The story of Mindoir is an exercise in what could be called a 'whiplash reality.' Once the victim of a batarian slave-raid, it is now a thriving center of industrial production. Technology design is a small but growing portion of its economy, spurred by the ready supply of resources and a competitive education center.

The re-settlement of the colony was undertaken with a shrewd eye towards progress. Salarian analysts were hired in the design, and asari were consulted for long-range permanency.

As the location might suggest, there are few Alliance supply depots near Mindoir. By investing initially within mass-production facilities, the colony was able to create a self-sufficient economy within two years of the Raid. One year after that, it was seeking workers. Two years after that, it had a booming economy, attracting settlers by the shipload.

Mindoir is a perfect example of recovery; how a turnaround is possible for everyone. Unfortunately, to have that steep climb, there must first be a fall. It is somewhat analogous of Commander Shepard, to make such a leap to prominence after diving so low.

Yet, everything has a beginning. To assume otherwise begs erroneous reasoning.

Notes from Dr. Pavenmeyer's logs

~Project Ragnarök Files

Present: Arcturus Alliance Recruitment Center, Psychology Wing

"Mr. Shepard," the bearded man studied him carefully. "I have been asked to evaluate your suitability for serving in the Alliance military." He looked down at a transparent sheet of plastic. "While I am often called upon for my expertise, it isn't often I'm asked to determine ... sanity levels."

Karl sat on the requisite couch, maintaining the cool smile he wore. Frowns are noticeable, smiles are not. Not until they stay in place for extended periods of time, of course. Intriguing. Psychological warfare with the twitch of a few muscles." Sanity is a relative term, Professor Duerf. My understanding of 'normal,' is possibly not matching the commonly understood ideal. Who can truly define 'normal'?"

The professor lowered his glasses, staring down the formidable nose at Karl. As an intimidation tactic, not bad, Karl thought, before pulling his attention back.

"True, how Socratic." The professor replaced his glasses, settling back in his chair. "Now, how about we begin with the obvious. Mindoir. What did you do before that night?"

Flashback: Mindoir

July 4, 2170

2:00 AM

He was seventeen.

The thought rolled through his mind, he mentally probed into as many aspects of the uncertain concept as possible. He was parsing the thought; considering the full ramifications of the idea carefully. It was just something he had to do. Although it was technically only a few minutes later than sixteen years, three hundred and sixty-four point two-five days … he considered the information, then added to it. Old Earth calendar, anyway. He shifted, making the mattress squeak slightly. Doesn't feel very different, physically. Mentally … big difference, but is it actually the sensation of getting older? Or just the realization of being officially older?

The light from Mindoir's twin-planet neighbors, shimmering through his bedroom window, caught his eye for a moment, glinting a silvery-blue off his greatest accomplishment to date: the ufberht. At one point in time, it had been among the greatest weapons known to combat technology. The knowledge to create it had likely taken its original craftsman a lifetime to accumulate, and then taken years to teach. The steel forming the blade had been more flexible than contemporary craftsmanship, almost equal to modern quality, especially when compared to the slag-ridden metal chunks of its day. In keeping with the ancient practice, Karl had spent the better part of three days combining the metal and coal, melting the precise quantities of sulfur, iron, and sand in the primitive crucible.

He let his gaze caress the object, a short, vicious looking blade that waited in its leather sheath on the door. The blade was too heavy to be blown by the slight breeze in the room; its deadly purpose evident from the patient way it hung, motionless. Karl let one side of his mouth curl upwards. Pride in his accomplishment eased the ache in his tired arms.

Other apprentices had created their own masterpieces using the flash-forge, writing complex programs to create marvels of modern industry. Their contributions netted them approval, and gave useful items to the community … but that wasn't the path for me. No, I had to take the slowest, most boneheaded method I could think of, Karl thought. Even to himself, he had to admit the project had been daunting. Take an obsolete method, an archaic weapon, and a basic knowledge of chemistry. And turn it into what a true Saxon would have considered a peerless weapon. I must have been crazy! Not to mention all the time required finding the resources,on my own time, submitting approval forms to engage in "archaic methods," and finding proper wood to turn into coal. Karl shivered. That last part alone was a mammoth headache. Who knew oak was so unique?

But remembering the pleased look on both his father's face and the face of Sven, the master smith, made the entire enterprise worth it. The diploma hanging next to the ufberht was another happy result of all his work. He didn't need to read it again to know what it said. He bypassed Journeyman status completely in a year, he had the promise of a full partnership when he turned eighteen, and to top it off, he received a commendation for demonstrating dedication above and beyond an apprentice's normal penchant … Life was good.

A few pebbles flew through the open window by his bed, clinking off a decorative dagger sitting on the dresser. Karl grinned. Perhaps life can get even better. He quickly waved a hand past the window, then sat up. He stretched an arm, grabbing a work shirt, pulling it on before rising to his feet. He toed on a pair of moccasins, souvenirs from his brother's hunting trip a few months earlier. Perhaps humans on Earth would frown on such things as hunting, but out in the colonies, responsible resource management wasn't limited to the leaders; common citizens had to do their part as well.

Karl reached under his bed for a package, tucking it close to his chest. A quick twist, and he was through the window without touching the sides, gently landing the two-story drop with barely a sound, rolling to one side. He could see her just through the pair of shrubs planted between their homes, bouncing on her heels eagerly. Karl noticed the glint on her hand, the promise ring matching the band on his own. He waved at her, letting the light glint off the crystal-set ring, yet mindful of the heavy package he carried under one arm. He glanced around, scanning for potential observers, but saw nothing, only the darkened windows of much more distant neighbors.

Putting his head down, he loped in long, easy strides to the property border. The weighty, cloth-covered package under his arm felt almost as if it were warning him to be more cautious. Easy Shepard, no need to grant anthropomorphic qualities to the goods. He shook off the thought, stopping in front of Lily, nodding a greeting.

"About time," The woman said with a saucy smirk. "I was wondering if you'd maybe given up on the deal."

"And keep a lovely lady waiting? Perish the thought!" Shepard gave her a mock bow, then held out the item he'd been carrying. "As per your request, one anniversary plate, fit for royalty."

Soft fabric rustled as she stripped the covering free. A moment later, she gasped, loud enough to awaken her parents he was certain. "Karl, it's … beautiful!"

Shepard smiled shyly. "Glad you like it. I trust it is to your satisfaction?"

Small hands rubbed the ornate platter, gently touching the engraved edges with a care that bordered on reverence. She flipped the piece onto its top, examining the polished surface. One finger tested it lightly, gliding over its satin-like surface. "How did you … it's like you pulled it from my mind! This … it's incredible!" The cloth wrapping surrounded its charge once again, and Shepard suddenly found himself being held by an affectionate female. "I love it!"

"Uh," Shepard managed to tentatively close an arm behind her back. Feeling her proximity, even if he knew her so well, gave him a strange feeling. It led to thoughts he was beginning to appreciate, but was not fully accustomed to, yet. Um … wow. Soft … he caught himself relaxing into the gesture, and immediately pulled back slightly. She's your fiancée ... in everything that matters. Get a grip!

"Um," he tentatively rubbed her back with one hand, helplessly holding the other at a stiff angle, "Shouldn't you get it inside, before your parents spoil the surprise?"

Lily stiffened, then pulled back in a rush. "Oh-I-completely-forgot—" she seized the heavy platter, then paused, looking at Karl measuringly. She leaned forwards, close to his face. Too close, far too close, this is out in public remember last time— Shepard started pulling back when something simultaneously ice-cold and burning hot touched his lips. Lily reared back, blushing furiously and bolted away, footsteps fading quickly in the thick grass.

Shepard stared after her bemusedly. He saw a rectangle of yellow light flash against the paved section behind the house, and darken once more. There was a glint behind one of the windows as something reflective was uncovered. Other than that, however, the night remained silent. Did she just? One hand reached up, touching the tingling skin. That girl … if she doesn't drive me crazy… he came to his senses. Foolish boy, you are standing in the open, staring at your fiancée's house, in your nightclothes. Get moving before you get into trouble.

He jogged back to his house, lighter in weight but deeper in thought. One jump, and a little scrambling saw him back in his room, visually no different than it had been less than fifteen minutes before. Shepard eased off his moccasins, and peeled off the shirt before lying down again. What a night, he ruminated. He took a deep breath, held it for a count of five heartbeats, and then exhaled slowly for another count of four. Repeating the exercise, he was somehow able to marshal his thoughts into a more ordered form, and then he fell asleep.

Present: Arcturus Alliance Recruitment Center, Psychology Wing

"Nothing much out of the ordinary." Karl allowed the ever-present smile on his face to fade. "It was one of the last times I can remember being truly, well, normal," he tapped the side of his head meaningfully. "Not exactly too many happy memories after that night, you understand?"

"The attack, yes." Karl watched the professor tap the datapad, sorting through multiple files. "The medical testing you went through indicated cerebral trauma that occurred sometime during the attack. Can you tell me what happened?"

"I could," Karl shrugged, "but it's something that has already happened to a lot people. I had wires shoved in my head," he tapped the temple where faint scars could be seen, "typical batarian slaver technique, and I got away. How I got away is due only to the courage of my sister, and an individual that asked me to stay quiet."

The professor arched one eyebrow, as if hurt by the insinuation. "I have sworn the Hippocratic Oath, despite my lack of ... medical training. I am also legally and morally bound to keep all confidences between my patients and myself to myself; telling anything would get me fired faster than you could say Jack Robinson." He grimaced, evidentially disgruntled at the thought. "Above that, it would utterly ruin my career. No one wants a blabbermouth psychiatrist."

"Hmm." Karl leaned back into the couch, taking care to hide the racing thoughts behind a careless façade. "I did a little reading … just to know what I should expect you understand. Normally, your word would be enough. However, I also have to consider the fact that you are a personal advocate for the Alliance." Good, concern is aired. Dilute with a compliment. "You are loyal to the Alliance, a beneficial trait to my way of thinking. If anything I say could be considered of value to the Alliance military, that loyalty would obligate you to betray our trust." Follow up with tidbit.Karl looked pensive for a moment. "I can tell you I made my decision to join up long after I came to terms with what happened. I suffered," he looked up again, into the professors kind brown eyes, "but many people have suffered. Four people survived Mindoir, and some of those that were taken are probably still suffering. Yes, what happened to me was bad," Display sorrow, but not too much, "but in balance, it's nothing compared to what has happened to others."

The professor seemed to intensify his gaze. He wasn't as subtle as Karl would have expected, carefully watching for any sign of deception. Karl kept his own gaze focused on the professor's, unwavering. Game of visual chicken, he who looks away first is lying. Finally, the professor nodded, turning back to his device. "Very well, how about you tell me your thoughts of the tactical situation?"

"You might have to clarify that question, sir." Karl tilted his head sideways, memorizing the psychologist's body language. Can't let them know everything, it's personal anyway. Can't avenge them if I can't fight, can't fight if I can't join up. Use your head, Shepard. Stay ahead of them, every step of the way.

The professor smiled, as if conceding a minor victory to Karl. Karl felt a little pride. He's a smart man, which doubles the difficulty, but halves the time. Self-persuasion is so much easier with an intelligent mind behind it. He re-focused to hear the professor say: "How did the Batarians get so far, so quickly? Mindoir was a colony filled with military veterans, all of them trained in the art of war. The GARDIAN towers alone would make for difficulties, let alone slavers." The last word seemed to burn Karl's ears like an acid, cloying yet toxic.

Karl leaned forwards, losing expression. "Hindsight is 20/20, sir. Mindoir was protected against almost any attack." His eyebrows rose meaningfully. "Note that qualifier, almost." Set up a distraction, allow a flanking maneuver; redirect.

Dr. Duerf's body posture became more attentive to his statement. "Indeed. How so?"

Gotcha. The temperature fell as Karl's eyes turned cold. Gone, was the friendly, amiable look he'd worn entering the room. In its place crouched a predator, impartial, uncaring. "The Na'Hesit are known to be some of the most depraved, fanatical terrorists in the galaxy." One eyebrow rose. "It is also interesting to note that the group is disavowed by the Hegemony government ... yet is armed with weaponry typically found solely within elite Hegemony military."

The professor tapped a quick notation. "An astute observation. I assume you did research?"

"First hand." Karl bared his teeth. "Found a Graal Spike-thrower on one of the slavers, custom designed for non-krogan wielders. Its owner received a personal testament as to its effectiveness." His grin changed into curled in disdain. "It's a messy, inelegant weapon really. I much prefer my pistols, or a rifle."

Duerf cleared his throat, looking somewhat intrigued. "I myself prefer long guns, but you were saying ...?"

"Ah, yes. The Na'Hesit." Karl rolled his neck, letting it pop in multiple locations. "They sent in a human slave, completely brainwashed. Probably from one of their retaliation raids about three years ago. She shut down part of the sensor grid, letting a small shuttle approach from the far side of the planet. That shuttle had saboteurs, whom took over one of the GARDIAN towers, number Seven I think the guys said." Karl's voice dropped lower, carrying faint undertones difficult to ascertain. "The GARDIAN tower damaged our Forge station in low orbit, and that meant our space defense was compromised. No station defenses, no protection from aerial assault. We were bombarded ... half the town razed in ten minutes."

The professor grunted, a harsh noise, given what Karl had heard so far. "I read about that. The report also said the stone structure survived ...?"

"The Knights of St. John building, yes." The edges of Karl's lips moved upwards again, a cold form of glee. "Turns out seventeenth century technology is better than we thought."

"How so?" Duerf raised an eyebrow.

"The bunker the Knights built was designed along the same lines as the castle they built on Malta, under Reichsfurst Valleta. Rounded corners, thick walls. Truly medieval, except for the absorbent panels built into the framework." Karl shrugged. "I don't know all the physics behind it, but apparently cannons packed a bigger mass back then; modern shells are denser, but significantly smaller. Modern small-arms fire can't make a dent, except for the explosive rounds, and the GARDIAN towers were working just fine out there. Apparently, the Order did its own maintenance, kept the towers off the network, and that kept the ship-based attacks to a minimum."

"Mmm, logical," Duerf murmured. "So how did they breech the building?"

Karl shrugged. "Not sure, the batarian I interrogated didn't know, and there was only a shattered wall for evidence by the time I got there. What I do know, is that there were dead batarians all around the wall." He took a breath, fixing the psychiatrist with a gimlet stare. "All with blunt-force trauma wounds."

"The monks blew up their own wall?" Duerf asked, apparently surprised. "Just to kill some batarians?"

"No. Not exactly blunt force, but close enough. Stab wounds. Helmets caved in, with spike trails. Impalement." Karl snickered. "Guess the batarians should have read up on medieval weaponry, eh?"

"Dark Ages weaponry against modern weapons? Steel against ceramic armor and energy shields?" By now the professor was showing more than just professional interest. "Where would the monks get such things?"

"From me." Karl shrugged nonchalantly. He waited for the next question, only for it to not appear. Looking up, he caught the psychologist staring at him as if he were a new, intriguing specimen. Watch where you point that thing, he snarled internally. Aloud, all he said was, "I was a blacksmith, professor. My hobbies lay in metalcraft, museum pieces as a specialty. I made several for the Knights, and they worked."

The professor squinted at the young man, then made a few more notes. "Did you see what happened to the ... ah ... knights, then? Why they didn't survive?"

Karl scowled. "They were re-enactors, not really combatants. I know half of them were trained in melee combat, but this was supposed to be something like a parade, not a fight!" He shifted in his seat, eyes hard. "The walls were proof, but steel can hold up to mass accelerated rounds for only so long . Yes, modern steel is much denser than the garbage pellets eezo guns use, but the guns accelerate their rounds a lot more than arrows did." He shook his head in a furious motion. "I found a shield. Kite style, hardened steel layered with a leather covering and a willow wood backing." His head came up in the predatory motion that he knew was starting to scare the psychologist. "It had over thirty holes in it. And seventy five dents."

The professor's eyebrows shot up, like a pair of startled caterpillars. "So many? That was quality workmanship."

"One hundred and fifteen hours to get the process down right." Karl grunted. The predatory light left his eyes, turning to a more thoughtful gleam. "Less than twenty for the shield itself. Three shields, with a total of forty-eight hours." He considered for a moment. "The slavers didn't bring armor-piercing mods, I guess. That would have punched through with less difficulty. Still …" he let pride show in his voice, "my work made sure nearly a dozen slavers died."

The professor nodded, letting silence build before asking his next question. "Getting back to the subject at hand, the reports tell me you were at the center of town when the Alliance arrived. There were dead batarians all around ... and the Forge station was less than a quarter mile away, partially embedded in the ground." He frowned, as if thinking hard. "Lumping a lot of questions into one: what happened?"

Karl's eyes dropped to the floor, his entire body language drooping into near despair. Don't mess this up now, it's the home stretch. Almost safe now, you can do it! He kept his eyes lowered; of all the tells he knew, the muscles surrounding eyes, and the organs themselves, were the most treacherous.

"Most of the dead were there because of Sven, the smith boss," he murmured. "He had an old power-armor set from the early Batarian Conflict days. A Hephaestus power armor." Karl looked up, real, unfeigned tears glimmering. "He'd been working on it for years, tinkering with the power output, testing different weapons." He shrugged eloquently. "Well, I should say, he and his wife, Tina. They were ... potentially ... my future in-laws."

Dreuf visibly unclenched his jaw. From Karl's perspective, it looked as if he were straining, trying to not ask questions. Good. Emotional response, met with emotion. Give more information, guide away from potential problems. Karl answered part of what he could see lurking in the professional's eyes. "One of the things Sven scrounged up was a pair of T5-miniguns, from a junkyard somewhere. Arm mounted. I don't know how he got them, so don't ask me." That much is true ... just don't ask me how he learned about them. Dad would never forgive me.

Karl waited until the psychologist nodded, then continued. "Tina was a wicked marksman. Better than half the Alliance boys when they stopped by for shore leave ... and she was holding back then. When I saw them ... he was in the suit. Both guns working overtime, keeping back what looked like half a platoon. New slaves mostly, neural bands in place. Neighbors. Friends. "He furiously rubbed the back of one hand across his eyes." He didn't want to hurt them, but they wouldn't stop. Tina either ... she was hiding behind him, whatever cover she could find. Sven would call out targets, and she'd take them down. Really proud of that rifle, she was."

"They were shooting slaves?" Dreuf asked carefully.

"Slaves. Slavers. Tried avoiding the slaves, but the slavers wanted a mobile wall; they didn't care so long as they're safe." Karl's eyes went cold again, calculating. Professor Dreuf visibly suppressed another shiver at his sudden shift from human to inhuman.

"What I don't understand is why the slavers kept coming. Their profit is in getting as many healthy slaves out as fast as possible. Why waste them in an attack?" Karl glanced back at the professor. "I checked for slave values, two months after the attack. By going after Sven and Tina, the slavers lost well over two million credits, Council currency. More than half again Alliance. Why?"

The question hung in the air, like a sullen thundercloud, ready to blast the unwary. The professor sighed, nodding slowly. "Do you know how many batarians were killed that day?"

Karl shrugged. "Depends if you count a batarian slave as being a slaver. If yes, than over three hundred. If not, less than eighty."

Dreuf nodded. "Alliance Intel managed to catch one of the slavers. After they left Mindoir, the Alliance chased them back to Hegemony space, caught two ships. Destroyed another three." He pursed his lips, shaking his head. "The slavers killed all they had, standard tactic. Alliance policy of no negotiation has its benefits ... but it's hard for me to see one here." He shifted back, looking down at Karl again. "The prisoners said the leader was taken out fairly early on, by a," he held up his fingers in quotation marks, "'blood-drinking apparition,' of all things."

"Vampire ghost." Karl grunted.

"Pardon?"

"Batarian mythology holds some tenets different from human. We had Odin and Zeus, they had Bubullimë and Blasfemues, depending on who you ask. We had demigods that faced monsters. One of their monsters of antiquity was apparently based on a nomadic nation; they employed specialists that killed their enemies by draining blood. Eventually, it became a terror like vampire ninjas, or bogeyman." Karl smiled slightly, "The Pillars of Strength is their current religion, although it has roots going back millennia. It is somewhat complex, but ultimately saying the batarians were created by a supreme being, and no other god can stand against It. Him. Her. Whatever."

"And the ghost vampire on Mindor?"

"Me." Karl bared his upper teeth in a terrifying parody of a smile. He knew it. He'd practiced it enough. "After I got free, I found myself in a position near the batarian in charge." His voice lowered into a baritone rumble, promising ominous things. "I saw what he did to my sister ... and he paid. Batarians are surprisingly superstitious, considering their advanced culture."

"As for what happened at the crash site? I don't know." Karl shrugged. "I saw Sven go down. One of his guns finally overheated, and the other one wasn't enough to keep them all back. Tina held them off as long as she could, but ..." His eyes twitched at the memory. "She went to her backup knives. There was a reason nobody messed with her, especially in the kitchen. After that ... I must have blacked out. I don't remember anything after that, just nightmares."

Deurf looked up sharply. "Nothing at all?"

"Vague dreams, like old movies. Shadows. Nothing else, really."

Karl watched the psychologist carefully, trying to think of nothing, letting hints of Mindoir pass through his mind as a mnemonic for the proper expression. Almost home. They will be avenged, whether I'm Alliance or on my own.

The professor made several more notes, studying the transparent machine intently. He looked up at Karl, and smiled. "Well, that covers most of my questions. Do you have any questions you wish to ask?"

"Not at this time," Karl stood up. Did it! Hope they bought it … might not have, but I gave it my best shot. "Although I may have some for you later."

"Certainly." The professor mirrored his action, holding out a hand. "I will undoubtedly be seeing you later."

Karl shook the hand, smiled politely and left.

Professor Deurf watched the door for several moments after it hissed shut. The quarian tapestries hanging on his wall shook for a moment, and then parted, allowing two people to step out from behind.

"Commander Anderson. Doctor Quin'Zel. You see what you need to?" Deurf didn't bother with small talk.

Anderson grunted as he sat down. "Indeed. He is certainly his father's son, what I knew of him."

The quarian strode back to the edge of the same couch Karl had sat upon, examining it closely. "My analysis is complete ... but something bothers me."

Deurf cocked his head. "Really? Why is that?"

The quarian seemed to frown, he couldn't tell with the smoked visor impeding the view. The reflective eyes inside certainly gave the impression. "Even though he's had only a little over a year now, he came in prepared. Very prepared. Mr. Shepard displayed classic signs of trauma, mostly healed, and a deep urge to continue." She sat on the couch, mimicking its earlier occupant. Her helmet swiveled, giving the professor the impression of an automaton, scanning for threats. "He didn't ... " she inched back a little.

Anderson followed her gaze. "He ... what?"

"He knew we were there. Or that someone was."

"I'm not surprised." Deurf put in. "Mr. Shepard knew quite a bit about standard operations, even before he reached this room." He turned back to the Quin'Zel. "Do you think he was telling the truth? About where Lieutenant Zabaleta found him?"

The quarian's fingers played nervously. "I'm not certain, but all the other readings indicate he is. All I have is an instinct ... hardly quantifiable."

The professor gave an annoyed huff. "So what do you say, does he go in, or stay out?"

Quin'Zel shook her head slowly. "The readings say otherwise, but I say no. He's gone through too much, there's too big a chance of his breaking at the wrong moment."

"I disagree." Anderson frowned. "I knew his father, and I've watched Karl for several years now. If anything, he's stronger now than he was before. If he was going to break, it would've been when his application was denied a year ago, or when the legal department tried halting the insurance payments."

"He didn't mention anything about that." Professor Duerf commented. "I would have thought being a multi-millionaire by age 18 would have been noteworthy."

"Billionaire." Anderson corrected. "The insurance for the colony was worded so that the survivors would get it all, provided it was used to improve the colony. Young Karl was the only one both old enough and sane, which meant everything went to him." He sucked in a breath, "No one thought a colony would get hit this badly. I'm assuming the insurance corporations are looking into preventing another, similar, payoff in the future."

Professor Duerf tapped another entry. "That's one vote for, and one vote against." He looked up. "Then it's up to me, eh?"

Anderson shrugged, "He could always go mercenary, too. Nothing preventing him from rabbiting out of here on a tramp freighter, getting into it that way. If he joins up, we can at least have some say in it."

"Fine." The professor tapped a final entry. "I'm clearing him for admittance. But," he glared at Anderson. "You will watch him. If he screws up, on your head may it be."

Karl somehow managed to keep calm, maintaining his decorum as he trudged away from the analytical office. Really, who do they think they're fooling? He wondered, The oh-so-careful phrasing, of course HE wouldn't say anything, or there aren't any recording devices ... organic listening devices are the oldest trick in the book!

He took a left, following the faint luminescent traces on the wall. Arcturus had grown a great deal since the time his father had taken him there years before. The memory threatened to overwhelm him, making him stagger a few steps. No. Not now, almost there!

Ignoring the surprised attendant, Karl shoved a handful of bills over the counter, and chose the nearest booth. Two seals later, and a second payment for real-time connection, and he was ready. Almost ... there were still memories floating around his mind, prompting him to - to think-

For the first time in years, Karl Shepard wept.

Mindoir

July 6, 2170

Karl snarled, lashing himself mentally. Pain in his temples fought back. Faster you idiot! It isn't far now!

The deafening thunder of Sven's miniguns boomed ahead from what was once the center Mindoir's formerly largest town. Periodic cracks, like calving glaciers, told the entire colony that Tina was still alive, watching her husband's back.

Faint screams began drifting to Karl's hearing. Cries of pain, and fear, driving him even faster. It was like a nightmare; every step he took made his legs ache, gravity feeling like a cruel overseer, pulling back on his every move.

The pressure finally dragged him to the ground, legs unresponsive despite his desire. Desperately, he started pulling himself along with his arms, crawling forwards. Come on, just like the exercises ... you don't want to let everyone down, do you? He groaned quietly, Can't they just stop, for one minute? Give a guy some slack, hmm?

Faint crackling, from the headset stuck to the side of Karl's neck caught his attention. He quickly inserted the earpiece, wincing at the loss of surround sound. "Karl here." He breathed into the mike.

"Karl! Son!"

"Dad?" Karl rolled onto his back, staring into the pre-dawn sky. "How're the repairs going up there?"

"Not good." His father sounded grim. "Listen, I wanted to let you know we're not going to make it up here. We're trying to crash it with the shields intact … but going through a full atmosphere is murder on particle shielding. Did you find the cache all right?"

Karl froze. "Sorry, did you say, 'crash'? As in, unsafe deceleration?"

The man's voice sighed. "Not much other choice, Karl. The main thrusters are offline, and we're losing altitude rapidly. Geostationary orbit only works as long as you're falling at the same rate as the earth. When we got hit … I'm sorry, son. On the plus side, I'm standing on the ceiling! Benefits of space, eh?"

The weight of the situation tugged at his mind. For a moment, Karl felt its seductive pull, sensing the beguiling emotion of the abyss practically begging him to let it go, just … set it free, and forget. The moment extended, stretching. He stared at the blackness that was both before his eyes and somehow far beyond any quantifiable distance.

He shook himself, forcing his head back into the game. "It's all right, Dad. This isn't your fault. Nobody could have planned for this."

Strained laughter came back across the channel. "I wish I could believe that, son. But one thing you'll learn soon is that we never let ourselves off the hook … well, almost never. Your mother is the only one that's been able to convince me otherwise. Just remember, I don't blame you either. In the times ahead, remember: this wasn't your fault, even if you were on the ground."

Karl struggled to a sitting position, feeling the comforting sensation of his father's handgun at the small of his back. "I got your guns, dad. Anything you want me to do?"

The older man's voice turned serious. "Just look after your mother for me, as best as you can. How's Lily?"

Karl's face stilled. Unconsciously, one hand cupped his front pocket, touching the twin rings resting inside. "She … she should be all right." He kept his voice level.

There was another sigh from the speaker. "I'm sorry … I wish there was something I could say …."

"It'll be all right." Karl forced a smile into his voice, although there was no trace of it on his face. Smoothly, he rose to his feet, guns clicking into their firing mode within his grasp. "I have to get back to it, Sven's waiting on me."

"You'll be great, Karl. I have no doubt about it. Remember: 'Trouble is coming: its name is Shepard.'"

Karl smiled, remembering better times when that motto had been uttered. "Give 'em what for, old man." He slid the action back on one handgun, inspecting the ammunition block, snapping it shut where the mike could pick up the sound. "I'll meet up with you later, Dad. Organ recital next week?"

His father laughed. "Wouldn't miss it. I hear it's going to be downright heavenly." The line cut out, ending the mild static in his ear, while leaving an ache deep in Karl's chest. Very carefully, he ignored the fact both had known: neither was likely to survive this one.

Karl spun both guns in his hands, ease of practice slapping them both in position a hair's breadth before a batarian rounded a corner just ahead. He raised one hand, and the guns of his father spoke, a crack spitting hot fury into the slaver's faceplate. Fresh adrenaline roared through Karl's veins, heightening his reflexes. He spun a quarter turn right to see a turian slave, collar firmly bound in place, charging desperately from an open doorway. One handgun fired, sending a hypersonic round in between the shield-less slave's eyes. For a moment, just before death closed the turian's eyes for the last time, Karl could see gratitude.

Karl stopped next to the fallen batarian, liberating the shielding unit he found deactivated on the man's waist. Why'd he turn it off? Idiot. He glanced around the partially destroyed landscape. On for safety.

Within seconds, he caught sight of his two oldest friends, partially shielded by the ruins of a grounded cargo truck.

Sven stood in a partial crouch, gleaming armor catching what little light was coming over the horizon. One knee was braced on the ground, holding him steady against the tremendous recoil. Both of the large man's arms shook, the mounted miniguns launching an indiscriminate spray.

At Sven's side stood Tina, small and lithe. Gray was just beginning to touch her dark hair, but the long rifle she carried sang its death song with every squeeze of the trigger. She caught the movement as Karl approached, whipping the rifle up and almost pulling the trigger. She stopped, smiling. "Karl! Glad you could make it!" She patted Sven on the back, resetting the cooldown timer absently. "Sven here has been stealing all the easy kills, think you could make him slow down a little?"

Karl grinned. "We'll even the score a bit, no?"

Present

That was a long time ago … by multiple standards. Karl ruminated. How many shrinks did I see? Three? Four? The lawsuit certainly took a bit of time … even if I'd already spread the money around. Hope they can use it ….

A soft beeping noise broke through his reverie. Quickly, Karl wiped the dampness from his face, using a handkerchief to dry the last of the evidence. Then, and only then, did he accept the incoming call.

"You're a little late. Everything go well?" A distorted voice asked.

"I think it went well. Dad knew Anderson pretty well, and I still think he's the most likely candidate for evaluating me."

The voice laughed. "Careful, don't take that dangerous last step between confidence into arrogance."

Karl frowned. "It's hard. I'm trying to act like I know everything. I need to use arrogance as humor … but it gets addicting."

"Naturally." The voice seemed understanding, despite the quavering baritone nature. "You sound a little congested. Did you finally break down?"

"A little," Karl admitted. "I'm trying to get over it quietly, no week-long states of depression or the like. The psychologists have mostly cleared me, except for the quarian back on day three. I think it was her kinesics specialty that gave me away. I passed it off as being really tired, and a strange meal the day before … but I'm not sure she believed me."

"You were never a good liar, Karl. Just stick with the truth, but hold back two parts. If you have to, give away the first part, but never the second. Imagination is always worse than reality."

"I know, I know." Karl sighed, dropping his head into both hands. "Change of subject. How are the others?"

The voice growled, making the distortion pop and crackle. "Mother is … coping. She's regained full mobility, but isn't the same as she used to be."

"I'd think not." Karl growled, "She went through terror to get where she is now. Is she scared?"

"Scared? Heavens, no. That's part of the problem, she's insisted she's ready to take up guard duty, even before her replacement has been grown."

"Then let her patrol." Karl shrugged, conscious the action wouldn't be seen. "There won't be any reprisal raids for a while, so far as I know." His voice turned dark. "I read a report that when the Alliance chased the raiding fleet, the slavers spaced the colonists instead of allowing them to be recaptured."

"I know. That's why you're where you are … Karl. You will avenge them. Make your family name a terror for the slavers. Trouble is coming."

"Its name is Shepard." Karl finished. He hung his head before asking one more question. It was ... hesitant, almost fearful. "And ... how is Lily? And my brother?"

There was a pause, and the voice exhaled loudly. "She will be fine, eventually. I'm … taking care of her." The voice paused again, then resumed, tentatively. "She regrets breaking up, you know. She made a mistake, anyone could have done it. If you want, we could call off th—"

"No." Karl said firmly. "She knew exactly what she was doing when she did it. I've gone too far to stop now, and you know it." He took a moment to regain control. It was harder, now that he knew how powerful his anger could make him. "James, would you look after her for me? I know we can't acknowledge each other, I'm sorry for that. But if I'm going to make myself a target, you'll only share that target by having the same name."

A violent hiss came from the speaker. "I know, and I don't like it, Karl. I can stand on my own. But … mother can't. Not any more, she's holding it together for Katrina ... but just barely. So for now, I'll play along, but when I take back the family name, Karl, I will do so with or without your approval."

"Understood." Karl's lip twitched in a half smile. "You are your father's son."

"And my mother's. Don't you forget it."

"I never will." Karl checked his timepiece. "The link is going to drop soon, I paid for an hour. You?"

"After the "windfall" I received recently, I could found a communications company."

"You might want to do that," Karl said, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "We'll be able to leverage a lot of cash in the future. There's a lot there, but practically a drop in the bucket compared to the asari or salarian corporations."

The distorted voice of his brother snorted. "Yeah, but they're like Count Dracula. They've had centuries to practice. What do we have?"

Karl smiled. "We have new technology, a strong economy, and access to the entire frontier. Remember, Spalding started out with a $300 loan. Look at their net worth now!"

"Spalding also had over two hundred years to get where he is now." The voice pointed out dryly.

"We just need to get a decent fortune for what our current time is now." Karl stated matter-of-factly. "We have quite a nest egg, and if my plans go well, a decent number of information supplies." He checked the timer again. "Looks like I have to go, don't know when I'll call. Trash the hard drive when you're done, remember?"

"I'm the one that built computers, Karl, not you. I'll get rid of any traces I can, with thermite if necessary. The rest will be covered by next week, what with the new settlers coming in."

Karl watched the last few seconds drain from the timer. "Good luck, brother. We'll make our enemies pay. I promise."

A/N: This chapter has been moved from Early Discovery to the official home, here. My apologies for any confusion, it's been a fairly eventful beginning to the semester.

If you want to see the Supplemental information, the story behind the story as it were, check out Early Discovery, my combined research/test subject for this AU.

Thanks to Nightstride and to everyone whom has reviewed, followed, liked, and lurked. Until next time!

3/26/2016: edits, thanks to Nugicorn!