Salvation: Episode II - Lair of the Shadow Broker

Disclaimer: This fan-fiction is part of an episodic series taking place after Salvation: A Half-Life/Mass Effect Universe Fan Fiction and Salvation: Episode I - The Taking of the Carmenta Illustria. These episodes will lead directly to its sequel, Salvation II: Project Prometheus. The episodes and sequel take place OUTSIDE of the Mass Effect 3 continuity, though certain themes, characters, and situations may be extrapolated. Characters property of their respective companies, Half-Life created by Valve and Mass Effect created by Bioware.

Chapter 4: Controlled Aggression

“50…? 50 what?” Gordon queried - brow furrowed, and a single eyebrow raised. “50 push-ups? Are you serious?”

“Hmph.” Shepard’s chest bounced with a lone chuckle at how agitated and uneasy the scientist was becoming. A glistening forehead revealed the fact that he even appeared to be sweating, despite the cool temperature down in the hangar bay.

Gordon’s eyes bounced around in contemplation. He gulped as an unquiet angst churned about in his stomach and memories of brutish and boisterous high school jocks and gym coaches flashed in his mind. “Oh god, you’re not gonna go all ‘Full Metal Jacket’ on me, are you?”

“Full Metal Jacket?” Shepard asked, confused.

“Yeah, you know…” Freeman put forth with a forceful shrug. “R. Lee Ermey, Vincent D'onofrio. ‘You little scumbag! I got your name, I got your ass!’” He shouted out, waving about a pointed finger in an odd attempt to impersonate some sort of authoritative tyrant. “‘Now get on your knees and choke yourself!’”

“‘Get on your knees and choke y--?!’” Shepard’s head reeled back, with a perplexed look engraved on his face. “What in the hell do you think boot camp is supposed to be, exactly?”

Gordon bowed his head, shook it, and sighed as he muttered under his breath. “No one gets any of my 20th century references.” After a brief moment, he looked back up at the Commander. “It’s from a war movie.” He pertly put forth. “You’d like it, actually. It’s about the brutal training and the savagery of the Vietnam War.”

“Hmm…” John’s eyebrows bounced with intrigue. “Pre-invasion war movie, huh? Sure, I wouldn’t mind seeing it.”

“Would a copy even still exist after the Combine invasion?”

“Possibly.” Shepard declared, with no degree of certainty. “There’s a preservation society dedicated restoring and preserving arts and media from before the Seven Hours War.”

“Oh. Good to know…” The Doctor replied, sounding less than ecstatic as his face crinkled into a grimace. “Anyway, where was I...? I guess I’m doing this?” He conceded with a grumble, as he bent down and planted his palms flat on the floor. “You wanted 50 was it?”

“Hehehe!” Shepard chuckled and chortled as he watched his nerdy friend raise and lower himself from the floor time and again. He may not have been executing the exercise with the speed or rigidness of a Marine, but his overall form was not bad. Pushups clearly were no foreign activity to this man.

“Gordon.” Shepard beckoned, trying to contain the laughter under his breath, which was still managing to bubble to the surface. “Stop. Stop.” He pleaded, trying to subdue the snickers. “Get up. I was kidding.” He confessed, causing Gordon to look up and rise to his knees. “I’m not gonna run you through basic training. I just wanna teach you some techniques and defense tactics that could save your life.”

“So… No push-ups?”

“No push-ups.” Shepard affirmed, still smirking. “Come on, get up.”

A quick compliant shrug, and Gordon was back to his feet. At least for this day, those high school gym class flashbacks wouldn’t haunt him.


“Don’t think of me as a drill instructor.” Shepard urged, waving his hands around as he pondered a suitable analogy. “Think of me more like a personal trainer, or a boxing coach.” He insisted. “I still expect you to do what I say, but by the time we’re done, you’ll be an effective hand to hand close-quarters combatant.”

“Okay.” Gordon nodded fastidiously. “I’m ready, I guess. What’s the first step?”

“Alright, what I’m gonna be trying to teach you is something called ICT, or the Interplanetary Combative Training Program.” John began to explain, taking on the poise of a venerated educator. “It’s the hand to hand training program that all N7 initiates are instructed in. It’s actually a descendant of SOC-P, the training program utilized by the Army Rangers of your day.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” Gordon acknowledged.

“Okay…” Shepard continued the lesson, expelling a sigh with his words. “So the first thing I want you to do is, I want you to forget all those flying kicks, and punching through walls, and any of the fancy BS you might’ve seen in movies. I don’t know what movies were like in YOUR day, ahem -- ‘get on your knees and choke yourself’ -- ahem.” He cleared his throat and muttered cheekily under his breath, causing Freeman’s eyes to roll, but he continued on. “But if you’ve seen the action movies these days, namely those ridiculous Blasto movies, you’d know they’re not exactly within the realm of believability.”

“I’m familiar with the Blasto movies--” Gordon quickly offered up. “--but I haven’t seen any of ‘em yet. He’s supposed to be like a hanar James Bond character right? You know, given Bond’s promiscuous nature - the idea of a tentacle alien playing him is--” Gordon stopped and cringed as an icy shudder shook his entire body. “Ugh… Well, it’s creepy and unsettling. That probably sounds horribly racistist, doesn’t it?”

“No…” The Commander groaned. “As someone who’s been dragged, against his will, to each of those movies, by a certain quarian who will remain nameless, I can tell you - you should consider yourself lucky Miranda’s not a Blasto fan…” He said, sulking. “Anyway. We’re getting off track again.” He chuckled, with a shake of his head, as he re-assumed an instructor’s visage. “Back to the combatives. Now, ICT is designed to do three basic things. Disarm, incapacitate, and get you back to your tools; Your rifle. Your shotgun. Your sidearm.”

“Okay.”

“Alright, so first. Close quarters combat.” Shepard continued to expound, as he took a few steps closer to Gordon, finding himself within arm’s reach.

“When we talk about close quarters combat, we’re talking about anything within grappling distance, or a fencing measure. A fencing measure is a distance within about two meters from your body. Anything beyond that is what’s considered weapons range. So let's start with the upper-body and some basic counter-attack and disarm techniques.” He said, hovering his hands over his chest, as if preparing to render a demonstration. “Then we’ll move into choke escapes, and some basic takedown tactics. I’m going to show you some examples.”

“Now for you, Gordon, I can tell you that one of your biggest fatal flaws is you have too many tells.” The Commander declared, as he pointed at the physicist. “You’re too easy to choreograph. That turian that you fought on the Illustria? He could see you coming with a punch from a mile away. Hell, I could see you coming from a mile away, and I was down in the loading bay watching you on a camera.”

“I told you, I’m no soldier, Shepard.” Gordon replied, sounding rather ashamed. “I’m not used to fist fighting.”

“It’s alright, that’s why we’re doing this.” Shepard readily absolved. “So I want you to take a fighting stance. Are you right handed, or left handed?”

“Actually, I’m ambidextrous.” Gordon replied, with a cavalier tone. “And I’m very proud of that fact.”

“Well, you have to favor one or the other. Which do you favor?”

“Uh… Right, I guess.” Gordon affirmed, after thinking about it for a moment.

“Alright.” Shepard said, bringing his fists up and letting his shoulders bounce like a fighter character in a video game. “So plant your right foot perpendicular to your left foot. Left foot facing forward, towards your attacker, right foot facing out, like this.” He explained and demonstrated all at once.

Gordon took quick measure of the Commander’s movements and posture, and after a moment, followed suit, admittedly feeling a little awkward in the process.

“Good.” John acknowledged, as the two stood poised, face to face, as if about to quarrel in an alleyway somewhere. “This is your basic fighting stance. It’s the standing position that’s the most difficult to be knocked down from. The right leg is holding most of your weight, and thus absorbs a lot of the shock from any incoming blows. Less stagger, more balance.”

“Lower center of gravity, harder to knock down.” Gordon nodded and shrugged. “Got it.”

“Yeah, piece of cake, right? Now I want you to hit me.”

“What…?” Gordon queried with dismay, as he let his lowered his loosely clenched fist.

“Hit me.” The Commander reiterated, exhibiting even more conviction than before. “Take a jab, a hook, an uppercut. Anything. Hell, kick if you want to.”

“Uh-I…” Gordon stammered for a bit, as he seemed to recoil squeamishly. “I don’t really wanna hit you, John.”

“You won’t. Trust me.” Shepard proclaimed, with a methodic shake of his head, and a crooked, arrogant smirk. “There’s no shot you could take that’ll land a blow on me. I want to show you that any kind of incoming attack can be effectively neutralized with the proper technique. I also wanna help you identify some of those tells that you have, that are giving you away to someone that you might be engaged with.” He explained, pointing a hand towards Gordon. “Help you conceal your offense a little better. So, if it helps, consider it an order.” He sternly put forth, as he raised his clenched fists back up, and retook a fighting stance. “I want you to take your best shot. Do whatever you think you need to do to land a blow on me, and I’ll tell you what you’re doing wrong. So, come on.”

With his shoulders sagging at his side, Gordon sighed and resumed a fighting stance of his own. He studied the Commander for a while - watching him bob back and forth on the balls of his feet. The Commander’s eyes, a shade of dusky blue, were zeroed in on him - his pupils focused to needle points. Every micro-motion of his eyes, watching Gordon’s hands, his feet - every flutter of every muscle, and every twitch of every joint. At that moment, Gordon’s own jade green eyes began to flicker back and forth rapidly.

Wanting to let him take his time and calculate his movements, Shepard watched and waited patiently for Gordon to strike. But after a few seconds the reticent physicist seemed to lose his nerve. Gordon exhaled heavily through his nose, as he let his hands drop once more - but he never unclenched his fists.

John’s eyes narrowed. “Gordon, come on.” He urged - shrugging with his arms outstretched. “I told you, you won’t hit m--MMPH!”

He never saw the blow coming. As soon as he saw an opening, Gordon swung a stiff uppercut straight from his hip right into the Commander’s jaw. Shepard reeled back, stumbling, staggering, and struggling to maintain his balance, when a stray supply crate saw an end to that attempt. A clamour erupted as John toppled over backwards, finding no clemency in the cold, steel, floor.

Shepard looked up at the bright lights of the hangar bay ceiling. At least they seemed bright - brighter than usual. That split second he was on his back, he must’ve realized that he’d never really stopped and looked at how many fixtures there really were in here - this chamber always seemed so dark…

Just then, a worried face popped into his field of view; mouth agape, and eyes practically bulging out of their sockets.

“Oh my gosh!” Gordon blurted out, as he instinctively clutched his own head with his hands - his finger tips buried in his hair, and digging into his skull. “John, are you alright?!”

With one leg still resting atop the toppled over crate, Shepard sat up in a state of confusion, and looked up at the disconcerted Freeman.

“You…” He began, as a bitter, somewhat metallic taste suddenly filled his mouth. Swirling the fluid around, he brought his hand up and dabbed two fingers to his bottom lip. When he looked down at them, he found a light coating of blood. John looked up at Freeman with a dead stare. “You hit me…”

“Well, you told me to!”

“Yeah, but--” John stopped and looked around, in a state of utter bewilderment, as he sat on the cold metal floor. “--I wasn’t expecting it.” He finally admitted, as he looked back up at Gordon. “I lowered my guard when it looked like you were gonna hesitate again.”

“Well… Yeah.” Gordon acknowledged with a contrite shrug that nearly buried his head between his shoulders. “I thought it was like a test, or something. You know, outwitting your opponent, lull them into a false sense of security, catch ‘em off guard, stuff like that. You said do whatever I needed to do. Was I not supposed to do that?” He beckoned, with an almost unnoticeable shake of his head.

“Heh…” Shepard chuckled. “You slick son of a--  Here, help me up, damn it.” He jovially insisted as he extended a hand up to Gordon, who reciprocally was only too eager to assist.

Back on his feet John shifted his throbbing jaw side to side, while rubbing it with his hand. “Argh…” He groaned. “That’s one hell of a right arm you’ve got. That’s your crowbar arm, isn’t it?”

Gordon’s gaze dropped to the floor. A humble smile grew on his face, and he answered with a modest, if somewhat cheeky nod.

“Hmph.”  Shepard snorted a laugh, under his breath. “That’s how you always do it. How you always manage to find a way to win. You outsmart ‘em, not out fight ‘em…”

“Yeah.” The humble physicist acknowledged. “It’s how I’m still here.”

“Hmm… Alright.” The Commander acceded, as he stepped back up to Freeman, preparing to retake a fighting stance. “I’ll let you have that one. Serves me right for letting my guard down. But that’s the only free shot you’re getting in.” He affirmed, raising his fists back up. “You’re gonna have to work a lot harder for the next one. So why don’t we try that again?”


--


Over the next few hours, and spanning across the next several days, of the next few weeks - their training session was admeasured into routine.

“Always remember, every part of your body is a weapon. Every part a tool. There’s no such thing as being helpless. There’s no such thing as being defenseless. If your arms are locked down, use your knees, your legs. Your legs are restrained? Use your skull, your teeth.”

--

Business as usual went on aboard the Normandy. It was a quiet couple of weeks. Peaceful. But still, the wicked never rest. And so, the most decorated ship in the Alliance Navy and the Citadel’s top Spectre got called to action now and again. A red sand smuggling caravan needing disrupting, a raiding party laying siege to an elcor colony, turian hostages taken by human Terra Firma extremist, needing rescue. But each op was quick, each op a success, and then it was back to the training.

--

“A hip throw is performed in three stages; the entry, the off-balance, and the execution. From your basic fighting stance, your left hand will grab the opponents right wrist, while you step with your right foot inside the opponent's right foot.”

“Like this?”

“Yes, good. Next your bring your left foot inside your opponent's left foot, turning your body and dropping your weight, as your right arm reaches behind your opponent, and hooks under his shoulder. Go ahead. Try it. Humph! Alright, that was good. Again.”

--

When not in training, and not fighting, life was good on the Normandy. Shepard actually started joining in on Joker’s weekly game of Skyllian-5, along with Jacob, Garrus, Kenneth, and Gabby. Though he may not be joining them for much longer, as there was only so much his cred-account could take - heaven knows he lost more credits than he’d ever managed to gain. But when the game was over, it was time for another training session.

--

“Reaction time is very important when escaping a choke hold of any kind. You hesitate, you’re dead. You freeze, you’re dead.”

“Eh, I don’t think I’ve ever had much of a problem with reaction time.”

“Good. Now, a basic front choke escape is done in three fluid movements. Arm raise, twist, and retaliate. When an attacker engages head on, the most effective way to escape is to raise your right arm above your head, you then twist your body to your left using the brunt of your armpit to break the choke, and retaliate with a back-elbow to the skull. So again, to demonstrate. Raise, twist, retaliate. Alright, now you try.”

--

Gordon had really come into his own on-board the magnificent ship. When he wasn’t in training, or in the lab, he actually found himself making the effort to seek out and converse with the rest of the crew. It was light years from the introversion and reticence he displayed when he first woke up here. Before the Reaper invasion, he still hadn’t really gotten to know everyone. But he realized life was short, so he made the effort. There was something about these people, something about this crew he served with that helped him come out of that shell of his. He felt like he was becoming a whole new Gordon, and he was happy.

He’d even taken Miranda’s advice and started having weekly therapy sessions with the ship’s Yeoman, Kelly. She seemed to think the source of his nightmares were because he was holding onto some deep-seeded guilt. He didn’t put too much stock into what she had to say - but it was nice to talk to someone about it. And when the therapy sessions were over, it was back to hangar.

--

“Your elbows are formidable weapons. Get into the habit of using them. You can generate tremendous striking power with your elbows. The tip should always be the point of impact. When striking, you wanna keep your elbows in front of your body - aligned with the shoulder joint. Meaning, you never strike with the elbow out to the side of the body.”

“More impact when aligned with the joint.”

“Exactly. Plus, it lessens the risk of you dislocating your own joint. Now, when properly executed, an elbow strike can render any opponent ineffective. You need to strike quickly, powerfully, and repetitively until your opponent is down. Some key weak points, elbow to the face, to the jaw, to the temple, inside shoulder, solar plexus, and throat.”

--

Collectively, the crew thought it might not be a bad idea to start having a movie night. One night a week, the crew voted on a few movies to rent off of the Extranet, and gathered for a mini-marathon in the ship’s observation room. This week's selection consisted of “Fleet and Flotilla” for those lovelorn crew members, “Citadel”, a low-budget retelling of Shepard's defeat of Soverign, “The Man Who Hung Himself” about the comedic antics of an amorous plastic surgeon who may have gotten more than he bargained for, and of course, “Blasto III: From Kahje with Love.” Shepard and Freeman had yet to make a single viewing...
--

“If you’re ever grabbed from behind into a chokehold, like the one the turian on the Illustria had you in, one of the best escapes is a throw from a rear choke. Let me show you what I mean. Now you’re the assailant - I want you to attack me with a rear chokehold.”

“Alright. Like this?”

“Yes. Now you see - if you’ve got a good enough hold on me. I can struggle, and I can squirm, and it’s not gonna do anything. It’s only gonna tire me out. So in a situation like this - your oxygen and blood flow are being restricted, you’re blacking out, you gotta get outta this fast. First thing you wanna do is a headbutt. Launch your skull back into your assailants face aiming for the nose if you can. The thickest part of the skull is the back.”

“Right, the parietal bone.”

“Right. So after you’ve cleaned his clock, he’ll likely have loosened his grip on you. Force your chin into the vee of the arm around your neck. This will prevent him from re-establishing the choke. Then bend and lock your knees - you need to use your weight to your advantage. At the same time your bending your knees, use your right arm to reach up behind you as far back as possible, and grab anything you can - hair, a collar, an ear, anything you can use to gain leverage on your attacker. Once you have that, hold onto their tricep with your left hand, and bend forward at the waist. Make sure to keep your knees locked, pull your opponent over your shoulder, and--”

“Humph!”

“--slam him to the ground. From here, you go into a stomp to incapacitate. Simple right? You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good. I think I got it. Let’s do that again - let me try it this time.”

--
Miranda really had become a busybody on-board the ship. Not that she wasn’t always one to begin with, but she’d definitely taken on a bigger workload than she had in the past. In all honesty, it had been a while since she’d seen combat - not since the Illustria. When the missions were complete, when the munitions ran low, and when jurisdictions needed to be crossed, it was Miranda filing the mission reports, requisition forms, and travel dossiers. But more than that, when she did find some free time, she spent it trying to plan a wedding.

Tali had asked for her help, and true to her word, Miranda was obliging; spending her days on the extranet, researching locales, caterers, florists, and possible entertainment ideas. She’d shoot suggestions over to Tali via email, who was always quick to respond, and ever so enthusiastic. See, some people are picky - you can never satisfy them. Tali on the other hand, was the exact opposite of picky. She loved everything. If your helping plan a wedding, it doesn’t make your job any easier if the bride-to-be absolutely loves 47 different catering options, 29 different venues, and 106 different floral arrangements. Miranda could only imagine the headache that would come when it was time to pick the dress. Her plate was full enough, she scantily had time to wonder, let alone care about, why the boys had been spending so much time down in the hangar bay recently.

--

Two set of feet shuffled back and forth, across the hangar bay’s plate metal floor, in fluid movement that was almost dancelike. Like two prize fighters squaring off in the middle of a ring, searching for an opening, Freeman and Shepard kept their hands up, balled into fists in front of their faces. John’s eyes narrowed, and Gordon’s brow furrowed as the two men studied each other with a calculative gaze. Suddenly, John saw an opening and moved in. It was quick, like the strike from a scorpion’s tail. Gordon answered back, raising his right arm to redirect the swing - while simultaneously reaching behind Shepard, hooking the back of his head, and jerking it down to his elevating knee.

“Alright, that was a good counter!” John lauded, standing back up after his nose just barely made contact with Gordon’s patella. “Deflect the punch, one fluid motion into a grapple, knee shot the face. Good!” He reaffirmed, as he raised his fists, and re-established a fighting stance. “Alright, again. Get your guard up.”

Gordon followed suit, as he too recaptured the aspect of a bare-knuckle brawler. His brow once more furrowed - shoulders swaying, feet shifting from side to side. Suddenly, he saw it coming - he saw the flinch and knew what came next. A swift left jab straight for his face. He diverted it. But this time, John was just one iota faster than he expected. A second swing came in swiftly from his right. Gordon huddled up - his raised forearms managed to block the shot, but he reeled back, and turned away with his eyes clenched in response. The same response anyone would have to the notion of incoming pain.

“No!” Shepard decried, as he withdrew. “Gordon, you don’t do that! Remember, when engaged, never turn away. Eyes open, head up.”

“Ugh, I know, I know!” Gordon groaned, more frustrated with himself than the Commander was with him. “That’s just a reaction. I gotta get better at that.”

“You gotta learn to fight that reaction.” John sternly put forth, austere in his gaze. “Up against a trained assailant, that one little window where you turn away is all they need to hit you with a shot you’ll never see coming.” He continued to explain, waving a stiff finger at Gordon. “You wanna block the attack, not hide from it. The monsters don’t go away if you hide from ‘em, that’s what Anderson used to say.”

John turned and took a few steps away before swinging back around, and resuming the warrior’s pose that the two men had become so accustomed to over the past few weeks. “Alright, again. Fighting stance.” He ordered. “Take the offensive, come on.”

Gordon exhaled a determined breath, and brought his hands back up. He encroached on Shepard - strafing in, light on his feet. His motions apt, his eyes focused, and his senses honed. Just then, came his first swing, then his next. A right hook, a left cross. These were good punches. Shepard had to work hard to deflect them.

“Alright, that’s good! Overwhelm your attacker.” John encouraged excitedly, blocking strike after well placed strike. “You miss with one shot, come in with another, and another. Hide your attacks with a fast but calculated flurry.”

At that moment, and without warning, after the latest diverted shot, John fired back with a right of his own. Gordon countered - swatting the shot away, he twisted Shepard’s wrist, torqued back his shoulder, and moved in for a knee to the gut, followed by a sharp elbow to the back of the head, in rapid succession.

“Perfect!” Shepard exclaimed, with elation, as the blows found their mark, but weren’t executed with enough force to cause any sort of distress. “That’s how you do it, Gordon!” He continued, as the two men seperated. “Disorient your adversary, get ‘em off balance, and go in for the take-down. Controlled aggression, I love it. Alright, again!”  

And just like that, the two went at it again. Each day that passed, the pace quickened, and the training intensified. But the Doctor was picking it all up so fast that he was really starting to keep up with the Commander.

“So…” Gordon began, huffing under his breath, as the two danced around the shuttle bay. “This Captain Anderson I’ve heard you mention. He’s the one that trained you, right?” He asked, as he took a rapid-fire set of shots, that Shepard adeptly swatted away.

“David Anderson trained many.” The Commander replied, as he regained his composure. “I was but one. Humph!” He grunted aloud, as he lunged forward, trying to catch Gordon off guard with a left-hook. But the blow found no purchase, it only found the brunt of Freeman’s bolstered forearm.

“You were fond of him. I can tell.” Gordon continued, never once relaxing his stance. “I’m sorry for your loss…”

John was silent for a moment - ruminative. “It was the galaxy’s loss.” He said - trying to shake off the distraction. He came in for another two swift shots - a left jab and a right cross in rapid succession. But again, they only glanced off of the bulwark that was Gordon’ arms.

“If it’s any consolation--” Gordon continued, as the two continued to shuffle and spar. “--I know how you feel. I never had a drill instructor, but I did have mentors. Losing Dr. Vance was more than I was prepared to take. Drove me over the edge.”

John had cocked his right arm back, for a swift hook, but something stopped him. He didn’t quite lower his guard, he knew better than to do that again. But stopped himself, as if the fight had been taken out of him.

“The way you talk about Anderson, it reminds me of Eli.” The physicist continued, allowing his own hands to drop listlessly to his sides. “It sounds like they had a lot of the same values. Natural born leaders, and fighters to the end.”

“Eli Vance?” Shepard queried, as he unfurled his fists, and let them hang.

“Yeah.”

“You know, I never really thought of that.” The Commander put forth, slipping into an almost wondrous state. “Gordon Freeman had his mentors too… Heh!” He chuckled. “David Anderson and Eli Vance… I guess you could say they were the originators of the Savior of the Citadel and the Opener of the Way. Well wherever they are, I’m sure they’re putting in a good word for us.”

Freeman smiled. “There’s so many people in this world, erm…” He stuttered a bit, as he choked back the term - suddenly remembering he was on a ship in space. “This life, this era, whatever - there’s so many people here that remind me of my old friends and colleagues.”

“Well, you mentioned Tali reminding you of Alyx Vance. I think you said Garrus reminded you of Bernard Calhoun, and Mordin reminded you of Isaac Kleiner.”

“Yeah.” Gordon concurred, as he raised a vexed eyebrow. “I gotta ask, though why does everybody I’ve heard refer to him as ‘Bernard’? When he was alive, he went by Barney, not Bernard.”

John’s initial response a coy shrug of his shoulders. “Every history codex I’ve ever read refers to him as Bernard.” He offered up. “I guess it’s how history remembers him.”

“Interesting…” Gordon replied, with his brow wrinkled in intrigue. “Makes you wonder if the people closest to Albert Einstein called him Al for short. Or if the people closest to F.D.R. called him Frank or Frankie instead of Franklin.

“I think historians just like to keep things formal.” Shepard conjectured. “If the galaxy remembers me 100 years from now, I’ll probably be remembered as Johnathan instead of John. But it’s good that you’re able to find a sense of familiarity and nostalgia among the crew, Gordon. I know how difficult the adjustment has been, after being torn out of your life.”  

“Well, it’s like the world has changed, but it hasn’t, you know?” Gordon said questioningly - crossing his arms, with his head cocked to one side. “Kelly thinks that it’s a coping mechanism. A way to associate my surroundings with what’s familiar to me.”

“What do you think?”

“What do I think?” He reiterated, possibly as a means to give himself half a moment to process the question. “I think I’m glad to part of this crew.” He said, with a stirring sense of pride. “To have found the same kind of people I left behind. Even if it is just my imagination.”

“You got me wondering now, Gordon.” The Commander said, as he proceeded to tap a curled index finger against his chin, as he crossed his own arms. “Do I remind you of anybody?”

“You, John? Hmm…” The uprooted 20th century physicist entered a state of deep contemplation. He placed one hand on his hip, and stroked his goatee with the other, whilst his jade green pupils darted back and forth in his head, like a ball over a ping-pong court.

“I wish I could tell you that you remind me of myself, but I don’t think we’re anything alike.” He finally spoke up again, breaking his momentary silence, as he looked back up at Shepard. “You're like this great military leader type. Give these inspiring speeches, and lead people into battle. Me... I mean I fought and everything, but I’m no leader. Hell, I probably couldn’t give a speech if my life depended on it. I am a glossophobic afterall.”

“Gordon,” Shepard began again. “I think you--”

An unexpected crackle of static screeched over the intercom, cutting the Commander off, and heralding a familiar female voice.

“Apologies, Shepard. I do not mean to interrupt.” EDI announced - her voice reverberating throughout the entirety of the metallic hangar bay. “My data does indicate how important exhibitions of strength are among males of most species, who are attempting to exert their dominance over rival males.”

“Male dominance!?” An aggravated Gordon rang out. “For crying out loud, EDI. This isn’t the kal-if-fee!”

Stoic as usual, Shepard merely looked up to the ceiling, and replied. “What is it, EDI?”

“I have a priority message coming in for you from Nos Astra City, on Illium.”

“Probably that Illium Producer guy again wanting to sign a movie deal or something.” He muttered under his breath, before addressing the AI directly. “Take a message, EDI.” He said dismissively, as he approached Gordon again and put his fists up - readying himself to resume their workout.

“As you wish, Shepard.” The cybernetic being was quick to reply. “But it might interest you to know that the caller is your former crew member Dr. Liara T’Soni.”

“Liara?!” He replied enthused - his eyes beaming, and his mouth curling into a grin, as he looked back up into the shadowy recesses of the ceiling, as if EDI’s tangible form were actually there, instead of just being a voice from an intercom. “Alright I’ll take it. Put it through to my cabin, EDI. I’ll be up in a moment.”

“Of course, Shepard. Routing the call now.”

“Alright, I think that’s enough for one day.” John commented, with a final rough house jab at Gordon’s shoulder. “Come on, there’s someone I want you to meet.”

“...Okay.” The doctor acknowledged with a coy shrug.

“So how ‘bout her, huh?” The Commander questioned, pointing up towards the ceiling. “How ‘bout EDI. Who does she remind you of?”

“EDI? Oh, that’s easy.” Gordon quickly answered back. “EDI reminds me of K.I.T.T., from Knight Rider. Except female and way, way, WAAY bigger.”

Shepard stopped in his tracks, and turned to face Gordon - meeting his eyes with a furrowed brow and perplexed look. “‘Kitt from Knight Rider’?” He reiterated questioningly. “What was that, a resistance group, like the One and Seven? Was Kitt a person? I don’t know what… I’ve never heard of that.”

Like the creak from a ornery walrus, Gordon groaned as he drew his head back, and let his arms slouch limp at his sides. “Of course you haven’t.” He begrudgingly declared. “That’s because nobody here has ever heard of anything from the 20th century, with the exception of the Black Mesa Incident.”

“Oh, come on Gordon, that ain’t true.” Shepard declared, playfully nuding Gordon along into the elevator, with his elbow. “You’re from the 20th century, and I’d heard of you, old man.”

The elevator doors closed on them, just as Gordon rolled his eyes. A minute later, they opened again to reveal a new floor - new to Freeman at least.

“Shepard, I’m a product of 80s television, 90s education, and 21st century warfare.” Gordon proclaimed, as the two men stepped through the doors - It was obvious Gordon was in the middle of a rant. “It’s very frustrating to find that no one seems to know of any of the shows or movies from my day.” He groused, when his eyes finally turned outward and began to process he was in a foreign part of the ship. “I’m gonna have to find some copies and show the crew exactly what--” He suddenly took notice of the room he was in. “--they’ve been… missing... Holey moley, this is your room?” He finally blurted out in astonishment, as he turned to Shepard who was already proceeding towards his desk.

“Yeah, make yourself at home.” Shepard insisted, as he approached the glass display case above his desk - the same one now exhibiting his new Carmenta Illustria model. ”I gotta answer this call. I really want you to meet Liara, she’s an old friend, and like EDI said, a member of my original crew. She’s also one of those brainy types like you, so I’m sure the two of you will really get along great.”

As John prepared to bring his old asari friend up on the big screen above his desk, it wasn’t clear whether Gordon had heard a single word he said. The adept physicist sort of just seemed float around the room, turning agog in little circles - eyes wandering, and mouth cracked agape. Everywhere he looked he found an intriguing new point of interest that his eyes wanted to explore; a massive aquarium housing a collection of exotic fish from seas spanning across the galaxy, a solid, metallic sphere adorning the coffee table, like a giant chrome ball bearing, an impressive collection of to-scale model ships - many of which were actually lit up and moving, a high-tech equipment locker complete with haptic holo-interface, even a fuzzy little pet hamster running himself silly on a little wheel. It was quite the cabin, but just as his eyes caught sight of the sizeable skylight situated over-head, his attention was diverted back to what Shepard was doing by the loud hiss of static.

As a snowy screen cleared up, it was replaced by a plain image with the word “CONNECTING” etched out across it. But this too was soon replaced by the figure of a very attractive and youthful looking 108 year old.

“Oh goddess…!” The asari on the screen gasped - seemingly agitated, as she tried to control her breathing.

“Liara.” Shepard addressed with an eager grin, and a friendly timbre. “How are you?” He asked, before noticing her distraught state. “Is something wrong?”

“Uh, no.” She said with an anxiety laden sigh, as she wiped her drowsy eyes with the thumb and index finger of her left hand. “It’s just… I’ve been debating with myself whether or not to make this call for the past several weeks.” She finally confessed. “And now that I have you on the line, I’m wondering if this is a mistake.

Liara let her head droop down over her chest, and shook it as she exhaled a profound breath - seemingly lamenting over a decision she’d made, and couldn’t go back on now. She looked back up. “I didn’t want to involve you in this anymore, Shepard. If I thought I had any other way, I’d-- I’d…”

“Liara - what’s going on?” John beseeched, cutting Liara off, abrupt and adamant. “Are you in some sort of trouble?”

“No.” The young asari was quick affirm. “But someone I know is. Shepard, I… I didn’t want to ask for your help. But I’m afraid I need it.”

“Of course, Liara.” The Commander reassured, without equivocation. “You know I’ll help with whatever you need. What’s going on? What’s the situation?”

“Not here…” The asari replied, swiveling her head from side to side, as if she was checking over her shoulders. “I can’t say much, it may not be safe. Can you meet me?” She pleaded with her eyes. “My office, in Nos Astra”  

“Absolutely. I’ll have Joker plot a course for the nearest relay, right away.”

“It’s alright, don’t fret getting here, Shepard.” Liara said, seeming to breath a relaxed sigh of relief now. “Like I said, I’ve been debating making this call for weeks. I do need your help, but we have time. I still have some preparations to make, anyway.” Her eyes narrowed into a calculating gaze as she looked off to one side. “Some leads to follow…”

“Okay.” John acquiesced.

“And Shepard, I…” Liara seemed to stutter and creak, as she tried to force something out. “I-I wanted to say I… I heard about your…Your...  I’ll see you when you get here. Liara Out.” Quicker than the call had come in, the screen erupted into a snowy explosion of static, as Liara abruptly terminated the feed. Shepard raised a lone, perplexed eyebrow - not quite sure what to make of the conversation he’d just had.

His train of thought was derailed, just then, by the physicist he’d nearly forgotten was in the same room as him. “That didn’t sound too good.”

“No, it didn’t.” John replied as he turned his gaze up towards the ceiling. “EDI?” He called out.

“Coordinates have already been set, Shepard.” The trusty AI was quick to respond. “Jeff is changing course, as we speak.”

The Commander beamed a subtle grin. “Good girl.” He whispered under his breath, as he turned back to face his fellow human. “Sorry, Gordon - I didn’t even get the chance to introduce you.” He shrugged, as he reached up and switched the holoscreen off, once more revealing his prized model ship collection.

“That’s alright.” Gordon excused with a placid shrug of his own. “That seemed pretty urgent, what she needed to talk to you about.”

“Yeah. But you know what, you’ll still get to meet her.” Shepard asserted, with a smug look in his eye. “‘Cause you’re coming with me, to Nos Astra.”

“Hmm…” Gordon hummed indifferently, as he went back to his self-led tour around the cabin. “Well, you know me. Always, glad to help.”

“Thanks.” The Commander bestowed, as he walked around his desk, and leaned against the metallic siding of his display case, with his arms crossed over his chest. “Gotta say, this whole thing worries me. Liara’s smart and tough, she can take care of herself. If she called asking for my help, it can’t be good.”

“Another job for the ol’ high impact reactive combat armor, eh?” Gordon replied, with a heavy tinge of playful sarcasm in his voice.

“Maybe. Won’t know until we get there…”

Gordon didn’t respond right away. He just watched the various species of fish swim and drift through the brightly lit aquarium. He had to restrain himself from his nagging desire to tap on the glass, which he silently postulated may be an innate human reaction to being around fish tanks.

After that, a brief but eerie silence settled into the room. An air of concern loomed over Shepard, as he listened to the hypnotic whirring of the ship, and the bubbly sounds emanating from the aquarium. He whispered to himself. “Leads to follow, hmm…” He ruminated.

“Eh.” He finally said out loud, attempting to shake off his angst. “It'll be awhile before we reach Illium, anyway.”

“Yeah…” Freeman was quick to reassure with a jovial smile. “And try not to worry. Hopefully,  it’s not as bad as all that. It could turn out to be nothing.” He shrugged. “Maybe she’s got a friend who’s in trouble with the law or the Council, or something. You are Spectre, after all. Isn’t the whole point of you guys that you can operate above the law or around it, or something to that effect? Maybe she just needs your help in that - your influence.”

“Hmmm…” Shepard pondered for a moment, sounding more upbeat. “I hadn’t thought of that. Maybe. There was a time she had me go around Illium hacking a bunch of terminals for her. Said she couldn’t do it herself.”

“Yeah, maybe something like that.” Gordon nodded. “She did say not to fret, afterall. So don’t worry.” He urged, encouragingly, as he turned away from the aquarium and looked out at the rest of the cabin. “That is one hell of a skylight, by the way.” He proclaimed, his head cocked back as far as it would go, as he stepped out under it, gazing out at the stars. “This view is fantastic! Heh.” He chuckled, as lowered his vision back to the Commander. “Gives a whole new meaning to sleeping under the stars, don’t it?”

“Like the room, eh?”

“Yeah, it’s nice.” He plainly put forth, with a venerate nod. “That’s a magnificent aquarium. Not really what I expected as far as armed-forces decor goes.”

“Well, maybe this is what you can look forward to when you have your own Command.” Shepard replied, somehow sounding both sarcastic and truthful all at once.

“My own command?” Gordon replied, raising an eyebrow with a sense of distaste, as he walked around the coffey table, to get a look at Shepard’s model collection. “As in like the Captain of a starship, or something?”

“Why not?” John shrugged, as he walked behind his desk, now viewing Freeman through the glass display case between them. “You’re Gordon Freeman. You led the Earth Resistance against the Combine, I would think skippering a starship would be easy for you.”

“Eh, ‘led’ is a strong word.” Gordon replied, with a bit of a wince. “Besides, you’re the navy guy buddy, not me. I’ll leave the skippering to you.”  

John exhaled a lone chuckle under his breath, as he plopped down in his seat, resigned not to carry the conversation any further. At that moment, and without warning, Gordon uttered something that he could not leave unchallenged.

“This is a nice toy ship collection you got here, John.”  

Shepard shot up from his seat, and locked eyes with the man on the other side of the glass. “Toy?!”