing goes in, shot comes out. Whether that thing might be buckshot, solid shot, ammunition propelled by mass effect fields… point is, they're simple, easy, and quite practical."

Drake's hands moved expertly over the weapon, racking its pump action and checking the (this time attached) magazine and interior. It seemed that Drake certainly knew his way around a large variety of weapons besides the pistol that seemed to continuously rest on his hip.

"I mean, they occasionally get kind of a bad rep compared to rifles or other weapons, but hey, think of the versatility," continued the black-coated captain. "They're so diverse, you know?" Nearby, the violet enviro-suited alien in Shepard's retinue nodded as she moved in to pore over a few of the more fancy models Drake had. The others were just watching, carefully examining, or in Quill and the raccoon's case, literally rubbing their hands together in glee. "They're used by new shooters, breachers, duck hunters-"

"Vanguards," added the violet-suited alien as she hefted what looked to be a very fancy model. Cooper frowned. What was her name? Something that started with an R… or maybe a T…

"Vanguards," said Drake, throwing it into his spiel with no issue, "Close quarters specialists of all sorts, home defense enthusiasts, depressed musicians…"

It took a moment for Drake's words to sink in, but when they did, Cooper had to very nearly stuff his fist into his mouth to keep from laughing. The non-soldiers among the group were staring at Drake in shock, scandalized, while everyone else, military all, were cracking up. Now that joke was universal. Judging by the glint in Drake's eye, he knew his audience, and exactly what he was going to say, despite it sounding made up on the spot.

"Now, of course, we have the main course," continued Drake as if nothing had happened. Another chance to leave people off-balance. He was quite good at that…

The group moved along after Drake and to a large, open area with so many weapons lying around on display that even the subdued Cooper was nearly salivating at the sight. He very nearly didn't want to see the expressions of maniac glee adorning the others' faces.

"Every galaxy has their own weapon systems." Drake picked up a very heavy, blocky, black battle rifle emblazoned with the golden eagle of the Imperium of Man. Cooper momentarily wondered exactly how the mercenary commander was able to get his hands on it, then decided for his own safety that he didn't really want to know. "This, for the uninitiated, is an Imperial M36 Kantrael Pattern Lasrifle: perhaps the most widely-used weapon amongst His Divine Majesty's Imperial Guard."

A laser gun. Cooper realistically knew that both Solo and the Imperial Guard possessed them, but it was entirely different actually seeing one being demonstrated in person. Judging by the nearby reactions of a select few others (namely Shepard, Vir, and the Chief), he wasn't alone in the thought. Hell, if he could actually see emotion in the Chief's body language, then it meant he was quite interested in this.

"The lasgun is the workhorse of the Imperium; it uses a small portable and rechargeable power pack to produce a focused pinpoint laser beam. Solid, reliable, never jams, low-maintenance: suitable for all of your energy weapon needs," rattled off Drake. His hands flew over the blocky gun, accentuating each portion in turn, spinning and sighting and flying. Cooper was impressed and more than a little wary at how well Drake knew the unfamiliar weapon.

"You should have been a used ship salesman," muttered Solo. Drake flashed a charming grin his way.

"You wouldn't be the first person to tell me that," he replied. "But that is, after all, the point of all of this." The mercenary grinned again. "I get to show off, and you get new technology." Without further ado, he tossed the lasgun to a spluttering Kasteen and moved on. The next two weapons were fairly standard ballistic firearms, gunmetal gray, unassuming yet powerful in appearance. "Now futuristic and new technology, firepower, magazine size and all that jazz isn't the only thing one needs when looking into weapons. For instance, after extensive testing and deliberations, my armsmen have determined that this stock can hold about twice as many peanuts as this one." He patted the respective weapons with a grin.

"Now that's important information," nodded Vir seriously.

"Most definitely," agreed Shepard, visibly holding back laughter.

"What's a peanut?" muttered Solo as they moved onwards.

The next one was a weapon that Cooper recognized immediately. It was much longer than the lasgun and slightly less blocky. Cooper never thought the Kraber could be outclassed in the bulky, blocky department, but here they were.

Drake brandished the heavy sniper rifle, complete with a muzzle dampener at the end and a yawning gap where the magazine was inserted through the side. Cooper was now certain Drake must have made off with an IMC arms shipment. How else would he have gotten so much stuff?

It didn't exactly bother the Pilot. The Militia had done the same many times.

"For those of you who prefer to shoot at ranges without getting shot at," there were a few nods all around, "Then may I introduce you to the Kraber Anti-Personnel Sniper Rifle." His hands danced across the weapon's surface, black-gloved fingers feather-light in their touch. ".50 caliber: one shot, one kill. Even if you hit someone's limb, you'll blow it off and they'll die of blood loss, unless they have a competent medic on hand." Drake shrugged. "Or bacta. Or medi-gel."

Cooper had no idea what those were, but judging by the way Solo, Chewbacca, Shepard, and Shepard's crew all stiffened at his words then it was probably some medical technology he didn't have any right to know about.

Cooper thought they should really keep up with who they were dealing with here.

Drake tossed the heavy weapon to the tall, mandibled, blue-armored alien in Shepard's retinue with a wink and turned on his heel, walking towards the rest of his (most likely ill-gotten) gains.

It was a treasure trove of weaponry powerful and seemingly expensive enough to arm an army. Or a large collection of various individuals from multiple different realities who might put an army's worth of superior firepower to good use…

oOo

Thomas Drake smiled as he hefted a light machine gun, muzzle carefully pointed downwards. He cleared the (empty) chamber with a satisfying chi-chick noise and grinned. His gloved hands danced over the gun as if he'd used it every day of his life as his salesman-esque spiel continued.

"Now, of course, this particular number is a Spitfire, which also comes from my very good friend Mr. Cooper's galaxy…" He went on for a few more seconds, explaining the technical layout of the weapon as his hands moved flawlessly over each part in turn.

No one but his armsmen and officers knew he'd practiced for days on end with every single weapon system here to make absolutely certain he was just as smooth with them as he was with his own pistol and plasma rifle. Appearances had to be kept up, after all.

He tossed the Spitfire machine gun to a startled Cooper and moved to the next weapon that caught his eye. This one was much more sleek than its surrounding fellows, as benefited by its home reality. It was black and red, with a high receiver (still not as blocky as the lasgun or anything like it), and an overall powerful, menacing appearance. Shepard's eyes went wide when Drake drew it up.

"A Revenant?" she asked, shocked. "Where'd you get that?" Drake merely flashed her a grin in reply.

"A good magician never reveals his secrets," he replied. Of course, everything had been acquired mostly legally. 'Mostly legally' in this sense meant whoever originally had it wasn't going to miss it. Drake was constantly surprised and delighted over the sheer amount of stuff large militaries and corporations misplaced…

Anyway, back on track.

"This is the M-76 Revenant," he said. As always, his hands moved perfectly over the weapon, the consequence of endless days of practice. It didn't matter if it was a phaser, blaster, Imperial las-weapon, mass-accelerated rifle, coil gun, plasma gun, or ballistic firearm from an entirely different reality… If it existed, then he knew it. It was his duty. "Like all mass accelerator weaponry, it uses mass effect fields to propel small slivers of metal from its interior ammunition block at extremely high speeds. The revenant itself not only has interior modifiers that ups its bang per bullet, but also an extremely high heat-buildup rate which results in more firepower."

Those behind him (he had taken to calling the group the Magnificent Scoundrels in his mind; he thought it was quite fitting. One day he'd have to tell them and make it official…) were staring at either him or the weapon with alternative looks of wary shook and sheer hungriness. Of course, those had been their reactions the entire time: the former in regards to him, the latter regarding the weapons themselves.

Drake smiled to himself. Perhaps this was a bit too much, but he enjoyed it. He rather delighted in speeches, especially playing this used-car salesman type. It was fun.

Plus the others could get their hands on the vast cargo of… acquired weaponry. He was sure that they wouldn't really care. Or, rather, Solo and Quill most definitely wouldn't care, Shepard and Vir probably would wonder where he got them but wouldn't do anything, Kirk wouldn't like it but he and the Enterprise's crew were too nice and economical to cause a fuss. The Chief… well, Drake had to hope the super-soldier wouldn't take offense.

And the Imperials… well… He glanced at Cain and the Valhallan officers frowning at a crate emblazoned with the Imperial aquila. That might be an issue, but never was it said that Thomas Drake didn't have contingency plans.

"Now of course, we move on to the wide and wondrous variety of gear," continued Drake, putting down the Revenant and moving over to an area where various armors and personal gadgets were painstakingly displayed by the Apocalypse's quartermaster. "Omni-tools, combat stims, personal cloaks and shields of all sorts, armors, all sorts of vision and tracking gadgets… The works! The whole works!"

oOo

Cooper stared at the sheer variety Drake had stored next to the weapons. However, what caught his eye was a gray and white heavy suit and matching helmet laid neatly laid out across a some sort of especially-designed rack.

"Is that… is than an IMC Pilot suit?" he asked tentatively. He peered closer. It couldn't be anything else. Where had Drake managed to get his hands on that?

Beside him, Vir was ashen-faced, staring at some sort of armored exoskeleton.

"That's Steel Eye armor," he whispered, almost to himself. Cooper would be surprised if anyone other than himself and Vir's crew overheard. Whatever this strange piece was, to inspire that sort of reaction didn't bode well.

"This Imperial carapace armor," said Cain from somewhere to Cooper's right. He turned around and saw the Imperials frowning over several sets of bulky, unassuming gray chest plates. Cain glared at Drake accusatorially. "Where'd you get this?" Before the black-coated mercenary could answer, he was interrupted by the Chief's soft but commanding voice.

"And this is ODST armor," he said, tone neutral. It was hard to tell what was going on behind that gold-tinted visor and green helm. There was a slight, ever-so tiny pause while everyone waited for the Chief to elaborate, but when he didn't, Drake stepped forward with a shrug, taking center stage once more.

oOo

"Indeed. All of you would be correct in your observations," he said. "After all, I only provide the best." A small, playful smile danced around his lips. He had… contingencies ready if need be, but words alone should be enough to soothe any rumpled feelings. "Of course, it's all free for the taking. And it's not like I'm not providing my own stuff for you as well." He gestured to a few sets of armor that looked like those some of his armsmen wore. They seemed to be very high quality too.

"Some of it looks good, but it's a bit… restrictive," noted Miranda Lawson idly, eyeing a rather heavy example of the latest and greatest in personal defense from Drake's reality. "Kinetic barriers and other shielding will protect you while leaving you free to move." Drake sighed to himself, noting the woman's extremely tight-fitting jumpsuit.

"Well, I suppose you have to get the Mass Effect fanservice butt shots somehow…" he muttered, too softly for anyone else to hear.

"Easy on the fourth wall, Captain," hissed Saul, apparently catching the latter part of the sentence. Drake rolled his eyes and focused back to the conversation at hand.

"Exactly," replied Gamorra, nodding at Miranda. Miranda stared back suspiciously. Gamora frowned and returned the look.

"Well, something is to be said for both ideas," interjected Drake, hoping soothing words were the right way to go to prevent unnecessary altercations. "Though personal shields don't hold up long, and not all of them can block lasers. Or plasma. Or knives… Or heavy crushing weapons…"

"Couple extra inches of ceramite never hurt anyone," noted Cain dryly. The Valhallan officers nodded along, amused, agreeing with him. Drake smiled internally; slowly, slyly, knowingly.

The Imperials might not have looked as if they followed along with those lines (and indeed, some of the others were looking at their flimsy uniforms, confused) but Drake knew they would often pack heavy carapace armor beneath those long coats in combat situations.

It was really all about what you knew, and what you knew came from your ability to find out. Drake was quite skilled in that department. Indeed, it was how he was in the present situation… and how he would prevent any issues from arriving within this new merry band of eclecticism. Everyone had to be kept reined in, especially with the clashes over the various political intricacies of the galaxies.

Which was, to say, the Imperials were gonna cause problems unless he stepped in.

"Of course, I've heard from my crew that both men and women look sexier in full armor," he said chipperly. Joking, of course, but with intent. There were many multiple meanings behind it: it implied that it wasn't his opinion, which would have come across as lecherous, but rather an observation gleaned from his crew, plus it put them at ease and was a good joke. But ultimately, the main point of this, of all of this behavior, was to gauge intent.

Cain was blank faced; the Imperial officers sighing, trying to hide their amusement. The Chief was unreadable, though Drake suspected observations on anything involving good looks or interpersonal relations beyond the military would go over his head.

Cooper was laughing, Kirk and McCoy were grinning (to the annoyance of Spock)... Gamorra looked up at Quill, a small, nearly unreadable look passing between them. But Quill held his hand out subtly, palm down, nodding, face reassuring her. Gamorra huffed and crossed her arms, but the edges of her lips crept upward as she gave Quill a warm look. Drake smiled. Well…

Vir turned over to Sunny, appraising her, lopsided smile on his face. It was hard to read alien body language, but Drake could do it well enough. The Drev looked annoyed, but puffed up, accentuating her carapace and the armor that would be there if she were wearing it.

As for the Normandy… Upon Drake's words, Garrus's gaze had instantly gone to Shepard, looking her up and down, eyes lingering on her hips, before flushing and turning his head. He (and everyone else save Drake) missed Shepard's own return look at him, staring at the Turian's broken blue armor with a look somewhere between flushed and warm good humor.

Interesting. How very… interesting.

It was within the span of a second, but Drake took it all in, every expression, every look, every shift in body with the ease of decades of practice. This was confirmation; confirmation of reports from other galaxies and the lines between those reports, and his own observations and previous meetings. He'd have to do something about this… Contingencies came to mind, but none of that was important now as he simply moved on.

"Well, it seems as if you've seen it all!" he said, gloved hands splayed wide, playing the efficacious host. "Take whatever you want; we are all on the same side, after all. Have a look, and if you need it, take it with you. Mission brief in twenty minutes." Couldn't let them forget why they were here, after all.

As everyone went on their way, clustering into their own groups and inspecting the various weaponry and gear Drake had… acquired, he turned to the armsmen commanders.

"Everything still in place?" he asked, voice carefully neutral.

"Yes, sir," replied Rilgaldis with a nod. "If things get… feisty, we're ready to go." Saul and Garang nodded in agreement.

"Hopefully it won't come to that," sighed Drake.

"I have the utmost faith in your diplomatic skills, Captain," assured Saul with a wry grin. Drake rolled his eyes.

"Well, I'll just go check in and make sure we stay as a team, then," he muttered, walking away.

oOo

"Pilot Cooper, may I ask you a question?" Jack Cooper looked up from his fiddling with a top-of-the-line rifle Drake had provided him with. He was going to use his well-worn R-301 from his own galaxy in battle, of course, but looking over all the varieties of weaponry Drake had provided them with was quite interesting.

"Yeah, sure buddy, go ahead," he replied absently. BT paused for a moment. Cooper waited, somewhat apprehensive. It wasn't like a Titan to pause before asking a question.

"Pilot Cooper, yesterday I received a digital vault. I assume this to be from one of the other A.I.s within the fleet," he began. "I have detected no malware within it, and while I cannot discern exactly what is inside it, from my scans and knowledge of other A.I.s I believe it is not harmful. It can only be opened through answering a posed question: What are you?"

Cooper frowned. BT may be right about this not being harmful, but he didn't know for certain. Besides, these other A.I.s were nothing like Titans. If anything, they were a lot like Spyglass, and Spyglass would absolutely do something like this with the intent to cause harm.

"My main question, Pilot Cooper, is the answer to that question." Cooper tilted his head. If anything, BT sounded… frustrated. It was an emotion he wasn't used to hearing from his Titan. "I have given many answers to the question in hopes of opening the vault, but none are the correct answer. I would have thought my designation and description was the answer, but it is not. I have posed sixty alternate phrasings to the answer, and fifty-three alternate answers of the same type, but none are sufficient. I am unable to come up with the correct answer." BT's optics titled in that curious, endearing way Cooper was so familiar with. "Pilot Cooper, what am I?"

Now that was a loaded question. Cooper was still struggling with the idea of his Titan having an existential crisis when the sharp click of boots on the deck interrupted his thoughts. He spun around on his seat.

Captain Drake strode forward, black coat swirling magnificently around his form. His ever-present pistol was at his side and his hands were gloved in black, as always. In fact, Cooper hadn't ever seen him without them. It was a strange, sudden thought: why did this man always wear gloves? He'd have to find out…

"How are you doing, Cooper?" asked Drake, looking down at the weapon in his hands. "Hopefully enjoying yourself, unlike a few other individuals, whose names will go unmentioned at the present time…" He gave a side eye at the Imperials who were muttering over a crate of lasguns. Cooper snickered.

"Well, I suppose," he replied. "Maybe it's because after a few days of being aboard I'm a bit more used to your guys' particular brand of insanity…" Cooper hoped Drake wouldn't be offended. He wasn't, thank goodness; in reply, he laughed aloud.

"We do take some getting used to," he said jovially. He clasped his hands neatly behind his back and looked up at BT. "If I may, I couldn't help but overhear a bit of your conversation." BT and Cooper both turned to him, startled. "Perhaps I could be of assistance."

"Do you have a solution, Captain Drake?" Cooper was actually rather surprised BT had asked. He still wasn't sure about this, and throwing Drake into the mix, especially knowing his distrust towards A.I.s, might not have been the best idea. But Cooper trusted BT enough to go along with this.

"I believe I might," replied Drake. He looked up at BT, expression lips quirked upwards into a wry smile. "And perhaps I might find some answers too."

"What is your solution to the question, Captain Drake?" asked BT, eagerness and curiosity slipping into his mechanical voice. Drake grinned, hints of something… inquisitive in his gaze.

"Human life. Duration: momentary. Nature: changeable. Perception: dim. Condition of body: decaying. Soul: spinning around. Fortune: unpredictable. Lasting Fame: uncertain. Sum Up: The body and its parts are a river, the soul a dream and mist, life is warfare and a journey far from home, lasting reputation is oblivion. Then what can guide us?" Drake grinned at both Titan and Pilot. Cooper remembered Drake speaking on philosophy only yesterday.

He couldn't deny the effectiveness of the idea, though. If the question wasn't literal, then philosophical was a good idea. Yes… Perhaps the other A.I. wanted to see how well BT could process such questions.

"Only philosophy. Which means making sure that the power within stays safe and free from assault, superior to pleasure and pain, doing nothing randomly or dishonestly and with imposture, not dependent on anyone else's doing something or not doing it. And making sure that it accepts what happens and what it is dealt as coming from the same place it came from. And above all, that it accepts death in a cheerful spirit, as nothing but the dissolution of the elements from which each living thing is composed."

"Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, 2:17," replied BT. Drake nodded, satisfied.

"Correct," he replied. "Now, the real question posed is: what does it mean?" he challenged.

So that's what Drake's game was. It was both an answer and a test to see if BT really could think like a human. It would reassure himself and those of his reality that the A.I. wouldn't turn on them if it could understand human philosophy. Cooper had to admire the man. There was always some double intention behind his actions.

"It means that life will end. You will die; your memory will fade. What is important is your mind, and how it thinks. It is accepting death and making the most of your time alive, not worrying or doing even, but understanding that death is natural, and, as Aurelius goes on to say, nothing natural is evil." Drake nodded, expression still searching carefully, looking directly into BT's optics.

"And what does it mean to you?" he asked, pushing harder, demanding further until he was satisfied with a complete answer. (Much like the vault question itself…)

BT's optics tilted again. Cooper watched as his Titan processed the question and his own answer.

"It applies the same to me as it does to humans," said the Titan finally. "I will die, eventually. Unless I am killed suddenly in battle, I have a much longer lifespan than humans, but I will still die. My own body will decay, my processing power and what makes me me will shut down. I will die; I was created, and so I will end, and anything Aurelius says about humanity applies to me as well." Drake smiled, slow and satisfied, and nodded carefully.

"Indeed," he replied. He gave BT and Cooper a wink. "And so it seems we both have our answers." Without further ado, the captain spun on his heels and strode away, gloved hands still neatly clasped behind his back. Cooper couldn't help but shake his head.

"Well, BT, learn something today about yourself?" he asked teasingly as he looked back up to his Titan.

"Yes, Pilot Cooper," replied the A.I. There was a slight pause as BT stood still, doing something. "Pilot Cooper, the answer, Meditations 2:17, works. Thank you for your help." Cooper didn't want to say it was more Drake than him, but he shrugged

"No problem, buddy. If you've got any more questions, I'm sure Captain Drake is willing to answer them."

"Would… you be willing to as well, Pilot Cooper?" asked BT, almost hesitant. Cooper shook his head at the A.I.'s silliness.

"Of course, BT. Of course," he said as he got back to examining his weapons.

oOo

Major Broklaw frowned as he stood and straightened, turning to look back at Kasteen, Cain, and the other two officers, Captain Detoi and Lieutenant Lustig. Jurgen, Cain's ever-faithful aide, stood behind them, melta gun at the ready. Beneath Broklaw, a heavy crate, emblazoned with the Imperial aquila, stood open and askew.

"Hellguns," muttered Lustig. Kasteen stepped forward and peered inside as Broklaw stepped back.

Lustig was right: the crate was filled with hellguns, the lasgun's bigger, nastier sibling. They were used by the elite Tempestus Scions, the special forces soldiers in service of the Guard and other human agencies within the Imperium. Such weapons were much more powerful than those standard-issued by the Guard. They were also much harder to get; in fact, unless you were high enough up to specifically request them, or in really good with the Mechanicus (or Inquisition), they were impossible to find.

"How'd Drake get his hands on these?" asked Detoi tightly. The officers shared a glance among each other. Theft of Imperial property was a capital offense. Maybe not necessarily in this situation, and they wouldn't go about executing Drake, but still…

"I'm not sure," replied the Commissar thoughtfully, a gloved hand stroking his chin. "But I intend to find out." The others nodded in agreement. Crates of Scion armaments and armor were not exactly easy to come by. "Grab the carapace armor and as many weapons as you can, though," continued Cain. "We can't allow Imperial property to fall into alien hands." That much was true. If their weapon systems fell into enemy hands… None of the officers wanted to entertain that thought.

"What about the other weapons?" asked Broklaw, gesturing to the various guns from other realities. Cain gave a small smile.

"While I'm sure they would be quite fascinating, I think that would be more of a Mechanicus matter," he replied. "Besides, our weaponry is perfectly good enough for the regiment, I think." He received another round of nods. "Very good then." The Imperials set about gathering up their weapons.

oOo

Peter Quill found himself next to Admiral Vir as they took in all of the gear Drake had acquired. It was truly a staggering amount of various items from across their combined realities. Quill didn't begrudge the good captain for taking things from his galaxy; in fact, he was rather jealous that he didn't get the same idea sooner.

There was everything from Kree and Nova Empire weaponry to the collapsable armor he wore. It was quite an impressive repertoire. He only puzzled at how Drake had gotten it. Then again, there was plenty of time before the event that conjoined their realities and their first meeting. A determined man could get it in enough time, and if he were to judge, Drake was nothing if not determined.

Drax and Rocket had been immediately drawn to the largest, most dangerous-looking weapons throughout the intergalactic arsenal. At the present moment, they were gleefully examining an utter behemoth of a mounted machine gun, looking a bit too excited over how they could modify it.

Gamorra was carefully peering through the superior tactical gear, including high-powered sensors, visors, computers, and several devices that were supposed to render a person near-invisible. It was quite the array. He looked over at her concentrated expression fondly, then back to the weapon he was examining.

It was from Cooper's reality and called a Smart Pistol. A sleek, long-barrelled weapon, it fired ballistic ammunition and looked every bit its part. It was quite unlike anything Quill had seen, and quite unlike anything from any of their realities. Apparently, it had some sort of built-in targeting system and specialized ammunition that allowed the gun to lock onto targets and fire without the wielder aiming at them.

Vir was beside him, still frowning and glaring over that strange metallic exoskeleton armor. Quill had no idea what it was, and judging by Vir's expression as he stared at the thing, he didn't really want to ask him. Quill was just thinking about grabbing the Smart Pistol, getting his crew and regrouping back aboard the Milano when his thoughts were interrupted by the authoritative click of boots on the metal decking.

Thomas Drake nodded affably as Quill and Vir both turned to face him. Vir frowned at him.

"Where'd you get Steel Eye armor?" he asked warily, in lieu of a greeting. Drake shrugged.

"You'd be shocked at what your government; in fact, most governments and militaries, as shown here, just leave lying around. In this particular instance, I found the armor in an abandoned warehouse. Not particularly… conducive of your security, I'm afraid," replied the mercenary commander. Vir frowned, and pointedly didn't look back at the armor. "Though I am sorry if bringing it here was… not the best decision, consider yourself and what happened…" Vir went ashen and stiffened.

"How do you…?" he trailed off, staring at Drake. The black-coated mercenary merely smiled.

"Weapons and equipment were not the only things I got from your galaxies," he replied. "Information was the foremost and most important." This was followed by a grin, predatory and knowing. "I know a lot of things, actually. A lot of things about all of you." A pause. "Which is why I'm here, actually."

"Why are you here?" asked Vir, glaring. Quill was suddenly wary. What did he want? This was a far cry from the used-ship salesman persona from earlier. Instead, it was more knowing, disturbing, and predatory. Quill could now believe he was every bit the man who was able to take all these secrets from eight different realities.

"Nothing so sinister as what you're both probably thinking right now," replied Drake. He sniffed and cocked an eyebrow. "Instead, it's more of a warning."

"What… sort of a warning?" asked Quill. Drake's reassurance did nothing to belay his suspicions.

"A warning regarding some… personal acquaintances, shall we say," came the reply. "How shall I phrase this…" He frowned. "You are, of course, at least passingly familiar with the Imperium of Man and their ideals, yes?" he asked them both. Vir and Quill nodded in agreement.

"Yes…"

"Well, if they are rather hostile towards aliens, then I'm sure you can imagine the resulting reaction if they have reason to believe a human and an alien are… more than just casual acquaintances. Get the picture?" Quill gulped involuntarily. Oh, shit. He wasn't even concerned that Drake somehow knew about him and Gamorra: he was right. That could be a major problem, and throw a huge wrench into their plans for getting to know everyone from the different galaxies. Judging by Vir's reaction, he was in the same boat and was thinking along the same lines. Quill wondered who it was the admiral was interested in…

"Yes, I think I do," replied Quill. Drake nodded studiously.

"Good," he said. "I hope we can all make sure it doesn't come to that, then." His smile returned, his serious look gone. It was weird; like flipping a switch. Quill swore he did it to keep them off-balance. "As for figuring out how to get along, the mission brief is soon. Get what you want and let's go." So saying, he turned on his heel and walked away.

As Drake walked, he looked over to where the crew of the Normandy clustered. Shepard, Tali, and Garrus were examining a Galactic Empire E-11 blaster rifle as Miranda Lawson glared suspiciously at the nearby mercenary armsmen readying their weapon. He walked by them, thinking.

There were no records of Shepard and Garrus being anything other than superior and subordinate for their famous work in stopping an invasion of their galaxy. Yet Drake had his suspicions based on their interactions throughout the several times he'd met them. Today was merely confirmation, and confirmation that it was mutual, rather than one-sided.

Vir and Quill were warned. Kirk had nothing beyond the occasional dalliance. Those two, though… they'd have to be warned as well.

However, if push really came to shove, then he had enough information on everyone to ensure their total silence. The Imperials were very much included in that number. Hopefully none of it would be needed, though…

Whatever. Mission first. Drake grinned to himself. He was sure it would be quite interesting.

oOo

EDI looked from where she, well, existed within the digital meeting room with Cortana. It had been a very interesting time here; learning from a benevolent A.I. so similar to herself was beyond anything she had ever wanted. But now it seemed the duo would become a trio.

The image of a mechanical battle Titan coelesed into being near them. It was rather odd, come to think of it: Cortana had chosen her own avatar, that of a human female. EDI herself existed as the spherical holographic projection she used to appear to the crew of the Normandy as something to appear as within this digital world. However, BT-7274 actually had a body. He existed within the physical world; not as EDI or Cortana existed within the Normandy or the Chief's suit of MJOLNIR armor, but rather within himself.

"Greetings, BT," said Cortana chipperly from where she sat cross-legged before them. "It's good to finally meet you." BT tilted his optics towards them, curious but wary.

"What are you?" he finally asked. Cortana laughed.

"An excellent question: one that would perhaps be best if we answered together."

oOo

There we have it! I hope you liked it. Plots are going on, people are suspicious, and next chapter, we have our first mission! I'm looking forward to writing a fight scene once again. It's been too long since Technophiles and Militarists. I hope you liked the chapter, and, as always, I'd love to hear any comments, criticisms, concerns, questions, and reviews!