Sunrise over Palaven. Five years on, the damage was being repaired. The first of the new skyscrapers stood like sentinels in the soft orange glow of dawn. A few civilian shuttles hummed above the city. Plants and animals had begun to creep back through the rubble.
In the war memorial gardens, two of Palaven's greatest heroes watched the city of Cipritine wake up. Primarch Victus took a moment to look over his former lieutenant. Garrus Vakarian didn't seem himself. To the eyes of the turian head of state, his young friend was weary and sallow. Damn. This conversation wasn't going to be easy.
"I called you here because I have some serious misgivings about your plan, Vakarian. Project Bastille. I was reviewing the notes last night."
"It'll be the most secure prison in galactic history, sir", Garrus said. His voice was steady even if he looked like hell. "The hierarchy needs to show that it still keeps the peace now we've started the real work of reconstruction."
"I know that", said Victus. "The plan makes sense, it's your place in it that worries me. As far as I can see you're sealing yourself in stasis with the worst criminals in the galaxy for the rest of time. Not exactly a retirement fit for a war hero."
"It's a good plan, sir, and somebody's got to do it. Our resources are stretched too thin to hold down the Terminus Systems any more. With the Bastille we can keep the scum of the galaxy on ice where they can't do any harm. I'll just be there in case the station's systems find something they can't cope with."
"I don't like it, Vakarian. I don't like you sentencing yourself to a living death like that. I know it's been a rocky road for you since the war. You've lost contact with all your old comrades, you live alone... I know that losing Commander Shepard hit you hard."
"I do miss her, sir. Not a day goes by that I don't think about her running into that transport beam. I try to imagine what happened on the Citadel, why the Reapers just turned and left like that. I'll be guessing forever. I lost part of myself. I don't think I'll ever get it back."
"That's just my point. Do you really think it's the right time for you to be taking on this kind of responsibility?"
"With respect, sir, you lost your son. It hasn't made you any less of a leader."
Victus glared at Garrus. For a long moment he was silent. Then, he slowly reached out and placed his hand on Garrus' shoulder.
"Nobody else on Palaven could say that to me and get away with it. Losing Tarquin hit me hard, I won't deny it. But I'm old and I've had to soldier on. I do it for him, but I do it for you, too. For all of us who are still alive. You can still find some kind of happiness in this world. Don't go locking yourself away because of a broken heart. You will heal. It just takes time. Take it from someone who knows."
"I'm sorry, sir. I was out of line. You've taken me under your wing these past few years... there's no But this isn't just about me and Shepard. Whatever she and Anderson did up there, it changed all of us. I can't go back to C-Sec now, or take up an office job on Palaven and draw General's pay every month. I've stared down some of the worst things in the galaxy. I think I've proved I can do this."
"There's nothing I can say that will stop you, then?" Victus tried one last time. "We could still use you in the world of the living. You're one of Palaven's best and brightest, you know. I couldn't have managed the succession, or the meetings, or the endless damned coordination without you. People talk about you taking over my job someday."
"Hah. That's very flattering. But given a choice between being frozen forever or becoming a politician... well, what would you choose if you had your time over again?"
Victus sighed.
"Who the hell am I to question people's motives these days anyway? We do need this. Aria T'Loak, Urdnot Wreav, those batarian terrorists... the Council will never get anything fixed with people like that around. If you can push it through the committee stage, Project Bastille has my approval, General Vakarian. It's our loss, though."
"Thank you, sir. This is the right thing for everyone."
When Project Bastille was set adrift in 2193, there wasn't a great fuss in the media. Most of the inmates had already been in solitary confinement since the war. For those who took notice, the cryogenic prison was seen as a necessary step in a galaxy where stability was hard to come by.
Time passed. Two centuries on, stability was an old, established reality, and only a few turian civil servants still kept track of Garrus Vakarian's legacy.
After the second great krogan rebellion, the knowledge was lost. Project Bastille, never a household name, became a historical footnote in accounts of the Reaper War.
Garrus awoke to a world full of steam.
I knew it, he thought. Somebody's trying to spring them already.
But as his hearing recovered, it wasn't the warning siren of the self-destruct wailing, it was the thump – thump – thump of a repetitive bass line. For some reason, the Bastille's speakers were playing dance music. Garrus' vision was cloudy, and his voice somewhat muted from the deep freeze.
"Red Alert! Enable emergency protocol nine, password REACH."
"Save it, Archangel. It's a little late for your protocols now."
The steam cleared. Garrus' command centre should have been grey – gunmetal grey, concrete grey. Instead it glowed with the burning orange of projected flames. Music pounded – the floor shook.
Garrus took in the room. From his viewing port above the central cell block he saw dancers, crowds, a bar serving drinks. The walls were lined with couches instead of control panels. He turned. His chair was still there. Someone was in it, sitting casually like she owned the place.
"Who the hell are you and what the hell have you done to my station?"
"Cool it, Archangel. You're among friends here. Old friends. Don't you recognise me?"
She was older, certainly. But she hadn't lost her taste for leather or guns.
"Aria T'Loak. If anyone could call in a favour it would be you. When I hunted you down after the war this was meant to be your final resting place. I should have known this would happen. How long has it been since you broke out?"
"Longer than you know. Welcome to Omega 13. After that long in the icebox you deserve a drink."
Drinks were poured. Food was brought in by a human flunkey.
Garrus wasn't used to being offered hospitality by his mortal enemies. As he chewed on the meal, he plotted his next move. Which of his emergency protocols were still intact? How long had it been? His armoury seemed to have been stripped out to make way for Aria's quarters. Could have been months. He thought of the bar outside and how old Aria looked.
No. It must be years. He swallowed.
"How did you escape?"
Aria smiled from her throne. His throne.
"Does it really matter? Short version: your system got old. Oh, it held us all for a while. It was a tough nut to crack. But I figured it out in the end. From my icecube. Freezing criminals isn't exactly original, you know. Freezing biotic criminals... well, it wasn't your worst idea, but it wasn't great."
"You seem to have kept me under long enough."
"Nothing wrong with the ice! Plenty wrong with the inmates."
"And why am I even here? You could have killed me. I'm... really not sure what you're trying to do to me here."
"If I want to rebuild my empire inside history's greatest jail, why the hell would I give up the frozen, living body of the warden? The greatest symbol of authority I could possibly wish for? I'll put it in perspective for you: You've been my desk for fifteen hundred years."
Garrus stopped dead, fork halfway to his mandibles.
"Fifteen... hundred years?"
"Fifteen hundred years. You missed a lot. Krogan extinction. Quarian extinction. The hanar beating the shit out of the rachni back in '59. That was a good one. Remember Blasto? He came true."
"So, what? The Bastille broke down ten years out of the dock?"
"Oh, no! It was another fifteen hundred years before I even got out. Plenty happened. Like when the turians got hit by the krogan genophage and the asari republics were taken over by an army of Fascist Justicars. Glad I missed that century."
Garrus put down his meal and stood up. He'd started to realise just how stiff his joints were.
"Get to the point, Aria. Are we going to start shooting now, or later? I don't care how long you say it's been, I'm in charge of this station and I'm going to have to take it back."
"You're confident. I've got an army of mercs, bandits and psychos out there, and you're alone and unarmed."
"Sounds familiar. We've played with those odds before."
"Ooh, you're giving me shivers, General Vakarian. Pity I don't go for turians any more. I didn't thaw you out for a final showdown. Your stiff neck is great for signing cheques on and I wouldn't give that up just for a bit of rough-and-tumble and a lot of spilled drinks."
"So what is it about? So far all I've got from you is a lot of bragging and seeing my prison turned into Afterlife Mark II. And until I hear differently this is still my ship, and it sounds like I've got a lot of prisoners to catch, and a lot of paperwork to get through."
"Paperwork? Well, that killed the mood."
Aria stood, reached out a hand, and a holographic screen started projecting images and recordings. It was down-to-business time.
"I've kept Omega 13 moving for a long time now. A really long time. No one can find us, no one can catch us. The scum of the galaxy come here to relax and blow off steam. It's home to the homeless, sanctuary for the lawless."
"Land of the free, home of the slave. So far, so Aria."
"Shut up, Archangel. I keep track of the galaxy around me. No more sneak attacks from Cerberuses or Shepards. Or do-gooders like you. I monitor radio chatter, I steal the odd ship, I watch fleets from a distance. Your guidance systems make a great observation deck."
"So what have you seen?"
"Until last month, the usual. Trade routes, fleet manoeuvres, the odd small war outside Council space. The relays are reliable as ever, black holes are munching happily away at the galactic core. And then a lot of little red dots appeared from out of dark space."
Garrus' blood chilled in his veins. Spirits. Not again.
"You're joking. They're back?"
"They're back. You thought they were beaten? They just went away."
"Shepard beat them. She made them leave. The Crucible... whatever it did, it worked."
"Nobody knows what happened with the Crucible! We're the only people left who even remember the damned Crucible! Nobody knows what Shepard did, and I don't want to try and do it again on my own. Goddess knows I'm the last person to unite the galaxy."
"So you woke me up for a consult? I have no idea what the hell to do. Where have they attacked so far?"
"I'm getting to that. It's the weird part. They haven't attacked anywhere. They've been touring the galaxy. They've hovered over every capital planet. They've just ignored the fleets and nobody's dared to fight them yet."
"Where are they now?" Garrus' head was spinning.
"They're all just sitting still on top of a little planet called Alchera. It's like a swarm of bees around its hive. Does that mean anything to you? Because I'm at a loss. The rest of the galaxy is going nuts and you're the only guy I know who might know what the hell is going on."
"Alchera? That's the site of the memorial to the Normandy SR-1. Why would they be there?"
"Right. That helps already. I might be able to answer that. For the last week this recording has been blasted through every mass relay. People can't watch TV or the news. There's panic on the streets, everywhere."
Aria made another motion and a booming, growling Reaper voice echoed throughout the control room. Garrus flinched. The guards at the door tensed up. Even Aria set her jaw and blinked rapidly.
Normandy crew, come in, Normandy crew.
"It's just looped over and over again" said Aria, turning back to Garrus. "The Reapers want you to go there. I don't know why, I don't know what it means. But it must be pretty important to come back three thousand years after the war. And since you and me are the only people who even remember what the Normandy was..."
Garrus thought for a moment. Three thousand for the Reapers, but seven years for him. Fear stirred, but there was a spark of hope, as well. There was really only one decision to be made, and he made it.
"I wonder. They never did find Shepard's body, did they? Is it possible..."
"How should I know? Bigger fish to fry at the time. I'm sorry she died, but don't get your hopes up about... anything out of the ordinary. I've lost a lot of friends, and a lot of lovers, Vakarian. Most of them lived full and happy lives. Or full lives, at least. If I were you I might be thinking of...what you're thinking. You've only lived what, six years or so since the war? But I'm telling you, it's ancient history. If I were the Reapers, maybe I'd want to twist the knife by smashing up an old memorial, but that's probably dust by now, too. So I just don't know."
Maybe it was the adrenaline from his awakening, maybe there had been something in the food, but Garrus felt energy surging through him. Oh, and something else. Yeah, that's what courage felt like. That little pebble of resolve in the midst of the torrent of fear. He remembered that. He remembered her.
"One last mission, huh? I guess I'd better go. They want to speak to me, right? I must be the only one left. Might as well get warmed up cracking a couple of Reaper heads before I come back to clean you off my ship."
"Funny. You're not going without me. I don't plan to save the Council, but I'm not going to let you take all the credit for saving the galaxy."
"You're joining the good guys at last? Not like you. Running and hiding is more your style. With the Bastille here it seems you've got a good opportunity to sit this cycle out."
"What can I say? I entered the Matriarch phase while you were my furniture. My skin's like wax and my tits are like beach balls. It's my galaxy too and I'll defend it. Lost one Omega already, thanks to you."
"Then we'll need a ship. Do the thrusters still work on the Bastille?"
"I'm not taking Omega 13 into a giant Reaper trap. And I'm not leaving in public just so the first merc boss with a bug up his ass can take over."
"So you need my safety protocols after all."
"What are you talking about?"
"My panic room. Bet you didn't find, it, huh? A little hidey-hole underneath the Bastille's main generator, where all your sensors would be disrupted. Had it installed just in case... well, you happened. I've got an escape route there."
"After three thousand years, you really think anything will still be in one piece?"
"I am. That's why I froze it."
It was still frozen.
"What a heap of junk!"
"It's not that bad, T'Loak. Human engineering is tougher than it looks. It was in those days, anyway."
"Damn you, Archangel, that old shuttle might have cut it when you locked us in the refrigerator, but it'll be a deathtrap by now."
"Oh no. This Kodiak was calibrated by the best. If those stealth systems don't keep us hidden from the Bastille's sensors his name wasn't Esteban Cortez."
"You've lost me."
"Just get in."