The Minuteman Nine emerged from hyperspace in what was, on the charts, an uninhabited, unclaimed system not far from the United Galactica's somewhat vague border with the Cardassian Union. That was, Kaidan Alenko mused as he considered the starchart he'd used to get them here, probably why it was unclaimed. Even though the system had a Class M planet in it, it wasn't exactly the sort of place where the smart money would put a colony.

Right now "uninhabited" was a little bit of a stretch, since the system had somewhere around 17 million sapient beings in it, but since they weren't planning on staying, Alenko supposed it was accurate enough.

"Well, there's something you don't see every day," Ash Williams remarked as the glittering array of the Migrant Fleet swung into view on the control room's main display. "Unless you're quarian, I suppose," she qualified after a moment's thought.

"Patrol ships on intercept course," Garrus reported from the sensors-and-comms station. "They're hailing." Since they'd never bothered to work out whether anybody aboard was actually the captain, per se, he wasn't sure who he was reporting to, and there was nobody to tell him to put the call on the overhead speakers, so he did it of his own accord.

" - identified vessel, you are approaching the perimeter of the Quarian Flotilla. State your name and business."

"You're on, Kev," Joker remarked from the helm.

Kevirin rose from his seat at the back, stepped up next to the comm station so the pickup there would hear him, and declared calmly,

"This is Kevirin'Zorah nar Irvola speaking. I have critical information for the Admiralty. I request priority flag rendezvous clearance alpha four seven four."

There was a pause; then the voice of the patrol officer came back, sounding slightly rattled. "Your starship is unrecognized. Verify your identity."

Without hesitation, his voice still calm and level, Kevirin replied,

"So, we'll go no more a roving
   So late into the night,
Though the heart be still as loving,
   And the moon be still as bright."

Another pause. Then, "Your identity is accepted. Welcome home, Kevirin'Zorah. Confirm your request for priority clearance."

"Alpha four seven four; red gamma red," said Kevirin.

"What is the nature of the emergency?"

Kevirin folded his arms and tilted his head slightly, a mannerism his shipmates knew was akin to a scowl. Red gamma red was supposed to mean there were no questions asked. Containing his annoyance, however - he was, after all, legally just a long-overdue pilgrim returning home, however dire the straits - he replied, "The Flotilla will come under overwhelming attack within hours. I have information that may help avert disaster."

The patrol officer hesitated again, then said slowly, "Ah... roger that. Red gamma red confirmed. Transmitting your vector for priority rendezvous now. Do not deviate from this course. Patrol out."

Kevirin looked around the control room, looking from one shipmate to another, then let out a breath and slumped slightly. "Right. OK. That wasn't so bad. Now, of course, is the hard part... "

The vector provided by their interceptors took the Minuteman Nine straight into the heart of the fleet, past sleek warships and near-derelict-looking freighters, ancient spaceliners and converted ore haulers, and straight into the control zone of an enormous, unwieldy-looking ship with a bulging hemispherical hull.

"The Sufficiency," Kevirin said. "One of our agro-ships. The Admiralty must be meeting there."

"Catchy name," Williams remarked.

"Given how close to the margin we live, ration-wise, her original name was considered to smack of hubris," Kevirin said.

"What was it?" she asked.

"Abundance."

"Ah."

"My people have a sardonic streak," said the quarian dryly.

"OK, ADC is locked on," said Joker. "We'll be docked momentarily." He swiveled to face the others. "Now what?"

Kevirin considered for a second, then said, "Ash. Kaidan. Your species were the most closely associated with the WDF in the public mind. You'd better suit up and come with me. Everyone else, sit tight. This shouldn't take long... one way or the other."

The "shore party" went down to the main airlock; by the time they arrived, the Minuteman Nine had been maneuvered alongside the Sufficiency by the ag-ship's automatic docking system and the docking arm had locked on. As Williams and Alenko checked each other's EVA seals, the Salusian marine asked Kevirin,

"Think they'll go for it?"

Kevirin shrugged. "Fifty-fifty," he said. "I've been away too long to have a feel for the mood in the fleet just now."

They went into the airlock, sealed the inner door behind them, cycled the lock, and opened the outer door. This revealed the Sufficiency's docking corridor, at the far end of which stood the door to the ship's decon module. There they were met by a quarian biosecurity team, whose job was to scan and thoroughly decontaminate the suits of all three visitors, and verify that the outsiders in particular had complete isolation integrity. This done with dispatch and courtesy, they left the chamber through a side passage to decontaminate their own equipment, and the visitors were permitted through into the Sufficiency's entry port...

... where they were promptly surrounded by heavily armed security officers. Stifling a curse, Williams whipped her rifle from its magmount on her back and drew down on the nearest of them, standing him off, while to her left, Alenko dropped a hand to his sidearm and powered up his bio-amp.

"I hope that was just a reflex, Sgt. Williams," said a quarian officer who stood a few paces back from the security cordon, "and you don't really intend to make a fight of it. You're hopelessly outnumbered and you've nowhere to go."

Williams glared over her rifle's sight at the nearest red-armored quarian, then glanced at Kevirin, who nodded slightly. Gritting her teeth, she stood down the rifle and allowed one of the other guards to take it from her. Opposite, another guard relieved Alenko of his sidearm - though two others nervously kept him covered, since there was nothing they could do about his biotic implants.

"Good," said the officer who'd spoken before. "Thank you." He bowed slightly. "Captain Valan'Kurma vas Sufficiency; your servant. We've no quarrel with you, Sergeant, or you either, Lt. Alenko. You surely must know you're wanted fugitives in the outside galaxy, but here in the Flotilla, the United Galactica's decrees... don't mean much."

Then, turning to Kevirin, the captain went on, "You, on the other hand, are very much under arrest."

From his position above the vast tactical holotank that made up the lower level of the Avenger's flag bridge, Admiral Needa's practiced eye could see at a glance that the operation had opened perfectly. With the bulk of his task force riding the flagship's spacefold wake into the system, the heavy combatants and one of his three Interdictors had arrived already in attack formation. Thirty seconds later, exactly as planned, the other two Interdictors had appeared from hyperspace in their designated positions, overlapping their virtual mass shadow envelopes with the first to effectively bottle up more than seven-eighths of the quarian fleet.

After savoring the satisfaction of a trap well sprung for a moment, Needa felt the first whispers of doubt as he began to realize that there was no sign of surprise in the quarian response to the GENOM warships' sudden appearance. Instead of being thrown into confusion, futile attempts at flight, or a belated scramble for defensive positions, the aliens responded in good order, quickly and efficiently reorienting a fleet already prepared for defense to more directly engage their newly appeared adversaries.

A moment later, Needa found himself speaking by holocom not to a shocked and frightened officer aboard whichever quarian ship was nearest, but instead to a calmly composed group of five officers who had apparently been awaiting his hail in what looked like a conference room.

"This is Admiral Kar'Havath vas Balado speaking," said the man in the center, rising from his seat. "Am I addressing Rear Admiral Lorth Needa?"

Needa mastered his surprise well, his hatchet face betraying nothing as he inclined his head cordially. "You are, sir."

"Excellent. Let's both spare ourselves whatever pseudo-legal gibberish your company's attorneys have ginned up for you to justify this attack, shall we?" Havath asked, folding his arms across his chest. "You mean to enslave the quarian people and we meant to fight to the last for our liberty. I trust we're on the same page now."

A dry smile pulled at Needa's thin lips. "Indeed."

Before the quarian admiral could reply, one of his colleagues had bolted to his feet and cried, "Havath, you fool! You'll get us all killed!"

The other members of the Admiralty seemed to concur - or at least two of them did - and before Needa's astonished eyes, first a shouting match and then a fistfight broke out for control of the Quarian Navy. He watched, captivated by his bemusement, for a minute or so, and was just about to cut the connection and launch the attack when the quarian who had objected got the upper hand and shouted to him,

"Admiral! Wait! Not all of us are so eager to throw our lives away. But we have something to offer you besides our servitude - something that is of greater value to you."

Needa arched an eyebrow. "What could that possibly be?" he inquired skeptically.

The admiral who had led the mutiny leaned closer to the holocam and did something on the wrist computer he wore; a moment later another comm window opened in Needa's flag display. This contained a rotating schematic of a small starship and the cover pages of seven dossiers, each with a file headshot of its subject.

"They arrived the day before yesterday," the mutinous admiral told Needa. "Surely the chance to tie up one of last loose ends of their recent glorious triumph would be worth a great deal to your masters... "

Needa surveyed the holos for a moment and felt, quite apart from the prospect of pleasing the Master with this prize, the tugging of his own desire to complete what had been his greatest victory to date. Capturing the survivors of the Normandy's command staff would be very well-received by Largo, he was sure - of all the WDF fugitives still at large, only a handful carried higher prices on their heads than these seven. Quite beyond that, though, Needa would also take enormous personal satisfaction in delivering them to him personally.

"Let me be sure I am absolutely clear about this," Needa said. "You are proposing to hand over to us the starship Minuteman Nine and her crew of fugitive Wedge Defenders, in exchange for... what? A guarantee that the Corporation will not take your species under its protection?"

"If you want to phrase it that way," another of the mutineers said, drawing a sharp look from their self-appointed spokesman.

Needa frowned. "Such an arrangement exceeds my orders," he told them. "I shall need to consult my superiors." Then, turning casually away from the holotank as though dismissing a subordinate, he said curtly, "Five minutes. Needa out." The window displaying the quarian Admiralty closed.

"Did you hear that, Lanthon?" Needa inquired of his flag captain, who was represented by a separate freestanding hologram (his physical person being one level down on the command bridge).

"Yessir," said Captain Malmek Lanthon. "Shall I hail Corporate?"

Needa gave the man a don't-be-an-imbecile look. "I hardly think we need to bother them with this matter. We'll let the quarians sweat for a few minutes - assuming the blasted people do sweat - and then accept their arrangement."

Lanthon looked for a moment like he might object that such a decision really did exceed his admiral's orders, but then he realized what Needa had in mind and smiled coldly.

"Very good, sir," he said.

Five minutes of a tense and silent fleet standoff later, Needa reopened communications with the quarian flagship and told them they had a deal. With two of the Interdictors dismissed as a gesture of goodwill, the Avenger waited while a pair of quarian impulse tugs towed the Minuteman Nine, windows and drives dark, within range of the Star Destroyer's tractor beam array. Needa noted with dark amusement that the tugs cut their tows and fled at full power the instant the corvette was in range, apparently fearful of being snared themselves. As though an Imperator-class Star Destroyer would waste its time destroying or capturing alien tugboats. Please.

"Scan complete," Captain Lanthon reported. "The ship is powered down except for minimal life support. No explosives detected; seven lifesigns, consistent with expectations."

"Bring them aboard," Needa told Lanthon. "Muster a full assault team in the docking bay. They're supposedly disarmed and secured, but this is a resourceful group of people. Look at what they did on Halstead."

"Aye aye, sir," Lanthon replied; then, a moment later, "Tractors locked on. The vessel is within our ventral firing arcs now."

Bathed in the dim red glow of battle lighting, Ashley Williams looked from one of her shipmates to another. "Looks like this is it," she said.

"Looks like it," Wrex rumbled.

"Assuming they don't just open fire and blow the ship to pieces," Joker added.

Alenko shook his head. "Needa wouldn't dare. He needs us alive... at least for a while."

"Suppose you're wrong about that, though? I'm just puttin' it out there."

"Well," said Garrus philosophically, "then we'll have to go to Plan D."

"The vessel is now within the main hangar bay," Lanthon said. "We'll have grapple lock in 60 seconds."

Needa nodded. "Well, I think we've played out this little charade long enough, don't you, Malmek?"

"Absolutely, sir," Lanthon replied.

"Raise shields. Flag to all ships," Needa ordered crisply. "Commence attack."

"GENOM ships are opening fire," Captain Nella'Karn vas Balado reported to the Admiralty. "And here come those two Interdictors back." She shook her head and added with a trace of grudging admiration, "My compliments to their astrogators; most accurate double microjump I've ever seen."

Admiral Havath nodded. "Signal the fleet to commence the special operation." Then he turned to Vice Admiral Bel'Ergen and added wryly, "OK, Bel, I admit it, you were right. And not just looking for an excuse to punch me."

The leader of the faux mutineers gave his old friend a phantom grin. "That was a side benefit," he said.

Kevirin'Zorah consulted his omni-tool. "Ten seconds to grapple."

"Are you sure this is gonna work?" Joker asked, snugging up his straps and making sure the inertial compensator in his seat was set to maximum power.

"If it doesn't, we'll find out in seven seconds. Five. Four. Three. Two. And... capture." The two fingers of the quarian's right hand flew over the holokeys of his omni-tool; then, with a new note of urgency in his voice, he cried, "Punch it!"

The pilot's grin flashed bloody in the red battle-light as he plied his own holocontrols. In front of him, his shipmates grunted as monstrous forces hurled them against their harnesses, trying to peel them clean out of their deceleration couches and fling them back toward Joker.

"Geronimooooooo!" he yelled.