A/N: It's been a while.

Grassroots

En route to Firebase: Dorset

1453 Hours

To Corporal Victor Evans' eyes, the fields and country of Grassroots were familiar sights – specters and recollections of a long bygone time. Rolling green hills, sun-kissed golden fields, and colorful orchards as far as the eye could see. A beautiful colony on the frontier, full of errant and burgeoning life – at least, it used to be.

It was as Demeter had been at the cusp of its insurgent coup nearly two decades ago, and in Victor's mind, it was about to follow the same fate. The green hills were marked by craters of all sizes and shapes, artillery fire having long ago flattened the wheat and corn fields, and fires raged across vast sections of the forests and woodlands. A sad sight – and a familiar one, Victor mused, watching as the surface of Grassroots rushed by below.

Every few seconds, an errant explosion rocked the skies nearby, the occasional bout of flak and artillery fire enough to shake the corporal's transport – the UT-441 dropship, lovingly named the "Condor" by the Republic's marines. One of many that had been offloaded by the Crusader, still high in the stars above, the Condor's inhabitants were mostly silent, save for a conversation nearby. A quick glance marked the participants as Lieutenant Black, his squadmate, and a marine from another squad. Recon, if the green camouflaged plating was to be trusted.

"It's a Maverick," Black stated with a smug air about her, showing off a rather bulky sidearm. "Hahne-Kedar Industries. Five shells held in a break-action chamber. You don't want to be in front of this girl."

"Damn," the marine said. A layer of tape was pasted onto his helmet, the name Gibbs written in black marker. "What kinda shell does it use? Doesn't look like it can carry twelve or twenty."

Victor watched as the lieutenant broke open the Maverick's chamber, popping a single shell out. It was thin, wrapped in a white casing.

"Four-ten," Valerie answered, holding the shell up. "Buck or slug – I prefer buck, myself."

"Seems kinda small, don't you think?"

The lieutenant laughed. "Wouldn't you know anything about small, cherry-cheeks?" The cabin erupted in laughter as the marine, Gibbs, sat back with a nonplussed expression – yet a tiny smirk betrayed his true feelings. "Trust me, up to sixty meters away, 'Greta' here will put a chunk through your chest, armor or not. She's got some kick to her."

There were a few low whistles, and Victor even found himself raising his brows.

"You named your gun?" another voice asked. It was Faulk, hidden away in a corner of the cabin, with his rifle tucked between his legs. "Who the fuck names their gun?"

Valerie turned on her commanding officer, a glint in the marksman's eyes. "You're one to speak, lieutenant," she smirked. "We all know you still sleep with that stuffed toy of yours, but I've figured out you've even named it." She stood from her seat, prancing about towards Faulk whilst spinning the Maverick in her hands. "Shanny seems a bit strange of a name for a teddy bear, dontcha think?"

The Condor's cabin fell into laughter once again, and Victor couldn't help but follow with his own chortles as Black found her seat again. His CO, humiliated, sat back with a blank stare.

"How did you find out?"

The lieutenant holstered her favored sidearm, smirking at Faulk. "You talk in your sleep."

As if on cue, a light in the cabin blinked on, a green glare painting the dropship's occupant, a sudden jolt knocking more than few possessions around, their owners cursing. A voice called from the cockpit, the shuttle's door landing softly on a patch of grass outside.

"This is your stop, marines! Firebase Dorset, hick-town in all but name. Enjoy yourselves out there!"

Victor rose with the others, cradling his rifle gently. He had made some modifications to it since the… incident. Having elected himself the squad's grenadier, he found his new underslung launcher to be a bit cumbersome, but the young corporal was sure it'd come in handy, given a handy supply of high-explosive and smoke rounds.

Outside the shuttle, Victor realized that the army outpost – Firebase Dorset – appeared to be in much worse state than he would have thought. He was immediately met with a mess of an outer perimeter, thin razor-wire fencing atop several stacks of sand-filled gabions and concrete walls. Army troopers rushed this way and that way, the typically green markings on their armor scratched, mudded, and faded. Some looked relieved to see the marines, but most smirked, jeering this way and that way.

Every now and then, the various artillery placements of the firebase would belch fire, expended shells sparking red as their electrical charges dissipated. Ragged and ripped tents flapped in the hand, and the clearly hastily and shoddily constructed pre-fabs around the base were worn down, parts fallen away and even some sections missing entirely.

"What a mess," Victor heard Dunn mutter beside him, the large, dark-skinned man lugging his sizeable machine gun like it was nothing.

"Hey, Faulk?" Val asked, walking a yard or two in front of them. Their lieutenant, even further ahead, turned around.

"Something on your mind?"

"Yeah," the tech sergeant continued, nodding. "How'd the army fuck up so bad here? CLF's got no infrastructure, how're they still around?"

"They got reinforced," Faulk answered, moving to avoid a trio of army troopers. "Same HVT we've been chasing the past few months got here with half a fleet. That, and the colony already had a pretty sizeable rebel front."

Victor couldn't help but snort. "Turns out farmers don't like quotas from the Core." Val took a second to look back at him, frowning.

"Yeah, but they were just a few rebels, LT," she pressed, as the squad approached their destination. The command tent stood out – larger than the rest, and a silver eagle emblazoned its sides.

"'A few rebels' wouldn't have been able to capture an entire supply base, Black," the lieutenant shook his head. "No. But rumor has it the CLF's starting to get their shit together. They're getting organized, far quicker and at a much higher level than anyone would have thought."

"But that takes time!"

"They've been dug in," Faulk continued. "Guerilla activity across the planet, hiding amongst the civilians. Doesn't help the entire colony is behind them."

Dunn saw fit to speak. "That's unconfirmed."

"That may be so, Dunn, but think about it. Entire sections of rebels disappearing in the cities; supply stations and police armories raided, but no local eyewitnesses." The lieutenant turned back. "How does that sound to you?"

The larger man only offered one word in response. "Why?"

"Guess they didn't like the taxes."

"Taxes to pay for the war, el-tee," Valerie said in turn, the flaps of the base's command tent now open before them.

"Against the CLF themselves, Black."

"Fucking ironic."

"Ain't that the truth of it."

It was safe to say that Major Maria Capet, commander of all UER army units on her side of Emeraude City, was baffled.

Confused. Frustrated. Enflamed. Perhaps, even, furious.

When the 48-year old Earthborn heard that the Navy was finally sending reinforcements, she was beyond relieved. Grassroots had become more of a mess than anyone could have anticipated – as if the CLF had turned one bloody eye on the already disillusioned colony and decided that it was to become the largest rebel front in years.

The rebels had become organized, fast. It wasn't the loss of one of the largest supply depots on the colony that had clued her in. No – it was their hardware. Even before the armory raids, before the blockade runners, her men had begun to report military-grade munitions and tech spread amongst the rebels. Skirmishes and small, isolated firefights had been turned upside down, and the usually roving bands of guerillas, hidden amongst the populace, had merged into entire units, complete with – if her recon teams weren't mistaken – organized and fully-fledged command structures.

The CLF fleet appearing in orbit, rag-tag as it was, had been the final nail in the coffin. The loss of Duty Station, along with all the military-grade hardware it stored? Inconsequential, considering all that had occurred before so.

So when Battlegroup Autumn had arrived, clearing out what remained of the CLF fleet and landing its marines, even the grizzled Army officer could appreciate seeing the red frogmen amongst the Army's green.

Maria had requested Rear Admiral Hackett simply bomb Duty Station from orbit – the supply base was heavily fortified, and garrisoned by what seemed like an entire battalion, or more, of rebels. The major wasn't willing to send men to assault such a base without sufficient air-support, and given the array of triple-A that the CLF had pulled from Duty's warehouses, anything short of Zeus fighters was out of the question. Command was, initially unwilling to supply even those – the risk was too high. But the Autumn's arrival had changed everything.

Except, her request had been denied – no orbital bombardment, Hackett had refused. When pushed for a reason, he had simply stated that a unit of marines, led by a team of the SAU – the Corps' own premier shock troopers – would infiltrate the base. They were looking for intel.

Intel, of all things. Maria, an officer in the Army, had always been one to claim that the Corps never had its head screwed on right, but she thought that, in the wake of Grassroots' fall, even they would realize what was most important – burning the CLF from the beleaguered colony.

Apparently not.

Her thoughts were interrupted – the flaps of the command tent fluttered open, a pair of men walking in. One was clearly a flag officer of some sort, if the silver eagle on his shoulder meant anything. The other was a marine, but by the yellow trim of his armor rather than the red, he was clearly one of the shock troopers Hackett had supplied.

Well, supplied was, perhaps, the wrong term. Regardless, she straightened herself, hands clasped behind her back.

"Major Capet," the marine officer nodded, mirroring her actions. The trooper beside him saluted, helmet still on. "Colonel Leonard Molina. It's good to meet you."

"Likewise, Colonel," Maria responded. "You lead the marines from the Alphonse?"

The Alphonse – one of the ships from Battlegroup Autumn, and one of those few that had offloaded its marine contingent. Good reinforcements – they were the scalpel to Maria's hammer, or so she was told.

"Correct Major, though I've been given command of all of Autumn's marines planet-side, for the time being," Molina qualified. Maria turned her attention to the marine beside him.

"Lieutenant Jonathan Faulk, 45th SAU, ma'am," the trooper said. The major motioned with her hand, and Faulk dropped his salute. "Ma'am, are you aware of my team's role here?"

She nodded, frowning. "I have, Lieutenant. I don't like it, but I am aware."

"Is there an issue, Major?" Molina asked, head askew. A quick glance at the colonel's uniform showed that it was clean, crisp, and pressed – she figured that, given the circumstances of the colony, it would remain so for not much longer.

"Just personal misgivings, Colonel," Maria answered. She took a deep breath, moving an errant strand of hair aside with a muddied thumb. She turned back to Faulk. "I'm not exactly sure what it is your team is looking for, Lieutenant, but I have been ordered to provide support…"

She trailed off, shaking her head. Maria didn't like being kept in the dark – it was how good men and women died without good cause – but bits and pieces of Autumn's mission stank of operational security well above her role. The major had already decided she didn't like the situation, not at all.

"Ma'am?" The shock trooper queried, leaning a slight bit forwards.

"Apologies, Lieutenant." Maria realized she had left the two marine officers waiting. "From what I've been told, my men will be staging an assault on Duty Station, down in the river valley."

A squat, wide table had sat between the two parties, and with a wave of Maria's hand, its surface lit alight with a blue glow. Off-white grids formed squares, neatly patterned across a holographic map that slowly materialized. A yellow dot, glowing bright, sat in the corner closest to her left, and to its north-east a mess of red, centered in a shallow valley. Firebase Dorset and their target – Duty Station.

Further still was a city, its buildings quite tall indeed. Red and yellow glows shifted in and out like a menagerie of jewels, and a name, embossed in the light of holograms:

Emeraude City.

Grassroots' planetary capital torn apart by the fiercest of fighting. Last she had heard, the city's UER presence was still strong – possibly waning, but still strong – but strength did not abate the constant danger of urban ambushes and bomb threats. The Army had, hence, moved its headquarters to a nearby airfield, set up as a temporary, if not dysfunctional, spaceport.

"Since the rebels captured it," Maria continued, "Duty Station has been heavily fortified. Every day, more insurgents stream in and out by convoy. The CLF have turned it into their own 'home away from home,' and given its proximity to Emeraude, they've been threatening our control on the capital."

"Strength of opposition, ma'am?" the lieutenant asked. His helmet was still tight on his head – Maria didn't like how she couldn't see the trooper's face behind the polarized visor.

"They've got it garrisoned at all times – at least several companies' worth, up to a battalion," the major answered. "Trenches, bunkers, perimeter walls lined with barbed wire – they've got it heavily fortified."

"The real stickler though," Maria continued, eyeing the two marine officers. Molina watched the holo-table between them with intent, eyes nearly glued to Duty Station's location. "They've pulled some old, moth-balled triple A out of storage. Old, but they still work just fine – we nearly lost a flight of attack craft the other day."

"No air-support?" Faulk sounded worried, and rightly so – any soldier worth their weight valued fire-support beyond measure, whether by air or by ground. Maria shook her head.

"Not unless you take those guns out."

The command tent fell into silence, the three officers weighing their options. Inwardly, Maria cursed her lack of personnel – Firebase Dorset was home chiefly home to infantry and artillery units, limiting her strategic options. She did have a couple of mechanized teams under her belt, but…

Rangers would have been nice, dedicated sniper units even better. Given the nature of the valley – rough, rocky terrain and shallow streams and cliffsides – mechanized infantry would have been useless, but those same cliffs, those same river-side slicks, would have supplied trained sniper teams with prime positioning and sightlines.

Too bad command had seen fit to hog all the specialist units. Not even a single team of rangers had been placed under Maria's command.

"I've got something. Check it out." It was Colonel Molina, leaning forwards on the holo-table. His fingers traced its surface, drawing lines across the blue "sand."

"Major," Molina began, briefly glancing up at Maria. "Confirm these emplacements for me. Two lines of walls along the base's perimeter. A trench between them, and above and behind the inner walls – they've set up bunkers and gun nests. Affirm?"

"That's correct, Colonel," Maria was curious what the marine officer had seen.

The man placed an index finger on the map – at the south-eastern corner of Duty Station was a set of buildings, nestled at the edge of the base. They were… conspicuously close to the walls and fortifications, minimal space between them and the inner walls.

What more, the rebels had placed their cluster of anti-aircraft guns nearby – on the other side of those very buildings, cut through by courtyards and more bunkers.

"Any idea on what these buildings are, Major?"

Maria did, indeed, have an answer for him. "Apartment buildings. Quarters for the base's old garrison. Three towers, each six stories tall. CLF looks to have left them vacant – too close to the perimeter.

Her eyes traced the south-eastern corner of the supply base – little holographic trees had sprung up on the map, dense. Between them ran what looked to be a stream, zig-zagging throughout the foliage.

"Plenty of hard-cover," the colonel continued, his gaze now falling on the lieutenant beside him. "Not enough space for the defenders to maneuver – not quickly, anyways." He turned back to Maria. "And easy access to their triple A. Major, how mobile can your men be?"

"Not mobile enough," Maria answered quickly. "But we do have a platoon's worth of mechanized infantry. Otherwise, we're limited to light vehicles and transports."

Molina nodded, satisfied with her response. "That's gotta be good enough."

"Got a plan, sir?" Faulk asked, having been silent.

"The beginnings of one, yes." The colonel motioned towards the table. "Lieutenant, I'm embedding your team with my marines. That corner of the base – they're weaker there. Good enough for an assault at night, and your team will lead."

"Any support to our name, sir?"

Molina thought for a moment, a finger, brushing against his chin. "Mortar teams. Flares for illumination, once you cross that trench. Artillery support from Dorset will be limited, though," he answered. "Get through those walls and take those apartments, Lieutenant. Establish a zone of control, and take out those guns."

"And my men, Colonel?" Maria interjected. Wind blew into the tent, and her eyes stung for just a moment. "You'll need help."

He nodded. "Our assault will begin when your units are mounted up and in position. I've been told planetary command's supplying Zeus craft for our mission?"

"Yeah. Won't be able to help until those guns are down, though."

"Got it." The marine officer eyed Maria, smiling. "Major, when those guns are down, I need your men to push in. We'll set up fire missions along the perimeter before-hand. Encircle them. Trap them," the man closed his eyes. "With any luck, the Lieutenant and his team will have enough cover to take the base, find what they need."

Faulk nodded. "Yessir."

"This evening, at twenty-one hundred hours," Molina said, straightening again. The holotable switched off, its contents slowly draining away. "We'll go over the details. Force projection, unit designations, operational security – all of that."

Maria nodded, sniffing once. "I'll get all my section leads in. Tent might not be big enough, though."

"Marines make do, Major."

The Citadel; Zakera Ward

Dark Star Lounge

12:25 PM, Earth Standard Clock

She kept her promise.

Caelia Paros, formerly a combat medic in the Turian Marines, and then a medical contractor for the Citadel Exploratory Initiative onboard the Talessia, kept her promise to Taelon Jorrahe, and stayed on the Citadel.

Close to Arysa, their old captain. Close enough to keep an eye on their friend. Close enough to help.

Close enough to stop her from making a mistake.

Since their… incident at Relay 314, the crew of the Talessia had disbanded. Their ship was refitted, their team reassigned following psychological evaluation. The Initiative had deemed Arysa too unstable, too emotionally broken, to continue leading her crew.

Caelia… could not blame them. Not after what had happened.

They had tried to give her – Arysa – time. Time to recover, time to think, and time enough to know that what she had done to that man, the human, was necessary.

Horrible, perhaps. Non-consensual, a decision made knowingly by one side and one side only. But necessary. Or they'd all be dead – maybe – and the future of the galaxy might never have been the same.

But horrible all the same to Arysa.

So they had disbanded. They had all gone their own ways, drifting to the solar wind. Pontius had retired to some turian colony on the fringe, with plenty of time to think, and plenty of silence to fill it.

Paell and Niana, their engineers, were gone, fled to Illium to start their own firm. No regulations, no laws, no restrictions – she worried for the two, Caelia did. But, in all honesty, one could say that they had eloped. After all, the two were nigh inseparable. It surprised no one.

Taelon had also left. Reluctant, unsure, uncertain. But when the Special Tasks Group came calling, no salarian in their right mind would refuse. Caelai wasn't sure when she'd see him again, especially now that he'd gone off to join the STG. But before he left, he made her make a promise.

It was an easy promise to make – Caelia hadn't any idea where she might go, anyways. Her parents were… estranged, one could say, and her sister, Veera, was still serving with the Hierarchy.

So, Caelia had kept her promise, and she had stayed on the Citadel. Her apartment sat close by to her captain's, dredged up to sheer coincidence in a passing conversation. But Caelia knew better – and so did Arysa.

Her friend needed help, and by the Spirits, she would keep it. Even if Arysa refused herself.

Of course, with the passing of the Talessia's crew, Caelia Paros had been left unemployed. In truth, she wasn't sure what she wanted to do, but she supposed it was to be something medical. A combat medic, a ship's doctor – that was what the turian from Invictus knew.

Though, in truth, she wasn't to be unemployed for long. She had scheduled a job interview at the Asharia Memorial Hospital tomorrow. A nurse in the trauma wards – they valued her experience in combat, and that was that.

But Caelia worried for Arysa – the matron was… stubborn, and their scant conversations had fallen to passing small-talk and whispers. Of course, it was a bit frustrating – the Citadel bore home to millions of people of all species, and even a few humans had begun to trickle onto the center of galactic life. But Arysa wouldn't speak to one – and barely even spoke to her own friend.

That fact, however, didn't help – or so Caelia figured. Every human Arysa had seen, she cowered from. Every marine from the republic, the once-gregarious matron ignored.

Was the asari being overly dramatic? Possibly. Possibly not. Caelia could not say that she knew, exactly, how Arysa felt. Perhaps on a superficial level, but certainly not deep within.

But she wanted to help – wanted so bad to keep the other end of her promise to Taelon. Arysa had once been a bright star in the turian's life – outgoing. Unreserved, energetic, exciting – she was all that Caelia wanted to be. But she had retreated into a shell.

That shell was, according to some of her contacts (though, Caelia admitted, contacts gave them more of an air of mystery and subversion than bartenders and mutual neighbors should ever be accounted for, but it sounded cooler), the Dark Star Lounge. Zakera Ward, right by their apartments in fact. Caelia knew that Arysa would retreat deep into the bar, away from prying eyes, and simply drink her troubles away.

That ended soon. Caelia would find Arysa, and they'd talk. Arysa, she knew, needed help. Wanted help, though perhaps she wouldn't admit it. She knew it'd take time – especially as her medical certifications rarely covered the psychological effects of…

Well, that…

But Arysa needed help, and Caelia was the only one there to help her.

She'd kept her promise to Taelon, and she'd keep her promise to Taelon.

Eden Prime; Utopia System; Exodus Cluster

Eden Technical Institute

0830 Hours

Doctor Agosto Rivers was, for all intents and purposes, annoyed.

Peeved. Vexed. Irked. Or just plain old annoyed.

How long had the Good Doctor worked on those eezo samples? How many sleepless nights had he spent uncovering their secrets, exposing himself to dangerous levels of radiation for two meager lines of data?

And yes, he'd call it eezo, Leah's ass be damned.

He thought it'd be worth it, in the end – all of that work, all of those answers, paltry as they were, would build and build and build upon each other until he had uncovered what he, not two months before, believed would be a breakthrough in physics and physical academia.

A breakthrough in more than one way, of course; eezo itself broke, shattered, the very laws that Isaac Newton himself had splayed out like the biblical commandments themselves. Oh, how excited he had been to be that Newton, that Curie, that Einstein.

But it wasn't to be so. The secrets of Element Zero were just… handed over. Shared, just like that, through First Contact. He'd be lying if a vase or two hadn't been broken in more than one place, but he'd tell Leah it was her cat. One of the three.

Jorge. He'd blame Jorge. Little tabby had never liked him anyways.

Regardless, "Agi" supposed, it wasn't all lost. Sure, Leah's rat had bravely sacrificed his life for naught but a whisker; sure, he'd exposed himself to dangerous levels of unknown radiation for absolutely no reason. But none of that mattered in the end, did it? Agi did it learn – he did it to create, to develop, and he did it all for one thing above all.

For science.

Well that, and the removal of Element Zero from his "little" to-do list had left something… more important on his palate. More important for the Republic in its entirety rather than "just" him, for sure, but still nevertheless important.

A little whirlwind of beeps and boops caught his ear, and Agi stuffed a hand into a coat-pocket, and brought it back with a companion. A lover. A mobile communicator.

Oh. Speak of the devil – perhaps more literally than he might have intended.

"Admiral Ishimura, what a pleasure! How can I—"

"Doctor Rivers. I need an update on Project Caen."

The Good Doctor recoiled, a rush of annoyance flowing through his veins. "Finally give it a name, huh? About time." he muttered.

"Doctor."

He sighed, thankful that ORI's director had chosen a simple voice-call. More discreet, more easily encrypted – fitting for someone of her… stature.

"Admiral, my team's progress on Project Caen remains unchanged since last we spoke," the physicist answered glumly. "The stealth technology ORI has requisitioned requires too much power for our fusion reactors. We'd have to upscale the corvette's size by a factor of five. It'd no longer be a corvette, but a destroyer – maybe even a light cruiser!"

"Is that what it takes?"

Agi ran a hand through his dark, chestnut hair, lightly scratching his scalp. "No, because it'd completely defeat the purpose of a stealth ship. The amount of power produced would outweigh any attempt to hide its emissions, not to mention the fact that a cruiser is much more easily seen than a corvette."

High-heeled footsteps from behind caught the doctor's ear, and before he could turn a pair of lily-white arms wrapped around his chest, a kiss lightly placed on his neck. He couldn't help but shiver, as Doctor Jojic's slender form pressed tightly into his.

"Doctor Rivers, as Lead of Echelon Five, I expect you to understand that the completion of Project Caen's development supersedes any other assignments that you may possess," Mary Ishimura's soft, yet ice-cold voice also sent shivers down Agi's spine. A sole finger placed at his lips, the doctor gave his peer a glance at the call's details. Leah's eyes widened, and she nodded, stepping back. "Especially now that the Republic, for the most part, no longer requires your premier services regarding Element Zero."

"Ma'am, I fully understand the—"

"I wasn't aware that I was done speaking, Doctor Rivers."

Agi frowned. "My apologies, Admiral."

"As I was saying, doctor – I am… dissatisfied with the lack of progress on Project Caen. However, I also understand that, at the moment, I am asking you to move a mountain," Ishimura said. "So, what do you need to complete Project Caen?"

"Ma'am?"

"Do I really need to repeat myself? Doctor Rivers, what do you need so you may move forwards with Project Caen? Resources? Money? Personnel?"

"… I hope you won't ask for live test subjects, Doctor Rivers."

Agi recoiled in disgust. "With all due respect Admiral, I lead Echelon Five, not Echelon Six."

Admiral Ishimura didn't respond, but he didn't expect her to. The doctor thought to himself for a moment, stumped – what more could we want? Money wasn't a question – his team already possessed a budget six times as large as their closest peers, and they still had plenty left over, given the passing of the Eezo project. And, for the most part, he didn't care to meet new people, new personne. He was already settled with his team of twenty – he knew them all, cared for them all, and that was only after years upon years of continuous work with them.

Agosto Rivers was an exceptionally difficult man to work with, he himself would admit, but given time, he cared for those under his lead, as Doctor Jojic herself would attest to. He turned back for a moment, seeing her smile cheerfully with a sample of Element Zero, safe in a transparent cylinder, in her hands.

Yes – he cared greatly for Leah, even as she handled eezo with such blasé—

Wait. Yes! That was it! He raised a thumb in thanks, turning back to his call. He did not want to keep Mary Ishimura herself waiting.

Eezo – his team had found that Element Zero's capabilities were, in a sense, endless, or so it seemed. After all, it broke the very laws of physics themselves, possessing in and of itself no mass to speak of, hence the name.

Yet, supplied an electrical charge, the element produced a field of dark energy. Within that field, an object's mass could be raised – a baseball might fall with the force of a bowling ball, for example, or a bullet might impact as if it were an artillery shell.

Or, should an object's mass be reduced in turn, a cargo hauler could become as light as a hoverbike; an ingot of titanium-1 alloy, as easy to throw as a shoe.

And, should a fusion reactor be supplemented with such capabilities, it could produce power far beyond its normative potential. Of course, the sheer magnitude of Element Zero required was indescribable, in both cost and weight of gram, but theoretically, it'd never have to be replaced – only maintained. Carefully, oh so carefully – the consequences of something going wrong could be drastic.

But worth it.

"Admiral?" he returned to his call, happy to see that he had only left the director of the Office of Republic Intelligence herself on hold for a scant five minutes.

"Doctor?" Ishimura's voice was laced with impatience.

"The aliens of the Citadel," Agi began. "Do we know how their ships work? How they draw power?"

The call was silent for a few moments – Ishimura was undoubtedly coming to the same conclusion he and Leah had.

"… Not yet, no," she answered. "I suspect a breakthrough is imminent?"

"Yes, yes, I do believe it is," the doctor chittered, blinking hard once, twice. "Admiral, can I… make a request?"

"Go ahead, Doctor Rivers."

"All of the Element Zero we can find – the Republic needs to catalogue every deposit, every source. Eezo has become so much more important to us than simply a trade resource with the Council. We need to begin hoarding it. All of it."

"I'll relay your request, Doctor. Until next we speak."

The call disconnected – just like that. The Director was never one to make a gracious exit. Agi pocketed the comms device, turning around to meet Doctor Jojic's bottle-green eyes.

"Gather the team, Leah. We need to start preparing."

A quick kiss, on the lips this time. Agi felt a hint of sticky lipstick left behind.

"Looking forward to it, Doctor Rivers."

A/N: It's been a while. Turns out, a constant flow of research papers and writing of a more technical nature kinda kills your will to... actually write. Even creatively. I'm back though. Should be for now.

I began this chapter last year - June 2018, to be exact. I finished it... today. So, suffice to say, you guys might see a difference in writing. You might not. Who knows.

Regardless, hope you guys enjoyed. Feel free to leave reviews with your thoughts. I want them. Badly. Please.