None of that was particularly interesting to Vice Admiral Stephen Hackett. He was far more interested in, and kept replaying, six seconds of footage from one of the crippled mechs in the Blyde Square incident. It showed the square in the jumbled aftermath of the fight against those things Species 2214 had used in their failed last-ditch effort to dislodge the central resistance there, a few seconds after the aliens had cleared out, taking two captives with them.

Moments after that, several combat-armored figures amid the wreckage started to stir, then rise. One of them made gestures plainly indicating that she was on the com to somebody. A second or two later, one of the two very large one-off mechs that had taken part in the battle—the one that had legs—launched itself into the air. (Hackett knew from other reports that it had engaged the Collector vessel that was lifting off at that point, along with the mysterious untracked starship that might or might not have been a 3WA TroCon transport.) Seconds after that, with evident urgency, the individuals who had extracted themselves from the rubble grouped up into an instantly recognizable squad and moved out with a purpose, heading out of shot to the right.

As they did, they passed near enough to the wrecked mech that, with some careful manipulation, most of them were nicely in the frame. It lasted for no more than one second, but with patience and care, Captain John Sheridan had managed to get a freezeframe in which they were all fairly clearly visible.

"Well, that's something," remarked Sheridan's Psi Corps liaison, a supposedly commercial-grade telepath named Lyta Alexander.

Sheridan and Alexander had worked together for several years now, ever since he'd taken command of the Agamemnon, and though he didn't believe for a moment that she was really a P5 specializing in labor relations, he'd come to trust her—at least as far as one could trust a Psi Corps officer—and to value her judgment in many matters.

"Mm?" he asked now, glancing away from the frozen image at her.

"We can at least get some facial recognition off of this frame," she said, gesturing.

Hackett shook his head. "No need. I recognize most of them."

Lyta looked puzzled. "You do?"

Sheridan gave her a vaguely indulgent smile. "You're not a student of military history, Lyta." He pointed to one of the slightly blurred but recognizable figures. "See that turian? That's Garrus Vakarian."

Lyta studied the image for a moment. "Garrus..." She blinked, looking back at the captain. "'Archangel' Vakarian?!" she blurted.

"You did study," Sheridan said, his smile broadening.

Hackett ignored the byplay between the younger officer and the telepath, as had been his policy since he transferred his flag to Agamemnon. It was rare enough for Earthforce captains and the Psi Corps officers they all knew were undercover Psi Cops not to loathe each other outright. That these two actually seemed to be something like friends was enough to convince Hackett that Sheridan had the matter well in hand and didn't need a flag officer's interference. Besides, the ship's performance reports spoke for themselves about how well the combination worked.

"And you think that makes her..." Lyta said to the admiral, nodding toward the black-haired, black-armored woman in the lead on the frozen image.

Hackett nodded. "Has to be."

"But she's dead," Lyta protested.

"The universe is not only stranger than we suppose, it's stranger than we can suppose," Sheridan paraphrased playfully.

"So... what then? They're some kind of deep-cover WDF operation?"

"Or something like that," Hackett agreed. "Probably. Or IPO. She was part of Gryphon's inner circle in the old WDF. Grew up a couple of doors down from his quarters, flew in his Valkyrie squadron. He gave her her first command. If anyone could get her out of wherever she's been keeping herself all these years and back into action, it'd be him."

"What are we going to do about it?" Sheridan asked.

Hackett considered the question for a moment, then said firmly, "Nothing."

Lyta blinked at him. "Nothing?!"

"Look at it this way," the admiral told her. "If that really is Virginia Shepard, and we get in her way, she'll just go through us. If she isn't, and we let her keep doing what she's doing, she'll be killed." He shrugged slightly. "And therefore no longer our problem."

Lyta glanced at the frozen, blurry image of Shepard again, then shook her head with a resigned smile. "As you say, Admiral," she said.