Miranda Lawson tapped a code into her omni-tool and the conference room table smoothly folded itself into the floor. A holographic cage arose in its place, and she stepped forward into its glowing circle. Her eyes took a little time to adjust to the darkness beyond, and then she saw him.

He lounged in a chair, silhouetted against the swirling maelstrom of a red giant star. She saw the fainter red coal of the man's cigarette as he inhaled. Miranda also caught the blue glow from the man's prosthetic eyes as they regarded her without any trace of pity.

"Report, please," said The Illusive Man. His voice was slightly raspy, and much older than his face. It sounded kind and jovial, almost grandfatherly. Miranda was not fooled. She had heard that voice order death for others, had heard it order pain and destruction. All while never losing that kindly tone.

"Dr. Solus has been successfully recruited, and he is fitting in well. I'm impressed with his speed; he is already close to recreating one of the Collector Swarm creatures. That makes five successful recruitments of the six we had initially planned for the ground team. Warlord Okeer was killed during his retrieval attempt. Shepard is still determining what he wants to do with Okeer's tank-bred soldier. He is leaning towards releasing it from the tank. I have advised against it. Our plan was to have a specialist on Collector technology, one who had made previous contact with them. We did not plan on acquiring just another foot soldier."

"Plans never survive first contact with the enemy, Miranda," said The Illusive Man. He stubbed out his cigarette into an ashtray built into the seat's arm. "Let Shepard have this. We need to maintain his feeling of control."

Miranda nodded. "Our other staffing is complete. We have filled the final staffing positions for the ship's crew. I do have some concerns about the Chief Engineer. The man is competent, but he does not want to wear the uniform. I worry about his long-term loyalty to the mission."

The Illusive Man rocked his head to one side. "Miranda, I don't want a ship full of gung-ho Cerberus loyalists. The reason we primarily staffed with new people was to put our best foot forward with Shepard. If some of them are less than enthusiastic about our cause, that is good. Too much conformity among the crew would appear suspicious. It would for sure appear staged. Shepard isn't a fool."

Miranda nodded. "Of course, sir." She thought a little further. "While we are speaking of non-conforming crew, may I ask if you knew that Archangel was actually Garrus Vakarian?"

The Illusive Man did not respond right away. Instead, he pulled another cigarette out of his pocket. He lit it in a compact, automatic maneuver borne of long practice. Miranda wondered if he simply had his lungs replaced every so often, or if he had other cybernetic enhancements to prevent long-term damage.

"I suspected it," he said at last. "There was a better than even chance that Archangel was indeed Mr. Vakarian. And I was pleased to see that it was so."

"Pleased?" Miranda was a little surprised at that. Vakarian was vehemently opposed to Cerberus, and wasn't shy about saying so. His loyalty to Shepard was the only thing keeping the turian in check. She suspected that, left to himself, Garrus would just as soon put a bullet through the head of every Cerberus member on board.

The Illusive Man nodded. "As I said, we need to keep Shepard feeling as if he's in control. Vakarian is one of Shepard's best friends. If we had uprooted Shepard completely, if we had put him in a new ship with an entirely new crew, I fear that he would simply become...disconnected. It is difficult enough that he has to deal with the facts of his own death and resurrection. I need him to be as he was. Having some familiar faces around will ground him."

"I see," said Miranda. "I have to admit, Shepard is quite effective so far. More so than I even hoped for."

"Well, that was one of the reasons I tasked you with his revival." The Illusive Man took another puff of his cigarette. Smoke streamed out of his nostrils as he rubbed one eyebrow. "The Prothean Cipher in his head is valuable enough. But he also has an exceptional talent at getting disparate parties to work together." The Illusive Man gave a smile. "Hell, he even managed to start thawing relations between Cerberus and the quarians. That's something I thought I'd never see."

He leaned a little bit in his chair, as if suddenly tired. "How is EDI working out?" he asked.

Miranda gave a half-shrug. "She's becoming accepted. The primary friction seems to be with Jeff Moreau, but to date it only consists of minor pranks and bickering. The more people work with her, they seem to treat her like just another crewmember. They forget that, as an AI, she is always watching."

"Good. I want her to disappear into the background in their minds. Don't forget, Miranda, that she is your most important tool. I have shown you a great deal of trust in the past, and you have always succeeded where others failed. Now I have placed one of my greatest assets in your hands. Shepard and the Normandy are incredibly valuable, but EDI is irreplaceable. She is the future of Cerberus, and the way forward in fighting the Reapers."

Miranda straightened. "You know I will succeed, sir. You have my complete and total effort."

The Illusive Man smiled and nodded.

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Mordin Solus sang softly as he worked. "A wandering minstrel I, A thing of shreds and patches, Of ballads, songs and snatches, And dreamy lullaby!" He was in the midst of setting up the newest addition to his lab, which he had to admit was lovely. It was far more room than he really needed. And it even had a window! Not to mention he had all the resources he could ask for. He'd put in a requisition for some components less than two hours ago, and the 3D printing facilities on the Normandy had already supplied just what he needed. Cerberus was clearly desperate, both in terms of the material they were throwing at the Collector problem and in their new willingness to work with nonhumans.

He was still uneasy about working alongside such an organization. His own time in the salarian Special Tasks Group had taught him of the dangers that could occur when one combined almost unlimited resources with a lack of oversight. From his research into the human extremist group, Cerberus seemed to be comprised of nothing but a lack of oversight. However, while they were fighting the Reapers, Mordin was willing to block his olfactors and keep his misgivings to himself.

He clicked the last component into place and stepped back. The unit's main feature was a sealed, transparent box. Its material was strong enough to withstand sustained gunfire, and Mordin had calculated it should be more than adequate to contain his specimen. There were also various one-way ports along the box's bottom for introducing instrument probes, and two larger ports in the box's back. Mordin was planning to use the latter for testing countermeasures against the cage's occupant.

Mordin nodded to himself in satisfaction, and strolled over to the bench containing the specimen in question. On top of the bench was a small steel case which vibrated every so often with a muffled buzzing. Mordin scooped up the case and placed it into the cage. He sealed the lid and double-checked that the latching mechanism had indeed engaged. The side door of the lab hissed open and Donnelly entered. Mordin hadn't had much interaction with the engineer, but the man seemed friendly and competent.

"Hello, Doctor Solus," he said. "Just here to do some maintenance checks. Is this a good time?"

"Excellent timing, excellent," said Mordin. "Please, about to begin latest round of experiments. Are you willing to assist?"

"Sure, Doctor. As long as no probing's involved." The human chuckled.

Mordin didn't quite know what probing the man meant. Oh well, he would look it up later. "No, just require a human presence," he said. "Should merely have to stand in place. Please, request you to stand in far corner by door to CIC."

Donnelly nodded and moved off to stand in the indicated spot. Mordin saw the human's eyes narrow a bit as he regarded the cage. Mordin did one more walk-around to make sure everything was in place, and then called up his omni-tool. He tapped a few controls, and the steel case inside the cage split open.

Out of the case crawled a bio-mechanical insectoid creature. Its most prominent features were four large wings, two beady yellow eyes, and four very sharp-looking legs. Overall, the creature was about two centimeters long. It perched on top of the case, then rotated in place as if to scan its surroundings. Mordin noted with interest that it looked right at the human in the far corner, but didn't react. He wondered just how short-range its senses were.

"Er, Doc?" said Donnelly. "Is that what I think it is?"

"Yes," replied Mordin. "Individual specimen of Collector Swarm. Not direct specimen, of course. Had to reconstruct, create clone from biomechanical tissue samples and omni-tool data obtained at Freedom's Progress colony."

The engineer eyed the cage with greater unease. "So that's what the Collectors use for paralyzing their victims, right?"

"Correct. Now, observe!" Mordin walked around the case, gesturing at its occupant. "Swarmer unit clearly uses visual tracking. Eyes follow my movement, body turns to face me. However, no other interest observed. Clearly programmed to ignore salarians."

He turned to face the engineer. "Now please, Engineer Donnelly, be so kind as to begin moving forward. Take one pace, then stop until tell you to move again. Am trying to determine range of Swarmer senses."

"Sure thing, Doc," said Donnelly, and took the requested step forward. "That cage is secure, right?"

"Of course, should be able to contain multiple specimens if required. Hmm, nothing. Please step again."

It wasn't until Donnelly got within about two paces of the cage that the Swarmer finally reacted. It spun in place, regarding the human with its beady eyes, then flung itself against the cage wall in a futile attempt to reach him.

"Excellent!" said Mordin. "Less than two meters effective sensor range. Should make countermeasure development easier. Please, stand in place. Few more tests needed."

He draped a cloth over the side of the cage nearest Donnelly, blocking the man from the creature's view. The insect still buzzed and battered itself against the transparency. "Hmm," mused Mordin, "May not be purely visual detection." He then flushed the cage with pressurized air from the ship's life support system. The Swarmer abruptly stopped its attack and began wandering aimlessly around the bottom of the cage. "Ah, must also detect via smell! Now to seal cage from room air, and-" He whipped the cloth away, and the Swarmer resumed its attempted attack.

Mordin nodded in satisfaction towards Donnelly. "Unit uses both visual and olfactory senses. Hmm. Wonder if can use one against the other? Confuse its ability to identify humans? Must have some threshold in its programming for positive ID-"

"Er, Doc? Is it okay if I move now?"

"Hmm? Oh, fine, fine. Done for now. Please continue your maintenance. Would be willing to participate in future experiments?"

"Sure, as long as it doesn't involve me getting stung by one of those wee beasties."

"No, should not be necessary." Mordin tapped his chin as he regarded the cage. "Need to determine how smell sense works. Trace DNA? Human-specific pheromones? Sweat! Are humans only sapients that use perspiration for cooling?..."

Mordin's brain was occupied almost entirely with the task in front of him. Almost, but not quite. There was a part of his mind that noted the engineer moving past the cage, noted the human beginning to check the various cables that ran through the rear of the lab.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

Hmm...now why was Donnelly doing it in that particular way?

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Jacob handed the assault rifle to Grunt. It took some mental effort for him to do it; every instinct in him was screaming at him not to. And it wasn't because Grunt was a krogan. Shepard had vouched for the recently-decanted super soldier, and that was good enough for Jacob. But Grunt was also technically only a few days old. Sure, Jacob had heard that Okeer had somehow imparted a lot of knowledge into Grunt while he'd been in the tank. But that was no substitute for the real world. Jacob felt like he was handing a dangerous weapon to an infant.

"Here you go, Grunt," he said aloud. The krogan deftly plucked the rifle from Jacob's hands. "Now," he continued, "this is a heavily modified M-8 Avenger. I've altered the stock and grip placement to fit your physique. This rifle also has upgraded ammunition and extra heat clip storage. I figured you wouldn't mind the extra weight."

"It still feels light," rumbled Grunt. The krogan held the rifle up and gave it a closer inspection. The weapon looked like a toy in the huge alien's hands. Jacob was pleased to see that Grunt could at least handle a weapon properly. He held his finger alongside the trigger, not on it. He also kept the muzzle pointing at the floor of the hanger bay instead of wildly waving it around. Maybe this tank-imprinting stuff would help after all. Jacob pointed down to the far end of the hangar towards the shuttle doors. There, he had set up a metal crate and pinned a large bulls-eye target to it.

"Okay," he said, "in your own time, go ahead and try it out."

Grunt faced the target, and clicked off the safety. "Weapon hot," he said. Then in a blur of movement he brought the rifle up and cracked off two sets of three-round bursts. Jacob was startled at the krogan's speed; he was expecting the alien to be much more lumbering and deliberate in his movements. Grunt lowered the rifle and clicked the safety back on.

They both walked over to the target. There were two neat little clusters of holes in it. The clusters just straddled each side of the bulls-eye. Grunt gave out a satisfied 'hrrm'.

"That's, um, that's really good," said Jacob. "Especially since you've never handled a weapon before."

"Yes, Okeer's imprinting appears to have been successful." Jacob was expecting some kind of emotional response from Grunt when the krogan mentioned his creator. However, there was not a single flicker in Grunt's impassive face. They headed back to the table at the other end. Jacob had several weapons spread out on it. He was feeling much better about the whole exercise now. Maybe this would work out after all.

"The rifle is an effective weapon," said Grunt, "but somehow it feels unsuitable for me. Perhaps this one?" He indicated a shotgun on the table.

Jacob smiled. "You're a man after my own heart, Grunt," he said.

Grunt cocked his head. "I am not a man. Not human. And I have two hearts."

"Um, it's just a figure of speech." He took the rifle from Grunt and handed him the large shotgun. "This is a Vindicator class, modified for your grip same as the rifle. This weapon has the option of concussive rounds, and also has an improved heat clip capacity."

Grunt looked at the shotgun. To Jacob, it looked more appropriate in the krogan's hands. But it was still a little small. Grunt took up a firing position and once again clicked off the safety. "Weapon hot," said the krogan.

The shotgun boomed, and Jacob saw the center of the bulls-eye vaporize.

"Nice!" he said. "Now, to switch to concussive shot, press that button in front of the trigger assembly-"

There was another, even larger boom. The target was now simply gone, and the metal crate was deeply dented. Jacob could even swear that the entire crate had been moved back a few tens of centimeters.

"Much better," said Grunt. "This weapon will suffice." He took another look at the shotgun in his scaly hands. "But it still feels a little unsubstantial. Perhaps there is something..." he trailed off.

"Bigger?" offered Jacob. Grunt nodded, with a hopeful look on his face. Somehow Jacob was reminded of a puppy being offered a treat. A very big puppy.

Jacob sighed. "Well, I did find some specs for a shotgun called a Claymore. There's warnings smeared all over the plans, it apparently kicks something fierce when fired. I'll have the 3D printing facility get a prototype put together and we'll try it out."

For the first time, Grunt smiled at Jacob. Given the size of the krogan's head, it was an impressive and very toothy smile.

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"Welcome, everyone," said Shepard. "Due to our unique mission and staffing needs, some of the ground team will also be taking on roles on board. I wanted to get the senior staff together just to make sure we all know who's doing what." The Commander's blue-gray eyes flickered over the room. They were all crowded into the little conference room behind the CIC. Donnelly was near the back, standing in parade rest with his hands behind his back. He thought the Commander was looking better; his facial scars were certainly healing.

"I'll cover ship-board staff first," Shepard continued. "You all know the XO, Miranda Lawson. There may be some ground operations which require her particular abilities, but where possible we will try to have either myself or her on board. Doctor Chakwas is Chief Medical Officer, and Mr. Donnelly is Chief Engineer. The Head Science Officer position has now been filled by Doctor Mordin Solus. Again, he may be required for ground work in particular situations."

The salarian nodded his head amiably at the assembled staff.

"At first we didn't have an acting Gunnery Officer assigned," Shepard continued, "and so Garrus Vakarian will be filling that role." The turian gave a little greeting wave to them all with one clawed hand. Donnelly saw that the right side of Garrus's armor-plated face was a mess of bandages and prosthetics; he was clearly still healing from some massive injury. But the turian looked cheerful in spite of that.

"I should also mention," continued Shepard, "If both XO Lawson and I are off the ship, Garrus will act as CO."

Shepard indicated the man standing to his right. "Jacob Taylor's primary role is armorer for the ground team," he continued. "However, we are in a region of space where boarding by hostile parties is possible. Therefore, Jacob will be issuing sidearms to all ship-board personnel and will be holding regular firearms training to make sure everyone knows how to use them. Everyone here is responsible for making sure that you and your staff are qualified on firearms usage. I know a lot of us have military training, but shooting is a perishable skill. We will be holding regular repel-boarding drills. As much as I like you all, if any of your sections do not do well during those drills I will be roasting your ass until they do."

The hard look on his face eased. "And, last but not least, we have Ms. Kasumi Goto-" Shepard broke off as he looked around the room in irritation. "Damn it, Kasumi-"

"Oh, fine" said a contralto voice from the empty air near Donnelly's elbow. He started a bit as the space next to him was suddenly filled with a petite hooded form. The newcomer was tiny, and clad in a black catsuit. She stuck out her tongue at Shepard. "You're no fun."

"No fun at all, Kasumi," replied Shepard. "As I was going to say, Ms. Goto will be filling a very ancient and time-honored naval role."

"You going to tell us, John, or should we place bets?" asked Garrus.

Shepard smiled. "She's the ship's scrounger."

Kasumi pouted. "I don't like the sound of that," she said.

Shepard grinned wider. "You'll like what it is, though. We have a decent operating budget thanks to our sponsors. However, we're in the Terminus systems operating out of a vessel based on Alliance specs. Which in turn assumes Alliance supply chains. Much of what we need may be simply too expensive, or hard to get, or, um..."

"Owned by someone else?" asked Garrus sweetly.

"For obvious reasons," Shepard continued, "any requests to Kasumi should be made in person. No email, no paper trail. Just tell her what you need. She has a very good memory. I trust you all to not abuse this resource. That's all for now."

The staff began to disperse. Kasumi craned her head back and smiled at Donnelly. There was an interesting swatch of purple color under her chin, and her black eyes glittered from under her hood. "So, Mr. Donnelly," she said, "I hope you have lots of requests. I could use a challenge."

Donnelly smiled back. "Nothing too outlandish. There's a couple of items I'd like to have more stock of..." he glanced around. "Um, I guess I should tell you in private. Plausible deniability, and all that."

"Oh yes, you big strapping man. You should come to my boudoir." Kasumi tilted her head to one side. "Actually, I guess it's not much of a boudoir. I mean, there's a big observation window. Anyone could look in and see us in locked in the throes of passion."

Garrus's flanged, reverberating voice came over Donnelly's shoulder. "So how much passion does there need to be for more than one throe? What's the exchange rate? Does a forehead touch count as one throe?"

Donnelly turned, and now it was his turn to crane his neck. He'd forgotten how damn tall turians were. "I'd count it the same as a peck on the cheek," he said. "Call it one-half throe." Garrus's mandibles spread in a turian smile as they shook hands.

"Sorry we weren't formally introduced, Chief Donnelly" said Garrus. "My arrival on the ship was a little exciting." He indicated his injuries with one talon. "It turns out, you can block a missile with your face, but it's a one-time-only trick."

"Aw, don't worry Garrus," chirped Kasumi. "You're still a hottie. I'll give you at least three throes, anytime you want." She gave them a little bow. "Gentlemen." She was suddenly gone, seeming to dissolve into the air.

Garrus snorted. "I am still getting used to that. So, Chief Donnelly-"

"You can call me Marcus. It looks like we're going to be less formal than Alliance or turian regs."

"Yeah, it's just like old times. Shepard has weird ideas about crew interaction, but it does seem to work. Anyway, I have some ideas for a main weapon upgrade and I need your input on how much excess power we have available..."

----------------------------------------

Jack's cheek slapped hard into the floor of the hangar. She groaned, feeling her arm twisted behind her at an awkward angle. Shepard released her arm and stepped back. She flopped over and glared at him. Then she glared at the rest of the ground team, who were positioned at various points throughout the hanger space.

"Okay, what went wrong there, people?" he asked. His voice was mild and even. He wasn't even breathing hard.

"You. Fucker," said Jack, who was breathing hard. She got her breath under control, with some effort. "There is no way somebody as big as you should be able to move that fast." She got to her feet.

He bowed a little to her. "And that is the problem, Jack. You have to understand. You must all understand this," he continued, addressing the others. "You are used to dealing with mercs or pirates. That experience is useless here. The force we are facing is old and powerful. The Collectors have been reported in the Terminus systems for at least the last two thousand years."

He paused to let that sink in. "They are ruthless, and they have capabilities we cannot even guess at. And they will have no mercy whatsoever." He turned again, facing Jack. "The only possible way we can face them and win is to fight as a team. Jack, you rushed me as if I was a mech. I know you can handle mechs. But I am not a mech, I have judgement."

Jack's breath was back in control. She planted her feet and glared at Shepard, feeling the familiar, almost sexual thrill up her spine. The thrill of certain violence. "Let's try again, fucker."

Shepard shook his head. "You will lose again. Your role in this particular exercise is to distract, to disrupt the enemy's concentration. You need to get their attention on you but not engage them in direct melee combat. That way, you give the opportunity for Garrus to make his shot." Shepard pointed over her shoulder. She turned and saw the damn turian. Garrus was tucked into one upper corner of the hanger deck, and he waved at them both with a cheeky grin on his face. His sniper rifle was trained on the two of them, steady as a rock, with no waver.

"Or," Shepard continued, "you might give Zaeed the opportunity to throw a grenade." He nodded at the mercenary. "Or for Kasumi, wherever she is, to get a kidney shot in. Or for Grunt to wade in and just punch the bastard."

"I promise it would be a mighty blow, Shepard," said the krogan.

"I'm sure. My point being, Jack, you are too valuable to waste as just a brawler. You have to understand the concept of combined arms."

Jack shrugged. She was tired of hearing the fucking Boy Scout talk. "Whatever."

"Okay." He turned his back to her. "Let's go again, people."

Jack didn't run, didn't yell. She just launched herself at him like a blue-tinged missile. It was an attack that he couldn't possibly counter.

And yet he did. And this time, he wasn't as gentle with her.

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Donnelly entered the red-lit subfloor space, part of his normally scheduled rounds. He noted that Jack was sporting a fresh shiner around her right eye and had a bandage covering her left forearm. She didn't look up as Donnelly entered. She also wasn't, for once, scanning through OSDs or making notes. She just sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the wall, with her forearms resting on her knees.

Donnelly didn't say anything, as was his usual. He tapped a few notes into his omni-tool and got to work. After a few minutes, he could swear he felt Jack's eyes boring into the back of his neck. He ignored it and kept working.

"So you're not gonna ask, huh?" she said, after a few more minutes had passed.

Donnelly pulled a probe out of a conduit's test port. "You threatened unseemly violence on my daddy-bags if I spoke to you, ma'am. I assumed that was still the case."

"You know, I just can't figure you out. Anybody else would have at least asked what happened. Your fuckin' boyfriend Shepard sure as shit would have."

Donnelly finally turned and looked at her. "Lass, I'm a simple man. What with all of the threats and the cursing, you made it quite clear that you do not want anything to do with me." He crossed his arms. "So I am honoring your request and leaving you alone."

Jack snorted. "I ask people to leave me alone all the time. Don't change things. They still want to use me, or pity me, or analyze me, or fuck me. Sometimes all at once. What do you want to do to me?"

"I told you. Nothing."

"Bullshit," snapped Jack. "You've been eyeing me since that first day, and you're coming down here all the time-"

"Let's get a couple of things straight, Jack," interrupted Donnelly. He felt the beginnings of rage, a slight tingle in the back of his head. He held up one thick finger. "One. You are a lovely looking lass and you barely wear anything and I am a heterosexual male with a pulse. So yes, I looked. I looked once."

"Two," he continued, adding another finger, "The reason I keep coming down here, as you say, is because you decided to put your fucking BED in the middle of MY. FUCKING. WORKSPACE!"

His yell filled the little space. Donnelly spread his arms out as his accent reasserted itself. "I do not have a fookin' choice. I have to work in here. This is a warship, and if I don't do my fooking job then we all fooking DIE. Do ye FOOKING get it?"

Jack leaned back on her elbows. She looked oddly placid. "I think that's the first time I've heard you swear, Assface."

"Well, I'm happy you were here to see it. Maybe I should get a little plaque and stick it on the fookin' wall to mark the occasion. Get it through your thick fookin' head. I do not give two shits about you. I will keep coming down here. I will do my fookin' damned job and I will leave you the fook alone. Okay? Are we done here?"

Jack grinned without humor. "Yeah, we're done. Assface."