Peak Fifteen, Shepard decided, was a cold place. It was an organic research station designed to rest inside a glacier, deep within the coldest regions of Noveria. Despite the many advances containment technology had achieved, sometimes the simplest methods garnered the most success. Cold slowed even bacteria after all.

A chill breeze wafted across the side of his head, eliciting a shiver. He enjoyed cold, one could always don more layers after all, and the climate on Mindoir had been frigid in many places, but this was getting beyond his comfort zone. By nature, research stations conducting organic properties were enclosed. But the catastrophic events rending the other parts of the station open to the elements had ruptured armored barriers beyond simple thermal containment, exposing the inner portions to the frigid outdoors. Beneath his combat boots, the ice failed to crunch even though he could see riveted metal plates through its transparent material. Temperatures maintaining glass-like smoothness and a durability rivaling metal hull plates held a definite position below his comfort zone. He could hear the members of his squad trying to keep their footing, but only Kaidan and Liara were proceeding at a pace resembling normal.

Wrex crept, heavy boots incorporating tiny vibrating spikes that shuddered into the ice as footholds, sniffing all the time. "It's getting stronger, Shepard. A lot stronger. Think we're getting close to the Queen."

"Right," Shepard didn't bother reviewing the information he'd called up. It was simple: large bugs, kill as soon as possible, in particular the biotics-using bugs. "Doesn't look like there's been enough time for the bigger Brood Warriors."

A rough chuckle rumbled through Wrex's chest. "Yeah. Got 'em right at the sweet spot. I'll be the first krogan to crush a Queen in over a thousand years."

Whistling laughter echoed his words from further back, characteristic of a turian syrinx, "You mean, we'll be the first, Wrex. How many is it so far? Over fifty of the big ones and a thousand workers?"

Wrex lifted a boot, flaring blue power over its surface to clear the viscous fluid of tiny, chittering monsters off the cleats. "A thousand, a hundred an' fifteen now. If you're counting."

Shepard rounded the corner, flanked by Wrex, watching openings punched through acid-etched walls. Tiny arachnid-like creatures loved to swarm from the openings, detonating in the middle of the squad to weaken shields and distract. Thermal sensors were useless; rachni were cold-blooded, capable of matching their surroundings for a time, even functioning at temperatures below what any right-thinking mind considered applicable. If the krogan's stories beyond the galactic database were true, the insectoid species thrived in harsh conditions.

"Have I mentioned," he eased past the openings. "How glad I am you are with us, Wrex?"

"Thank the Goddess, yes!" Liara agreed, almost glued to his back. "This is like some horror story. A high-powered political entity gone rogue, sponsoring a laboratory of horrors? All we need is a secret cabal trying to take over and vast resources behind the scenes complicating matters."

Shepard paused, thinking. Then he shook his head. "We have those. Too many. Can barely walk without running into secret cabals. Wish they'd get organized, make things easier."

"Goddess …" Liara groaned.

Skittering noises silenced the group. As one they raised weaponry, covering all sides in a display of firepower surpassing entire platoons in earlier times.

"Contact front." Shepard intoned, then feathered the trigger of his sidearm. It boomed a heavy retort, louder than modern counterparts. The old K-309 'Pioneer' had been forged when frontiers were new, and aliens consisted of unknowns limited to a single, but massive, set of alien ruins and a strange spacecraft orbiting Mars. Its ammunition, designed to obliterate medium-grade armor and expand upon contact, shredded through rachni carapace like wet tissue paper.

It was as if the shot had been a signal.

Dozens of massive insectoids poured down the hall, long legs eating up the distance in lightning-fast strides. Between their extended limbs tumbled hundreds of the tiny, acid-filled versions, chittering an insane rhythm. Their poisonous green appearance hinted at the pervasive toxin contained within their frail shells.

"Clear center!"

Wrex and Shepard dove for the walls, a hair's breadth ahead of Ashley's opening thunder.

Her Meneleus powered armor was in the approved textbook position, down on one knee, gun arm extended. The rotating carbine was already spun up, sending a hail of metal fragments down range.

Behind the marine, Garrus picked off stray rachni that took to the walls, evading her voluminous fire through agility.

"Blue," Shepard adopted a kneeling gesture himself, watching for flanking units. "Singularity dead center."

Without a word Liara gestured, coalescing a tiny sphere in their midst. It glowed, starting in the dark violet section before taking the known spectrum down. Its incredible weight defied the gentle suggestions of a mere planet filled with continents and oceans, on a very localized level demanding the fealty of the rachni's mass.

Despite the smoked glass protecting the Gunnery Sergeant's face, her enjoyment was obvious. "Grenade out!"

The gun arm lowered, while the other arm rose. Rapid-fire explosives spat from the launcher into the huddled mass of struggling monsters. There was a brief moment where the slower-moving objects were clearly visible against the struggling mass. It was a moment that floated.

Shepard covered the exposed portions of his face with an arm, unnecessary though it was. Singularities, and those able to perform them well, were adored amongst intergalactic SpecOps for a reason.

Without being asked, Wrex lumbered forwards to take point, shotgun angled down yet poised for action. His reflexes were incredible; Shepard had witnessed the massive being react to the antenna tips poking out of a pair of vents by blowing a hole in the grating just under the ambusher's thorax, then spinning around to smash the ancient weapon's butt-end into what would've been a sneak-attack. But then, the krogan had centuries of experience, and the desirable trait to keep his head in combat. Even when in the rare, full, Blood-Rage, Wrex understood commands, adjusting his tactics to complement the rest of the squad.

"Clear." His hoarse bass rumbled over the channel.

Shepard followed to the next doorway, paused by the side and nodded. Wrex crept past, focusing on the rooms ahead. A large carapace, tendrils waving like sawblades, received a triple-tap through the head – an accident. He'd aimed for the chest on reflex. Insects were so much better at receiving the old-school MozambiqueDrill than human-proportioned targets.

"Clear right," he swept down the hall; pallets narrowed its width, providing cover for any stealth-minded assailant. Reaching back, he loosened his sword from its scout sheath at the small of his back.

"Clear left." Wrex grunted from his side.

Liara emerged, looking shaken. "Rachni. Rachni. I can't believe it's Goddess-cursed rachni!"

Ignoring the distraught scientist, Wrex stomped forward, sniffing. "Yeah. This way. Those scientists talked about some kinda center. Maybe we can kill the Queen and skip the whole 'invasion of the galaxy' story again. Might be fun, but without the krogan? Everyone's dead."

"Careful Wrex," Ashley's Menelaus armor didn't need to duck through the door, but it was a near failure. It provided a contrast to her teasing tone. "If it happens, people will start to think you're some kind of hero again."

The big krogan paused. A pensive look crossed his face, as far as Shepard could tell. "Might not be a bad idea …."

Shepard cast another look down the corridor. The Labs were less than a hundred meters distant. He looked back in time to see emotions twist across the old Krogan's face.

"Bah. Who'm I foolin'. Our day is done. The Council saw to that."

"Hold that thought." Shepard pointed at the upcoming entrance. Grumbling, Wrex took position at the right side, while Ashley took the spot just behind. Liara held back along the wall, careful to not get between Garrus's assault rifle and the door frame.

Not bothering to try for subtlety – what one rachni knew, they all knew, and the dead arthropods cluttered passageways all the way to the outside – Shepard slapped the door panel. It hesitated, jerking open a bare body's width before freezing.

He jumped, diving through on his side. Just as his feet cleared, the door slammed shut with all the strength of an irritated giant.

"Commander!" Ashley's voice barked through his earpiece.

The cavernous room was filled with shadows, broken lights sparked in futile efforts to ignite connections long-since missing. Heavy equipment, biological in nature he recognized, sat on solid metal counters. Bare metal, galvanized with non-corrosive alloys exhibited deep furrows in their lengths, sharpened edges reflecting what little light remained in the room. Examination tables, like what he'd seen on veterinarian floors, stood at crazed angles beside half-intact piles of sensitive medical hardware. Centrifuges and what he recognized as an old nanodrop reader fought for space beside kits labeled Southern Blot, bearing logos from Sirta and a half dozen lesser known organizations.

Shepard refocused; medical hardware lay scattered around the room, chaotic wires yanked from walls, test result sheets covered the floor beside the table where he assumed the original printer had sat.

From a tactical standpoint it was an utter nightmare. The tables formed a complex network across the floor, artificial higher points providing anchor points for medical gear also created hostile cover. Toppled tables made of hospital steel were designed to resist sudden shock; with his luck they'd be made from the sturdy material rather than the cheap, flimsy things civilians bought. Walkways hung ominous dark shadows near the ceiling, hiding snipers from sight. He'd used such constructs often enough after all. Nightmare inducing, terrifying vague outlines, brought to an even glow with his eyepiece.

To any trained soldier, it was utter chaos just waiting to happen. Too much cover, too little light, and no covering fire.

Then his attention was drawn to the center of the room, a sort of pedestal made from heavy metal sheets. Thick glass-like walls created a massive tank on its upper surface, a construct larger than the Mako and yet only just large enough to contain the single biggest rachni he'd ever seen. A thorax large enough to support an infantry support vehicle rose above raptorial limbs, razor-sharp spines extending from their lengths like daggers. Antenna longer than polearms, equipped with spikes stretching longer than his lower leg waved in deceptively gentle arcs. Were a machined weapon of similar proportions be made available to Shepard, he was certain it would take both hands and all his back – and provide enough offensive strength to spear a triple-thick row of krogan.

Compound eyes tilted in his direction. They'd had him in focus ever since he entered the room, he was sure. They rose and dipped following his movements; alien intelligence burned behind those reflective orbs. He'd seen VI assassin units with fewer death-dealing implements than this creature. A faint aura rose from its Mako-sized body, like a faint smoke billowing over the hood of an assault mech.

'Eyes following every word.' Another image, this time Shepard could recognize the origin. 'It turned on command, and screeched the death of ten thousand souls in a single wordless cry. Beyond the fortress walls, the very ground heaved into motion, armies covering the ground as far as the eye could see.'

Shepard cleared his eyes. The strange creature still followed his progress. But another look in its eye, one of faint curiosity. It felt almost like … hope.

'The skies grew dark, vessels taught to the creatures improved for their unique physiology launching into the Void. And then the strange creature stirred at his side – a thought forming. A terrifying thought, created from nothing in his own mind or the minds of fellow researchers. Independent thought, unslaved to any overseer's mental patterns. This would need to be reported. After the war was over. Maybe just before.'

He shook out the foreign memories. They were getting stronger, less fragmented; a mixed blessing by any measure. The present, he needed to focus on the mission.

"I'm here," he dared to respond, peering at the shadows, anywhere but the hopeful eyes in the frightening body at the center of the room. "No hostiles. Big fish tank, think it's the queen."

"Kill her," Wrex's guttural snarl drew static across the line. "Get rid of her. Don't wait for us."

"Wait!" Liara's voice begged. "Is she secure? Can we get her to stop those soldiers? There will never be another opportunity like this!"

"Damn straight there won't be!" Wrex fired back. "My people won't have died in vain, that's what'll happen."

Shepard mounted a low bridge, which rose in a gentle arch over cables strewn across the floor. From the vantage point he scanned the entire room, noticing a half-open door on the far side. "Work on the door. Checking out the perimeter."

"Understood, Commander." Garrus's voice came through, calm and steady. A good man, him. A good shot as well, how many geth had met their demise at the hands of the eagle-eyed turian? Given the phrasing of his open-ended bet at the start of the mission, he was going to have to pay a lot when this was over.

His approach to the door was halted by movement. Freezing, Shepard directed Mercy's muzzle without thinking, holding off on triggering when he noticed the bipedal nature of the target. Bipedal, thin, and wearing dark clothing. Dark blue hands wielded no weapon – but that was both easier and harder. This was an asari, a race known for mastering unarmed combat in their first century, then going on to practice it as the centuries marched by.

"You do not know what it is like, to be a mother."

Her voice was proud. Strong. Politicians would've paid to just watch her claim possession of the stage. He recognized the voice of Matriarch Benezia, respected councilor of potentates and militaries alike. But what he didn't see was an asari confident in victory.

"There's a good reason for that," Shepard eased himself into a narrower profile. "Most races have around half the population that never does."

Benezia made a slight gesture of agreement. Then her head twitched at the walls, back to the containment tank, and then to Shepard. Her hands weren't in the posture of an armed combatant, twisting and clenching for a fight. They worked in slow, easy motions, of an alpha predator cornered by foes on all sides.

"My people watched your entrance," she turned to walk along the tank. One hand drifted along its length. "You have slaughtered your way through this facility."

He shifted with her, watching the angles in case this was a distraction. "If there was an alternative choice, I couldn't see it."

"Oh, no apology is necessary," Benezia heaved a sigh. "But I in turn apologize to you. The trap was not of my design. I pray your much-vaunted skills are true to rumor, Commander."

"What. All those rachni?" he loosened the Ulfberht in its sheath, flicking a quick look at the corners. Biotics could generate barriers that withstood small-arms fire, but little could stand against a foot of cold steel. "You're pretty calm for someone facing the loss of an entire species."

Something pressed against his mind, a form of interference resembling that of the Beacon, months before and the memories of a few moments ago. No images pummeled his consciousness this time, no overriding panic burying his own thoughts under layers of fear. Nor did it quite seem to be words, simple phrases transferring meaning. It was both more and less, a conveyance of emotion: regret tinged with grim determination. It felt much more organic than the Beacon, the difference between an auto-hammer and an artisan.

The sensation appeared to understand, and dove deeper.

'Darkness. Endless, eternal night filled with stars. Necessarythoughts weaving themselves in a gentle decrescendo, slipping their mind from as far above as the star themselves. Incomprehensible complexities singing the refrain, as dancing melodies began to fade.'

'Desperation. Fear. Terror transcending reality itself, sending a last survivor to the stars. Hoping, praying to gods that did not answer.'

Singers vanished from the chorus, distorting into harsh, pale, croaking that faded again. Remaining voices swelled in defiance, burning at the sour acidity staining their songs. Rage, expressing itself in myriads of colors, swelling into greater melodies, singing of vengeance. Not against those that killed them, no. But against the despoilers of The Song. Desecrators who hid in the silence, and had no color.'

'Miniature thoughts quested outwards, reaching for the closest Singer. The Singer responded, burst into a brilliant display. Courageous hues spiraled outwards in a glorious stanza, even as it fell into minor key and faded.'

'It. Was. Necessary.'

Shepard started, almost sending an accelerated round through the Matriarch's cranium – or at least into the barrier protecting it. The tell-tale glimmer of biotic defenses always left a slight tang of ozone in the air.

The asari hadn't missed his flinch. "You hear her? You understand what she says?"

His sidearm moved a tiny fraction of a centimeter sideways and fired, launching three rounds into the glass wall on the far side of the room. The heavy shreds of metal buried themselves in starbursts, cracks radiating from impact. An odd sense of pride welled in his chest at the cluster's location, all within a centimeter, centered on the oversized rachni's head-like structure.

"She means no harm," Benezia's hands tightened, but seemed otherwise calm. "The Queen is unable to communicate as you and I. The fallen may serve as her voice, but her children would not listen. Could not listen."

"Commander! Are you well?" Liara's voice burst through the radio. "Who is there?"

Shepard ignored the frantic motions of the tall asari. "Matriarch Benezia."

"Mother? Here?" the younger asari sounded aghast. "Hold on Shepard! We are coming!"

The resounding boom of rapid explosives shook the doorframe.

"I mean no harm!" Benezia spoke quickly. "I request a parley, please commander. I believe I am free from Saren's taint – but my Maidens are not. After the sound of gunshots, and what your comrades are doing, it is too late. I will defend the Queen, beware those who once served me!"

Tensing, his gaze swept across the room, taking in additional information. Coming to Noveria had not included Matriarch Benezia's involvement within operating procedures. Acquiring Saren's information had been the sole goal; finding what could be equated as biological warfare in the extreme was a mere bonus. Killing Saren's second-in-command would be a bonus as well.

Unless she was telling the truth. The only action better than eliminating enemy resources, was acquiring them for yourself.

Benezia stood next to the Queen, enveloping the both of them in a massive bubble of dark indigo energy. Even among the asari, Shepard had read of the Matriarch's seldom-used power. Like large predators, the powerful did not need to boast of their strength – word got around. But in a strategic sense, Shepard had to admire Benezia's position. If he lost, the Maidens would assume Benezia was relying on their efforts. If he won, she could point to her lack of offense as equal proof of innocence.

Footsteps, audible between the detonations taking place on the main door, came into hearing range. It gave him a moment to contemplate.

Ignoring the subtleties of tactics and strategy, most combat situations were simple in Shepard's experience. Opponents arrived and were gunned down; sometimes he arrived to gun down opponents. Nuance could be introduced when assassinations and kidnappings were involved – but innocent people seldom operated in the same circles as slavers, freeing his any constraint. Pirates boasted of independent rights, yet gave those same benefits to their own employees on an infrequent basis. What he did was justice.

Movement stopped his thoughts. Doors slid open on two walls, elegant forms leaping through with a grace no machine could emulate. Dark padded armor contrasted with light blue skin, close-range weaponry extended.

Shepard undid the catches inside his gauntlet, releasing a biotic wave at the far wall. It did little damage, but presented a brilliant distraction, and worked as a catalyst if he had the chance for another attack. But at the same time, he turned his sidearm on the other wall.

An asari bounded over a two-meter barrier, flipping over while training her SMG on his position. While granting less damage, their rapid-fire rate would add up. Fast.

He responded with a minor reduction in weight, altering his trajectory as he made his own jump. The Nightstalker armor responded almost as if in tune with his thoughts, increasing his mass a fraction of a second before landing, boosting the traction his soles had against the floor, just before lowering his mass again in a high-speed dash.

Another asari was already joining fire, stuck to the wall in a micro-singularity technique Shepard recognized from En-Seven training. She pushed away from it, twisting her hand to send another luminescent attack his direction.

From his opposite side a small object clattered against the floor, bouncing once to attach itself against his sidearm. Luck guided Shepard's reflexes, somehow catching the almost imperceptible weight in the corner of one eye and guiding the same motion to fling the weapon away.

The device sparked once, even as the gun clattered on the floor. An EMP device. He could tell by the characteristic stuttering in his Nightstalker armor, and the utter failure of his HUD. With any luck his Pioneer would be fine, but needing a replaced catalyst. Synthetic biotics were hardwired inside his armor, which left the simple cutting edge and himself to wage combat.

Taking advantage of his momentary hesitation, the nearest asari sent a shockwave in his direction with a wave of her hand. Her other hand directed a stasis technique.

He broke the stasis, sidestepping the shockwave with a biotics-assisted lunge. On natural-born biotics it would've appeared as a leaping twirl, guided by a lifetime's experience of natural control. His motions substituted sheer power for grace instead, rocketing him aside like an eezo-fueled rocket. Thick though his armor was, he felt the impact. It left a dent two inches deep on the metal walls.

Growling Shepard reversed the technique, sending himself spiraling away. A pushing attack landed where his head had rested, driving a fist-sized dent another three inches deeper.

This time Shepard launched his own attack, priming a specialist's biotic detonation. Anderson had taught him the trick, combining opposing forces in upper and lower portions of the armor to create a widening sphere of influence nicknamed the Nova. It lived up to its name, erupting a circular blast around his frame. Unlike when his former mentor made the technique's discovery, the Nightstalker hardware was up to the task, and did not melt. Anderson had complained about wrecked gear every time it came up.

Shrieks met his execution, the organic-based barriers incapable of defending against an artificial construct. But strong as they were, his capacitors were overheating.

Another asari dove close, fist raised to deliver a coup de grace. Time slowed, her falling arc descending like a cyan thunderbolt from above. It seemed almost cartoonish, the enraged emotion visible through her brutish movements, forgoing the usual grace her species embodied.

Shepard triggered another mass enhancement, rolling to put himself out of range. Her fist crunched through its metal surface into the ice below, showering splinters everywhere.

He stopped the roll by digging one gauntlet into the flooring, sweeping back with his sword. It caught the asari's arm, slicing through metallic mesh.

'Move move move!' staying in motion was the only answer to an asari hit squad. They brought heavy ordnance and mobility in harmony unlike any other race. Of course, no other race was able to harness biotics to quite the degree they could. 'Doesn't matter, think after!'

Giving his suit a break, Shepard performed a standing leap over the edge of the room's catwalk, catching one rail to swing under its protective length. Reality-warping energy caught his boot, throwing off his trajectory, which saved his life for the second time in as many minutes as a heavy sniper round tore through the bridge at torso distance.

Pausing a moment, Shepard noted the shadows moving across the floor, and struck. Quick as a snake he reached out from the same side of the bridge as he'd entered, seizing a leg and dragging it down with him. His Ulfberht ensured no amount of healing gel would allow the asari to fight again.

The body had a sidearm strapped to it. He took it, and went on the move again.

Slipping out from beneath the bridge was child's play. Doing it under the watchful eye of killers, trained in field work was harder. Asari commandos, practicing their art for over a century? More difficult yet. The Huntresses were able to sense biotics like bloodhounds, correlating what they felt with how reality appeared. Coordination within a tight-knit squad bordered on supernatural, sending squad names like Watchful Stars, and Blossom of Verdais into legendary status.

He enhanced his mass once again, pushing the Nightstalker hardware as hard as he dared for a heartbeat. The weight pushed his boots into the floor, eliciting a squealing sound as hardened steel-alloy obeyed the bending laws of physics.

Agile fingers cut the Nightstalker armor's element zero relays to nothing, venting thermal energy in a quiet hiss. Grimacing, Shepard made a silent fast-walk across the short hallway to the wall, where a tarpaulin dangled.

Seconds later another asari landed where her battle-sister's body lay. Her impact was silent, but heavy. The deck plate responded to her landing with a loud groan of protest, collapsing under her weight.

Shepard closed his eyes, breathing through his nose. His heart rate was accelerated, more so than expected. Perhaps he was getting old? At his age, humans peaked in physical ability, but the descent from that height was steep and slippery. But there were several factors aiding his fight, if only he could use them.

Faint sounds of ferro-ceramics rubbing met his ears. Good; sign language. By cutting off his synthetic biotics, the asari had lost his position – no reason to rely on alternative methods if all biotic prey could be traced in such a fashion. But a foe who could appear and disappear? That required different tactics.

Shepard felt his heart rate slow; excellent. He waited another handful of seconds, counting off in his mind.

'No time to be stupid, Shepard. They won't catch you. Not here. Not now.'

A faint whisper echoed through the room, and a stack of crates piled near to the ceiling toppled. Short bursts of automatic fire sprayed through the room before falling silent once more.

'Good.' His little diversion had worked; jumping with enhanced mass should've made it possible to leap so high. 'Looking around now, ready.'

Without making a sound, Shepard slipped out from behind the tarpaulin's shielding bulk. A third asari stood with her back to him, in eyesight of the fourth Huntress. His target remained oblivious, but her partner caught sight of his assault.

'Smart.' Shepard aimed from instinct, the unfamiliar asari weapon necessitating four shots before collapsing the alert opponent. It was obvious the squad was depending on the EMP's disabling properties. 'Sloppy.'

The last asari twirled, lunging to reduce him to paste with her bare hands. Her timing was unfortunate, as it coincided with Shepard's simplified riposte, a classic swordsman's response.

Coming back to himself, Shepard gave the room a once-over, and jogged to his pistol. The depleted munition fell from its barrel as he picked it up. "That all of 'em?"

Benezia let her barrier fall, heaving a long breath. Moisture was beading up on her cephalic tentacles "No. I have heard that as a race, humans compensate for their lack of biotics with brute strength and stamina. I fear you will be tested to your limits this evening."

Part of the laboratory doors creaked, subject to the immense forces applying themselves to its bulk from beyond, Wrex and Liara's biotics, he assumed. The reminder prompted a check on his unconnected equipment; his earpiece and communicator were still offline, needing repairs. But repairs took time better spent on weapons, like the Pioneer in his hands.

"Well Sarge," he mumbled. A small screwdriver made an appearance from a pouch. "Guess you were right. Again. Gotta strip it and put it back together in less than thirty seconds."

His fingers flew, ears straining. When the sound of feet came, it would be too late for more changes.

Widow Nebula – Citadel – Ambassador Quarters

Udina sat in the business room of his apartment. It was an expensive room, on a space station where volume equated wealth. It was expensive even for one of his status, three bedrooms, a dining room, a kitchen and meeting room, not including twin bathrooms and closet space.

None of that distracted him; he sat. Motionless.

Everything had gone so well, progressed to heights the greatest stretches of ambition had not dared to dream – and he was well aware a man of his quality knew great ambition.

'Was it all a waste?' Roles taken in his youth parlayed into careful positions of authority, to what end? Clerkships after law school had taught the value of precision, while being the representative of his colony to the Senate had taught the value of proper publicity. Committee memberships had garnered general approval, riding the swell of public opinion to ever-greater positions. 'Now what. Where do I go?'

Before his eyes, various readouts spelled out mixed dooms in orange-and-white. 'Ren'kin Investments, thanking me for my dedicated service. Will send my commemorative pocket watch – no need to drop by.'

Another screen updated. 'ExoGeni is under new management, will not be retaining my services. Mindoir Outreach – that new hire Shepard made. Damn him.'

The thought was immediately repressed. 'I overestimated my influence. He's a psychotic fool; idealism and dedication. I knew that. Proving it is difficult, but not impossible … but no rewards lie on that route. Satisfaction perhaps, but enemies in the Alliance and every corporation using Mindoir products. Dumb like a fox indeed.'

Numbers from the intergalactic stock exchange stretched in a new graphed estimate across his initial screen. 'Synthetic Insights is looking well. Very well in fact. I could use my contacts to arrange for geth specimens … the quarians would love additional support. Yes, a good angle. A setback of a certainty, but not the end of the world.'

One avenue decided, fingers flew across the tactile surface. VI-assistance ensured the first message sent within ten seconds of the decision. Additional names added themselves, another network surrounding his little idea.

'I wonder how Shepard is doing?' an idle thought crossed Udina's mind, a mild shudder making itself known as the memory of the hulking soldier flicked across his mind. 'A simple intimidation does not last long, he knows that. Perhaps he is relying on future good will from that asari scientist chasing him? No – a fool of his proportions won't see that. He's probably focused on some inane idea of justice. If he dies, oh well. If not, so be it. Sitting in that stealth ship over some gods-abandoned world in all likelihood.'

His first meeting alert chimed a five minute warning. Rising, Udina made to prepare. 'Obsessed man like him probably enjoys sitting still and watching others sweat.'

Noveria – Peak 15 – Live Specimen Storage

Orbs of pure, unadulterated force orbited Shepard's Nightstalker hardware, obeying its overpowered command. Rather than impact his frame, the reality-bending bursts skidded sideways into walls, and a bank of priceless data collectors. This was getting fun.

After catching his second wind, he'd begun employing the more esoteric qualities of his armament. A second pair of eyes seemed to glow on his forehead, partially obscured by sweat-slicked strands of hair, distracting them while providing extra data – the work he'd performed on himself long ago had implanted a basic electromagnetic sensory capacity there, fed to his HUD, when it worked. While useless in most situations, it was proving its worth now, detecting thermal signatures everywhere.

Ahead, one of the asari Huntresses flipped herself in a forward leap, tumbling in an acrobatic display worthy of a circus performer. But her muscles were growing tired, cutting the altitude almost too low for the dismount.

Shepard was forced away by suppressing fire, but a vicious smile was growing on his face. The asari were fighting like machines, exquisite in performance, but uncaring of personal danger. Fighting drunk an old instructor had called it. That gave him openings, shots that his K-309 could take advantage of, and had. Asari body armor specialized in flexibility and environmental resistance, trusting biotics for projectile defenses. Sustained engagements made such a policy hurt.

By now the amount of cover inside the lab had been heavily reduced, rendered to large piles of metal and dense sheets of armored glass. Benezia's defensive dome had tightened, withdrawing to cover just the main bulk of the tank and herself, standing at its longest wall.

Shepard spat, clearing out a taste of blood from his last exchange. It was coppery this time, a hit received rather than dealt.

"Just die! Die goddess damn you!" another Huntress appeared out of nowhere, forgoing long range tactics for melee certainty.

He twisted around the enhanced strike, chopping through her barrier in a literal sense. But the asari clutched at him as she died, holding Shepard in place.

Alarmed, Shepard triggered a push, sending her body away. From a flanking position came another biotic attack, this time landing a solid hit, sending him flying. Reflexes assisted by the armor's sensory array turned a deadly impact into one of mere debilitating proportions. Even so, the contact shattered ceramic plates.

Landing on one side, Shepard arched his back, getting a foothold on the wall. A subtle double-shift raised his lower mass while decreasing the mass of his torso, flipping his body around – the upper complexity limit of what synthetic biotics could accomplish.

Adding still more power to his legs, Shepard pushed away from the wall, slashing his blade across the lower extremities of the last remaining table. It fell forwards relative to his wall. Garbage fell, smashing expensive electronics across the floor.

This time, however, he'd miscalculated. The opposing commando avoided the debris, spinning a darker biotic field in display he'd never witnessed before. It was too wide to avoid, spreading across the room like a cloud. Its obscuring depths glinted like invisible wiring, unstable properties sparking ion exchanges on for all he knew, a molecular level.

He made a decision, forcing as much power into shields as possible. Seconds later, he knew that was a bad decision.

Electric energy ripped through his shields, penetrating the Nightstalker armor. His eezo emitters flared, touching off random biotic effects; one foot gained mass equivalent to what could only be described as a very localized elephant, while his hand launched itself in a twirling pattern. Coruscating points of energy erupted from the palm of his glove, stabbing pinprick holes in the steel walls. The major emitter bulk in his back fluctuated, transmitting an erratic pulse down the legs, sending Shepard flying into the ceiling, gaining mass once more as he struck.

Falling, Shepard witnessed the open-mouthed stare of another Huntress before she leapt aside.

He struck the ground hard. Crunching sounds boded ill for his plastron, sending shards of pain stabbing into his chest. Stunned, all he could do was lay there for a moment.

The lack of motion likely saved his life. Short, staccato bursts tracked over his head, gouging deep furrows through the metal floors. Chunks of ice flew in chaotic patterns, cutting thin lines into his exposed face.

Shepard hissed, and rolled. His open hand caught the barrel of his Pioneer. Odd, there was no memory of dropping it. Continuing the roll he landed on his front once more, bringing the sidearm into line. It spoke, tracing invisible lines between his prone location and the recovering asari doing a tumbling routine across the floor. More commandos were coming in the side doors, looking more robotic by the moment.

"Take cover, Commander!" Williams' voice sounded in his earpiece. "We're coming in hot. Cover!"

Shepard had just enough time to consider the wealth of options he lacked. Then the ground trembled, lines of force leading to the door.

Twin slabs of thigh-thick metal crumpled as a biotic field destabilized the battleship-grade plating. Faint sounds could be heard above the grind of overstressed metal, and the subsequent alert. "Watch it Liara that's a –"

"No time!" A blue-skinned figure became visible as the metal wrenched itself apart. Liara's hand, wreathed in a near-incandescent glow, shoved forwards. Beside her a hoarse bellow shook the floor, before a second set of biotics sparked; a detonation shaking the glacier in which the lab was installed sent both halves skipping across the floor like playing cards.

Alenko charged through the gap, biotic shield flaring the strange sheen it had when overlayed atop the standard-issue defensive barriers. A surging brightness left his hand, soaring across the room. Behind the Canadian biotic, Ashley's oversized power armor charged into sight, flanked by an irate-seeming asari and laughing krogan.

For the next few heartbeats the room was filled with explosions, gunfire and the unearthly quavering noise of biotics. Shepard stayed flat, resetting Mercy's loading block. While it operated on similar principles to Council technology, it did not collapse, and deployed much larger chunks of metal than galactic standard.

A large, three-fingered hand grabbed the strap set in the upper portion of his back-armor's plate, dragging him away from the fight. He didn't fight it; the damage to his armor was significant, forcing others to take risks to defend him.

Back at the doorway Wrex let go. After a single nod of mutual respect, the krogan dove back into the fray.

'Should I? Shouldn't I?' his fingers twitched, indecisive. A stabbing pain reminded him of the dangers inherent with combat. 'No one is watching; Normandy won't be in sensor range for an hour at least. Continue the Endgame protocol … hurts like hell. Everyone is distracted. Repair a bit of armor, fix up the worst of body damage.'

"Good to see you in one piece, Shepard." Garrus's flanged voice hummed from above.

Shepard looked up, to see the detective wielding his assault rifle with deadly precision. The turian's preferred sniper rifle remained folded on his back, a logical choice for tighter quarters where the assault rifle's shorter length and higher shot output capacity would lend itself to greater efficiency. "Thanks for the assist."

"Our pleasure," Garrus scanned the room, visor showing gleams of orange as information streamed across its hidden side. "Looks like you had them handled anyway. A few outside the door, and the four inside were almost dead. You're a tal'chern, Shepard. A big one, with short teeth."

A short laugh escaped Shepard's bruised lungs. "Guess I still got it."

'Yes. Now.'

While the group was preoccupied, he found the insulated box sequestered in the most secure strap of his assemblage. Unlike the others, this one did not register on the loadout technology, marked only with the ultraviolet seal of the N7+ logo, superimposed by a small figure holding a large globe. Grimacing, Shepard undid the seal, letting a swarm of dark powder cascade onto his glove. The powder dissipated into the metal, sinking through its protective surfaces.

A strangled gasp of relief escaped Shepard's control as the nanites entered his body. Specialty-designed medical nanotechnology was prohibited by many governments, for restricted usage. But to those with access, a sufficient supply could rebuild the body almost as swiftly as a fully-equipped medical clinic.

'Abuse of power.' Shepard felt a stab of guilt. 'How many millions did you just spend there, just because you wanted revenge?'

Something popped in his chest, a rib settling back in place he guessed. 'Can't stop now. Almost done. Keep the squad together, worth the cost. Paid enough for it. Besides, weren't you feeling old? Problem solved: have the body of a twenty-something again in a month.'

He pushed himself upright, giving the nanites time to find and fix the worst problems. Pre-programmed models could store information taken as a man aged, but the expenses for creating such wonders was astronomical. There was a sense of happiness, that not only could he afford such an expense, but he should expend so much.

With a hiss, his omni-tool injected medi-gel, adding fuel for the nanite's repair work. It wouldn't grant immunity to the released terrors back in Port Hanshan, but it would give him an advantage.

'Wait. Is it working that fast?' He felt better earlier than expected. Euphoria indicated the hormone glands were being repaired, far ahead of schedule. 'Hours at least. Days more likely. Not minutes.'

Not for the first time he wondered if all the other nanites he'd absorbed over the years were going to wind up killing him. 'Death by perfect health. Has to be a new one.'

"Shepard!" a powerful biotic boom emanated from the room. "No! Stop! She's my mother!"

He scrambled to his feet, charging into the room. One leg felt weak, but he was pleased to find it did not hinder his mobility. The flakes of ferro-ceramic shedding from his armor however – that was disconcerting. A combination of nanite exposure following the battering the asari had inflicted meant structural loss – the entire set would be written off, the element zero nodules recycled. Some could be salvaged, but it would be a heavy cost. This mission was getting more and more expensive.

"Shepard!" Liara's voice caught him up short. The asari was facing off with Wrex, her dark cyan biotics swirling around her frame like a tempest. Wrex on the other hand had his shotgun aimed at the deck between her feet, his own shadow-blue biotics fluctuating like agitated swarms of toxic cara bugs.

He slowed to a walk, glancing around the destroyed room. Williams stood a few paces back, arms pointed down, Alenko at her side, looking alert. Garrus was on the other side of the room watching everyone.

"Matriarch." He nodded at the asari in the center of the defensive field. "You can drop the barrier now."

The older asari shifted, looking in his direction. He sensed her eyes studying him, but could barely make out the upper portion of her face before losing it to the shifting featurelessness his condition inflicted. Her shoulders relaxed, hands dropping to her side. "Very well, Commander. I will trust you."

"She's with Saren." Wrex's gruff voice barked. "She helped Saren."

"I have been advising him, true." Benezia's calm voice responded. "But I have sought to turn him away from violence."

"Right." Wrex's voice dripped sarcasm. His shotgun made menacing metallic sounds. "You've been at his side for years. Couldn'ta just shot him, could you? Stick a knife in his ribs? Only way to stop a murderer. I know."

"Do you think I have not tried?" her expressive shoulders rose and fell. "My Maidens slew him three times. Three times he has been shot, stabbed and poisoned. Each time that goddess-befouled ship sent servitors to recover him. After the third time he has been far too alert, try as I may."

"You've killed him. Really." Garrus noted up from his corner. The utter blandness of his tone indicated no doubt, despite the phrasing.

Benezia kept her hands in view, turning to face the detective. "Yes. It would be asking too much to request your belief, I know. But I am willing to give you all the evidence I have acquired, though you will not need much I believe. Saren has been moaning about his finances as of late. It is fortunate I left my own empire in the Regent's hands, else he would've demanded I fund his crusade."

"Eden Prime." Ashley's right hand, carrying the big rotating carbine rose, its barrel giving slow spins. "What happened. You were recorded at Saren's side. 'One step closer to the Reapers.' Remember?"

"Williams …" Shepard growled. This was why interrogations were left to professionals, not emotionally invested bystanders.

"She's right, Commander." Alenko spoke up. "What happened, Matriarch?"

Another growl rumbled in Shepard's chest. Heavens save him from polite Canadians and angry colonists. "Williams. Alenko. Stand down, and stay silent. That's an order."

He turned back to Benezia. "Are you a threat?"

Her head shook even as Wrex's disbelieving snort filled the room. "I am not Indoctrinated, Commander. My poor Maidens, my Huntresses and Commandos, were. Those that are left are no better than brainwashed slaves."

"Convenient," Wrex growled. "All your underlings just happened to be mind controlled. Just happened to be dead. You can join them too real quick. No tricks that way."

Information clicked through Shepard's mind, data laboriously decoded and consumed. "Indoctrination … the … Mind-Eater? How the Protheans lost their elite. "

Benezia's hands clenched. "You know of this? Saren was correct, you can understand the Beacons. Yes, I could see that phrase working. It is the work of the Reapers, and the artifacts they left behind. Long spikes used to repurpose organic flesh and the small spheres they hunt so desperately. It changes your thoughts, alters your mind. If you resist, it flays your thoughts into tatters. Every asari in my service that has joined Saren's vessel is a shadow of their former glory."

"But not you." Wrex's shotgun was now aimed directly at her chest. He sniffed, deep lungful's of air. "You're different."

Her head tilted lower. "That … I believe … is due to Commander Shepard. At least, his nanotechnology developments. When First Contact was achieved between the Systems Alliance and the Council, I was given a share of the nanotech industry. I still ... feel Saren's influence. But it can be ignored. Every time I leave his presence, it eases for a time. This was to be my last assignment before permanent posting to Sovereign. I had thought to escape, but then I discovered the Queen, and my Maidens would not allow me to depart."

"Right. The Queen." His shotgun shifted targets. "She dies."

Benezia moved between the krogan and the tank. "She is innocent! The crimes of her ancestors should not be held against her!"

Puzzled, Shepard glanced between the two, then the others. "Context, please?"

Garrus sidled into view. "Rachni Wars. The Salarians discovered a Relay that led into rachni space. The rachni … disagreed with how the galaxy operated. Over half the known galaxy at that point were lost, and the rest were barely hanging on until the Krogan were uplifted."

"Yeah. And then we stomped them into the dirt. We were big heroes for a few centuries. Then the Council decided we were too big a threat. Neutered an entire race."

"A separate issue, Wrex –" Garrus started to speak.

"No it isn't!" the big krogan snarled. "If it weren't for the rachni, the salarians woulda left us alone. No they needed us to beat the bugs. And once we did the job for 'em, we wouldn't go back into the toy box like good little primitives. This thing," a massive tridactyl hand jerked at the rachni tank. "Is why my people are dying. My people are dead Shepard. Dead. I can't bring them back. But at least I can make sure their sacrifice wasn't in vain."

Shepard closed his eyes. The day's events were not proceeding as he'd hoped. "Alenko? Williams?"

The two humans shrugged, almost in synch. "Way before my time, Shepard," Alenko commented. "Pretty far above my pay grade. Seems a shame to pin the whole war on one individual though."

"El-tee has a point," Williams admitted. "But getting rid of all rachni might be the right answer. Maybe she's innocent, maybe not. How can we be sure? Safest bet is to get rid of all of them … but it doesn't feel right to me. Innocent until proven guilty, y'know?"

Shepard frowned in thought before turning to the turian. "Thoughts?"

The detective shrugged. "Does the name Primarch Feldrin sound familiar? He proposed using the Genophage to the Council. It was a stalemate, one to one." A deep sigh fluttered the mandibles on either side of his jaw. "When he saw the deadlock, he decided that if the Council wouldn't take action, he would. The krogan were removed as a member, without a proxy vote, and the turians were granted a seat."

"Yeah. Your people got power out of killing off an entire race." Wrex sneered. "Or as good as."

"As did yours," Garrus pointed out, glacier calm. "The difference is there are still krogan around. You have a chance to recover. Will the rachni? Give no chance, get no chance. I do not want to be known as another Feldrin."

The krogan's large gauntlets worked on his weapon, pointed at the ground now. But he stayed silent.

"What about you?" Shepard turned to the insectoid behemoth. "What do you have to say?"

Compound eyes glittered in the dim lighting, turning without moving. A questing antenna-tipped with flexible appendages slid along the interior wall, stopping above the recently demised body of a Commando.

Benezia gave it a small nod. "You have my permission."

The appendage wavered, lifting up as a faint viridian glow emanated from its tips, travelling down the length to the main body. At the same time the fallen asari tremored, rising to her feet. It was awkward, like an uncoordinated individual using an art form in ignorance. When its eyes opened, it was of the pure black sclera he'd observed during an asari's full-strength biotic capabilities, but it was also flat, the unmoving blankness he'd witnessed all too often.

"We thank you – Shepard." Faint overtones rose above the asari's voice, rising and falling through the octaves. "It is – hard. To Sing in these – low places. This one shall stop. Her – Musics are beautiful. Loved. Her queen – was her heart."

"Pretty." Wrex's shotgun was pointed at the rachni once more. "Now what."

"Why did the rachni attack the galaxy?" Shepard felt another flaked grouping detach from his back. It crackled on the floor.

"We – do not know. The Sour Yellow Note – overwhelmed the Songs." Inside the tank, the Queen lifted two legs, setting them down again. "Wrath. Terror. The last – pure notes sent us away. Told us – to flee. We do not know."

"It's been listening to us," Wrex growled. "Or coulda made a story with the Matriarch."

"I doubt the Queen and I will be friends," Benezia offered. "I sought the information Saren needed, and I was not gentle."

"Wronged." The Queen's proxy hissed. "Soul-Stealer. Egg-Breaker. Her Songs – are tainted, but scour the heart clean."

Another sigh fought to free itself from Shepard's chest. He held it down from long practice. "What would you do if we let you go?"

"We – would Sing?" higher octaves reverberated over Wrex's grunt. "We – could create once more?"

"What does Saren want with you?" Shepard glanced around the room, making connections. "I assume that's why you were brought here. He owned a controlling interest in Binary Helix."

"He desired the location of the Mu Relay," Benezia answered. She held up a data pack. "I did not send it to him; I would have destroyed it, lest my Maidens relay it once I was dead."

He passed no comment on that, taking the packet. There would be a thorough examination before plugging it into any terminal aboard the Normandy. "What's this for?"

"The Conduit, a weapon of sorts." Benezia shrugged. "The doomsday games he plays at, convoluted plans bringing chaos to pass."

"Can we get back to pest control?" Wrex asked. "That's what we need to decide. Here and now."

Shepard clenched his jaw, and nodded. There was a way to work this to their benefit, but it would require some finesse. "How would the Council react to the idea of the last rachni Queen were killed?"

A deep snort answered him from Wrex's side. "They'd either put you in the stocks or try giving you a medal. Politics."

"And if she were to live?" he pinned the krogan with another look.

Oversized shoulders made a lifting motion. "Same thing. Hell if I know."

He looked back at Benezia. "What would you do, if freed? I can't let you go back to Saren you know."

Her hands worked in a nervous washing gesticulation, like a quarian's he noted. "I could serve as a distraction. He would try to recover me. I would also be willing to give what information I know, for as long as that helps. His resources run deep in many governments."

"The more we can pull out, the better," Alenko mused. "Ah, sir."

"But he'll go after the Queen too, if we let her go." Williams put in. "Might be safer to just … ah … no offense."

More ideas raced through Shepard's mind, strengths and weaknesses darting like scared fish before a predator.

"A thought occurs to me," Shepard held his elbow in one hand, cradling his chin in the fist of the other. "Would the Council be encouraged to assist in ending the Genophage, if the rachni were believed to be returning?"

"No." Wrex's response was immediate. "They got the turians now. And Humans. No need to put the krogan back together again. Even if it were to save their scaly hides."

'Options:' variables crunched through Shepard's mind. 'Kill or let live. Simple. Difficult.'

He made a quick tactical comparison; the Queen's bulk dwarfed Wrex's multi-hundred pound mass, while the Queen was trapped in a massive tank, it was clear she'd influenced Benezia, whom would probably become hostile. The krogan was standing beside him, fingering the oversized shotgun in an unconscious dominance display. Safety for personal combat sided with letting the Queen die, although that ignored potential strategic values.

'Wrex wouldn't like releasing the Queen though.' That seemed an understatement. 'But … he's smart.'

Truth be told, he did prefer intelligent allies. He blamed his upbringing.

'Queen isn't dumb though. Having a Queen on my side when the chips are down would be … useful.'

Disgust welled up in his soul. Here he was, equating lives based on utilitarian value. 'Just like a slaver. Despicable.'

"Shepard. What do you think?"

He looked up. Multiple trusting faces focused in his direction, even if he couldn't make out the expressions. It was a disconcerting feeling, such confidence; not in his abilities, but him. Not since Mindoir had he known such personal dedication. While heartening, it was also …humbling.

'Can't become like the slavers. Enough blood on my hands.'

"Is it possible to reverse the Genophage?" he focused his question to the krogan.

Wrex gave another derisive snort. "Nobody would do it. Nobody's done it. Been waitin' a thousand years."

Shepard shook his head. "Not if it's done, if it's possible."

"Well yeah," the big krogan paused to think. "Talked to an asari once. Some kinda bio-stato something. Said krogan were reproducin' faster than old numbers were predictin'. If she was tellin' the truth, can't see why not."

Garrus mandible-whistled. "If that's true, then the Council would be terrified. The krogan aren't what they used to be anymore, but they'd still hit hard if they were more organized."

Shepard thought through his options one more time, then slowly put away his weapons. One by one, the others followed his lead. After another moment, he disconnected his recording software, again waiting until the others followed suit. Garrus waited the longest, but his small vocoder blinked off, darkening the gloomy lab.

"I'll make a deal with you Wrex. And you, Queen. All of you are my witnesses."

A quasi-dangerous snarl hissed in Wrex's direction. "Makin' a deal, Shepard? Anything that puts the Queen on the top side of the dirt-pan is gonna need a powerful lot of convincing."

Shepard reached into his belt, withdrawing a packet. "These are medical nanites, top-of-the-line, beyond cutting edge. Alliance doesn't have it, Salarians don't have it. No one has it. Five hundred grams."

The room grew quiet.

Wrex gave him a look. "You … tryin' to bribe me, Shepard?"

He put the packet on the nearest table, setting it down gingerly. "Take the nanites. Use them on yourself. They'll scan you, down to the chromosomes. After this is over, go to Mindoir, I'll give you contact information. If there's a cure available through nanotech, they'll find it. If a cure is possible, it's yours. Not the Council's, not the Alliance's. Yours."

A reptilian shudder went through the big krogan's body. "The catch?"

Shepard gestured at the Queen. "We need allies. The Reapers are coming. The rachni could be valuable allies. Very valuable allies. Between the geth, the Reapers and whatever hellspawn is shaking loose, I don't trust the Council to do anything more than wring their hands over the whole thing."

Slitted pupils darted towards the table, then back at Shepard. "So that's it. You'll give me a possible cure, and get definite bugs outta the deal. Why now, why didn't you offer earlier?"

Shepard shrugged, conscious of the heavy gazes directed his way from the two human soldiers at his back. "Trust. It's been a long journey Wrex. Most krogan aren't going to just roll over and be happy, productive citizens. It's been too long, they've focused too much on just doing whatever they want. But you could change that – you could change the krogan."

One thick talon reached out, its tip touching the packet in an almost gentle caress. "Being the krogan that got the cure would help with that. Yeah. Might be enough. But I'd have to bust heads. A lot of 'em."

"The T'Soni's would back you." Liara's voice broke in. "You have my word as Heiress T'Soni."

"Daughter," Benezia's posture shifted. "I am Matriarch of the T'Soni's."

"And you have helped a renegade SPECTRE do uncountable acts of barbarism!" Liara snapped. "Support this, or I will return to Thessia and move for criminal investigation. This is right, mother."

Another pause, followed by a heavy sigh. "Very well, Little Wing. You are right. My head – it is not quite well. I fear I shall need therapy. The nanites block Saren's influence, but not all of it. And my poor Maidens … there wasn't enough …."

Shepard tensed at what sounded like a security risk, but Wrex caught his attention again.

"Alright Shepard, you made your point. I'll take it." The tall figure swiped the packet, dumping it in his own pouch. "But the bugs are on your head, got it? If they go renegade, I'm telling everyone it's your fault."

Shepard held out a hand. A heartbeat later, Wrex reached back and shook it. "Deal."

Over to one side, Garrus shook his head. "I'm pretty sure back room politics are going to be going crazy soon. Let alone the public face. We going public with this?"

A deep grunt rumbled from Wrex. "Yeah. Then politics back on Tuchanka are gonna get … interestin'."

"Bottom line," Shepard's mind revolved around the difficulties. "The Council eradicated the rachni, and then started the Genophage on the victors. We're resetting a lot of boundaries here; I'd prefer to keep humanity and the quarians off the genocide list, at least a while longer. The Reapers will be a big distraction, I'm sure."

"Then we – will Sing once more?" the rachni's voice combined excited harmonics. "The Song shall rise once more?"

Shepard gave the Queen a slow nod. "I'll set up a ship and a place for you to go. Make sure you have access to resources. The Reapers are coming, and we'll need your help. More important … you don't seem like a galaxy-destroying person. Please don't prove me wrong."

The massive insectoid gathered herself, bowing at the cephalothorax. "We will remember – your Name, Shepard. We – shall Sing of you. Always."

"Hah." Wrex slapped his palm against his holstered shotgun. "Y'hear that? Bugsare going to be singing about you."

A simple code from Shepard's fingers opened the tank, releasing the Queen. Angular limbs arched over the edge, letting her out in a display of acrobatic virtuosity.

Her frame pivoted, twisting around to face the squad. Deep chirring sounds boomed from its chitinous carapace, cheerful sounds designed for different ears. The razor-tipped sawblades on her limbs bore a different aura now that her allegiance was determined, a faint, royal-blue sheen which gleamed in the dark. It seemed less of the nightmarish terrors scuttling through darkened halls, and more akin to the Knights of St. John from Shepard's youth, defensive armor looming in the shadows.

It was an interesting comparison, Shepard noted. One that hopefully would become true. Someday.

A/N: As always, thanks to Nightstride for his beta work, and to EssayofThoughts for her suggestions! My efforts at full-time employment have been less-than-successful, but I still have work, and I'm improving my prospects! Reading suggestion: Smoke, Sorcery, and Steel by A Ver THirsty Megalomaniac (id: 12305394)

Given the year this has been, good luck, stay safe, and stay inside! Or outside. Your life, your choice. I won't take political stances on this platform. Ever. In my opinion, that's not classy. Excelsior!