The Operative declined transport to the abbey, instead choosing to walk the 15 mile journey through treacherous open country, with its ready threat of beggars and thieves, though the Operative knew that he would be safe. After all, what lowly thief could compete with a trained, deadly Operative? A lesson the mugger back in the docks on The Operative’s home planet had learned well enough.

It was growing dark before the warm, comforting sight of the Abbey, with its carved gables and spires - modelled on pictures from a church back on Earth-that-was – came into view over the horizon, and the Operative’s feet were sore and throbbing from walking so far on hard, stony ground. With a hint of a struggle, he pushed open the thick, wooden door of the Abbey, and gratefully left the chilly air outside into the warm, golden glow of the hall. He trudged over to the desk, where an elderly Shepard smiled at him genially from under thick grey brows.

“Welcome, welcome, how can I help you?”

The Operative gave a small smile in return and replied, “I wish to follow God and become a Shepard, here, at the Abbey.”

If possible, the elderly man’s smile grew even wider “Of course, of course, just let me find the forms” After a few minutes muttering and tapping irritably at the screen before him, the Shepard smiled again. “Here we are. Now what is your name?”

Name? The Operative did not have a name. A seed of panic and misgiving began to slowly grow in his stomach. He had remained a nameless Operative for so long that he couldn’t remember his original name, and he refused to use the one the Alliance had given him; it seemed so fake and meant nothing. The elderly Shepard raised one formidable eyebrow in impatience, at this stranger taking so long and looking so dazed at being asked simply to give his name. The Operative caught the look and tried hard to think faster. He raised his arms to carry out his nervous gesture of running his hands through his hair, when he heard something rustle in his pocket. He smiled. Of course, his