There is a large statue of a woman near the center of New Angeles. She is burdened under heavy armor but stands with such purpose that it seems light. Her weapon is resting on her shoulder, and her opposite hand is extended out to the onlookers below, nobly offering her assistance to the passersby. She glances at them and through them, face stern but warm, almost loving, frozen in time. Beneath her, the copper foundation bears the inscription:
Commander Shepard
2154 – 2186
"The bravest are surely those who have the clearest vision of what is before them, glory and danger alike, and yet notwithstanding, go out to meet it." - Thucydides
Anthony Everest fidgeted somewhat nervously at the far corner of the conference table, his nerves jittery due to the upcoming meeting and amplified by the unnatural amounts of caffeine he had ingested just moments before. His colleagues rocked back and forth on their swivel chairs like bobbed apples.
"This is fun," one of them said casually.
Anthony figured the management would probably replace those chairs with less distracting ones in the future. Productivity is the angry god to which all businesses must sacrifice.
Anthony found himself bouncing along with them, his blood nearly half coffee at this point. He tried to keep still but his hands shook. Too much coffee...
A serious man strode swiftly into the office, a stern smirk on his face and an expensive suit on his back. Cowlicked gray hair cast a slight shadow over his almost leather skin. "All right," he began, looking over the half dozen men and women at the table. "Our first meeting of the quarter. As you all know, the last half year has not been kind to us, as we've lagged behind the extra-world news outlets for some time now. I've called this meeting to solicit some story ideas to try to gain back some interest and some financial support from advertisers. We don't want another quarter like the last one. Now, I am going to turn it over to you. I want to hear some ideas, some brainstorms, whatever you have, on potential stories and pieces we could begin to uncover."
At first there was hesitation, but after one younger woman bravely volunteered a story idea, the room became a cacophony of talking, laughing, arguing, and pleading. Anthony bode his time. He had an idea, but knew he needed to pitch it properly or else it would get immediately consigned to the dust bin.
"We need to focus more on the debunking of myths aspect, I think," said one man. "That's our most compelling angle. Our investigative pieces over the last year have been our most successful—they've been shared, posted, and featured more than anything else. Some even were picked up for vid specials. If we do a column series that dispels popular and inaccurate notions about news, events, history, or whatever, that could build some momentum." He gestured to the well dressed man, asked, "Don't you think, Mr. Kenny?"
"I agree that this is our strongest selling point, but so far we've had a regrettable lack of ideas," stated Mr. Kenny flatly.
Here was Anthony's chance.
"I have one idea that would definitely get us attention." He gulped as everyone turned to look at him.
"I'm listening," said Mr. Kenny.
"We do a story about Commander Shepard. The angle could be trying to separate the fact from the legends."
There were some audible groans and eye rolling. Mr. Kenny, to his credit, did not respond so dismissively, but he was obviously skeptical. "Everyone and their dog has done an expose on the Commander. We have to set ourselves apart, not blend in with all the other news outlets."
"Wait, hear me out," pleaded Anthony as he leaned forward. "First, you're right, everyone has done a piece on her. But if you look at the ratings, viewership, and advertisement revenue from those programs, they trend towards the top of the pack. Three of the five most fiscally successful expose programs in the past two years have focused on the Commander."
"But we're reaching a saturation point," said Mr. Kenny. "You are right that those news pieces were well received, but there were a half dozen more high budget stories done on her that did not fare nearly as well this year. We're a news journal, not a vid series, as well. We can't afford to gamble on something that large. Besides, it's been fifteen years since she died, and the subject has been done to death. Commander Shepard is the most ubiquitous hero in the history of humanity. It would be almost impossible to come up with anything new to say about her. She's everywhere. Haven't you seen that giant statue outside the studio?"
"I agree that it would be tough, but here's the thing. I mean, look. I'm a historian, I love to study this stuff. And the degree of mythologizing that's gone on around Shepard seems almost unprecedented. She is arguably the most famous person in history, but how much do we really know about her? Everyone has heard the stories, everyone knows what she did. Most of the documentaries about her and about the Reaper War are about just that: her actions before and leading up to the war, but little else."
"I actually have wondered about her earlier life," offered a woman across the table in a surprising gesture of support.
Anthony felt bolder and continued, "I think we should focus on that. What was she like? What made her tick? What was her family life like? What about her personal life? We know all about her actions. But what about her thoughts, her feelings? What were her hopes and her dreams?"
"This could work," said Mr. Kenny, "but I am skeptical that this hasn't also been done to death."
Anthony shrugged, said, "Oddly enough, it hasn't. Most of the stories about her descend into almost comical hagiography. She is a hero, after all. But she isn't like other political or military heroes. She seems to me to occupy a place in the public consciousness more like Achilles or Spartacus than with other military heroes. Even her contemporaries, like David Anderson, languish in her shadow."
Mr. Kenny smirked to himself and looked down. He said, "Look, Anthony. I like this idea, I really do. But I'm not sure it will work. Remember, the crew of the Normandy don't do interviews anymore. Not since the last debacle with Earth News Report and their historically awful reporting. I doubt they'll bite. So, it's too much of a risk to commit our resources to right now."
Anthony grew defensive and tried to interject, "I don't think—"
"I'm sorry, Anthony. Perhaps later."
Anthony sank down into his chair, quietly letting air out of his mouth like a deflating balloon.
That evening Anthony sat at his desk and aimlessly searched through the extranet for other story ideas. He browsed along half-heartedly, without any real interest. To tell the truth, he could not even really remember what they had agreed on in the meeting. After Mr. Kenny shot his idea down he replayed the conversation over in his head, repeating it and twisting the dialogue so that he emerged the winner. When the meeting adjourned he smiled and nodded and then left. The last half hour was a blur.
He looked at a sheet with a few other story ideas listed. He had a line or two about the krogan expansion on a previously uninhabitable planet in the Kepler Verge. Another possibility was a piece on the increased use of old tech fuel as a psychotropic drug among poor Quarians. The last one was the almost nauseating popularity of some grotesque singer who had her image plastered all over the Earth, and how her recent album had gone triple platinum. Anthony had listened to it once and nearly retched. Sadly, he predicted, that would be the story he was have to pursue.
He looked up at the wall near his desk to see his framed degrees. There was a bachelor's, then a master's, but no further diplomas. He had been proud of them for a time, but now he felt like throwing them across the room. Or at least letting them ignobly rot inside the drawer of his desk. A lot of good they did, he thought to himself. All the pieces of paper had seemingly gotten him was a mountain of crushing debt and a lackluster job writing technical news articles and reporting with faux seriousness on the mind-numbing stupidity of popular culture.
He sighed, wishing for something else.
Tired of these options, he opened up a vid interview posted online. It was the infamous final interview with the Normandy crew. After its release three years prior, they all went dark. No interviews from any of them in the years since.
The interviewer was idiotic and offensive. Anthony did not blame the former crew of the Normandy from declining all specials in the time hence. He would have done the same. The woman doing the interview was a well known journalist and hot-shot in the field, despite being christened with the almost comically appropriate name of Barbara Lugdum. Her approach to journalism was to simply annoy the interviewee as much as possible, provoke a rise from them, and then showcase the controversial footage. The result was despairing mix between journalism and vapid entertainment—a particularly odious kind of reality television. What annoyed Anthony even more was that Barbara Lugdum was more famous and wealthier than he would ever be.
BARBARA LUGDUM: Did Commander Shepard grieve the deaths of her squad during the war?
ASHLEY WILLIAMS [with visible irritation]: Yes, of course. She felt it was up to her to save everyone. If someone died in battle, she interpreted it as a personal failure.
LUGDUM: Which death seemed to have affected her the most?
WILLIAMS: Why... I mean. Are you asking me to rate them?"
LUGDUM [with forced sympathy]: No, I mean, which crew member's death seems to have affected her the most? Did she process them differently?
WILLIAMS [after a long pause]: They all affected her deeply. Her grief was always obvious after it happened. Kaidan, Mordin, Thane, Legion. They all were difficult for her.
LUGDUM: Even Legion, the geth?
WILLIAMS: He was an ally, and a friend to her.
LUGDUM: But it was still a geth, surely she did not feel the same grief over its death as, say, Kaidan Alenko.
Ashley was about to get angry, but Anthony fast-forwarded the program. He had seen this clip before, Ashley had risen from her chair and stormed out of the room where she was being interviewed, muttering, "I'm done with this." It had made quite a splash. He didn't feel the need to see any more of that. He went back to the beginning of the interview to watch a separate part. Now the interviewee was another human soldier, named James Vega.
LUGDUM: I understand that it Commander Shepard who urged you to enroll in the N7 program.
JAMES VEGA: That's right.
LUGDUM: Did you ever feel any hesitation doing this, especially since she was killed shortly after?
VEGA: No. I'm a soldier. I know the risks. Shepard thought I should do it, and she was right.
Anthony fast-fowarded again, there was a more interesting section.
VEGA [voice raising]: What are you suggesting? That I should turn my back on the Alliance because she died?
LUGDUM: I only was curious if you doubted the Alliance and the N7 program after Shepard passed away.
VEGA [angrily]: Shepard died to save us. All of us. Me, her friends, everyone, even a [expletive deleted] like you. What difference does that make for whether I should stay in the Alliance or not?
Anthony sped ahead some more. James's outburst hadn't been as memorable as Ashley's, but it was interesting nonetheless. He was not sure if it was the reporter's incompetence that triggered their anger, or if it was their sensitivity about Shepard. Probably both, he concluded, but the idiocy they were putting up with certainly did not help.
He jumped ahead a little more, to the section with Garrus Vakarian. Garrus was a notorious hothead, but oddly enough he was one of the few not to get enraged on the program. At least, not visibly enraged.
The turian sat upright in his chair, his posture as intense as his mannerisms. But he spoke calmly and coolly.
LUGDUM: You had a reputation as a... as a less than...
GARRUS VAKARIAN [interrupting]: As a hothead.
LUGDUM: Your word, not mine.
VAKARIAN: Your words all the same. I've been called that for decades.
LUGDUM: So what has changed?
VAKARIAN: My age. I am older now. I have less tolerance for stupidity, but more patience for it.
LUGDUM: Did your experiences with Commander Shepard assist in your mellowing out at all?
VAKARIAN [slowly]: I suppose so.
LUGDUM: Nothing more?
VAKARIAN: No.
LUGDUM [changing questions]: Did you ever find it difficult, as a turian, to serve under the leadership of a human?
VAKARIAN [bemused]: You are wondering whether any turian could abide such a situation. It's a general question because you're more interested in stereotypes of us than an actual answer.
LUGDUM: I meant only-
VAKARIAN [interrupting]: You meant only what you said. I have two answers: most turians would have had an issue with it. I didn't.
LUGDUM: And you didn't because?
VAKARIAN: Because serving under Commander Shepard was not like serving anyone else. Regardless of species, we all would have followed her to the end of time. For someone conducting an interview on Shepard, you seem curiously ignorant of her reputation as a unifying presence.
It went on like this for some time. Garrus's words were more precise than the others, and his interview lasted the longest, but he seemed to prefer answering in generalities and twisting the questions around, rather than actually providing concrete answers. It was this habit that interested Anthony. As a soldier, Garrus was known as a sharpshooter, but now it seemed his most accurate weapon was his tongue rather than his rifle. And he was deft with it. Anthony was certain that because of Garrus the galaxy knew less about Shepard than it might otherwise. There was something about him, something he had hidden about Shepard. He could feel it.
The screen was paused, frozen on Garrus's face. Anthony studied his calm, taciturn expression. His small blue eyes pierced through the dark ambiance of the room and through the screen on which Anthony watched him. He was mesmerized, he felt like Garrus was glaring right at him. A silent threat for any reporter who tried to come after him.
He startled when his office door clicked and slid open. Glancing over his shoulder he saw Mr. Kenny himself standing there.
"Just about to head home," said Anthony, exiting the extranet and putting his devices at standby.
Mr. Kenny merely sat down in Anthony's sole guest chair. "Not able to let it go, huh?" he asked, gesturing at the vid screen and Garrus's face.
"No—I mean... Yes," said Anthony nervously. "I was just—"
"I'm sorry about earlier," Mr. Kenny interrupted.
"It's all right, Mr. Kenny," began Anthony.
"Please, call me Walter."
"All right."
"Look," said Walter, "I actually really like your idea. It's ambitious and it's interesting. I don't think it'll be a good starter but I'm prepared to admit to be wrong."
Anthony was a bit blind-sided. "You mean...?"
"Not exactly. We're not going forward with that project yet. But I do want to explore all our options. I'm prepared to let you go on your own a little bit, see what you can dig up on the Commander."
"Just by myself?"
"Yes," said Walter flatly. "You're a bright guy. We all know where you went to school. You can do some research on your own. If you can find some promising avenues, let me know, and we'll start to put some momentum behind it. Maybe we'll do a story on it in the future."
"This is great," Anthony began gushing, "thank you! I want—"
"Calm down, son," said Walter. "I'm giving you a leash here, and it's a short one. We can't commit long term to something like this. Only if you can give some results."
"How much of a budget do I have?"
"Very little," Walter said. "In fact, think like you don't have a budget at all."
Anthony felt weight pushing down on him, gulped again. "I'll do my best, sir."
"Walter," said Walter.
"Right."
Walter Kenny stood up and extended his hand. They shook, and Walter said, "I look forward to seeing what you come up with."
"Where do you suggest I start?" asked Anthony.
"How should I know?"
This would be difficult.
Anthony walked outside in the brisk California evening. It was fall, so the weather was still warm, but when the sun set the temperature could drop with surprising rapidity. He slipped on his sweater and strode out into the quad between the studios and the tourist destinations. The city was a shambles after the war, but in the decade hence it had renamed and rebranded itself. Clean, new buildings extended for blocks. Remnants of the carnage of the war could still be found wherever one looked, but the city had rallied and become a beacon of the hope that pervaded after the Reapers had been vanquished.
All of it was owed to the figure who towered over the center of the new city square. Anthony walked quickly across the marble tile and soaked in the dreamy orange haze of the square's lights. He approached the statue and looked up at that face. Commander Shepard looked down at him, her hand extended out for him to reach. Her eyes, though leaden and unmoving, seemed to understand him. Unlike any other he had seen, the statue did not look through him, it looked at him.
He studied her expression and the hand that waited before him.
"Who were you?" he asked her.