Gravity

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She was born to die. Yes, that much was clear now.

Blood drenched her. It soaked through her chainmail and straps and undergarments, her skin hot and prickly against the foulness of it. Starfang felt heavy in her numb fingers, her left arm and shield was almost too heavy to lift. Pain laced across her waist where a Hurlock Alpha's sword had caught her side. Liquid fire burned her throat, and darkness swam across her vision with the threat of unconsciousness. Gore and the stench of bodily fluids made her nose wrinkle, the sharp tang the only thing keeping her in the present. Even with all her enchantments and the spells Wynne flooded into her veins, it wasn't enough to completely fight away the fatigue that came from hours upon hours of gruelling fighting.

Yet still it wasn't over. The mass of hulking flesh and darkness and nightmares still moved. It rumbled like a storm regathering itself for one last blast of lightning and destruction. The tainted dragon-god reared its ugly head at her. When its beady, insane eyes roamed deliriously across the roof of Fort Drakon, she still shivered as a coldness settled on her heart. Such evil and malice, unlike anything she'd ever imagined in her wildest dreams. It all conveyed itself with one look to impress upon her mind. The Archdemon had truly earned its name. Even with a wing membrane torn and almost half of its chest carved open from several ballista wounds, the dragon still fought on to live. Its gaze fell on her, mocking her pathetic attempts to slay its vile disease, even as it lay amongst the corpses of all its soldiers it had summoned in a bid to protect itself. With that glare, it was daring her to come at it again, the whispers it promised at the edge of her mind spoke of a thousand tortures and torments. Just try, it seemed to say, you are incapable.

But it was wrong. She was Elaine Cousland, and she was going to put her sword right through its bloody eye – even if she had to die right along with it.

Even that revelation didn't bother her. Never was she meant to survive that terrible night of fire and grief; what right had she to live where all those she loved had perished? Or in Ostagar, why had the King died, only for her to survive? Or the dozens of soldiers and civilians she had ran past on her way here, to this moment, the ones who had given their lives on her orders to fight an evil they believed wholeheartedly she could defeat. All who she had lost on this terrible, exhausting journey, all of them had more right to live than she. So dying was not a fear for her, it had simply been a delayed inevitability.

Smoke from the city below billowed up even to the top of the tower where they all lay. It turned the sky ashen, the lip of the horizon streaked with blood red from the fires. An echo of despair, a symphony of terror and horror distant met her ears. Each cry in this long night reminded her of how she was so close to failing them all. If this did not end now, then their sacrifices would've been worth nothing. It had all come to this moment: the Blight, the Darkspawn Horde filled with their taint ready to spill the poisonous seed onto the world, with the corrupted Old Dragon God at their head, the tongue of an older world baying for the blood of the new. Madness and filth lay in their wake, a world gone mad, and only the few still standing on this very roof had the chance to stop it before Ferelden fell, and the Blight moved on to consume the world.

Her companions were sprawled across the roof, each as compromised as she felt. Sten struggled to even get to his hands and knees, the burns covering half of his body causing the Qunari to emit the closest thing to a pained cry she had ever heard from him. Wynne crouched beside him, her hands aglow as she tried to ease his wounds just enough, her face haggard from straining herself so hard. Alistair, sweet kind Alistair, was struggling to stand straight. The Archdemon had knocked him straight across the roof when he'd attempted to go for the head. The panic she had felt on seeing her dearest friend's head crack against the brickwork had been so much she had almost abandoned the fight to go to him. So she had gone to the ballista's and fired all of them on the Archdemon, and watched with sick satisfaction as the projectiles had crushed bones and sundered pulpy flesh.

No, she had thought, I cannot lose one more – not a single one!

It seemed that Alistair now had the same idea. A conflict was in his eyes, he was trying to speedily steady himself, regain his bearings, his eyes darting to her. She knew what he meant to do. He couldn't watch her die, the same as she could not stand the thought to watch him die. They had both been there when Riordan had let them know the final truth, they both knew what had to be done. But she refused to allow him, Alistair, her best friend and now her King, to sacrifice himself for her. Not one more person would be slaughtered for her.

The Archdemon watched them, and dare she even think it, but she could've sworn it was grinning at them as it watched the drama unfold. It locked eyes with her again, the whispers drove at her mind along with it, a promise of laughter for Alistair's painful death.

She ran ahead of him. She heard him call out her name, but ignored it. Asala, Sten's mighty Greatsword lay still stuck in one of the Darkspawn. With Starfang sheathed, she plucked the sword up from the corpse and hefted it with two hands. The weight was more than she was used to, it made her grunt and legs burn with the constant sprint she kept up. The Archdemon watched her race towards it, fury palpable in the air around its sickening aura.

Roaring, it launched at her like a coiled snake sprung forth from a trap. Whether by design or coincidence, her exhausted legs crumpled, and she used the sudden downward velocity to dodge the incoming attack and roll along the floor. Launching Asala upwards, it easily sliced through the long serpentine neck, splitting it open and pouring more foul, oily blackness onto the Warden below. Pale hair stained black with corrupted blood, it fell in front of her eyes.

With one last cry, the Archdemon flopped to the floor, a wet gurgle replacing its dying breaths. The moment was now. Time to strike. Death did not scare her, as she had told Morrigan the night before. If death came, so be it, it would be worth it if a child somewhere awoke tomorrow and would never know the evil of the Dawkspawn. With her own roar, she drove the sword down into the skull of the great beast, puncturing bone and brain.

White light encompassed her vision. Searing pain set alight every vein and muscle along her body. She screamed, to the heavens and the Maker, she screamed the agony of it. Down to the very core of her being, something was clawing at her very soul, tearing it apart piece by piece. A beastly roar was in her ears, drowning out all other noise until her eardrums were ringing from the force of the sound. It tried to tear away her fingers from the sword hilt, but she wouldn't let go. Even when it felt as if her skin was melting off her bones, she refused to bow to it. The whispers of the Darkspawn became tangible in that one moment, and she heard all of their cries, their curses, their mad ramblings of damned souls locked endlessly in a cruel loop. And at the centre was the voice of the Archdemon, it called her name, shouted profanities at her, bellowed so loudly she felt her bones shake. In response she smirked at it, one last middle-finger to the evil bastard that had caused so much misery to her country. The pain was almost too much, she felt her heart begin to stutter.

Perhaps her sanity was almost at an end, perhaps death was already here. At the corner of her vision, she thought she saw two shadows amidst the sea of blinding white, waiting for her. She smiled.

I'm coming, Mother, Father. She whispered. Be proud of me.

A force exploded in front of her, causing her to scream and be flung back into the empty air. Her ears popped, and something pulled at her stomach. No, deeper, at the very core of her centre, on the molecular level, she was being warped and shattered and twisted. And then she was lost, floating in water so deep there was nothing but dark coldness all around. Her amour and weapons made her sink faster, her heart abandoning its grip on life to embrace the music of silence without a beat.

And then, Elaine Cousland of Highever, the Grey Warden and now Hero of Ferelden, was gone.

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"You think she'll be alright, Doc?"

A voice came from the endless dark. Elaine grimaced. It echoed across her brain, a searing pain on her skull that refused to abate. Maker, what had Oghren given her last night? And why was Leliana so loud? A numbness had encompassed her body, she could hardly feel her fingers. Why couldn't it take over her head and let her slip back into the pits of death already?

"Yes, I expect so." Came a second voice. "Apart from that nasty stab wound in her side, she should be a-okay with rest. No, it's her blood results that are giving me a headache..."

"Why?"

Clarity was slowly dawning, enough for Elaine to realise that she didn't recognise the two voices talking over her. Her stomach tingled with unease. Something was wrong, why was it so hard to move? Why would her body not respond properly when she wanted to wake up? Why did her mind feel like wool had been stuffed into her brain?

"Lilith!" Shouted a voice from across the room, loud enough to make Elaine wince. "What the hell're ya doin'?!"

The woman's voice – the one she had mistaken for Leliana (though how that was possible, she didn't know) spoke. "Delan, it's okay, we've got this."

"No ya don't. What's she doin' here?"

"Look at her, the woman needs help!"

"She's an outsider – possibly Alliance."

Memories were slowly filtering back. Elaine felt the unease in her stomach twist into a ball of spikes. The dread made her feel ill. What of the Archdemon? The Darkspawn? But another question became apparent: how had she survived? Riordan had said that the Grey Warden who delivers the killing blow to the Archdemon must die, there was no escape. So, then what had happened? Had Morrigan performed her Dark Magic Ritual to save them after all? Alistair had said nothing, and Elaine knew he would've sooner cut his balls off then put them anywhere near the Witch of the Wilds whom he despised. So then how was she alive?

Elaine had to force the questions out of her mind to think back on later. Such riddles were making her headache worse, and other things had to take priority. The how of her survival could wait until later. What was important was the now of her situation. Who were these people, didn't they know who she was? Where were her friends – had none made it out of the battle alive? The very thought made her panic. She couldn't lose her friends, not now after all they'd been through. She had to get up, find them, drag them back from the void if she had to. Despite all the near-death injuries each one of them had faced, Elaine had never once allowed a single companion to be left behind. It wasn't in her nature – she would abandon no one. Through the haze of her bedraggled mind, she struggled to come to full awareness, to open her eyes and sort things out herself.

"Enough with the conspiracy theories, Delan." The woman's voice snapped. "We might not trust the Alliance, but we're not hermits. And considering the state we found herin, I doubt she's one of them."

"You don't think it's a little off how this chick just – poof! – appeared outta nowhere?" The gruff voice of Delan dropped, a tone of suspicion and fear squashed into a hushed whisper. "I mean it, Lilith, somethin' ain't right. The electrics on the whole colony've been actin' shitty all day. And that Alliance Commander's been actin' up."

Elaine didn't know what they were talking about – some of their words made no sense to her. And that only made her more on edge. With far more effort than it should have done, she slowly managed to crack open her eyes. At first, only white light greeted her, and she panicked for a split second that she'd been rendered blind. But then everything came into focus... but that didn't make it any better.

She lay upon a bed of white sheets, in a white metal room with white tiled floors. Strange box-shaped things stood on metal tables, each glowing with runes or emitting some form of strange noise. A constant rhythmic beep came from the one by her bedside, and its shrill loudness made Elaine want to cringe away from it. On her left were large square windows where sunlight filtered in to make the white room glow. What amazed her was the glass in the windows – only the noble houses bothered with glass. Obviously, the Chantries all had stained-glass windows, but the poor and common folk couldn't afford anything like it. So did that mean that Elaine was in an estate of some kind? She didn't know of any rooms in either the Royal Palace or the Arl of Denerim's estate or even Eamon's estate that used metal for walls and floors, though.

Three people were gathered at the bottom of her bed, all in clothes that bore no insignia she recognised. Two were men and one was a woman. The woman had large cheekbones and a strong square jaw, with pretty dark brown hair that fell to her shoulders. She wore breeches and boots along with some form of short-sleeved garment across her torso. One of the men, the gruff one, was dressed similarly but had some form of strange helmet that only covered the top of his head and was made of cloth. A form of hat? Leliana would know if it was, she had always been interested in the latest fashions. The other man was dressed in a red and white tunic with long grey gloves. His tanned skin and slicked back hair gave him a more professional appearance. At a guess, Elaine thought he was a mage – a healer perhaps? It would make sense if Elaine certainly was in some kind of strange infirmary (for she couldn't imagine this room being an actual bedroom).

The man in red and white seemed to feel her eyes on him and turned. Their gazes met, and Elaine felt her battle instincts set alight. The urge to reach for a weapon was strong in her veins, if only so that she could be reassured and not feel so naked. Her hand reached out to thin air but could find no sword. It was custom amongst Fereldens to leave the weapon of a warrior by his or her bedside unless they were captives, as to avoid the very same reaction that was occurring inside of Elaine now. Without her weapon at hand, she panicked, she became furious. Her eyes broke from the red and white man to dart about the room for her weapon. Starfang had become such an integral part of herself, perfectly balanced and made to fit her, to lose it felt like losing one of her own limbs. For the first time, she actually understood Sten's point of view when he'd explained how upset he'd been when he'd discovered Asala missing from his possession back before they'd even met.

"Easy now, don't–" the red and white man came towards her, hands raised in a placating manner. Elaine's legs became tangled in the sheets, preventing her from standing. Instead she leant forwards, quick as a snake, and snatched hold of the man's wrist.

Apparently she applied more force then she'd intended, as the man grunted and his face twisted with pain. Elaine locked her icy blue eyes on his. "Where is my sword?!"

"It's alright! It's alright!" the woman said quickly, hands up in an attempt to calm the situation. "We just put your... things in that locker over there."

She pointed to a metal cupboard of some sort in the corner of the room. Elaine eyed it suspiciously, her eyes darting from the woman to the box. Seeing her distrustfulness, the woman nodded to the gruff man who still stood at the bottom of the bed. He hurriedly went over and threw open the door, his eyes wide as if he feared Elaine would launch herself into the air and strike him down. The Warden's eyes instantly found the flash of silver and blue that was her sword, and her entire frame instantly relaxed. With an apologetic look, she released the red and white man.

"Apologies," she murmured and settled herself back down. Pain in her side made her wince, and she pushed down her sheets and lifted the strange itchy white tunic that covered her modesty. She only lifted it enough to see the wound in her side – now all stitched up and bandaged, even if the bruising was horrendous.

The red and white man cleared his throat awkwardly. "I was going to say not to move too much in case you aggravated it."

The woman, whose voice Elaine recognised as 'Lilith', spoke diplomatically. "This is Doctor Kendal, he helped put you back together."

Such choice of words made Elaine frown at Kendal beside her. Normally a mage would've been deployed to heal such wounds. Was this man a physician? A man of herbs and stitches? It would also explain why he had not defended himself with a spell when she'd grabbed him. "Oh, my apologies, Ser, are you not a mage?"

"Errr, no?" Kendal shot a look at Lilith with uncertainty.

"Either way, you have my thanks," Elaine nodded to him, even as she pulled back her bedsheets and swung her heavy legs off the bed. "But I must–"

She hissed loudly. When she tried to stand, pain spiked out from her side. Damned Darkspawn, she cursed under her breath. The Doctor Kendal was right there, gently pushing her back down onto the bed. At first, she resisted. No wound had ever held her bedridden before. But, back then she had had Wynne and her powerful healing magics to help her get back on her feet. And when she didn't, she always carried a few injury kits and healing poultices to patch her up until she could get to the older woman. Damn, she could use those about now.

"I said not to strain yourself," Kendal admonished softly. Elaine had to give him credit, for even though she'd hurt him when he'd previously gotten too close, he now stood within reach as if he feared nothing at all.

Finally, she relented and allowed him to guide her back into the bed. The pain was not enough to keep her down and out, but it certainly was an irksome problem. "Urgh... how fared the battle? Have the Darkspawn retreated?"

Silence met her. And then the gruff man still across the room muttered to the others, "The hell she talkin' bout? What 'battle'?"

"The Battle of Denerim..." Elaine shot the three of them a look that said how unimpressed she was with their ignorance. "You must know – the Blight almost consumed us all."

The gruff man, Delan, groaned. "Great one Lilith, ya brought home a whacko."

Lilith ignored him and walked up to the Doctor who stood at one of the beeping boxes. "Kendal, could she be suffering some form of concussion? Deliriousness, maybe?"

"I don't think so – my initial scans showed no head trauma." Kendal shook his head.

Elaine grit her teeth as her heart began to slowly build momentum – and the machine beside her echoed it. "My head is perfectly fine – what is not, is how everyone is talking as if I am not present! Now can someone please tell me what is going on?"

"We were hoping that you could explain that..." Lilith edged closer, her entire body and her voice whispering of how she was nervous. "Some of the farmers out in the fields reported that they found you in the middle of nowhere – badly hurt. Myself and some of the boys on guard came and brought you in to Kendal. From what we can tell, you're not from the colony – fingerprint and DNA scans don't match anyone registered living here. I figured you were on a shuttle, maybe to some renaissance fair? Pirates attacked and you crash landed?"

"Them damn defence towers made us a target – wouldn't surprise me." Delan grumbled.

Elaine struggled to remain calm. Building stress manifested into angry and desperate outbursts. "B-But my friends! I need to find my companions – where are they?"

"You were the only one we found out there. There was nobody else."

"That can't be..." real fear laced the Grey Warden's voice. They wouldn't truly have left her, would they? "They were right there with me. Sten, Wynne... Alistair..."

Lilith's brows upturned with pity as she heard the obvious pain in the other woman. "Tell us what happened to you."

"The last thing I remember is fighting at the top of Fort Drakon at the battle of Denerim." A knot was forming in her stomach, one that threatened to up end all the contents inside of her. Elaine looked to the people around her and quickly spoke again in the hopes they might finally recognise something she said. "In Ferelden."

Kendal and Lilith looked helplessly at each other. "I'm sorry but... we don't know any of those names..."

"Then... then, where am I?!" she demanded.

"You're on Horizon, a human colony out in the Terminus Systems."

Elaine didn't recognise those names. Was it possible she was somewhere beyond Thedas? Or maybe... the sudden thought that popped into her brain made her blood run cold. "Wh-what year is it?" Perhaps the Archdemon had sent her back into the past? It was completely impossible, but she had to rule out the possibility. When they didn't answer fast enough, Elaine's famously short temper snapped. "Maker's balls! Just tell me the year! 9:30 Dragon! Tell me that!"

"I don't know what you're talking about..." Kendal shook his head, a wary gaze in his eyes. "The year is 2185 CE."

Elaine felt her stomach drop.

It took all her willpower to clamp down the convulsions of her stomach and prevent any outward appearance that she might be sick at any moment.

Maker's breath... it couldn't be true.

She knew from enough history lessons with her childhood tutor, Aldous, that there had never been a year recorded as 2185, even as early back as the Tevinter Imperium. She also knew she wasn't as far back in time as the Era of Arlathan, because these three were all positively human. Yet still she refused to believe the leap in logic her mind had come to, and so began to spit out random words in the hopes that someone in the room would react to any of them.

Magister, Tevinter, mage, the Fade, Old Gods, Dumat, Golden City, the Maker... None. The only reward she got for her troubles were odd glances that warned of her new hosts thinking of declaring her insane. Delan had certainly left, none too subtly remarking how he couldn't stand the craziness. And despite his foul attitude, Elaine didn't blame him.

It was just impossible. To begin with that she even thought she could travel through time in the first place. Let alone to Thedas' future? But the odd clothes, the strange beeping boxes, the walls and floors made of metal, the thick glass in the huge windows, the way no one recognised anything she said... it pointed to that conclusion enough for her tired mind to grasp it. Was this what happened to every Warden who slew an Archdemon, she wondered. Perhaps that was why people believed that a Grey Warden must surely die upon killing the great dragons, because they were just gone?

It didn't make sense! More than likely this was the trick of a demon and she was dreaming in the Fade – or possibly she was dead and her soul was encountering obstacles before she could return to the Maker's side. And even if it were true, how on earth did it answer her question on how to get back? Ferelden still needed her, especially if the Darkspawn were still a threat.

But who was she fooling? The Archdemon was dead. She knew it in her heart of hearts, felt the truth of it in her core, remembered feeling it die even as it tried to tear apart her soul with it. So now where did that leave her?

At her hosts' insistence, she'd told them her theory. She told them that she was born at Castle Cousland at Highever, in the country of Ferelden on the continent of Thedas. She said simply how she had fought against a Blight (though from the looks of it, they didn't seem to know what that was) and battled an Archdemon only to fall unconscious and find herself in this place they called Horizon. And then she said how she believed that she had been sent forward in time. That had made the pair go very quiet and turn away from her slowly.

Kendal and Lilith now talked amongst themselves on the other side of the room. The Doctor kept glancing at Elaine where she sat dejectedly on the bed. Her face was ashen and her long, thick pale hair fell in front of her face and she left it there, detached in her quiet grief. I anything that she was theorising was even remotely true, it meant all those she still loved and cared for was gone. She couldn't contemplate such a fate, to be truly alone in this world – or any world – ever again. No, she had to find a way back, to reverse this.

Eventually, she couldn't stand the whispering, and so said loudly and with enough bitterness to have them turn back to her. "Let me guess: you think I'm a madwoman."

"Well... I-I don't know." Kendal surprised her when he shuffled uncomfortably in place. "I thought so – would be the most obvious conclusion to make, unless you're off your head on drugs. But, then–"

Lilith threw him an incredulous glare. "You're not seriously buying this?"

"Lilith, look at these results!" Kendal thrust to her a flat device with a piece of glass that glowed bright orange, many words scrolled across its surface. He pointed to something on it. "See this? She's had no vaccination work. Either she's been living under a rock her whole life, bypassed every medical exam and scanner in space... or..."

Lilith was silent, her head slowly shaking back and forth. "That's still pushing it further then I can believe, Kendal."

"If I cannot convince you, Lilith, then that is fine," Elaine spoke up, her voice flat. "All I can tell you is what I have seen, where I have been... and how lost I am now..."

Her words faded into nothing and echoed all around her. Lost... Lost... Lost...

Lilith's face looked torn between disbelief and guilt. She looked like she wanted to argue more, but refrained and sighed. Softly, she turned to Kendal and spoke. "We'll have to talk about this later. I've got to go – the Staff Commander's been bugging me all week for that stupid targeting system to work properly. And Kendal?" she pointed a finger at him as she turned away. "Exhaust all options before we start believing in the fantastical, please."

And then she walked off. Elaine tried not to get hysterical when she saw the wall break apart and slide away as a form of door. If that wasn't proof to her theory, then she didn't know what else would be. Kendal stared after where Lilith had left. He wrung his hands, doubt in his expression.

"Maybe she's right... maybe I'm too gullible for this shit – tends to happen when you work in these small colonies." He tried to smile, to joke it off, but it fell quickly when he saw that Elaine was unaffected. Tentatively, he knelt beside her bed and grasped hold of her limp hand. "Look, I... maybe I can pull in a few favours? I got friends who know agents of the Shadow Broker – maybe they can find out what happened to you."

Elaine felt the faintest flicker of curiosity, despite herself. "What is a Shadow Broker?"

"He – or she – is some sort of figure who deals in information. Every dirty little secret in this galaxy, he knows about it. No one's ever seen him in person though, just his agents. I could make a call, see if you're reported missing from someone somewhere else?"

"Do you not believe me?"

"I consider myself an agnostic at heart. Some things are just too big for anyone to ever know the complete truth. Maybe what happened to you is one of those things." He shrugged. When Elaine turned her face away, he pulled her back with a squeeze of her hand. Andraste bless him, Elaine thought, for he looked like a father desperate to comfort a child. He gave her a weak smile. "All I know, is that a woman came into my clinic, hurting, afraid and alone. I know what that's like. I want to help you find yourself in whatever way I can."

Elaine found herself unable to respond for a moment. Damn it, the smallest shred of hope flared inside of her and the sincerity she found in those dark eyes. She hated false hopes, but as she had told countless others across her journey, hope was the one thing they had over the enemy, the one thing that could have them triumph even in the face of insurmountable odds.

Hand placed atop his, she squeezed it and gave him a smile. "Thank you, Kendal. Your kindness... its more then I deserve. I am in your debt."

"You don't even know if they'll find anything," Kendal looked genuinely confused.

"It doesn't matter. You have helped me – is that simple act of compassion not enough for me to owe you my gratitude at the least?"

"Oh, um, your welcome then." What kind of world is this, thought Elaine, where someone seemed floored by the truth of simple acts of kindness? Such a thought baffled her, she'd always been led to believe, by her father and mother, that compassion and diplomacy was the only way they would ever make the world a better place. Kendal then turned away from her, determination in his steps as he went over to the metal boxes. His fingers danced across it, and the machine blared a croak back at him. Kendal frowned, puzzled. "That can't be right..."

"What is it?" Elaine asked. Judging by his reaction, the box wasn't supposed to that.

Kendal glanced back her, mystified. "The comms just went off."

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

"Shepard, I think we have them." The Illusive man cut straight to the point. "Horizon. One of our colonies out in the Terminus systems, just went silent. If it isn't under attack, it soon will be. Has Mordin delivered the Counter measure for the Seeker Swarms?"

"Not yet." Shepard said measuredly, his molars grinding together slightly as he tried to rein in the jump in his veins already present just from the promise of the coming fight.

"Let's hope he works well under pressure. There's something else you should know..." the older man paused in order to take a long drag on his cigarette, and Shepard had to contain his overly large eye roll. "One of your former crew, Staff Commander Kaidan Alenko is stationed on Horizon."

Shepard balked. Well, that curve ball had certainly come out of waaaaaaaay left field. "What's he doin' there?"

"Officially, it's an outreach programme to improve Alliance relations with the colony." Those (in Shepard's opinion) creepy-as-fuck cybernetic eyes narrowed slightly. "But they're up to something, and if they sent Commander Alenko, it must be big. Perhaps you could take it up with him."

"Send me the coordinates. We'll head straight there."

The Illusive Man nodded. "This is the most warning we've ever had, Shepard. Good luck."

And then he cut the connection.

Shepard shook his head. Good God, that guy twisted his stomach, but he had no choice. Cerberus was the only one willing to get things done to stop the Reapers, and Shepard found the resources and confidence refreshing after the Alliance's bullshit-pandering to the idiotic Council. The only downside was having to listen to them, and be associated with their whole A-grade-asshole image. "Joker? Set a course for Horizon. I've got to speak to the professor."

The pilot sounded almost as filled with anticipation as Shepard felt when his voice responded back over the speakers. "Aye-aye, Commander."