So, Bioware would have us believe that Shepard never bothered to inform his mother that he was alive… are you *** serious, Bioware? No way. – Though, you might be right that he didn't write.

No Army Brass for Hannah Shepard.

Captain Hannah Shepard returns from the mess hall in no better mood than when she left her console. The SSV Orizama patrols have been quiet of late, and instead of giving hard time to mercs and privateers, she contends bureaucracy.

"Check new messages," she orders, sipping her coffee before it can go cold and lose even that tiny bit of aroma the military rations cannot eradicate.

"Commencing," the ship VI responds in that irritatingly modulated voice with unnatural intonation. "Category: Official. Priority: Standard. From: United – "

"Skip for now." Hannah takes another sip, running her hand through her short hair. "Other?"

"Category: Private. Priority: High. From: Connor. Shepard. Subject – "

Hannah almost brings the cup to her lips before her hand freezes in mid-air as the wave of shock and anger washes over her. "Quit," she snaps at the VI. She puts her coffee on the table, with no small effort not to smash it against the desk, and walks over to the console. With quick, aggressive moves, she finds the message herself but there is no mistake: From: Connor Shepard.

Not just a mere message but a vid.

Her first impulse is to smash the Delete. Her second is to grab her gun and smash the whole console.

She does neither; instead, she starts breathing rapidly through her nostrils, with her jaw clenched, the way she does whenever she wants to rein her rage and put it to some use.

Someone will be painfully sorry for this.

Then, she looks at the subject.

Don't get flipsy-flopsy.

Hannah's hand shivers and then balls in a fist.

This is not a mere inane prank, this is personal. Someone took care to dig in her past, to find this particular phrase of the family idiolect, to make that outrage sound convincing.

Someone will be more than just painfully sorry when she finds out who it was, and she will.

To find out, she just has to deal with this cruel mockery a little longer. Her hand moves from Delete to Play.

She could have expected this, she should have – but still, when she sees him, it drives her to tears.

"Hello, mum," he says, in exactly the same tone as when he was twelve and messed with her omnitool. He says something else yet but she cannot really hear, or see. She pauses the vid and drops her face in her hands, until she manages to stop sobbing.

"Don't patch through any communication unless the ship is on fire," she instructs the VI and goes to wash her face. Then she returns to the console and shuffles the vid to the beginning. Leaning closer to the screen, she studies the face. The difference is striking – a patch of freshly healed rectangular scars, as if after some extensive surgery, spreads across the cheeks. On the other hand, that large scar from the thresher acid, a remembrance of Akuze, which ran from his left temple down the neck, does not seem to be there, and something is off with his eyes, though she can't really figure out what it is. He looks pale and somewhat gaunt… but no older than he was when he –

The thought hurts so much, when she allows herself to think about it.

Shaking her head, she returns to scrutinizing the recording. The broad cheekbones, the hairline… Even a mother's eyes could always tell that the short military haircut does not suit him and makes his face look broader than it is… that's why all the official shots are from half-profile or in helmets, the reporters like the heroes looking perfect.

It took her ages to get used to seeing him still on the news when he is not any more.

Who are you? Why are you doing this to me? Hannah wonders helplessly, even as that nagging tiny voice which has kept her awake many a night immediately reminds her, the body was never recovered, was it?

But he wouldn't do this to me.

He wouldn't have let me in the dark for two years if he were still alive.

'Don't get flipsy-flopsy.'

She cannot recall ever using this outside the family.

There is but one way to find out.

"Hello, mum," sounds again. "I'm sorry this is going to be hard on you… but it has to be me, not some army brass telling you. This is no trick, I'm alive." The video image breaks the eye contact for the first time. "I guess I'd better say alive again, because this is what really happened, I was virtually brought back from oblivion. I do not know how, just that it was unbelievably costly… not sure if I even want to know." Another pause, his unease almost palpable. "Not sure if I'd even want it, had I a say in it, but it's done. I'm back, for the greater part… and the rest is cloned or synthetic."

He swallows several times and drops his eyes, and Hannah realizes that the weird feeling the eyes were giving her is most probably due to the fact that they are artificial. She is a spacer, she knows what happens to the softest tissues after a prolonged exposure… and for all the unbelievable development in medicine, regrowing eyes is still not possible. Implants work just fine, after all.

Which gives to the vid another grain of credit.

She meets the image's eyes again as Connor – Connor? – says: "I'm not sure if this means I am still me, but… I guess it has to do. I'm sorry I did not contact you earlier, mom, but I was comatose most of the time and came to only a few weeks ago…"

See? says the tiny voice in Hannah's head. I told you! You never saw the body, they found him to bring him back from the dead….

Oh, sure. Miracles happen every day, right?

Why wouldn't I have been told if they had found him?

"I guess you must be wondering why you never heard, or why I didn't contact you immediately… I'm sorry, mom, but this is not all there is to it." He lifts his head a little, as if to brace himself for something. "You never heard, because no-one in the Alliance knows. It was not an Alliance project that brought me back… it was Cerberus."

Cerberus. Those bastards who set up Akuze… Oh, son, what have you done?

Son.

Hannah's eyes are welling again at the realization that she has already been taken in, deceit or not: she wants to be taken in, she wants the deceit instead of the ugly truth that her son's maimed body lies somewhere in the frozen wasteland of Alchera, or drifts in the empty darkness of the space.

Choking on his name, she reaches her hand, stopping short of touching the screen, as her son says: "You must understand, mom … I never asked for this, never made any deal with them…" His lips twitch in a small smile. "The Atwalaks are out there, mom, scratching at the airlock, but no-one wants to listen. The Council, the Alliance – no-one wants to acknowledge that the threat is real, only Cerberus. For this, and this only, they've brought me back: to fight for humanity." More and more visibly nervous, he raises his hand to his forehead and his voice turns rasp with frustration. "I don't approve of their methods, I'll never forgive their crimes… but I've seen myself, mom, what's going on. If the Cerberus is the only thing that stands between us and the enemy, I see no other choice. I'll dance with the devil best I can."

He pauses to compose himself and continues with a bitter smirk. "There are good chances that I will be court-martialled for that… but if that's what it takes, so be it. I just wanted you, of all people, to know my motives. I'm sorry if it brings you more pain, mom, but… it must be done, even if it means sacrificing everything I've ever been or wanted to be."

Even if it means from hero to devil's helper.

Oh, Connor…

With a lump in her throat, she does touch the screen this time. Of course, it is smooth and cold, and her son's video cannot respond.

"One last thing, mom. This message is through secure channels but since I don't want to compromise you, the info is not confidential. As you're listening to this, I've already landed on the Citadel. I intend to contact Anderson and tell him everything – I hope that he will understand and keep the Alliance off my tail." He leans forward to the screen. "Take care, mom. Stay safe. I'll let you know how it went with Anderson, and you'll hear from me as often as I'll be able to. Love and kisses."

"Love and kisses, Conny," Hannah whispers, not sure is she wants to cry or laugh or both.

Hesitating but for a split of a second, she turns the recording on. "Hello, son." Her voice shakes and she knows that she is still teary-eyed but it doesn't matter. "Good to hear from you…" She pauses as she wants to say too many things at once, until she finally stutters: "Do – do what you must, what – whatever you do, you're doing me proud. Just – take care. Take care, please." 'I love you', she wants to say, but as she has never been comfortable with big words, she repeats, "love and kisses."

As she reaches to stop the recording, an afterthought strikes her, and she adds: "If you need a wuluah gun again, just let me know."

She hits the Send button, and finally lets the tears flow freely – tears of happiness, which until that day, she considered a cliché device of poorly written tearjerkers.

He lives. He lives, he lives, he lives.

Conny lives.

"Mommy?"

Hiding a frustrated sigh, Hannah looks up from her reading.

As expected, Connor is standing there in his teddy-bear pyjamas, holding his currently most favourite toy, a big plush model of an SSV frigate, in his arms. "I can't sleep, mommy. They're there again. They are scratching at the airlock."

The Atwalaks.

Again.

The Koyashi station is old and not particularly well kept, and full of strangest sounds in the vents and pipes that would scare an adult out of his wits, so she can't really wonder that a five year old's fantasy has inhabited the space with bloodthirsty monsters. She has already filled in a request for relocation but it will take some time, and she needs a solution now.

Hannah Shepard is a soldier, and though she loves her son more than anything, she'd be the first to admit that she's no good with little children.

Reasoning has been no help so far, and so she has come up with a soldier's solution. "Very well, son. If the Atwalaks are out there again, I guess you'll have to deal with them."

His eyes widen as she hands him a gun model which she bought in the local store and adjusted to give it more exotic looks. "This is a wuluah gun, Connor. Very rare, and very effective. Just one hit, and every Atwalak drops dead to the floor."

Hesitantly, he reaches for the gun, but then his lower lip starts to tremble. "But, mommy… what if I miss?"

Damn clever kid. "You won't. It emits a broad stream of a special light, like this, see? You can't possibly miss. It's enough if it just touches a single tentacle."

"They don't have tentacles, mommy, they have antennae."

"Sorry. Antennae. Take it with you and put it under your pillow. If you see an Atwalak, shoot."

The wuluah gun gets embraced with the frigate. "I will, mom."

"That's my boy. Now, go to your bed."

Curiously, no Atwalak ever dared to venture past the airlock.