My first Mass Effect fanfic! Standard disclaimer – Mass Effect and all associated names, trademarks, etc. belong to Bioware, I don't own anything except my original characters.

Well, I don't know how long it's been, but here we are, finally, with another chapter! So, without further ado, Paulerro Productions Proudly Presents:

The Ripple Effect

Chapter 1: Beacon

Light Cruiser, SSV Southampton, Mess Deck
19:35 Universal Time
Saturday 17th

The shape of the foot is wrong.

I frown and lay my pencil down, picking up an eraser. A few gentle strokes remove the offending lines, then I sketch it back in properly. Pursing my lips, I give it a critical look and then add more definition to the claws. Some quick shading under the toes and a quick glance over the rest, and I sit back with a satisfied sigh. Staring at me out of the page of my drawing pad is a raven, head cocked and looking back over its shoulder. Smiling a little, I sign my name on the corner of the page.

"Nevermore," I murmur to myself, picking it up off the mess table and holding it up vertically. Unbidden, a memory comes to mind: myself, years ago, putting my latest drawing, a kingfisher on a branch, up on my wall. My two younger sisters coo at it.

"Draw one for me, Edward!" Mary, the elder of the two pleads, hugging my arm.

"And me, and me," Alice, the younger, insists, pulling at my trouser leg. I laugh, pretending to struggle against them.

"Alright," I say, smiling down at them. "I'll draw you each something. What do you want?"

"I want a pony," Alice says firmly. "A pretty pink pony, with flowers."

Mary bites her lip a moment, thinking. "A cat," she says eventually. "Like Misty!" At the mention of her name, my cat looks up from where she's curled lazily on my bed, napping in the sunshine.

"Nice bird," someone says, right in my ear. I jump, dropping my pad in surprise. Twisting round on the bench I glare at the offender, who smiles brightly at me. "Sorry," Janet says, not sounding sorry at all. "Did I make you jump?"

"Damn straight you did," I reply, bending over to pick the pad back up. On the way up I take a swipe at her knees, which she avoids easily. "I was…thinking."

"Oh?" she asks, moving round the table and taking a seat opposite me. "What about?" She waves a hand and grins, dismissing it before I answer. "Never mind, it's probably something really dull and art related. Who's the picture for?"

"Why d'you think it's for anyone?" I ask, carefully tearing the page out of the pad.

"You signed it," she points out. "You never sign the ones you keep. Everyone knows that."

I blink. "Wait, you guys noticed that? I didn't think anyone other than you really cared." Closing my pad and putting the drawing on top of it neatly, I shrug. "Anyway, I was going to give it to that girl."

"The girl from the Gunnak?" Janet clarifies. "You serious?"

"Yeah," I reply, feeling the tips of my ears going a little red. "She saw me drawing one time I visited her in the sickbay, and asked for one. I couldn't say no. I mean, she's about as old as my youngest sister'd be now."

Janet gave me a small smile. "That's sweet of you," she said. "Anyway, you looking forward to getting down to the surface?"

I nod. "Sure I am. It'll be nice to relax a bit, sleep in a proper bed. Maybe do a bit of hunting."

"Hunting?" Janet repeats, confused. "I didn't know there was anything to hunt."

"Well," I say, putting my various pencils back in their case, "maybe not originally. But some idiots introduced varren a few years back, and the farmers don't like that. There aren't that many livestock farms on Eden Prime, but there are enough that varren hunting is both legal and encouraged."

She raises an eyebrow. "Huh. I never knew that."

"I didn't either until I looked up 'things to do on Eden Prime' on the extranet earlier, after we dropped out of the relay." I flash her a grin. "It's called research, Jan. You should try it sometime."

She narrows her eyes at me, but before she can respond the intercom goes off.

"All marines to the briefing room," our CO's voice rings out. "All marines to the briefing room."

My gaze meets Janet's and we both stand up, me scooping up my things and tucking my pad under my arm.

"Somehow," I say, "I don't think that she wants to tell us to have a good time."

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"Right, marines," Lt. Enriquez says once we've all filed into the briefing room. "Sorry to bring bad news, but your leave's on hold. I know, you're all disappointed," she carries on, raising her voice a little as groans and grumbles fill the room. I roll my eyes. Disappointed is an understatement.

"We've a new mission," the Lt. announces. "Priority Alpha, or I'd have asked that another unit take it instead."

More murmurs go round.

"Priority Alpha?" Janet mutters, leaning slightly towards me. "I don't think I've ever been on a Priority Alpha mission before."

The Lt. flicks her gaze across each of our faces before continuing. "Now, this is classified information, highest levels of secrecy." Her fingers tap at the keypad of her terminal, bringing up on the wall behind her an image of a thin grey monolith at the bottom of a pit. People in lab coats surround it, several with active omnitools. "This is a Prothean beacon," she states, pausing as the room buzzes with surprised noises. "Right, settle down. A science team discovered it a couple of weeks ago. Soon an Alliance ship will be here to take it to the Citadel, but until then its security is paramount. No-one really expects trouble, but the fact is that this beacon is unique. It's the first to ever be discovered intact, and there is no telling what knowledge it may contain. If news gets out, people will pay big money for it. We could face anything from bounty hunters to a full batarian invasion force, though that last is a bit unlikely. Whatever happens, it's our duty to protect the beacon at all costs." Glancing down, she taps a command into the terminal and the image of the beacon vanishes, replaced by a topographical map of the area. The dig site is in the centre, surrounded by gently rolling hills to the east and north. To the southwest is a cliff dropping to a lake side, and in the northwestern corner is a small spaceport. About half a kilometre from the dig site is a tram station, which connects to the spaceport. Blue dots spring up across the map.

"At the moment," the Lt. says, "the beacon is being guarded by Unit 212 of the 2nd Frontier Division. Your task is not to replace them, but to provide elite backup and support should it be necessary." She taps at her controls again, and the map zooms in on the dig site. "Four squads, same as always. I'll rotate periodically between squads. Squad one, you'll be stationed at the beacon itself." She highlights it in red. "I want you to keep watch round the dig site rim. If anything does happen and you're being engaged, it means the enemy will have got through everyone else. The beacon is your priority, unless the situation is untenable, in which case the scientists are the priority. Squad two, you're to keep a roving watch to the south. If elements of the 212 engage the enemy in your quadrant, you move in to assist. Squad three, the north. Squad four, the west. Same orders. If the beacon itself comes under attack and you are not engaged, move immediately to defend it. Should the beacon be captured and it is impossible to recover it, then you are to retreat and regroup at the spaceport. Any questions?"

Sulla raises a hand. "Ma'am, what's the ETA of the retrieval ship?"

The Lt. activates her omnitool and consults it a second. "It's ETA is approximately…on the 20th, at 21:00 Standard time. That translates to about 29:00 local time. In other words, you'll have three Standard days down there. And yes, that does mean no shore leave. Any other questions?"

"Ma'am, does the Southampton have a role in protecting the beacon?" Momsen asks. The Lt. nods.

"The Southampton will be providing tactical information and overwatch as well as engaging any hostile craft that might arrive," she answers. "Anyone else?" When no-one steps forward with any more, she claps her hands. "Gear up, marines. I want us down on the surface in ten!"

As we file out of the briefing room, I catch a passing crew member's eye.

"Can you do me a favour?" I ask, handing him the drawing. "Give this to the girl in the medbay in bed 16, would you? Tell her I had to go and couldn't give it to her myself."

He eyes me curiously. "Sure thing," he says. "You know her or something?"

I roll my eyes. "No, she just reminds me of my little sister is all." With a parting clap on the shoulder I turn away, heading for the elevator that Sulla is helpfully holding open.

"Making sure your little sweetheart gets her present?" she murmurs slyly, poking me in the side.

"You're just jealous," I murmur back airily, folding my arms as we wait for the lift to complete its interminable descent.

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During the shuttle ride down to the surface, all anyone can talk about is the Prothean beacon. Speculations abound as to the nature of the information it holds. Deeko maintains that it must be information on whatever made the Protheans vanish; a warning, he says, to any species that might find it. Momsen thinks that's unlikely, arguing that it's most likely a general history of the Protheans.

"Most likely it's just like those time capsules people bury, you know? Bits and pieces of the culture and ideas of the time, for future generations to see." He waves a hand. "It'll probably have lots of Prothean pop music, maybe pictures of their favourite boy bands. The archaeo-anthropologists will have a field day."

Leaning in, Sulla whispers to me. "Don't tell him, but I think Deeko's actually got a point. I mean, all we know of the Protheans is they were a big empire and they just vanished, right? If we got attacked by something powerful enough to wipe out our entire species, we'd want to leave something behind so other species would know."

Her argument makes sense, but from what I remember of ancient human monuments, they all usually boasted of their builders' might and the enemies they defeated, not the people who defeated them. I tell her this.
"I mean, I remember when I was little I saw this documentary about the ancient Greeks, and it said that one of the older Greek civilisations had just been wiped out completely. They left a lot of preserved writings, but," I said, raising a finger, "one of the last of their recorded writings was just a list of sacrifices to their gods to ward off their enemies. They mentioned the enemies, but not like 'these are our enemies, they're so-and-so'." I pause for a second, trying to think of an appropriate comparison. "Like if the batarians invaded and annihilated us. We wouldn't leave a description of the batarians behind – we were killed by a levo species of alien with four eyes and mud-coloured skin – would we? There'd just be references in letters and things to 'batarians' and future archaeologists would have no clue what batarians were. That's what I think, anyway."

Sulla nods slowly, taking in what I have to say. "Makes sense, I suppose. Still, I think that's what's in the beacon. How about you? What do you think is in there?"

I shrug. "I kinda agree with Momsen. It's probably just a time capsule type of thing. If we're lucky maybe it'll have schematics for a new gun. A proper laser gun would be nice." I make guns with my fingers and point them at Janet's face. "Pew pew!"

She slaps my hands away, rolling her eyes. "Yeah, right. Laser guns. If it's a time capsule it'll probably be just recipes for Prothean cupcakes or something."

"I could go for a cupcake right about now," I mutter, pretending to zone out.

"What's up with Lake?" Deeko asks, noticing my exaggerated pose.

"Cupcakes," Sulla replies, shaking her head.

"I could do with a cupcake myself," he says seriously, and Sulla laughs.

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We disembark from the shuttle at the double to be met by a detachment from the 212, led by a woman in white and pink armour.

"I'm not sure what to think of that," Sulla whispers to me as the Lt. strides forwards, and I agree. It's either a personal choice – embracing her femininity, perhaps? – or subtle discrimination.

The woman in pink armour salutes smartly.

"Gunnery Chief Ashley Williams of the 212," she says. "It's an honour to meet you."

The Lt. returns her salute. "Lieutenant Enriquez, N7. Heard good things about you, Chief."
I can't tell, but it looks like the Gunnery Chief stiffens at the Lt.'s words.

"I assumed you'd want to be out in the field immediately, ma'am," the Chief says, "so I took the liberty of having bivouac kits prepared for you and your troops. They're over there," she gestures towards a row of tables to the side of the landing pad. "I've also had ration packs set out."

I share an impressed look with Sulla, mouthing 'Efficiency!' at her. She nods in agreement.

The Lt. thanks the Chief, turning to us.

"Alright, marines," she says. "You heard her; grab the gear and move out!"

As one we salute smartly before heading over to the tables in a considerably less professional manner, Sulla and I lagging behind.

"She seemed a little…stiff," I murmur to her. "Did you catch how she acted when the Lt. complimented her? That wasn't a happy response, least not in my books."

"Not surprised, if she is who I think she is," Janet replies. "You hear her last name?"

"Williams, right?" I say, my curiosity aroused. Before I can think of a Williams who was of any importance, she fills me in.

"A General Williams was in command at Shanxi. You should remember that, it's in Primary history."

Now it makes sense, I think. If she is a descendant of the General Williams who surrendered at Shanxi and was vilified for it, then I can imagine any number of difficulties being put in her path by more politically-minded soldiers and officers.

"She must have taken the Lt.'s words the wrong way then," I muse.

"No kidding," Sulla agrees, glancing back as we reach the tables and pick up our bivouac kits. "Betcha that armour she's wearing isn't her choice either."

I wince. "Probably not, no."

"Talking about the Williams girl?" Jones asks, bumping me with his elbow as he unnecessarily swaps the bivouac kit he picked up with another. "If you ask me, she's got some nerve being in the army. I mean, old White-Flag Williams was her granddaddy or something like, that's not something people forget."

I glance at him in disgust. "What, so because someone she's related to surrendered to an overwhelming force to save the lives of civilians we should discriminate against her?" I ask, realising too late what I said.
"Like you care about civilian lives?" Jones says, raising his eyebrows and hands in exaggerated surprise. "Guess I never got that memo, Butcher."

"Don't call me that," I say quietly, turning to face him full on.

"What, 'Butcher'?" he asks, taking a step forwards. "Don't like it? Tough, 'cause that's what you are. A damn bu–"

A hand comes down on his shoulder, and he shuts up abruptly as the Lt. leans in between us, appearing for all the world as if she's just having a friendly chat. Her voice low, she speaks perfectly calmly. "Jones, I don't want to hear another word from you until you're at your watch site, understood?" Without waiting for him to answer, she pushes him gently away.

"As for you, Lake," she says, turning to me, "I'll be honest. You'll notice your team's watch site is the furthest away from either the 212 or the scientists? That's because I can't have you being a liability if anything does happen. No," she forestalls my objection, "I don't care if you say you won't be, or what reasons you had in the past; the fact is that you have a history of which we are both aware, and as a responsible commanding officer I must put you in a position where you are least likely to shoot a hostage." She sighs, and looks at me reproachfully. "Do you really have to react to Jones, in front of those marines from the 212?"

"Sorry, ma'am," I reply. "Won't happen again, ma'am."

Lt. Enriquez shakes her head. "Carry on, marine."

"Ma'am, yes ma'am." I salute and move away, heading over to where Momsen and Sulla wait by the train. Momsen shakes his head sadly at me, and I spare him a dirty glare. Honestly, it's as if people don't care why I did what I did, or that I regret having had to do it. They just act like I'm dangerous, a loose cannon, and let Jones treat me like I'm some sort of psycho, enjoying killing helpless civilians. The worst of it is, no-one, not even Sulla, stops Jones from spouting off at me. The most I can expect is for the Lt. to tell him off for unprofessional behaviour if he starts up when we're in the field.

"Fucking Jones," I mutter under my breath, leaning against the side of the train car as it sets off. Sulla must have heard me, because she gives me a quick glance before going back to her conversation with Momsen. I couldn't care less at the moment. All I'm seeing right now are the tear-streaked faces of the three hostages I've killed, and the faces of their captors who'd died immediately after. One laughing, one arrogant and defiant, one desperate and angry. It's their faces I remember more clearly out of the six; the faces of the villains. The victims' faces are less distinct, and I can't even remember their names. I remember the names of the bastards who made their deaths necessary though; the asari Sana L'Gayb, human George 'Riptide' Wheeler, and batarian Gharsh Atrast. The galaxy's better off without scum like them.

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The days pass slowly, with nothing much happening. We patrol back and forth, maintaining a schedule that has two on patrol at any one time while the third rests. The scenery is beautiful, particularly when the sun sets, hours after we arrive, and then rises again thirty-something hours later. The glass and steel of the spaceport in the distance flashes and gleams in the light, and during one of my rest periods I make a quick sketch of it in my pad.

The Lt. drops by at one point, patrolling with Momsen for an hour before leaving. I don't see her, as I'm at the far end of my own route, and I don't much care. I'm still angry. Once she's gone Momsen tells over the comm that apparently the retrieval team is going to be testing our defences, to see if we're as good as the Alliance tells the Council humanity are.

"Watch your fire," he says. "Switch to non-lethal mode." He pauses for a second and I sigh, already knowing what's coming. "Lt. wanted me to remind you that even if they are surprise combat-testing us, killing a fellow soldier is not something that can be explained or excused."

"Yeah, whatever," I snap, tuning out his reprimand for my insubordinate tone.

Eventually the time for the retrieval team to arrive draws near.

"Alright marines," Lt. Enriquez's voice comes over the comms. "Look alive and stay sharp, stated ETA of the retrieval team is four hours, but we all know how surprises work. Remember, non-lethals only."

Although it's my turn to be resting, I am awake.

"Momsen," I comm him, "I'm gonna go up high, keep a lookout over the approach from the train station. Don't worry, I'm not going to kill anyone today."

"Copy that," he replies, apparently deciding not to comment on my 'butcher' tendencies. "Keep us posted if you see anything."

"Of course," I say, and cut the connection.

Making sure my weapons are firmly on their magnetic strips, I pull on my helmet and start moving. There is a rocky outcrop nearby, with a commanding view of the road to the dig site from the train station as well as all the other possible approaches from the north. Although it's an obvious sniper nest, it is also the only viable sniper nest around. If I do it right, I won't be noticed.

The climb is not too tricky, though some loose rocks give me a moment of trouble. Finally I make it to the summit and hunker down behind a large boulder. With a series of taps on my omnitool I disable my shields. Although that makes me extremely vulnerable to being hit, it also means that they won't interfere with the workings of the tactical cloak I pull out from a belt pouch. Unholstering and unfolding Gamma, I make myself comfortable and raise the scope to my eyes, draping the cloak over myself. That done, I settle down to wait for any glimpse of the retrieval team. To the northwest I see a flash of sunlight off armour and check my hud – it's just Sulla, making her way slowly along a sunken path.

Nearly ten minutes later, a transmission comes in from the Southampton.

"All units, be advised; incoming contact from the relay. It's possibly…wait, cancel that, contact is an unknown dreadnought-sized ship. Attempting to make radio contact now; but be alert."

I blink in surprise. An unknown dreadnought? Why would the Council send a dreadnought to retrieve a beacon? Surely they didn't put that much importance –

"Contact is hostile, I repeat, contact is hostile! It is preparing to fire upon us – I repeat, it is preparing to f–"

The transmission cuts off dead, just as a flash of light lights up the sky over the spaceport.

With many, many thanks to my new betas: CelticGrace, Dorano1, Darth Kokkinos, and Whale of Toast Media!