A/N

At least at this time of writing, there's a number of entries in the Mass Effect section of my homepage that pertain to 'personal canon.' Who survives Virmire, whether the Collector base is saved, etc. Until recently, my take on Shepard's background was given as well. However, with Bioware effectively 'canonizing' femShep in addition to her male counterpart (long story-I'll spare you my stance on ME canon), I was left in a dilemma. As an inclusionist, I'm compelled to include whatever can be canon, but now instead of relying on the 'canon' Shepard (male, John, etc.), I was faced with the balancing of the scales. Whatever my stance, I felt that simply spelling it out in my profile wouldn't cut it. Hence came up with a short story to convey it. Show, not tell and all that.

And for the record, I wish femShep was still blonde... :(

The following text is part one of a three part article, written by journalist Emily Wong. Published by the Future Content Corporation news service, 2183. FCC is trademarked and/or copyrighted, variably registered in both Alliance and Council space. All rights reserved.

For the Uniform

Part 1: Hannah Shepard

Arcturus is large.

Consider, for a moment, what large actually means. Large, as in having a diameter of approximately 14 million kilometres. Large, as in having a luminosity 100 times that of Sol. Large, as in being the hub of several mass relays, its light shining over all of them. Large, as in...well, large. And coming through one of these relays to the Arcturus System, it was all I could think about.

At least for a moment. I soon remembered why I was here.

I wasn't here for Arcturus, no matter how large it might have been. I wasn't here for the gas giant Themis, hanging in the darkness of space akin to the titan of its namesake. In a sense, I wasn't even here for Arcturus Station-capital of the Systems Alliance and home to its navy. What I was here for was on the human level. An individual level, regardless of species. For all the talk of humanity's place in the galaxy and our place, despite the fact that most people reading this will be of my own species, I do not feel this will be inaccessible to so-called "aliens," as if the galaxy was divided between us and them. The all too recent Battle of the Citadel demonstrated this, a battle that I barely escaped myself. Any number of stories could be written on the Citadel's reconstruction, but I wanted to examine the life of the man who made it possible for such reports to be written in the first place. A man pronounced dead, his ship destroyed, his crew scattered to the astral winds via dubious Council edicts. A man named John Shepard.

And Arcturus Station was perhaps the last place I could find those answers.

The station was built from metallic asteroids, towed in from other systems as per Arcturus being a system filled with mostly lighter elements. That being said, it did little to detract from its majesty, shining in the gloom, distinct from Themis and even the light of its host star. But I knew that this was but a facade in many ways. Arcturus was the home to the Alliance Navy's Fifth Fleet...or former home almost, since there was so little of a Fifth Fleet left. Much of it had been lost in the fight against the geth at the Citadel, and while it was an act that has effectively guaranteed humanity a place on the Council at this time of writing, it was at a high cost of ships, and an even higher one of lives. As asteroids orbit Themis (detritus from the construction of the station), so too do husks of human vessels drift through the Serpent Nebula.

Arcturus shone as brightly as ever. Its station didn't.

With all the speed that one who's travelled from one side of this galaxy to the other in search of a story, docking with the station proceeded with all the 'speed' that one was used to. Depressurization, decontamination, customs...actually, scratch that. Customs, I managed to skip. The brass knew why I was here, and apparently most of them were okay with it. That, or my contact was willing to defy authority regardless of consequence. Either way, I soon found bored baggage handlers giving way to a woman looking at me with great interest.

"Emily Wong?" she asked.

"Yes. And you're...?"

"Captain Hannah Shepard," she said, extending a hand in greeting. "It's great to finally meet you."

And indeed it was, a firm handshake and sore hand a few seconds later notwithstanding.

We didn't talk that much as Hannah led me through customs to the arrivals area, which allowed me to study the woman as best I could. Average build, a full head taller than me, dark brown hair of regulation length, fair features...average, average, average. Even average by human standards being made ever more average by shrinking genetic diversity. The only thing that I suspect wasn't average would have been the amount of medals that would have hung on her uniform had she been wearing it. But those inquiries would have to wait. Hannah knew why I was here. As interesting as it would have been to do a story on her, what was more interesting...for both of us...was the story of her son. John. A story that for most people, only started with him being appointed the first human Spectre. It was a story that had ended with the destruction of his ship, the Normandy. But where that story began...Hannah was the one person that could tell me, and she was more than willing to.

And buy me coffee as well.

"Brazilian coffee," the captain said as she sat down beside me with two cups of the energy-giving substance. "Only good coffee you can get nowadays."

That was true, at least as far as Earth was concerned. What was also true (I hoped) were the two documents I took out of my satchel. One a waiver of consent, that Hannah was indeed willing to tell her son's story. The other was the service record she had provided me a few weeks back. This was John's story. But I felt it fair that his mother should be represented accurately as well.

"Just a check-up," I said. "Just to make sure-..."

"That's wrong."

I blinked. "Pardon?"

"I'm no longer slated to be an admiral," Hannah said, pointing out to her rank. "I'm still a captain. And probably will be for some time."

As it turned out, Captain Shepard was content to remain a captain. She'd refused a position on the Admiralty and was slated to take command of the SSV Orizaba, a Kilimanjaro-class dreadnought. She'd thumbed a few noses in her decision, and was well aware of it.

"To honour John's memory," Hannah said. "Since the Alliance isn't intent on doing so."

"I think that's a bit unfair," I said. "I mean, I understand-..."

"Ms. Wong, no disrespect intended, but I don't think you understand as much as you think you do."

"And why's that?" I asked somewhat irritably.

"Because I don't understand," the captain said dejectedly. "I don't understand why no government in this galaxy is giving credence to John's claims. Reapers, the geth, the destruction of the Normandy and keeping its crew quiet...I don't understand any of it."

I decided to postpone pouring sugar into my coffee at this point. Hannah was a starship captain. I couldn't pretend to understand everything about her world. But in addition to being a captain, she was a mother. She'd lost her son. And it must have seemed to her that no-one gave a damn.

Did I give a damn? Did I want a story, or a eulogy? How well did I know John Shepard myself? I met him twice, but...

"Hannah...may I call you Hannah?" I asked eventually. "I understand your feelings, if from an outsider's perspective. But I do know that you want John's story told. And...well, I'm willing to tell it. If you give me the material."

Hannah smiled, and not just because of drinking the finest coffee Earth could offer (according to the Starbucks we were at).

"Well, that's a long story indeed..." she said. "But first things first."

"And what would be the first thing?"

"Well, for starters, John technically isn't my son at all."

Continued next week in part 2.

Also in this issue:

Reapers: Fact or Fiction?

Krogan Testicles: The Path to Reproduction

Starbucks: Over 200 Years Old and Still Strong