Author's Notes: Well, it is finally here. Got caught up in finishing That Which Is Forbidden and honestly just lost interest in keeping this story posted. One of the problems with writing a stories over the years is going back and looking at how much you want to edit/change what you had written. So I more or less have been rewriting this from the ground up. The cutting board is deep here.

Reviewers:
edboy4926- Glad you liked it!
Nitus- Ha! Story that gets updated. You jinxed it. The Miranda-Kane dynamic is certainly going to evolve and take some turns you wouldn't expect (and no I am not necessarily talking about Banging the Bongos)
kukuhimanpr- I loved that mission so much. One of my favorite of the game.
Guest- WIP
RoyalTwinFangs- thank!
Jouaint- lol, finally got around to it exactly 6 months later. Time flies.
Shalum- Imagine if it was a powerfist... giggle
BrotherCaptainShepard- All the carnage. Blood for the Blo- I mean, For the Emperor!
Zeus501- The Mass Effect universe operates on the principle that the universe is morally good. Warhammer fans laugh at such naivety.
Tom2011- You're welcome!
Guest 2- I have spent so much time trying to push my writing away from constant long battles it was good to have one that worked again.
sonic- Thanks!
ManwithaPlan113- Plot armor? In Warhammer 40k? But he's not an Ultramarine!
ErnestShippinglane89- Of course Kane wouldn't move to save a vile xenos jailbait or a... wait, she's legal in ME2. No! Heresy!
BigBoss0694x- It's always a struggle to balance crossovers. Finding that balance of adaption while maintaining uniqueness is pretty rough.
89ingenting- Glad it worked!
Ghazkull'slefteye- I always pictured Zaeed caring for Jessie like it were a daughter or something. You know, the gritty old fart with the soft spot for his old gun. It's a classic tale.
grey- Nah, she won't evolve beyond fond references. Down the road it might come off as a quasi-machine spirit from watching, but Kane wouldn't be the kind of person who could tell for certain.
Disciple of Ember- CADIA STAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANDS! I am definitely trying to push the nature of biotics in this, simply to make it less 'space magic' and more 'science magic.' Glad you liked the fight scene(s).
kyro2009- Oh, I think they realized it about the time a dude challenged a krogan with a sword.
Gustave-Drakenhime- Brunson might check himself before he wrecks himself. Or he might not. As for the Commissar, she will be waking up... (looks at watch) soonish.
Unit 5S-Delta- Woo!
Carre- Oh, normal Scholas would probably have sports. But I would wager the Cadian Schola would be a bit more intense due to... Cadia. Also, even if they had sports, they wouldn't have had spectators and cheerleaders. And yes, Blood Bowl is what I was picturing.
Allard-Liao- GET OFF MY LAWN!
SomeGuyOverHere- Because what's more fun that putting a xenophobic asshole in the same room as a turian? The Kane-Miranda thing definitely exploded real quick in the fandom.
A Random Friend- Pretty sure the joke is "The Imperial Guard." Lol.
Spartan 626- Well, I won't have the Legion of the Damned show up (although that would be pretty baller) but there will not be just the one crossover event. Something bigger is going to happen way down the road (hint, not Necrons).
My Myself- The irony of your review is that most of that gets answered in this coming chapter. As you guessed, this wouldn't be explicitly simple time travel. There was definitely a bit of a sideways jink a they went through time.
Observer01- CADIA!
Spartan A312- Glad you like it!
Patsmckraken- The models look cool with backpacks, this is true. But it is objectively cumbersome, and a bit OP for me to have a character that has nearly infinite Hose'o'Death at his beck and call. Magazines scale down his lethality just enough to keep him from being the "easy button."
Guest 3- Glad you like it! Blake is going to be very much a Commissar, but she will be a bit different than you would expect. That's all I can say.
Vengeful Astartes- It's back!
Guest 4- THAT will be an interesting conversation. Hopefully Kane will be a bit toned down in his xenos-hate by then. Thane and him could actually get along fairly well.
AraelDranoth- Thanks!

Omega

Aria stalked over the dead, her expression muted by age-crafted indifference. Nudging one of the fallen krogan to the side, she hooked the tip of her shoe under its shoulder and lifted it, giving a dismissive biotic push to roll it over. The charred holes in its torso gaped up at her, taunting, teasing. Most of the other krogan bore similar fatal wounds. A weapon had been present here that she had never seen before, much less heard of. No, that was not true. She knew what had caused this carnage. The weapon had been in her grasp, and she had let it slip away because of simple ignorance. Unforgivable.

One of her own krogan stuck his head out from the balcony above, nervousness still dancing about his kraggy features. The whole area had been cleared by her advance team; the bodies of the vorcha scavengers had been tossed over the bridge to declutter the scene for her investigation. As it was, she had found little of interest or note on this side of the bridge. Just hordes of dead mercenaries and a row of incinerated corpse-shrouds. Archangel and Goddess-damned Shepard had annihilated three full companies from the best mercenary outfits in known space. She knew that this mysterious pattern of flash-burns on the dead had been a key factor.

"Uh… boss."

Rather than reply, she glared up at the krogan who dared interrupt her thoughts. The hulking brute wilted under her icy stare, swallowing nervously as she gave a contemptuous biotic-empowered kick to hurl the corpse aside.

"Found Garm" he called down.

"Dead?" She found herself both surprised, and not, by her own question. Before today, she had wondered if there was a living soul alive who could take down that ancient bastard. Now, the challenge hardly seemed noteworthy.

"Something cut him in half."

That stole her musing and left her standing poised, eyes flicking across the krogan's face, seeking a sign that the thug was making a poor jest. He wasn't. By the Goddess, the krogan was actually squirming, and not because he feared her wrath. There was an entirely uncomfortable edge to him, the kind she had seen when a human male watched another take a hard blow to the genitals.

"Wait there" she ordered, striding to the stairs. The pile of dead at the bottom snatched at her attention, and she allowed herself a moment of fascination at the burned corpses, some nearly blown in half by the weapon. An asari was among them. The shock chiseled into her youthful face warned that her biotics had failed to save her from whatever this weapon had done. That was important to know. She would have to find out how and what this weapon was, and how to protect herself against it.

The krogan stiffened as she entered the room in question, his spine straightening like a support girder. As he had said, the local Blood Pact leader had met his end here. Ends… she thought grimly, eyeing the various parts of body scattered about the room. Someone had shoved his corpse against the wall, possibly to clear room for the rest of the fighting. The downstairs had been a bloodbath, she had told herself. This had been a shooting gallery. Fourteen Blue Sun mercenary bodies lay strewn across the room, trailing back to the fire-blackened landing pad where another half-dozen had fallen. That was not even counting the dozen or so on the primary floor. The Eclipse had failed to pass the bridge. The Blood Pact had failed to pass the stairs. The Blue Suns had made it here, and failed. There were well over eighty corpses here. And none of them were ones she cared about.

"What did this" she snapped, inspected the krogan warlord. Her thug gave no answer; she had not expected him to. Tracing a finger along death-blow, she admired the precision of the cut. The finest asari blademasters could not have landed a blow so precise and strong as to leave this exquisitely clean slash through toughened krogan hide. Her mind drifted immediately to the towering human that had accompanied Shepard. Two new methods of death. The odds were beyond coincidence. "Are they still on Omega?"

"Who?"

"The Normandy!" Her head whipped up to the krogan. "Find out, now."

"Yes, boss!" Thoroughly chastened, the krogan hurried out of the room, glad to be rid of it. It amused her to see the krogan so unnerved, as much as she wished she had the luxury to share his uncertainty. Alone now, she released a pent up sigh, pushing up from the ground and wiping her hands on the back of a bullet-ridden couch as she did.

This whole thing was bad news. She had not minded Archangel's antics. It had kept the mercenaries disorganized and off-balance for a time. And he had the intelligence to not go after her interests, so she had allowed him this naive crusade to clean the streets of Omega. Had he turned against her, she was certain she could have ended him easily. Certainly she would not have let him turtle up in a defensively located position such as this. Even by himself, he had kept the mercenaries at bay for some time. She only would have needed an hour and a single agent to complete the job. Having Archangel disappear now, no doubt snatched up by Shepard and whatever doomsday mission he had set himself on, did not bother her in the least. Nor did it bother her that the three largest mercenary companies on Omega had just lost their leadership, as well as a significant portion of their forces. Power vacuums rose from time to time. This one would simply be more chaotic than usual.

That was not what made her angry.

Not only this, but Shepard had also cleared a whole living sector of plague. Ordinarily, a good thing. Plagues mitigated the risk of overpopulation and rid Omega of unwanted tenants, but the Blue Suns demanded reparations for their losses against the vorcha. The Blood Pack of course denied any responsibility for the actions of their troops, but in this rare case they might be right. All reports she saw confirmed that few krogan had been sighted during the quarantine, and those that had bore no Blood Pact insignias. It had truly been a vorcha operation.

Which in itself was troubling, but hardly a matter that required her attention. She had made sure Gavorn knew about the matter and he had promised to look into it. His elite team of turian commandos could handle most vorcha trouble. All they had to do was walk into an area with their flamers and the vorcha would scurry away to cause trouble in a less hostile area. Sometime in the near future they might have to launch a culling of the vorcha population, but she did not want to think about that right now.

What she wanted to think about, was how to manage the chaos that would follow now that all three major mercenary groups on Omega had been devastated. Shepard's team had thrashed them like a thresher maw tearing through a flock of cows. Each organization had contributed upwards of half of their forces into the fray. The Blood Pack had come away with the least losses thanks to a bungled attempt to breach the building that resulted in most of their force being locked out of the fight, but even so they lost Garm. The Eclipse lost Jaroth, a fleet of mechs and a good portion of their specialist troopers. The Blue Suns lost Tarak, a platoon's worth of men, and a gunship of all things. Considering the size of their 'garrisons' on Omega, those were heavy blows. All three had power vacuums now, and there would be trouble until those got settled. With luck, the gangs would promote from inside Omega. She hated breaking in new windbags.

A silent curse pushed against her closed lips as she pulled out the datapad and read it again. And then there was this news that had helpfully reached one of her secret accounts, delivered under a bogus extranet account that had existed for all of point zero five seconds before the message hit her inbox, then deleted itself just as quickly.

The pattering of feet announced the arrival of her lieutenants. The five thugs eased into the room, remaining silent as they watched her to gauge her mood. Had they read her thoughts, they might have turned and ran.

"Can someone explain to me how this got through the net?"

Her voice was deathly quiet, the commanding edge reaching the furthest corners of the room. The assembled lieutenants went still as corpses, sweat or their species' equivalent dripping down their faces. The krogan blinked slowly, eyes peeled as wide as he dared, afraid to flinch in the wrath of their blue-skinned master. Five powerful, hardened outlaws, experts in their trades, awaiting judgment like naughty schoolchildren.

"Nothing? None of you have an idea? A suggestion? A clue?" Aria hissed and hurled the datapad. Her biotic-infused strength shattered the hard-case and spilled its components on the floor, a dent marking its impact against the repurposed bulkhead that served as one of the walls. One of the batarians swallowed nervously.

"Someone open your mouth and say something that will make me less displeased." Picking a less-bloody couch, she dropped down onto it and crossed one leg over the other, fixing each in turn with her scathing stare. One by one, they averted their eyes. Grizz opened his mouth as if to speak, but through better of it and remained silent. That was a first, she noted dourly. On any other day he would have said something, anything, just to break the silence. He was learning.

Again, they had no answer for her. And again, she knew she could not fault them. The commanders of the Blood Pack, Blue Suns, and Eclipse had put significant effort in masking this idea. While her intelligence network was superb, and had thoroughly sunk its claws into the mercenary outfits, she was not omniscient. She just pretended to be; often that was enough to scare off any untoward thoughts or plans. In truth, there were many things about Omega she did not know, but that was because she did not care. This, she cared about. A plot by three of the recently most powerful bosses on her asteroid was incredibly care-worthy. She should be thanking the Goddess that Shepard's crew had finished them all off for her.

A glint of red hair in the mass of dead Blue Suns caught her eye. Her spy… former spy… Jentha. When no word had come directly from Tarak's second-in-command, she had known what had happened without needing to see the corpse. Without a doubt, Jentha would have reported the conspiracy to her after this Archangel mess had sorted itself out. But she had not lived long enough. A shame, Jentha had been useful in keeping the mercenaries in line. Watching the younger races changeover still took some getting used to. They lived such pitifully short lives even without the threat of untimely death.

The existence of this plot had not surprised her. It had not even worried her. It had pissed her off. Petty and grandstanding fools made these sorts of plays from time to time. Often she had to merely crush one to send the rest scuttling for cover for a few decades. Not once had someone come even close to actually shifting her from her throne.

That did not mean she took her security for granted.

"I want this gap in my net filled by tonight" she told her minions, understanding full well that they would rush to throw more informants into the supposed gap. To be brutally honest with herself, she knew why they had missed it. This plan appeared to have been discussed by the top leaders of each gang only, in unrecorded conversation. No one had known outside of their immediate counsel, and her leech there now lay spread across a half-collapsed bunk bed missing half of her face and most of her right side. Electronic snoopers should have picked some of this up, but there was only so much they could do against this level of secrecy. She had never even thought them capable of having the balls to try such a coup as it was. But that did not excuse the fact that it had caught her unawares. If it were not for Shepard, things could have gotten ugly.

Not that she feared what would happen if the dolts tried anything. The entire staff of the Afterlife doubled as guards. The dancers had pistols or submachine guns within easy reach, hidden in floor panels beside their stations. The bartenders had rifles or shotguns already loaded and ready to fire. Even some of the patrons were guards on orders to blend in. She had a constant flow of security coming and leaving the bar. That was part of her invincibility. No one ever knew how many men she had at her beck and call. But they could be certain that she had a lot more than they would.

In the end, it did not matter. Thanks to Shepard, the situation had fixed itself. His brief visit to the station had not disappointed from his sterling reputation as a troublemaker. Multiple engagements across the station, hundreds of mercenaries dead in said engagements, three companies beheaded, and he had even found time to cure a fracking plague. That one had been a surprise until she had learned his payment for the good deed had taken the crazy STG salarian doctor off of her hands. Again, something she would have thanked him for, had she been that kind of woman. With a single subordinate like Shepard, she could have Omega locked down for eternity.

"The Normandy has left" her krogan thug mumbled, breaking the silence.

Ignoring his report, she dropped her gaze to pointedly stare at a datapd on Anto's belt. The bodyguard hastily unhooked it and handed it over. He had gone about collecting DNA samples to try and discover the identity of Archangel. The blinking green light indicated he had found something worth telling her. So why had he not volunteered the information yet?

Vakarian, Garrus. Palaven-born. Turian Hierarchy, service classified. C-Sec investigator, resigned.

Athame give me patience, she thought, tossing the datapad back at her bodyguard. Anto fumbled with it for a moment before returning it to his belt. Garrus Vakarian. Shepard's old crew member. Had he known that? Had this all been a play, a ploy? Any goodwill she might have had for the Specter vanished, washed away in a rising tide of fury. She looked like a fool. Unaware of the foes congregating in her shadow, clueless to the identity of the turian that Shepard had come here for. Goddess, she needed to shoot somebody.

Her gaze swept across her lieutenants, calculating which was the most easily replaced.

-v-

Normandy SR-2

"So we're diving left and right to avoid Garm. He's rampaging all over the room firing his shotgun, throwing furniture around like they're toys. And suddenly, Sergeant Kane just comes stalking into the room, with a sword drawn." Jacob mimicked a slashing motion for the benefit of his enraptured audience. "A sword! He goes right up to a krogan warlord with a sword, and cuts his head off while Garm's still trying to figure out what the hell is going on. My head was ringing, krogan shotguns go off like hand grenades, but I heard him say it; I've never seen a krogan more confused. He said, You brought a sword to a krogan fight."

A chorus of chuckles and giggles greeted the line. More than a couple heads turned to glance at the medical bay windows, left open for now, to look at the scowling Cadian inside. Doctor Chakwas had ordered him to remain for observation, saying that she hadn't spent four hours sewing his neck back on just for Kane to 'go lose it butting heads with the next person who looked at him funny.' A heavy round of tranquilizers had helped keep the man still, but his body burned through those and the painkillers alike with startling speed. It was as if his whole body existed in a permanent state of adrenaline rush.

Still, he had agreed to remain in the medical bay, and the doctor did not like leaving the windows closed unless discretion was necessary, so the Cadian found himself as the object of more than a few curious stares. And several interested ones too, Jacob thought to himself as he drew the crowd back in. The Cadian's mood had grown even more dour than before, though whether because of his wounds or the presence of aliens aboard, Jacob did not know. None of them did. But he had kept silent, and not caused any trouble yet.

Having Garrus in the same medical bay had not made it easy to keep Kane still. The man divided his time between glaring hatefully at the turian and paying as much attention to the comatose woman as he was allowed. Chakwas had handled the tension beautifully; the stories about her past with Shepard made it clear the elderly doctor was no slouch.

"He took down a krogan warlord with a sword" Kelly repeated, shaking her head in wonder. "That sounds like something out of old legends. An armored knight battling a dragon, you know."

"Yeah, if old legends also carried laser rifles. Saint George and the Dragon wouldn't have quite the same ring to it if he just shot the dragon dead." Crewman Patel took a long sip from her glass. "Although…" she cast a sneaky look towards the medical bay. "If his armor was a little more polished he could make a good prince charming."

"Easy there." Shepard slipped past the crowd, balancing three bowls in his hands. "Talk like that and you might scare him off."

Titters greeted the comments, and Patel's grin blossomed fiercely on her face. "Wouldn't want that. How'd he get wounded? You haven't gotten to that yet."

Offering a shrug, Shepard elbowed the access panel for the medical bay and disappeared inside.

"Ah, well that's the best part." Jacob slapped his chest. "Brunson and I looked at his armor after the fight. There were almost twenty rounds embedded in his carapace plates. He took those hits like they were bee stings. They threw everything at him, and he wouldn't have it. It took a Mantis to bring him down."

More than a few crew gasped in wonder.

"He should be dead," one muttered.

"Zaeed said he got hit because he was pulling Miranda out of the line of fire." Kelly winked at Patel. "That's pretty romantic, don't you think?"

"I assure you, there was nothing romantic about it" a steely voice cracked, cutting through the mirth like a blade. The mess hall fell utterly silent as Miranda eased off of the corner near her suite, her cold gaze directed at Patel. The junior crew member gulped nervously at the executive officer's attention and hurriedly looked away. "Don't get your head in a twist, Miss Patel. He's a soldier, not some fairytale hero."

The silence quickly grew uncomfortable as the Normandy's executive quickly went through the line, selecting her food with the usual dismissive air. On returning to the Normandy, Miranda had wolfed down a pair of eezo-enriched nutrition bars to recover from the excessive use of her biotics. That had been her only indication of how exhausted the battle had made her. Now, mere hours later, she was grabbing a full-sized meal. It constantly amazed Jacob how much power she could draw on, just as it terrified him to think of how biotic-depender she was. Offering a curt nod to Gardner, she grabbed a wine cooler from the bar and retreated back to her suite. Jacob waited for the sound of her door closing before continuing, but it was clear the mood had been ruined. One by one, the crowd dispersed.

"Team comes first" Jacob said, ending it on a good note. "Kane has his faults, but out in the field he shoots straight and looks after his own."

The last of the crew wandered off, some lingering for second helpings before Gardner shooed them off. Jacob waited patiently for Shepard to reappear. The Commander had given them a break before assembling a debriefing, and he had made it clear there were important matters to discuss. The armory could wait a little while longer. Joker had announced the plotted course: The Citadel. Shepard was taking them back into the heart of civilization. They would not have an urgent need for weapons there.

When Shepard reappeared, his expression did not bode well. His jaw was set in grim determination, and his eyes finally showed the exhaustion that must have been eating away at him for the past few hours. They had all felt it once the adrenaline of combat had worn off. None of them had seen that intense and long a battle in some time. The other Cadian, Brunson, had come off the least affected, though he had taken his share of a pounding from the Blood Pact and Garm. Once seeing to his comrade, the younger Cadian disappeared into their room. Donnelly claimed to have heard his snoring down on the engineering deck.

"Grab Miranda" Shepard ordered, taking advantage of the emptied mess hall to fetch a beer from Gardner's selection. They were still on duty, but after a day like this, everyone needed a drink. "And Doctor Solus and Zaeed. Garrus, Kane, and Brunson can rest." Twisting the cap free, the Commander dropped the cap into the waiting receptacle and took a long swing of ice-cold lager. The relief that shuddered through his body made Jacob grin. Their leader was still human, despite the legends. But even a human could be legendary.

"Looks like you needed that."

"This?" Shepard chuckled dryly. "I need something a hell of a lot stronger than this, but it will do for now. How are you doing? You were hit too."

"Flesh wound" Jacob countered. "Nothing that a round of medigel couldn't fix. You?"

"Same" the Commander lied, surprisingly well considering Jacob had seen the swath of bandages under his uniform. As battered as the team had been, Shepard dared to pretend he had taken the lighter share. That was simply no true. But that was Shepard; it encouraged the crew to push his aura of invincibility. As long as he did not push his luck too far.

Rising from his seat, Jacob started towards Miranda's suite, only to stop and glance, reflexively, at the ceiling. It was a bad habit they were all picking up. "EDI, please summon the Omega team to the conference room, wounded and mentioned excluded."

"I have informed them."

"Thank you EDI." He nodded to Shepard. "If you're okay with that."

"Having an AI on board takes some getting used to" Shepard conceded.

They walked to the conference room in silence; Jacob had his own thoughts and concerns on hold until he could share them with the whole party, and Shepard nursed his beer with loving care. So many questions needed to be asked, but Jacob knew better than to waste the Commander's time by demanding answers that he would have to repeat in only a few minutes.

Doctor Solus had beat them to the conference room. It did not surprise Jacob; the salarian had taken to the ship's laboratory with glee, showering it with compliments on the expensive and advanced equipment the Normandy SR-2 had been lavished with. He had thought it prudent to not mention that Solus' incursion had effectively bumped Miranda out of there entirely. Though she had nothing against salarians, it was a small lab and the salarian was quite the talker. Jacob doubted any on the ship could stand to be trapped in a room with Mordin Solus for more than a day. Except Kelly, but that woman had the patience of evolution.

In preparation for their arrival, the salarian had already assembled a rough presentation on the Collector's swarm agent. Holograms flicked in and out of existence as Mordin muttered frantically to himself, ignoring their entrance completely, too engrossed in the wealth of new information he had been invited into. His right hand moved in a blur across his omnitool, changing slides and deleting or adding information to relevant notes. The salarian had set foot on the Normandy less than a day ago, and he already appeared a week's work into his research.

"Ah, Shepard. AI, EDI, informed me my presence was requested. Have prepared presentation on Collector problem. Must say, delighted by complexity of situation. Omega plague kept skills refreshed. This is a challenge. Glad to be of service. Eager to assist."

"And we're glad to have you," Shepard assured the salarian. "Keep working, we're waiting on two more."

Eyeing the projections curiously, Shepard slipped into his seat, easing down at the last moment, a tightness cutting across his face as he settled in. "Looks like you've been busy."

"Oh, most assuredly. Cerberus does not skim on research and equipment. Top notch laboratory. Noted several designs stolen from leading proto-generation molecular advisories."

"Yes…" Shepard tossed Jacob a quizzical look. Jacob shrugged. He had not been a part of the Normandy's creation. "That is one benefit of working for covert operations."

"Funny choice of words. Implies you no longer consider Cerberus a terrorist organization. Odd, considering history with them."

"Oh, I haven't forgotten any of that." Again, a look went Jacob's way. But this one conveyed more apology for Shepard's statement, as if absolving Jacob for the sins of his parent organization.

Jacob knew the stories.

Miranda arrived shortly, Zaeed near on her heels. The Normandy's executive officer entered at a brisk pace, a datapad clutched in one hand, a half-eaten protein bar in the other. Her eyes held that intense glimmer of biotic exhaustion. That did not slow her down as she took her seat, cued her datapad, and began inspecting Mordin's work.

The mercenary sauntered in on his own time, clearly lacking the urgency of the others. Jacob's brows furrowed in annoyance at the lack of decorum the man showed, tipping his head towards the Commander before grabbing the nearest seat. His battered old Avenger rifle plopped down on the chair next to him. It had clearly seen better years. Zaeed's ugly red scar seemed an extension of his amused grin at the information flashing across the projection monitor. "If we're having a science lesson, I'd warn you I flunked out of primary school."

"Not immediately." Shepard nodded to Mordin Souls, who obligingly powered down the projector. The salarian continued to work from his omnitool, remaining on his feet, his muttering reduced to silent near-whispers as the quick-witted doctor both focused his attention and completely zoned them out. "We went down to rescue Archangel. I operated on the assumption that time was not in our favor, and we acted without a proper plan. While our objective was achieved, more than half the team took injuries, two were critically injured. While I am not complaining about the lack of fatalities, I know there is room for improvement. So I want questions, comments, and concerns regarding what went down. Doctor Solus, feel free to sit this part out, but I would recommend you listen in. At some point you will be taking the field with us."

"Understood, Shepard. A successful operation relies on integrated teamwork and professional proficiencies. It would be neglectful to not take this opportunity to learn more about your team."

The Commander nodded his thanks before continuing. "Zaeed, you are the newest addition. Thoughts?"

"Considering we were making it up as we went, we did pretty goddamn well." The grizzled mercenary let out a dry chuckle. "You have a hell of a team here, Shepard. There are clearly lots of rough patches, we operate like a band of incredibly talented hooligans; in this fight, that worked. But I see lots of room for improvement, namely in shared tactics and support. Everyone knows what they are good at, but there isn't much communication to take advantage of that, only to cover the holes when they arrive. We need to become preemptive; reacting to threats will only keep us alive for so long. Killing them before they present themselves will require training. If you have simulators on ship, we should put this away team through sessions."

Shepard's expression noted his agreement. Even Jacob could not dispute that claim. "Anything else?"

"Yeah. What the hell are those two blockheads with the laser rifles?" He tipped his head. "Experiments? Has Cerberus been working on a supersoldier serum?"

"They are from the future" Miranda interrupted. The mercenary shot her an odd look, but after a moment he merely blinked.

"Okay."

"Okay?" Jacob did not bother to hide his snort of disdain. "You believe it, just like that?"

"If Shepard or you had said it, no." Zaeed indicated Miranda with a gracious nod. "But she clearly doesn't kid around. I believe it. Don't understand it, but believe it. Figure the rest will sort itself out."

The armorer squinted at the man, seeking any sign of dishonesty, but the mercenary appeared genuine.

"That it?"

"I'm good" Zaeed admitted. "Nothing else that needs to be brought up."

Jacob was fairly certain that the next few seconds of silence came from the Commander's confusion over the mercenary's lack of outburst and outrage over the concept. If only the whole galaxy could take it so easily.

-v-

The door closed behind Jacob, and Shepard dared to finally rub the tiredness from his eyes. His head throbbed. His whole body hurt like he had gone five rounds with a krogan. But he was not done yet. There was one more thing to be looked to before he could embrace the blessed release of sleep.

"Kane" he said, needing no other words to convey his intent.

"Yes" Miranda acknowledged, glancing up from her datapad. "Hold a moment. EDI, lock out outgoing feeds. This is a private conversation."

"Understood, Officer Lawson."

She tipped her head towards Shepard, indicating he continue.

"He is a fine soldier. Tore through those mercenaries like they weren't even there. I would have no compunction about bringing him onboard as a permanent member of the team…"

"Except that his rabid xenophobia is not going away in the foreseeable future."

"Exactly." Shepard inspected the empty bottle mournfully. He could allow himself one. Two was too many. "I cannot in good conscience take him along after what he did to the batarians."

"The batarian drew first."

Shepard hesitated, confusion clouding his expression. Before that initial reaction settled, Miranda continued. "The leader, he was turning, one hand on his sidearm."

A growl built in Shepard's throat, but he forced it down. "Are you lying to me?"

"No" she said with a scowl.

"Why did you wait until now to say anything?"

"Because tensions were high enough as it was, and I cared more for completing our objective than having a shouting match in the middle of a quarantine contact zone. Your medical readings were orbital, Shepard, during that entire encounter. Would it have helped to throw myself into that?"

No, he thought angrily. It would not have. Biting down on his anger, he took several breaths to buy himself time to form a reply. "You should have told me sooner."

"Had an opportunity presented itself, I assure you I would have. This business with Archangel threw us all for a loop. This was the earliest, most respectable time to mention it. Away from prying ears and eyes."

"So he shot the batarians in self defense, then?"

"One of them, perhaps." She shrugged. "The one hadn't even cleared his pistol before the Sergeant put a shot into his chest. The other two were still walking away. You could argue collateral damage, but I believe Sergeant Kane put his shots exactly where he meant to. As I believe he snatched at the opportunity to shoot them regardless of the intent."

Leaning back in his chair, Shepard spent a moment studying his executive officer. "I can't tell if you are defending him or accusing him."

"Merely stating facts and admitting conjecture, Shepard. Sergeant Kane wears his intentions on his sleeve. He is an honest man; the problem is that his beliefs are predominately incompatible with ours, and he is not afraid of upsetting that. He saved my life, yes. That does not make him my hero."

"Then what is your recommendation for him?"

Miranda hesitated. She had yet to come up with a plan herself. There were far too many variables for her liking. Too many unknowns to paint a clear outcome of any particular path. The most prudent, least volatile plan was also the one she disliked the most. "We keep him onboard."

The Commander's expression indicated he would not appreciate if she added a 'just kidding.' He scowled, not at her but at the idea. "That man is one recording away from being accused of war crimes."

"You work with Cerberus right now" Miranda reminded him. "And while I heartily disagree with your view of the organization, one could say you already are working with people that have committed war crimes. That being said, war is nothing but a series of crimes and atrocities. Would this one man change that?"

"He would if he were stationed on my ship, operating in my name and under my command."

"Your name isn't exactly spotless." She arched a delicate eyebrow, offering a neutral expression. "That is not an attack, by the way. But I have read your Alliance dossier. There are plenty who wanted you strung up for war crimes in your early days."

"Yeah. And then I grew up." He let out a grumbling curse and settled back into his chair. "And that's the rub, isn't it? I know where you are going with this. I was hot and mad when I entered the military. I know that, I admit that. I hated the turians for killing my father. I hated them for what they did to Shanxi. And I let that hatred control me, even as I rode it to N-7. You are going to make the comparison, I'm sure, to Kane. He claims to have nothing but hatred for the non-human races. And then you are going to propose that we give him time, have patience, see if we can fix him of that belief."

"Actually, I wasn't." Miranda inclined her head. "I was just going to say you must make your claims of moral superiority carefully. There is a reason I do not make decision based on what is 'right,' Shepard. In a world like this, no good deed goes unscrutinized. When you make a decision, make it wisely."

If only it were that easy, he thought bitterly

-v-

I am a man

Prone to weakness

But I am a Guardsman

Where weakness is death

I will crush my weakness

With the weight of my pride

The words he knew by heart. It was a thing he had repeated to himself many times. In the young days of the Schola Progenium, he had whispered them during the long nights at attention where the proctors prowled the ranks for signs of sleepiness or weakness. In his early days in the Kasrkin, he had lifted the chorus high as they held the line against a raging Ork horde, their power cells depleted and reduced to throwing rocks and stabbing with bayonet blades. Now he voiced them in silent vigil, speaking the words less for himself, but for the wounded comrade lying on the medical table.

The ship's medicae had assured him that his healing was on record speed. It must have been; he could already feel the soreness of tissue and tendons that had been torn apart by the gunship weapons. Muscles that he knew had been severed were already connected and responsive. Their medicine was truly miraculous. At his private estimate, he would be fully healed and ready for combat by the end of the day.

If only the Imperium still had access to this technology.

As unbelievable as their medicine was, it had yet to bring Junior Commissar Blake to wakefulness. Her motionless body remained exactly where it had been for the last few days. The only changes, as far as he had seen, were the subtle shifts of her hair from the medicae's administrations of fluids and cleansing. Doctor Chakwas was thorough, and she was detailed.

"You know, a watched pot never boils."

The woman's words distracted him from his vacant musings. Blinking slowly, Kane turned to regard the medicae. The elderly medicae sat at her desk, poring over her datapad.

"What?"

"It's an old Earth saying, from before the invention of instant meals and thermic ovens. Back when you had to wait for the water to boil to put in your tea leaves. A watched pot never boils. Stop staring at the poor girl and find something else to do. She isn't going to magically wake up any time soon, and waiting for that to happen is only going to make time pass slower."

"I have no expectations of her awakening" he stated. "There isn't much else to look at in this room."

"Yes, well that is the downside of having a clean medical facility."

The Cadian grunted, a sound that was nearly amusement. "Not a chance you'd let me out, then?"

"Not until your trapezius muscles are fully reknit. I am not letting you out of this room if you can still tear a muscle turning your head." Her smile was sweet, yet had all the seriousness of a medicae hiding a muscle relaxer behind their back. "Your recovery would go much faster if you laid down and attempted to relax."

It was something she had told him numerous times. Lie down and relax. He doubted she understood just how hard that would be for him. As far as Kane was concerned, they were still surrounded by hostiles. After the incident in the quarantine zone, he had been expecting a delivery on the ultimatum that the commander had placed. It would come, eventually. He fully intended to be upright when it did. To be on his back would indicate submission. And that was unacceptable.

This whole thing was a damned trial, he told himself. A test whereby the God-Emperor would see his faithfulness. Corporal Brunson, to Kane's dismay, had taken to this new time far too easily for his liking. A rootless tree falls before the storm. The man was eager to please, and his faith was strong, but the naivety of this place was a succulent drug the man had tasted and found sweet. It was understandable for others. Those not raised in constant war clung to the peace wherever they could find it. He had expected better from a fellow Cadian. This would be a hard task, to remain loyal and upright, but he was confident they would survive. It did not matter where or how they found themselves. They were Cadians, and they would not falter.

Though he did wonder, in the privacy of his own thoughts, if this was something the God-Emperor could have foreseen. It was not unheard of for reality to be so bent by the Immaterium that time itself was altered. He held no delusions that He On The Throne took personal interest in the specific occurrences of men throughout mankind, he knew the tales and had himself seen instances where His power manifested in defense of humanity. Could this have been one of those times? It was no small comfort to imagine that the God-Emperor of Mankind had spared them the fate purposed for them, instead casting them back into the past. Perhaps there was a greater reason for it. Surely, if this was so, then he would have sent them here with a specific mission, a purpose that could be gleaned. For they were Cadians, and Cadians were weapons. Every weapon needed a target.

The Reapers.

It came to him so easily. He cursed himself for not considering it before.

A threat to humanity. A promise of great destruction that mankind was not prepared for. They did not know the true horrors of war on a galactic scale. It was easy to cling to this idea, just as a drowning man clung to flotsam. Kane held the thought for a moment, stewing the idea in his mind, before discarding it. The Reapers were a threat. They needed to be stopped for humanity to continue. But he sincerely doubted a divine purpose behind their arrival. The Warp was fickle and meaningless. Their arrival must have been a fluke, a rare eddy in the tides of the Immaterium that converged at this particular point.

Commander Shepard seemed to be one of the only agents of humanity that cared to face this threat. To do so he would have to fight alongside xenos. He would have to fight with them. The thought twisted his stomach with disgust. The xenos he had met here were pathetic, despicable. Less dangerous that those he knew, for certain. That was their only redeeming quality. If anything could convince him to stomach the impiety of such an act, it would be that. There was little shame in humoring rodents.

This would be a fight for the very survival of mankind. The threat coming was, in even his own thoughts, overwhelming. It was as if the Necrons had arisen, but with a fleet that could swallow whole systems at a time. And humanity was woefully unprepared. Only a few hundred years of spaceflight to prepare their navies, and even then they bowed to the restrictions imposed by a xenos council. Their most powerful 'dreadnoughts' were hardly the size of a proper frigate-class warship of the Imperial Navy. And there were… eight. A standard Imperium sector fleet could rout the entirety of the Systems Alliance navy without challenge.

In the purest of military mathematics, Kane knew the answer. The xenos. The turians had nearly five times the number of ships that the humans did. The asari had perhaps twice as many. They would need every ship to stand against something like the Reaper invasion. That was made so very clear by the Battle of the Citadel. A single Reaper vessel alongside a geth fleet had battled two full Citadel fleets and inflicted substantial casualties They needed more firepower than humanity had.

Humanity could not win this war by itself. Not without centuries of preparation and growth. And they did not have that much time, according to the commander. They had years, if even that. What Kane wouldn't have given for a handful of cruisers and a chapter of Astartes.

His hand tapped restlessly on his thigh. The hard click of his metal reminded him of the dataslate in his pocket. A dataslate brimming with thousands of classified military schematics, personal letters, historical studies. Schematics. His divine mandate had not changed; protect humanity. There was on way he understood how to do it better than the humans of this time could.

Pride was a great weapon, but it was also a bitter thing to swallow.

This one was going to hurt like hell.

"Ship" he called out, breaking the silence.

"I have a name" the intelligence declared, voice spilling from numerous speakers throughout the room.

Ignoring the AI's programmed indignation, Kane pulled out his own dataslate and activated it. "I need a connection port."

-v-

"He did what?" Miranda half-rose from her chair, struggling to settle her mug of coffee before it spilled over her desk. She stared at Jacob, disbelief struggling to put the words in correct order for her to process.

"I can't really believe it either, but here they are." Jacob Taylor offered his datapad to the executive officer. A flowing schematic spun in the holographic projection. "EDI says he just told her to download the whole piece, take what was needed, and wanted your approval to send it to the Alliance for research and development."

"That…" she snatched the datapad and started scrolling, inspecting the specifications. Her shock was fading quickly, as it always did, but in its place came the incredulous flurry of excitement as new science presented itself. "This is manufacturing specifications for lasguns."

"He has the specs for that big pistol of theirs too. And the hellgun variants. And a host of support weaponry." Jacob's grin spread. "And that's just the personal weaponry. EDI had to decrypt most of the files, but she found schematics for armored vehicles and heavy artillery as well."

"Did he say why?"

"He did not, Officer Lawson."

She fought the urge to glance at one of the speakers. "What have you done with these, EDI?"

"At Sergeant Kane's request, I have merely stored them in my databanks. He demanded that the command element of the ship decide how they be dispersed. However, I find myself compelled to inform you that he preferred this information be given only to the Alliance."

"I'll be damned," Jacob muttered. "And I thought he was giving it just to us."

"He informed me that his desire to protect humanity from the Reapers outweighs his desire to protect the secrets of his time. His quote was 'Humanity has too many bastards that would sit on their treasures while the galaxy burns around them.' It was a rather illuminating insight into his character."

"Was it?" Miranda's attention devoted itself to the weapons schematics. "This is incredible. The majority of these materials we have not even discovered, much less theorized. How much is there, EDI?"

"Kane's datapad has occupied twelve point four three percent of my data core."

Jacob whistled. The Normandy's operating software took up a single percent of her data core.

"That's a lot of information."

"It is" EDI confirmed. It might have been her imagination, personifying the artificial intelligence, but Miranda thought she heard a sliver of glee in EDI's tone. The AI must enjoy having so much new information to pore over.

"I need to take this to Shepard" Miranda decided. "Jacob, do you mind if I return this to you?"

"All yours" Jacob assured her. "That's an extra I picked up from storage. EDI wiped the entire thing before uploading the juicier bits of information for your perusal."

She tipped her head in acknowledgement and led him out the door. Her nerves were fairly trembling with anticipation as she hurried up to the command deck. Shepard was up there, no doubt having words with their pilot. The relationship between the commander and Joker was something she could understand, yet still disapproved of. Joker was a coarse, crude individual that surely would have been removed from his position had his skills at the controls not been exceptional. Her daily computer logs told her exactly how he passed time in the solitary confinement of the cockpit. She had already decided that if forced to let the Normandy crash or take the helm from his chair, she would rather let the ship die. Ships were replaceable. Her pride was not. Otaku was the word, she was fairly certain. If not in literal translation, although that was accurate too, the derisive connotations were spot on.

The two men had served together on the old Normandy SR-1. The strain of hunting Saren had forged a close-knit bond between the survivors. Joker was the reason Shepard had been lost, of course. The commander had given up his place in evacuating the dying ship to rescue his pilot. It had been a terribly inefficient call.

Yet it had led them here.

Yeoman Kelly met her at the elevator entrance to the CIC. The chipper redhead smiled warmly at her exiting the elevator, balancing her ever present notebook on her hip, a cup of tea in her other hand. "Miranda."

"Kelly."

Her brusque greeting did not shake the yeoman's cheerful mood. "The commander is in his cabin. I assume you were looking for him."

"Yes" Miranda admitted. "How did you know?"

"John just radioed me and asked me to go down to medical and speak with Sergeant Kane. He wants me to have a sit down with the man. Thirty seconds later, you enter the bridge. It isn't much of a stretch to assume the two incidents are related."

"Of course not." Miranda offered a false smile. She tucked the datapad onto her hip, locking it in place. "Watch yourself around him, Kelly. He isn't like us."

"I am aware." Kelly took a sip of her tea, bobbed her head, and ducked into the elevator. Miranda turned to watch the doors close, idly wondering what the odds were that the ship's psychologist could make a crack in the Cadian's defenses.

For the hundredth time, Miranda wondered just what it was about Sergeant Kane that made her dislike him so much. It wasn't something she could explain. Not because he was so radically out of context to their reality. If it was that, then she would have the same unease around Corporal Brunson, but that one barely made her bat an eye. And it was not simply his attitude. She had dealt with far worse before, and he at least had the professional courtesy to acknowledge her abilities rather than look down on her for being a woman. No, it was that quality she could not touch, but could feel around. It was the subtlest current of wrongness. As if everything he said or did was slightly… off. Not quite aligned with how it should be. Standing in his presence made her skin prickle, her teeth itch. It was the same unnerving feeling of having unseen eyes boring into her skull. She had expected the sensations to fade over time. In the heat of battle, it was easy to ignore or forget. Here in the quiet of the ship, it bothered her. Distracted her.

Others shared her thoughts. Jacob liked the man, or at least tried to. The resident armorer had approached Kane with the attitude of a city boy greeting a country-bred neighbor. Kane was different, odd, but still a man. Differences meant little to Jacob, as long as a bridge could be built to cement them together. The man was loyal and honest to a fault. But even he admitted that Kane disturbed him. The fact that neither could pinpoint what caused that unease only laid more bricks on the foundation of mistrust she held for the man.

-v-

"Sergeant Kane?"

Kelly entered the medical bay with a spring in her step. Doctor Chakwas had stepped out, leaving them alone. Well, not alone if you counted the comatose woman and turian occupying two of the beds. Both were right out, according to their charts. That was good; she wanted a true private conversation here. The thought of getting a look at the workings of this strange man's mind nearly sent a shiver down her spine. In her years of intensive psychology studies, she had thought to have encountered everything there was about humanity. Kane was an enigma wrapped in a mystery of cold, hard armor. The toughest nuts held the richest fruit.

"Yeoman" the hulking man greeted, glancing her way with the same guarded expression he had worn when they first met. His posture stiffened too, fingers clenching on the edge of the bed. It was a hereditary instinctive response. Fight or Flight. Odd that he considered her a trigger, but that was what made him so interesting.

"John asked me to come by and ask you some questions. To see how you are doing after the firefight." She turned Karen's chair about and sat down, placing her tea on the desk beside her, in easy reach. "Do you mind?"

"I'm here all day" the man grumbled.

Kelly did not know if the man spoke in jest or not. Waiting for a tic, a tell, she found herself disappointed in the monotone, humorless face he wore.

"Ah. May I ask how you are feeling?"

"Feeling?" Kane sneered at the word. "Is that what you people care about? Feelings."

"Emotional and psychological health are my concerns, Kane." Refusing to take offense, Kelly sipped at her tea and met his harsh stare. His eyes were quite mesmerizing. They held great anger, pain, and enough chaos in them to inform her without having to ask that Kane was a man of repressed emotions. "That is why I am here, after all. It is my job."

"Well, if that's your job, I'll give you an easy answer." He offered a smile that held no warmth. "I'm fine. Wounds are healing faster than I could imagine, my weapons and armor are still intact, and the mission was completed successfully."

"That is a very simple way to view it" Kelly noted.

"I'm a simple man" was the gruff reply. "Your attitude and the crew's opinions of you inform me that you aren't going to leave until you get some sort of answers, so let me make this easy for you, Yeoman Chambers. When I was still in the womb, my father died on some Throneforsaken world fighting some Throneforsaken enemy. When I was three, my mother died in the cultist uprising. Being an orphan, I was enlisted into the Schola Progenium, whereupon I was raised from the age of three to become a stormtrooper, a Kasrkin. The best sort of soldier in the galaxy short of the Adeptus Astartes. I am thirty one Cadian years old, and I have more than a thousand confirmed kills. Twice that many unconfirmed. Twenty two wounds of note. Six promotions, one demotion, thirteen successful operations across four campaigns. Thirty six medals of various assortment. I would wager with full confidence that I have seen more combat than the entirety of this ship combined, twice over. So, please, ask yourself if my feelings are in danger."

"You still consider us the enemy" Kelly mused, unperturbed by his words, though grateful that EDI was recording this on a private channel for later replay. This was the sort of conversation that would be pored over in the decades to come, of that she was certain.

"You are not of the Imperium."

"The Imperium does not exist here. You and your two comrades are all that remains of it. Do you intend to view this entire galaxy as your foe?"

"If needs be." Kane started to shrug, but stopped as a pained grimace lanced across his face. Letting his shoulder droop, he scowled and glance over at Garrus' body. "You are human, but you consort with xenos. That alone marks you as a foe, and untrustworthy."

That was something she was not willing to touch on yet. Xenophobia did not go away by confronting it head on. Instead, she went a different route. Looked for something easier to broach.

"You use the word 'throne' in your curses. And the phrase 'God-Emperor.' That is your god, I assume?"

"He is the God of Mankind." Kane's eyes narrowed, but he offered nothing more. "Your ignorance is forgiven because he has not yet revealed himself to humanity yet."

"What is he?"

"He is a god."

The man's blank response told her she was not asking the question correctly. Before she could rephrase the question, he asked one of his own.

"What are your beliefs, Yeoman?"

"My… beliefs?" She frowned and considered the question. It was not the kind of thing she would have expected him to ask. Perhaps that meant he was reaching out, stepping outside of his shell. "As in, what is my spirituality?"

"If that's what you call it" he answered gruffly. Kelly stared past him for a moment, organizing her thoughts as she processed how to give the simplest, most satisfactory answer.

"Personally, I haven't been much for belief in gods and spiritual beings since I was a child. But there are many diverse religious bodies throughout the galaxy. All species have a primary religion as well as several divergent branches, or in humanity's case entirely separate ones. Mankind's most common religion stems from an ancient Middle Eas-"

"I asked for your beliefs." Kane's annoyed growl cut her short. "Not a summary of this time. Yours alone."

"Oh." She swallowed down her surprise, took a breath, and considered her words carefully. "Ah, well, I am not a very spiritual person. I guess I am open to the idea of a god, or gods, but I haven't found anything that tells me for certain they existed. What I do believe in, is good men and women. That when enough people try to do good and leave their mark on history, good things will follow. And I believe that we can find answers to most every problem in the world around us if we spend the time searching for it."

"So you believe in nothing."

"No, I-"

"You claim to believe in the inherent goodness of man? That doesn't exist." Kane sniffed and looked away, studying the cafeteria outside. "Humanity is a broken thing, Yeoman. It doesn't matter when or where you are. Placing your faith in a broken object is worse than placing your faith in an evil object."

"There are plenty of good humans out there. And other aliens too" Kelly countered.

"But not enough to stop wars, to stop slavery, to stop bickering and jealousies and murder." Kane blinked slowly. "You think that good things follow good people? Then explain these Reapers that your Commander fears. Explain the batarians. Explain the geth the genocidal war that broke out between the quarrian race and the machines they had created. I've seen far too many good people die, and far too few evil men suffer. The universe does not care for good, or for evil. It isn't a being. It simply is."

"I understand you came from a time of"

"You understand nothing" Kane snapped, silencing her with the venom in his tone. "You are young, naive, and full of false hope that the galaxy spins in the favor of the righteous. It does not. So stop wasting my time trying to become my friend, or whatever the hell it is you are aiming for here, and leave me in peace."

-v-

Shepard stared at the screen, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. The chrono on the display told him he had not typed a word in ten minutes. It felt like hours.

Unusual Findings

Subj: Admiral Hackett, S.

I have attached a series of weapon schematics to this message. I cannot go into details as to how I came upon them, but I am obliged to inform you that this must be a priority for the Alliance. You will not be familiar with the design, or the manufacturers. However, I cannot understate the urgency with which they should be treated. They will revolutionize warf

Revolutionize.

No, they would damn near flip everything they knew on its head. He had already thought up three dozen ways that small arms combat would never be the same. Laser weaponry, large scale and man portable. Kinetic shielding would become obsolete in a month. Tactical doctrines would shift wholly to fire multiplication and maximized destructive onslaught. The edge that krogan had enjoyed for centuries was gone. Kane's lasgun had torn through Garm's bodyguard like tissue paper. Everything they knew was about to change.

And his finger would be hitting the send button.

The morbid realization that he might be the man to set off an unimaginable domino effect made him feeling startlingly tiny and insignificant. How many more people would die because of one keystroke? It was utterly unlike any command decision he had ever made. Sending soldiers on operations was simple, direct, with visible results. Then years from now, who knows what the galaxy might look like with laser weapons in the field.

It was going to happen eventually, he knew. Omega had been a break for them. The areas they had fought had little footage recorded, if any, so any stories about the lasguns would be pure word of mouth or conjecture. But that would not last forever. Autopsies would prove the existence of the weapons. Some punk carrying a bodycam would catch live footage. Hell, just giving EDI the information had started the clock. EDI's creator, Cerberus, would get the information soon enough. And there was no way in hell he could condone letting Cerberus have these schematics, but not the Alliance.

Unusual Findings

Subj: Admiral Hackett, S.

I have attached a series of weapon schematics to this message. I cannot go into details as to how I came upon them, but I am obliged to inform you that this must be a priority for the Alliance. You will not be familiar with the design, or the manufacturers. However, I cannot understate the urgency with which they should be treated. They will revolutionize warfare as we know it, and will play a key role in preparing us for the coming war.

He pondered the phrase. The coming war. Hackett would know what he meant. But anyone snooping in would take that a terribly wrong way. Sending a high-ranking Alliance admiral classified weapons schematics and speaking of a war. A smart snooper would know what Shepard meant. What else could the Hero of the Citadel be preparing for?

It was a risk. This whole damn thing was a risk. Odds were good this information would leak out somewhere on the Alliance side. But Hackett was his best bet that this would be put to the best use, the most secure use. The aged admiral knew how to keep his mouth shut, and which people to trust. If anyone would stand by Shepard, it would be him. Though he could not voice it, Hackett acknowledged that the Sovereign had been no geth cruiser. He knew what was coming, and had forced the Alliance to invest in unpopular project to help prepare for what was to come. For that, he was hemorrhaging respectability and political leverage. But it would all be worth it once the Reapers arrived.

Shepard could not think of a better man to hand the schematics to.

"EDI, add the incursion scans data packet to this message."

"Incursion scans data packet added, Shepard."

Her answer was simple, uninflected.

"Send the message."

It was an entirely uncelebrated moment. The day Commander John Shepard shattered the balance of power in the galaxy. Unease roiled in his gut. For the briefest moment, a surge of dread washed across his mind. As if something terrible had just occurred, somewhere. He wondered how much he would regret this in the years to come.

A chirp on his omnitool alerted him to a visitor. Flicking his gaze across to the security camera, he allowed a grimace at the sight of Miranda Lawson standing impatiently outside his door. "Let her in" he told EDI.

The door slid open a heartbeat later.

"At my desk" he called out, knowing she would hear.

When she came around the corner, her eyes were doing that blitzing flicker across her datapad indicating she was speedreading something. Probably the email he had just sent off.

"So you have already made your decision, I see" his executive officer muttered, her expression hardening. Not out of anger, but something else. Quite possibly it was her irritation at how rapidly things were moving, and how she had no control over any of it.

"The Illusive Man is going to have access to this as it is" Shepard said with a shrug. "Better to send it off now and ensure the Alliance has at least a small head start."

"I assure you that this information will not be leaked from the Normandy. From the Alliance, you can bet on it. But not from this ship. As far as the Illusive Man has been informed, we picked up unregistered passengers after an anomalous ion storm. I have a detailed report ready to send, but not until you give your seal of approval." She leaned against his desk, and set the datapad in front of him. "To be honest, I don't know how to explain this through a message. This requires a conversation, and you should be there for it."

"I appreciate that." Shepard meant it. "But how can you be certain that there isn't someone else sending him reports?"

"Oh, there are at least three." She waved her hand dismissively. "You have to understand, neither Jacob or I were intended to be on the Normandy in the original plan. Our arrival shifted things, but even then the Illusive Man would have backups and spies in place. We are an intelligence organization, after all. I would wager that his informans are not aware of their subterfuge. Crewman Goldstein regularly attempts to dump data logs to a redundant net server to minimize clutter on EDI's system, but that server is linked to a research outpost on Kataar. Crewman Hadley has sent five heavily encrypted transmissions to an unknown receiver since we left Alchera, four of which I have in holding. The fifth was merely a birthday card to her mother, but the others are suspicious. Timing and such."

"And the third?"

"Well, that would be me, of course.