Chapter Summary: Shepard, Thane, and Jacob learn some very ugly things.

Tags/Warnings: Slow Build; Friends to Lovers; Demisexual Shepard; Garrus is a Great Best Friend; Swearing; Sexual Tension; Blood and Injury; Canon-Typical Violence; Rating Will Change Later in Story

(This chapter continues an arc that covers Jacob's loyalty mission and its repercussions. I'm therefore adding a TRIGGER warning: this and the following chapters in this story arc will make more obvious the non-con sexual abuse of the shipwreck survivors strongly implied by the in-game mission. There will be no explicit descriptions, however.)

Standard Disclaimer: Everything Mass Effect is owned by BioWare, and I receive no financial benefit from this fanfiction.

Many, many thanks and dozens of drell cookies to my amazing beta, N7Siha.

"Happy to help," Jacob smirked. "You know, whenever you…older folks need a hand."

"Said the fledgling after the experts managed most of the challenge," Thane retorted. "I would be happy to instruct you in unarmed combat techniques upon our return to Normandy."

To his surprise, Jacob laughed. The sudden outburst open and uninhibited. "You're on, Krios," the operative managed between chuckles. "Hand to hand in the shuttle bay. You help improve my unarmed combat, I'll work on your sense of humor."

Thane quirked a brow. Arms tucked behind his back, one hand fisting in the other. "Hmph."

When Shepard laughed this way during their chats, he felt immense pleasure. But Jacob's continued lack of restraint…grated. Thane had assumed the operative's recent visit to life support indicated an improvement in judgment. Apparently he'd been mistaken. Well, future combat instruction would provide ample opportunity to encourage greater maturity.

He spared a quick glance at Shepard. She smiled at them both, eyes twinkling. Approval, perhaps mixed with relief, he thought. Any resumption of friction between team members would disappoint. Further fuel her stress.

"Agreed, Mr. Taylor," he sighed. Fingers uncurled as the tension eased.

The respite was short-lived. Shepard gazed at their initial contact, now unresponsive.

"I don't get it, Thane. The danger's over," she whispered. "Do you see something I'm missing?"

He began to step forward, then hesitated. A close approach could increase the woman's discomfort. Assessing from a distance was a better solution. Remaining still, he searched for the source of her distress. Blood absent. Attempts at communication ignored. Rocking behavior suggests significant anxiety. Possible shock.

What had these people endured?

He summoned Shepard's attention with a hand to her shoulder and murmured, "I see no explanation. Concern regarding the arrival of more hunters might be logical, but rescanning has confirmed their absence. No other life signs are within range. She may simply feel overwhelmed by our arrival or by the combat. Perhaps both."

"Then let's, uh, let's give her some space for a bit," Shepard directed, before jogging toward a salvage pile. "I'll take care of collecting the cables. You two gather and disarm our new friends."

He nodded. "Of course."

"On it, Commander," Jacob added.

Thane strode across the battlefield, swiping an arm across his forehead. Perhaps he should have sacrificed some protection and left his coat in the shuttle. Dark leather was functional for his profession, yes, but a poor choice for this climate. Midday solar radiation worsened the humidity he'd noticed earlier. Relocating the bodies of multiple humans would take considerable effort. Which meant he was about to become far less comfortable. An unfortunate reality that couldn't be helped.

He used a hand gesture to signal Jacob as they reached the first man. The hunters needed to remain unconscious…and working in silence would provide a welcome reprieve from the recent din of battle. Still his mind searched for a solution to the woman's behavior. There was no visible reason, he contemplated. No injury, nor imminent threat. Most civilians would be unsettled by gunfire, but her reaction seemed...extreme.

The lack of a clear explanation remained troubling. There were far too many unknowns at play for his comfort. Neural decay. The hunters. This leader she spoke of. The presence of others, in all likelihood. Pursuing a contract under similar circumstances would be unacceptable. Present far too great a risk of failure. We must be prepared for whatever comes, he vowed.

A few minutes later they deposited the last hunter. Thane grunted in damp discomfort, the sound almost concealing a slight rustle of clothing from behind. The woman, his instincts announced. Quiet, uncertain movements. No footsteps preceding their arrival. Keeping motion to a minimum, he turned enough to see her in his peripheral vision. She was upright, hands on a crate to assist with balance. Eyes scanned for Shepard's location, then across the battlefield. To his surprise, the sight of her fellow crew triggered neither anxiety nor curiosity. An…unusual response, he reflected, given her previous—

The woman gasped, body jerking in surprise. Startled by my appearance? Thane wondered. Was Shepard right to be concerned? No, the line of sight was wrong. Too far to the left. Jacob. Jacob was her focus.

Thane tilted his head with interest, studying the expressions that flashed across her face. Shock, puzzlement, fear. And perhaps…recognition? That's not possible, he thought. It must be confusion caused by the decay.

Before he could assess further, she pivoted and ran from the clearing. The northwest trail. Possibly returning to other survivors, he judged. That should be our next priority upon Shepard's return.

"What's with her?" Jacob bounced on his feet as if excited. Every move accompanied by unnecessary noise.

Thane shrugged in answer and exasperation. For now, the hunters demanded his focus. Even a slight change in respiration could signal a return to consciousness. Re-subduing one without waking the others would prove difficult. Early detection was vital. …And near impossible with so much distraction. He glanced over his shoulder at Jacob. Lacking unarmed expertise and adequate observational skills. Not to mention an inability to remain still and silent, he groused. How has he survived this long?

"Well, I hope she's okay, but damn! I'd never believe it if I hadn't just lived it. We took down ten armed hostiles with no injuries on either side! Aside from maybe some headaches and sore necks when they come around."

Such an exuberant display made Thane clench his jaw in irritation. Nothing else would prevent the reprimand he wished to unleash. Unbelievable, he grumbled. An experienced soldier who celebrates combat and the defeat of ailing innocents. Given the circumstances, some solemnity is far more appropriate.

"Indeed," he bit off.

Eyes strayed from the hunters to Shepard. Her quick reactions during the combat just concluded soothed some of his earlier concerns. Perhaps her criticism when they last chatted in life support was not unfounded. He should trust her judgment—appreciate that she understood her limits. And yet…her emotions throughout the day had been so…unsettled. So close to the surface, betraying her with flinches and rapid breaths. The Gernsback crash shares some similarities with the destruction of the SR-1, he pondered. That may be contributing to her turmoil. But there is…something more at work here. Something I'm failing to grasp.

"I knew you and the commander were both badass, Krios… ."

Thane's brow quirked as he indulged the interruption with a shrug.

"…but that fight was something else. You were a whirlwind, man! And Shepard moved so fast I could barely track her distortion field. But when her cloak went down… . Damn, that woman is something to watch!"

A low whistle punctuated the final compliment.

He blinked at Jacob, spine stiffening. He cannot be suggesting… Thane speculated. Can he?

"She just flows in combat, all effortless motion, even in armor," Jacob continued. Thane's throat tightened as low vibrations of anger formed. Spread. Subharmonics resonating through his chest. He fought to keep them inaudible as Jacob's eyes closed, the thoughtful expression resembling a drell in solipsism. "Hmmm. Makes a man wonder how she moves when she's less…encumbered."

Thane's eyes narrowed, muscles tensing, balance adjusting. An urge to defend—or to launch an attack. "You should speak with more respect," he snapped, eyes losing focus.

…Hips edge further over the back of the couch. My hand reaches toward her, wanting to touch, feel… .

He resisted the lure of memory, swallowing a sigh. I should have realized, he admitted. Of course Shepard might inspire similar desire in others.

"I've got mad respect for the commander," Jacob rebutted, glance lingering in Shepard's direction. "But I'm also…appreciative. Very appreciative."

Thane stilled, fingers curling into fists. Uncertain whether he sought control or conflict. Breathe, he prompted. Inhale, hold, exhale, again. Unfamiliar emotions surged through body and soul. Possessiveness. Jealousy. Such feelings… . They are…unbecoming, he admonished. As disrespectful to Shepard's autonomy as these lewd insinuations.

The frustrations of mind fragmented his breath. And they indicate failure, in both understanding and discipline, he confessed. But recognizing fault and overcoming it are not the same. Tiny crackles of energy teased his nerve endings. Sensing the faint blue halo around his fists, he moved them behind his back.

"When we took out that last hunter, and she was lit up with adrenaline… . Well, she's an attractive woman anyway. But with those green eyes practically glowing, she is fine. And I mean DAMN fine."

Thane's nostrils flared, jealousy surging back to the fore. Fingers flexed as he gauged the Cerberus agent's stance. Part of him recognized the first whispers of battle sleep: the urge to submerge one's soul beneath the ingrained demands of training. Choosing calculated action to overcome emotional distraction—

…Gown torn, ripped aside. Oceans of teal beneath an obscene mask of red… .

A voice, arrogant and unaware of potential danger, reached him from a distance. "Krios, are you…growling at me?"

Thane shuddered. The echoes of his past receded, fear and envy replaced by shame. He was horrified at the severity of the lapse. Closing his eyes, he pivoted away. Breathe, he admonished. Focus. Irikah is avenged. Shepard awakened you. She needs no protection from this man. And she is not a possession, a toy to be argued over. Inhale, hold, exhale, again.

A long moment later, he looked over his shoulder at Jacob. "…I apologize. That was…inappropriate."

The human smirked but said nothing. He is so…confident. Assured. Have I misread Shepard? Has Garrus? Thane wondered.

…Shepard and I wait in the shuttle bay. She is uncomfortable. Fingers twisting, a silent display of distress. She does not wish to be alone in my presence. Jacob approaches. "There you are," she says. Her mood changes, evident in voice and body. She is relieved by his arrival.

The pause lingered. Grew awkward before he felt able to resume. "If you are…interested in the commander, I have no claim…no right…to discourage you."

"But you want to, don't you? Discourage me, that is."

Why is he persisting in this? Thane chafed. Out of spite? Possessiveness? No one owns Shepard. His fingers flexed as flickers of energy threatened to return.

…Including me, he breathed. "It is not my place to deter you…or anyone else. Shepard is entitled to every option she may wish to consider. I should not…will not limit her choices. Even if I could."

The admission left a heavy weight in his gut, bitterness in his throat. Images of Shepard slid across his vision—laughing in life support, arguing with Garrus, rocking in pain after her nightmare. Staring in awe as she stroked his scales.

Lips pressed into a thin line, he waited. Unsure what to expect next. A smug outburst, perhaps? Confirmation of an existing relationship? Just considering the possibility produced an ache in his chest.

An ache that grew as Jacob continued to rake him up and down. Assessing. Judging. Not since meeting Irikah had Thane felt so exposed. Unaccustomed to the feeling, he shifted his weight in search of relief.

Jacob broke into a grin. "That kind of restraint, putting her above what you want…well, you're a damn good man, Thane."

Thane's eyes widened, a flush of warmth across his ribbing. It was a charade, he realized with disgust. A joke…or test of sorts. His comments about Shepard were meant to provoke. …They succeeded.

That he failed to notice such a transparent manipulation tactic was appalling.

"And just so you know, my gut tells me she's already made her choice." An unexpected clap on the back jolted Thane. "It isn't me."

He looked down, trying to regain composure. Jacob's new tone of respect felt…undeserved. The hand that offered friendship served only as a reminder of his most recent error in judgment. Eyes closing, his subharmonics keened with shame. Emotion overtook me again, he lamented. …Over a prank.

"I should also admit, that kind of interest hasn't been on the radar, for either of us. She is beautiful. And impressive as hell. But everything she represents…that's a lot for one man to handle. I just wanted to see if you'd react. How you'd react. And you obliged. Curiosity satisfied."

Even as relief surged, Thane winced. Garrus would laugh for weeks if he found out about this. Perhaps…the animosity between the turian and Jacob would prevent such an exchange. One can only hope, he prayed. If not, I will never hear the end of it. "You were…what is the human phrase? 'Stringing me along'?"

"You could say that," Jacob shrugged. "But I did have a point. I know I've been pretty rough on you. Holding your career against you, reducing you to a 'precise mercenary.' But if I had any lingering…issues with your loyalty, or with you having the commander's back—well, I don't anymore."

Jacob extended his hand. "I'm damn glad you're on the team, Thane."

An offer of acceptance, of camaraderie. The second in two days. Thane considered the gesture's sincerity for a moment before accepting. Without warning he tightened the hold and tugged. It had the intended effect. Jacob stumbled forward, near enough to hear a whisper. Thane made eye contact and leaned even closer. Bit the inside of his cheek to suppress a smile. "If you mention this to anyone, I will kill you."

The involuntary gasp from Jacob soothed his bruised pride. "You're…you're kidding, right?"

"Perhaps." Thane maintained the facade a few more moments. Certain the point had been made, he released his grip.

"You ARE kidding. Damn it, Thane! That's not funny!"

He swallowed his laughter, instead holding a finger to his lips. Loud voices still risked awakening their captives.

"…Great. Now our guests are comin' 'round because you made me yell. Not cool, man. Not cool." The operative hurried to the opposite side of the assembled hunters, seven meters away. "I'm gonna tell Shepard that you went all assassin-y on me."

Thane permitted a brief chuckle as he examined their former assailants. Jacob had overstated; a few showed rudimentary signs of rousing, but none would be a potential threat for half an hour or more. He glanced at Shepard to check her progress, grateful to see she was returning with the cables.

Thank the gods, he exhaled, mood sobering. Despite that final stunt, lapses in discipline were a serious matter. Years of battle sleep had diminished his ability to regulate intense emotion. Desire, jealousy. Anger and fear. Their pull remained constant. Nearly overwhelming. And reminiscent of his struggles after losing Irikah.

Her death had forced him to become…disconnected. Link between body and soul severed, the unrest within soothed only by the hunt for her killers. Taking their lives had allowed for some reattachment. Yet his mind had remained in battle sleep…until he met Shepard.

He could not afford to succumb again to emotional extremes. Could not risk a return to battle sleep. Shepard needed him for more than his combat skills alone. Their friendship, their…bond, as Dr. Chakwas called it, seemed to be part of how he aided her. And if there was to be any chance at a relationship… . But how do I prevent the problem when Shepard herself is the catalyst? he considered. When the feelings she inspires are the greatest challenge to my control?

Shepard blew out a deep breath as she jogged back. The neural decay was a problem, no doubt about it, but her team handled the attack with no loss of life. I wasn't sure we could pull it off. God, they rocked. And Jacob and Thane worked together surprisingly well—a lot better than she would have anticipated.

Though Thane seems a little stressed, she noticed. He doesn't normally show it. And Jacob's…weirdly cheerful for all the shit going down. I'm guessing they had words while my back was turned.

"So, give me the report," she ordered, handing each a third of the cables. "Significant developments? Problems?"

Jacob's wide grin struck her as shifty. "Nope. Nothing at all, Commander, aside from that woman running off up the path. Just some friendly guy talk. Right, Thane?"

Now Thane looked even more uncomfortable. His hunched shoulders and blinking inner eyelids reminded her of a fresh recruit caught unprepared for inspection. She expected a contradiction of Jacob's glib comment, but to her surprise he straightened and echoed it. "Ah. Indeed. An…opportunity to become better acquainted."

One eyebrow lifted into a skeptical arch. Uh-huh. Right. That's not suspicious. Well, Jacob might hold back, but Thane wouldn't. If it were serious, he'd come clean. I should prod him about it later, though. "Well…okay then. Let's get these survivors restrained and inside the freighter so we can discuss the next phase."

She cast a careful eye over the hunters as the process of securing their hands began to wake them. Tension seeped out of too-tight muscles with each sign that she and Thane hadn't used excessive force. Coordination was slow to return for some, so matching the unsteady ones with partners more sure on their feet seemed like a good call. At least if they were going to make it 50 meters to the wreck. Once all were inside, she leaning against the outer hull, taking a few moments to strategize while Thane and Jacob tied feet and blocked the opening.

"See, all the planning earlier was a good thing," she joked when they finished. "Now for more of it. Let's head up that path to the northwest, see if we find more Gernsback crew. We don't know what's out there—if there's indigenous predators, for instance—so keep your weapons ready. But if we encounter another group of hostile survivors, I still want to avoid casualties. Are we clear?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Understood." She was glad to see Thane's odd tension ease. He made eye contact, with a nod and a small smile more in line with his normal demeanor.

"Good. Thane, I'd like you to take point again. You have the sharpest senses, and this time I'm looking more for careful scouting than actual stealth. Give us a heads up on anything noteworthy, and maintain distance if we come across survivors or a settlement."

"Of course, Shepard."

"Jacob, I want an old-fashioned patrol formation in case of booby traps or other surprises. So you'll follow about 5 meters behind Thane, and I'll bring up the rear another 5 meters behind you."

"Got it, Commander."

"Alright. Take us out, Thane."

Moving forward, Shepard tried to fight the lingering combat adrenaline that wanted to fracture her focus. She needed to keep her mind on potential danger, watch for movement in the jungle growth, and periodically check their six. But her eyes had…different ideas. They kept drifting to Thane far too often. Usually she asked him to hang back in the formation, and the novelty of having him in front was fast becoming a distraction.

As the path transitioned away from the coastline, she admired the elegant ease of his movements. The steep hill formed high cliffs on the their left, and she was trudging like her boots weighed 20 kilos each. But not Thane. If not for the obvious clench and release of his muscles with each step, he might have been walking on even ground. The definition in his thigh musculature is amazing. And the breadth of his shoulders… . I should have put him in front weeks ago.

Her cheeks suddenly went hot, the blush spreading all the way to her ears. Get a grip, Morgan. This is not the time to ogle; you are responsible for that man's health and safety.

Health. Thane's health. Kepral's. Fuck. How could I forget that ocean plus jungle would equal high humidity? It must be having an impact on his lungs. But as she watched, Thane showed no signs of struggle in his breathing or overall endurance. His frill gleamed with a bit of moisture, but she was sweaty, too. Only Jacob, in his white Cerberus uniform, looked comfortable. Memorandum: no dark red armor or black leather on the next trip to a tropical locale.

"Damn. See that debris pile, Shepard?" Jacob's sudden urgency jerked her attention back on task. "That's a LOKI mech. Reduced to scrap now. This must be what the woman meant by 'his machines.' Whoever this leader is, he's using mechs against his own people. What the hell has been happening here?"

She closed the gap to examine the mech herself, noting Thane did the same. "Hmm, if I understood her other phrases… . The leader—whoever the hell he is—exiled the hunters. Why is unclear. Damn, I wish the ones we captured had been willing to talk, give us their POV. Without that, we have to fill in the blanks with guesswork. Probably, the leader reprogrammed the mechs to defend himself—maybe to protect others, too. We don't know. So some of the exiles started targeting the LOKIs in order to get to him."

Reshuffling the available data in her mind resulted in no other plausible scenarios. "Hell, what a clusterfuck. I really hope this leader hasn't programmed the mechs to initiate offensive attacks on the crew."

Because then I'd want to kill him. Or them. Or whoever.

"But why the hostility in the first place?" Jacob pressed, brow creased. Shepard noted a worrisome undertone of anger. I think he's realizing his father is likely on the wrong side in all this. "Why were they exiled? Is this all about the food situation, or something else?"

She shrugged, just as puzzled.

"We still lack necessary information," Thane added. "But we may now have an explanation for the beacon's activation. The mech indicates their leader is growing vulnerable. He's likely made a crucial realization—he can't hold out against his opposition forever. The signal was deployed because he needs to be rescued from the other survivors."

"That could solve part of our mystery," Shepard conceded, hoping the discussion was calming Jacob, who'd started pacing a few feet away. "But I still have a LOT of questions. Your theory explains the signal being sent now, but we don't know why it wasn't triggered when first repaired. And I can't imagine a group of officers just standing around while one 'leader' allowed this armed conflict to develop."

She shifted a little to engage the Cerberus operative. "As you said, Jacob, what the hell has been happening here?"

He started at his name, head jerking up. Wonder where his mind went? Hope it was somewhere relaxing.

"Perhaps we'll learn more there," Thane suggested, gesturing ahead. Shepard squinted, barely making out some tent-like structures among the trees.

"Is that a settlement?" Jacob demanded, frustration still evident. "They'd better be friendlier than the beach group. I need answers."

Damn. So much for relaxed.

"Lead us closer, Thane, but stop before we risk being seen. Jacob, I know it doesn't look far, but resume patrol formation until Thane signals halt, then regroup."

Reaching the cluster of improvised shelters didn't take long. As she caught up with her team, Thane stepped close, just off her shoulder. "I see twelve—no, fourteen—women, including our beach visitor," he whispered. "She's likely shared news of our arrival. Voices seem raised in discussion, mixed perhaps with some excitement. There are no men, and no one appears aggressive or armed."

She nodded her appreciation. "Let's take this slow," she ordered, voice just as low. "Weapons holstered, no sudden moves."

The chatter quieted as they entered the clearing. Most of the women stared but none approached. Instead they broke into small clusters and conferred in urgent whispers. "Maybe the decay affects genders differently?" she murmured to Thane. "Makes men get violent?"

"Possibly," he acknowledged quietly. She shivered as his breath warmed her neck. "But the woman on the beach said the exiled ones 'came back' as hunters. That implies their violence is a more recent development, occurring after their expulsion."

Shepard paused, pretending to consider his statement. Focus, Morgan. He was just so…close. Without her armor, she'd be able to feel his body heat…and that odd rumble in his chest. Finally she took a breath and responded, "Could be a long-term cumulative effect. After years of exposure, the chemical toxicity hit a high enough level to affect testosterone, amplifying aggressive tendencies."

She kept her eyes forward as she spoke, gauging the women's responses. But before Thane could reply, the closest group began to approach.

I hope they're the welcoming committee.

They froze as Jacob strode up from behind her with a belligerent huff. "Chemicals. Hormones. It doesn't matter right now."

"Jacob," she hissed. "Jacob, stop—"

He continued to advance, voice echoing in the suddenly silent clearing. "One of these people must know what my father has to do with this."

The closest women flinched, then retreated in fear.

Holy hell, Taylor. Great work.

Shepard looked around as a rippling wave of awareness brought the entire camp to a standstill. Almost like a group of herd animals sharing a silent signal for danger. Then the yelling started.

"You have his face!"

"He promised to call the sky but sends nothing!"

"He forced us to eat, to…decay. You are cursed with his face!"

Oh, shit. This is not good. Shepard heard Jacob's wheeze, like he'd been sucker-punched in the gut, and tried to soften the blow. "Not the best reaction to the family resemblance, Jacob."

"You heard them," he spat. "I have 'his face.' Shepard, my father forced his crew to eat toxic food. What the hell?"

To her relief, Thane intervened with a light hand to Jacob's shoulder. "We should step back," he thrummed. "Let Shepard speak to them."

He was right. Maybe if only she approached, they'd remain calm. She nodded at Thane and took a deep breath before resuming her advance.

"Go away! You are like him!"

So much for that idea.

"He has his cruel face!"

"I can't talk to you. I…don't want punishing."

Punishing? What the fuck?

"I'm not going to hurt you," Shepard soothed. "I want to help."

The survivor seemed unconvinced. Shepard reached out a hand in comfort, but the woman recoiled before going still. Head bowed, barely breathing…like she'd become a statue. Goddammit. She expects to be hit. Or worse.

Shepard backed off carefully and took a hard look at the camp. Inadequate shelters that offered no protection or privacy. No doors or locks. The women were scared but oddly passive. Most stared at the ground. Many sported bruises around their wrists and throats.

Retreating toward her team, she focused on maintaining a slow, calm pace. These women would not react well if she lost her shit—and they had already been through enough. "Thane?" she seethed, working to keep her self-control. "Do you see the same crap I do?"

"Indeed, Shepard. Ten years of…this," he rumbled. He gestured to the camp, an edge to his voice. "Crude tents when they should have actual buildings and beds. Incompatible food. No medical care. Every woman here is underweight to some degree. They might not be able to articulate their knowledge, but they understand what the food is doing to them. They are slowly starving themselves to impede its effects. All compounded by signs of physical abuse."

Faint biotic tendrils around his clenched fists caught her attention. He's as riled as I am. Good to know I'm not alone. "Exactly. Underweight." Her own self-discipline faltered, and she kicked at a pile of debris. "Starving." She punched a nearby tree trunk, shields buzzing as they absorbed the impact. "Abused."

She breathed for a minute, muttering, "Dia, cén fáth go mbeadh tú a cheadú seo go léir a tharlóidh?"

Thane lifted a brow ridge in question.

"A prayer, kind of. I'll translate later. Right now, I want to find the one responsible and hit him. Hard."

"As do I—"

"What the hell?" Jacob called out. Shepard looked around, searching for where he'd wandered. He stood at the base of an odd structure composed of debris from the wrecked ship. She and Thane jogged over, wincing as women crept away from Jacob like sheep avoiding a wolf. "Commander—it's some kind of…statue. Somebody had to push them to make that. That's borderline…worship?"

Thane's disturbed expression matched her own. "No, not worship," she snapped, looking at the tall, vaguely man-shaped edifice. "The ancient Pharaohs hoped for worship when they ordered the building of their monuments. For the people who carried out the work…it was slavery."

At Jacob's shocked look, she instructed, "Take a careful look around you. These women haven't been treated as individual human beings in a long time."

"'Slavery is a weed that grows on every soil,'" Thane added, "'though not all chains are made of iron.' Some are apparently made of physical abuse and forced malnutrition."

She couldn't help but shoot a sly glance his way. "Edmund Burke. What is it with you and British political philosophers?"

Jacob continued to stare at the statue. "I don't get it, Shepard. Did my father make them build this? What is he doing to his crew?"

"I don't know, Jacob." She briefly placed a hand on his arm and squeezed. "I intend to find out, but you need to calm down. I'm going to try talking to these women again. You two should retreat a bit; seeing men in their camp is upsetting them."

She waited until Jacob and Thane withdrew to where the path entered the clearing. Walking to a different group, she offered, "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"You'll hurt me," one insisted, a bruise fading over her cheekbone. "He is bad. He has a bad face like the other." She ducked behind three other survivors, who immediately closed ranks to form a protective wall.

"Who is bad?" Shepard asked, wishing she could channel Samara's composure. "Can you tell me his name? Does he hurt you?"

A different woman—one of the youngest—responded. "He keeps us. Protects us. If we please him like he demands."

Shepard shuddered as waves of chills became a ball of ice in her gut.

…Sunlight glints off his gun as he throws a limp form on the ground. Blonde hair matted by blood. Four eyes rake over her body like she's a thing, until I'm about to puke. He rubs his groin, reaches down and jerks her pants open—

NO. God no. Not here, Morgan. Push it back in the box. Shove it down and slam the lid. Slam it now.

Without warning everyone looked to the far side of the clearing and scattered. Yanked back to the present, Shepard glanced around the camp, wondering what fresh hell had set off their herd instinct. Before she could ask for an update, Thane appeared at her shoulder.

"Cover, now. Mechs approaching." He radiated urgency—eyes wide, breathing fast and audible. It looked uncomfortably close to fear.

Thane's afraid? Of mechs? Or something else?

They had just enough time to duck behind a container as a robotic voice announced, "Your captain demands obedience. Weapons are forbidden." LOKI mechs marched into the open and began firing.

Gritting her teeth, she barked, "Take them out. Protect the women."

Five mechs against a good team were no big deal. Against her team? Practically a joke. They were torn apart almost as quickly as they arrived.

Shepard holstered her weapon, now well past furious. Sending mechs against untrained, unarmed, debilitated civilians? It was inexcusable.

Breathe, Morgan. You can't lose it. These women are scared enough, and they need your help.

"Even Terminus pirate clans rarely kill their own crew to enforce discipline," Thane rasped. The blue glow was back, she noticed. Hoping he would join her, she took one deep breath and then another.

After a moment, she heard his exhalation. Good—he's calming down. "Thankfully, looks like no one was hurt—this time," she assessed. "They knew it was coming. All the odds might be stacked against them, but they're doing a good job taking care of each other."

She sighed in irritation when Jacob began to rationalize the assault. "Attacks like this would definitely make them hate him. But maybe it was just for defense. Could be the mechs responded that way because we're potential hostiles."

"Think, Jacob," she chastised. "Does it make sense to have your mechs fire on visitors when you've got a beacon broadcasting an SOS? When you're ASKING for help? Not to mention what the mechs said as they attacked. 'Your captain demands obedience' isn't a warning to outsiders. Those LOKIs were programmed to attack surviving crew who armed themselves."

"Yes, yes. You understand," called a new woman, drawing Shepard's eyes to the north side of the clearing. She was a little older than the others, with a…familiar quality to her voice. "And you could end it."

Shepard reached her first, but Jacob was the one she addressed. "You…have his face...but you fight his…machines. You might stop this." Then she handed him a datapad. "This… . I forget how to…read, but this…was the start."

While Jacob studied the log entries, Shepard examined the woman. Closing in on 50 maybe, though some of that might be due to physical and emotional trauma. Still…dignified, but also weary—and sad. And her voice…what is it about her voice? Then it clicked—that partial log entry on the wreckage.

"Are you the ship's doctor?" she asked. The woman looked puzzled, so she tried again. "Are you the one who knows how to…help people? How to make…hurting better?"

"I…try," the doctor replied. "I know there are…things, many things I could…fix…if I could…remember. But they made me…eat. Made me forget. But that," she gestured to the datapad, "has the start. What they made me forget. What he promised, and what they did to us."

Shepard squeezed her eyes shut. Not now, not here. But someone is going to pay for this.

After another deep breath, she looked to Jacob. "Well? What does it say?"

"It's a crew logbook," he explained, eyes scanning. "Some of them thought the beacon repair was taking too long. They were afraid that they'd run out of supplies and lose their minds to the decay. My father restricted the ship food for himself and the other officers so they wouldn't be affected. Everybody else had to eat the toxic food and hope for treatment later."

She locked eyes with Thane, trying to hold on to reason. That might have been the right call—if supplies were really that short. Doesn't explain the doctor, though.

"The rest is a casualty list. A few mutinied over the decision." Jacob's voice faltered. "My father…my father and the officers turned the mechs on them."

Fuck. Mutiny? Why didn't the crew accept the decision? Not that eating toxic food would be something anyone would want. Were rations plentiful enough to share and just…withheld? "He wasn't command material, and it got to him," she declared. "Couldn't keep the crew in line without violence." Sending out mechs to kill his own crew. They weren't even trained soldiers. Just scientists and techs. Damn it all to hell.

"But it didn't stop there," Jacob continued. His hand tightened so hard on the datapad, Shepard worried he'd crack it. "More incidents, harsh punishments. It's like they're cattle. Or toys. The officers collected all the crew omnitools, so they couldn't communicate. Then…fuck."

His voice dropped to little more than a whisper, so she stepped closer to hear. "They separated out the women." He looked ready to vomit. "Assigned them to officers like pets."

Her body went rigid, hands clenching.

The ball of ice grew and spread through her veins. Please, not again. I can't do this again. The clenching became shivers she hoped Jacob didn't notice. Thane clearly did. He stepped closer, one thigh pressing against her armor.

Jacob scrolled further down the logbook. "Within a year, all the male crewmembers are flagged as exiled or dead."

"Is there an explanation?" Thane asked. Shepard glanced at him in relief—his decision to jump in spared her from replying. "Perhaps they objected, tried to intervene?" She latched onto his disciplined breathing, that control tactic she'd witnessed in life support. Closing her eyes, she listened and matched his rhythm.

"Hard to say. Some of the later entries read like gibberish. But after the beacon is fixed, the officers appear in the casualties, too. After! My father took control and didn't stop it."

"The other officers—he killed them?" Shepard bit off, stepping away from Thane and beginning to pace. Think, Morgan. Use your brain—that's what these women need. Rage isn't nearly as useful.

"There were five after the crash: medical, engineering, bridge staff. Should've had no problem fixing the beacon and keeping people safe."

"Well, we know what happened to the doctor," she derided. The shaking had reached her upper chest, and repeated swallowing to hide it added a brittle note to her voice. Commander or not, her self-control was fracturing. And a mantra wasn't going to cut it for much longer. Neither was measured breathing. "What about the others?"

"All killed within the same week—about a month after the beacon was repaired," Jacob answered, mouth twisted in disgust. "But the signal wasn't sent until now. I'm starting to see why."

"I imagine the officers argued over triggering the protocol, once it was ready," Thane speculated, gaze steady on hers. She wanted to sink into it, hoping to trigger the talisman of his laughter in life support.

"We have evidence at least one objected to the mistreatment," he continued. "But another saw the decay as a benefit. Other officers likely followed the latter example." How can he manage to sound so calm and logical? she wondered. I know he's as pissed as I am. "When faced with possible rescue, they realized their actions could lead to prosecution and imprisonment."

Shepard nodded as she walked, hands on her hips, the shaking finally starting to subside. That's probably correct. But there are pieces of the puzzle missing—something's off with the numbers. I need more info.

Jacob seemed…lost. She knew a good commander should feel some level of compassion for him—this was his father after all—but she just couldn't summon the emotion. There was no more room to compartmentalize. She already had one box she could barely keep closed.

"What he allowed here, Shepard…I don't see any justification. Abuse of power doesn't get any clearer than this. The father I remember…it doesn't make sense. I need to find this man."

"Damn straight," she declared, another pulse of fury escaping her control. "We will find him and get his side—for what it's worth." She glanced at the doctor, lingering nearby.

"But first I need the datapad and some time. I have a few more questions to ask the doctor. And the topic is going to be…uncomfortable, so you two have to give us some space."

She tried to keep still under Thane's worried assessment. Finally, with a reluctant nod, he began to lead Jacob toward the statue. Panic hit for a moment as he turned away, but she pushed it aside. These suspicions…they felt too personal to share. Even with him.

Shit—if I'm right, this is just going to make the sinkhole deeper, the list of crimes longer. But…justice can't come from ignorance.

But is it justice I'm after? Or revenge?

Fuck. Does the difference even matter?

Part of her knew it should.

The question was whether she could bring herself to care.

Notes:

"Dia, cén fáth go mbeadh tú a cheadú seo go léir a tharlóidh?" is Irish for "God, why would you allow all this to happen?"

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