One month after the devastating geth attack on the Citadel, the galactic community struggles to rebuild.

The Alliance fleet made a tremendous sacrifice to save the Citadel Council and earned humanity membership in their prestigious group. Now the Council is forced to respond to evidence that the Reapers - enormous machines that eradicate all organic civilization every 50,000 years - have returned. To quell the rumors, the Council sent Commander Shepard and the Normandy to wipe out the last pockets of geth resistance. Officially, they blame the invasion on the geth and their leader, a rogue Spectre.

But for those who know the truth, the search for answers is just beginning...

* * *

The Citadel was... different. Granted, Commander Odell had never set foot in the hallowed heart of Citadel Space before, but he'd seen enough holovids and heard enough stories to know that the sight before him was a far cry from the pristine beauty that the Presidium was meant to be. And even if that wasn't a clear enough sign, the burned craters on the Citadel's petal arms where areas of the wards had once been had certainly driven the point home.

The cause could be summed up in a single word: Saren. What had once been the name of one of the Council's most respected and feared Spectres had taken on a sinister new meaning: one that the peoples of the galaxy, and especially those living in the battle-scarred remains of the Citadel's wards, would not forget any time soon.

Odell didn't need to ask for directions: a quick glance at a computer terminal had been enough to help him navigate through the pockmarked gardens and charred walkways to the embassies. In his youth, it had been a useful talent to help him get one-up on the girlfriends who criticised his refusal to ask for directions; but as a soldier, it meant the difference between navigating safely from a point of ingress to a bunker's command centre, and accidentally stumbling into a barracks full of armed enemy soldiers.

Far enough from the Citadel Tower, the embassies had fared a little better as far as damage was concerned, but tiny impact craters from mass accelerator guns, and scorch marks from the plasma-hurling weapons that the geth used showed that this end of the Presidium, and it's occupants, had not escaped unscathed. The asari woman woman seated at the reception desk offered him a practiced smile, but it came with the distinct tightness around the eyes of someone trying to stave off pain: no doubt from the bandaged arm that she had tried to hide beneath her clothes.

"Commander Odell," she called in greeting as the human approached her desk, not giving him an opportunity to introduce homself. It was an impressive trick, but it didn't catch Odell off guard as much as it might have done with other visitors. A century or two ago, embassies back on Earth were dotted with members of various intelligence bureaus and security services: he wouldn't have been surprised to learn that the Citadel Council had taken the opportunity to keep an eye on their allies' ambassadors.

Odell offered a little smile of his own. "You must be Saphyria," he countered; she wasn't the only one who could prepare in advance with a quick search through the personnel database.

Saphyria's eyes narrowed ever so slightly; apparently her know-it-all attitude was something she was territorial about. "Stairs to your right," she instructed, her eyes turning back to her console; clearly she had decided that this particular human was no fun to play with. "Follow the signs in Terran. The other signs lead to the volus and elcor embassies; I'd hate for you to get lured into a 'heated' debate with Ambassador Calyn, and be late for your meeting."

"Greatful: your concern is most appreciated," Odell offered, in his best immitation of an elcor monotone. The faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corners of Saphyria's mouth.

Declaring victory, Odell fled at a casual pace; but every step that he climbed towards the human embassy made it feel as if gravity was somehow weighing down more heavily upon him. It wasn't some freak mishap in the environmental controls of course: it was merely the opressive cloud of dread forming over him as he stepped into the realm of the politicians. He'd spent his career avoiding them as much as possible; and now he was about to dive into their midst. Drawing a breath and rallying his strength, he jammed a finger into the door controls.

"- the Treaty of Farixen is clear! For every five dreadnaughts in the turian fleet, members of the Council are entitled to have three. And given our contributions and losses during the Battle of the Citadel, we deserve more: to match the turians, one Alliance dreadnaught for every one of theirs!"

The wall of sound slammed into Odell like a wave, Donnel Udina's grating voice carrying an overdose of emphasis and volume. If this was Earth's representative to the rest of the galaxy, it was no wonder that alien species regarded them as bull-headed and over-aggressive; it seemed like the only advantage to Udina being on the Citadel was the fact that politicians back on Earth were spared his presence.

"And where exactly are we going to find the funds to triple the size of our dreadnaught fleet?"

By contrast, David Anderson's voice was deep and calm, yet had a potential for power behind it that Odell knew first hand could be particularly intimidating when it needed to be. It seemed however that he had chosen to handle Udina with saint-like restraint, rather than succoming to the urge to inflict physical harm that was currently vying for attention in the back of Odell's mind.

"Perhaps we should siphen funds away from the donations we have made to repair the Citadel, or from the humanitarian aid to Feros, or Eden Prime? And where will we find the crews for such formidable ships - perhaps we can spare a few thousand men from the garrisons protecting the Terminus Systems, or the flotilla guarding Ilos?"

Udina tried to respond, but Anderson cut him off with a single, worldess look. "What do you think, Commander?"

For once, Odell found himself caught off guard. He had assumed his arrival had gone unnoticed, and it seemed that was at least half true, given the way Udina's head snapped in his direction. Of course, it was a mistake to think he could sneak up on David Anderson; men like him didn't earn reputations like his, and then fail to live up to them.

"With respect to the former Ambassador -" The use of the past tense caused Udina to bristle; yet another subtle victory for the Commander. "- recent events have shown that the Alliance can do more damage with a concealed knife than we can with an oversized broadsword. If we're going to pay to triple the size of any part of the Alliance fleet, we should be spending our money on more ships like the Normandy. If it weren't for the edge she gave us, we'd be living in a very different galaxy right now."

Anderson kept a straight face, but Odell could see in his eyes that it was a struggle; no doubt he'd backed up whatever school of thought Anderson himself subscribed to.

"Concealed knives and broadswords," he mused quietly. "I'll have to remember that next time I talk to the Alliance Parliament."

His attention turned to Udina. "As per usual, our meeting has run on far longer than scheduled," he explained with an edge of tiredness in his voice. "I don't know about you, but I for one could use a drink; and I know I'll enjoy it a lot more if you were someone else."

Udina was visibly seething, but he had the good sense to keep it to himself. "Councilor, Commander," he offered in farewell with a curt not to each, before retreating from Anderson's office as quickly as he could without it seeming like a storm.

Anderson let out a sigh that he'd clearly been storing up for quite some time. "I should have done more than just punch him."

"Sir?" Odell asked, with a quirk of an eyebrow.

That earned him a narrow-eyed glare from Anderson. "None of that," he warned. "And don't go calling me 'Councilor', either. Udina only does it to wind me up."

Odell couldn't help himself. "Whatever you say, Admiral."

Anderson let out a sigh, slumping heavily down into the chair behind his desk. "David," he insisted. "Just David."

Hands falling to the lowest drawer, he retrieved a bottle of something greenish-blue, and a pair of glasses. Odell had no idea what it was, but he wasn't the sort of man to turn down the offer of a drink; nor the offer of the chair that Anderson gestured towards. The turquoise liquid glugged as Anderson poured, air leaping down the neck as the alcohol made room. "It was Lieutenant last time we spoke, wasn't it?" he recalled, casually passing a half-filled glass to Odell.

"For both of us," Odell agreed, accepting the glass and sampling the aroma of the mystery liquid. He tilted the glass in Anderson's direction. "That was a lot of hair ago, sir."

A snort of laughter escaped from David. "Still a smartass, same as ever." He shook his head and sighed. "Not all of us have aged as gracefully as you, Nick. You'll have to tell me your secret one of these days," he chuckled, bringing the glass to his lips.

"You know me; I try to live the quiet life. Stay out of trouble. Avoid attention."

It was almost imperceptable, but the momentary hesitation when Nikolai had mentioned attention provided enough emphasis for David to pick up. He downed an enthusastic swig from his glass, before settling it heavily on the table, sucking air through his teeth as the alcohol sent warmth crackling down his throat. "You want to know why I called you here."

"Would be nice," Nikolai admitted. "Not that it isn't an honour to be summoned to the seat of galactic power by one of the four most influential beings in the galaxy."

That earned another brief glare, but the lack of sarcastic comment to back it up had Nikolai instantly worried. Silently, David retrieved a data card, and slid it into the port in his terminal. The holographic display shifted, displaying various graphics and star maps that Nikolai could more or less make out through the transparent back of the display screen.

"As I'm sure you already know: two weeks ago, the Normandy was shot down over Alchera. The official report blames the geth; but in all honesty, we aren't sure what it was. What Lieutenant Moreau described doesn't match anything in Citadel records; and the sensor telemetry that we were able to recover is all but useless." He hesitated, and frowned. "But that isn't the worst of it."

Nikolai's eyebrows climbed half an inch higher. "Our most advanced stealth frigate is gunned out of the sky by an enemy we can't identify; and there's worse?"

"The Normandy wasn't just a ship: her crew was important. Shepard was the first human to ever become a Spectre; and the team she assembled is the best demonstration of interspecies cooperation to date. A multi-species crew, aboard a ship with a multi-species design - that's pure political gold, and given the sitation that we're in right now, the Council wants to do as much as it can to monopolise on that."

He paused, turning his attention away from the screen and towards Nikolai. "The problem is, our example is gone. And the cynics are going to say that it's gone because it failed. Without this kind of precedent-setting team, the turians are going to cling to their them-and-us attitude to joint missions with the Alliance, and we're going to wind up with Citadel space split between the areas defended by humans, and those defended by turians. Where those areas meet, there will be cracks: and it's only a matter of time before someone comes in and exploits them."

Odell remained silent, processing the information as it was delivered. As Anderson came to a temporary halt however, he shifted a little in discomfort. "I'm not sure I like where this is going."

"I need you to build a team -" Anderson ploughed on. "- of humans, turians, salarians, asari. Hell, throw in a volus or a hanar for good measure if you can find any that are suitable. Build something that I can present to the Council as a replacement for Shepard and her team. Build something better: more diverse, more skilled, more versatile."

He paused again. "And make sure that if you find them, you can kick whatever killed the Normandy to hell and back."

A few moments of silence descended; Nikolai broke them finally with a nod. "I'll do my best."

"I know you will, Nick. That's why you're here."