Cyrene, 2195 CE
The general made his across the station's halls, his hands clasped behind his back. The place was abuzz with frenzied and disorganized activity, as bureaucrats and even military personnel abandoned their posts, taking with them whatever valuables they could.
It was small orbital gateway station, and it had been re-purposed too, to suit the needs of the times. In its day, it had been a small customs station in orbit over the colony of Cyrene, though it had now been transformed into the headquarters of the Alliance's tiny remnant fleet, and from which - for some months now - had radiated the Alliance's equally pathetic and weak sway over a progressively shrinking number of outposts and colonies in the Attican Traverse and Terminus Systems. And even that was now coming to an end.
Coming to Hangar C, the general spotted a familiar figure: the former colonial governor of Dobrovolski, sitting - slumped - on a crate positioned to the side of the hall, surrounded by a clamoring multitude of people - civilians, mostly - who kept pushing up against a line of soldiers and angrily requesting to see the Commander-in-Chief in his quarters, demanding answers and assurances from him.
"What are you doing here?" he asked him sternly, although he felt some measure of pity for the old man, who now - stripped of his position - looked lost and confused, virtually indistinguishable from any of the other panic-stricken refugees.
"Waiting for the Commander-in-Chief. I-I must see him. The planet-side evacuation-"
"You'll wait here until the Reapers come, then" the general said, cutting him off. "Onto the ships," he added in a kindly a tone as he could muster in his tiredness, and left him, continuing to walk until he came to the cordon of soldiers. No sooner had they recognized him, they saluted, and stepped aside to allow him in, whereupon came renewed shouts from the crowd behind him until the door closed once he had stepped in.
The ante-chamber was a mess, and the formerly opulent office space had been transformed to a waste: the glistening floor was covered with bits of smashed circuitry and shattered glass, the remains of a purposeful attempt to destroy all datapads and computer parts before vacating the station. In some other room to the side, some petty clerk was feeding a blazing bin with bits and pieces of paper: the cuffs of his white shirt were singed, and though there was no smoke, there was an acrid smell that permeated the room. On the desk at the center of the room were stacked even more papers, as well as bottles of various liquors, most of them empty or only half-filled.
And amidst the chaos, the Commander-in-Chief stood a little ways next to a work-station, flanked by two bodyguards and dressed in a blue officer's suit with the golden emblem of the Earth Systems Alliance embroidered on his breast. He noticed the small sidearms strapped to the sides of the bodyguards, and their lack of assault rifles; he concluded that they must be biotic adepts (and powerful ones, too), to forgo weapons so casually.
They stared at each other intently, neither breaking the silence. Finally, the Commander-in-Chief spoke. in mock concern: "How did it go? Did everyone get away?"
"The fleet had a very bad time on the way," the general answered, discarding all formality. "But," he nodded, though his expression remained cold and impassive,"generally speaking, everyone got away."
"I myself," he went on, "traveled very comfortably. Sitting quietly in the corner of a private compartment. Didn't bother anybody - and nobody bothered me. Twilight everywhere, like a in kitchen."
"I'm afraid I don't understand," the Commander-in-Chief replied, and his voice was tinged with hardly-contained impatience.
"See, when I was a boy, back in the colonies... One night I went to the kitchen. The stove. On the stove, cockroaches. But not the Earth-type - I say cockroaches, but I mean these bugs from Eden Prime. Harmless things, but just as unpleasant and unseemly as the ones from Earth. And I turned on the light, and all of them scattered... When I turned it off again, I heard their feet pattering, scratching, scraping. You see," he said, biting his lip, and shaking his head slightly, "we're like them, scurrying in the dark.
"I look, and I wonder where we're fleeing to? Like cockroaches, we'll fall from the kitchen table into a bucket."
"We are grateful to you for everything you, with your great strategic talent, did for the Alliance," bellowed the Commander, irritated and in no mood to hear the inane musings of the mad man in front of him. Now that all was ended - he realized he had no reason to put up with the idiot anymore. "I'm not going to detain you any further, General. Myself, I'll be evacuating at once. The Provisional Government has disbanded: it's over."
"Moving to some comfortable Terminus world? Who knows: it might be you'll get to live out the rest of your life in peace and comfort, before the Reapers ever reach there."
"If you keep forgetting your manners," growled the Commander, without a trace of humor or jest in his voice, as he crossed his arms,"I'll have you arrested,"
"I expected that. I'm surprised you haven't done it already, considering my reputation."
"...It's not your poor health, I can see. For a year now, your loathsome antics have been hiding the hatred you feel for me."
"I do hate you, it's true. I never denied it, in all fairness."
"Envy? Thirst for power?" came the question, and he shrugged his shoulders and squinted his eyes, feeling a sincere curiosity to know the answer of the eccentric standing before him.
"No. I hate you for having involved me in all of this,"answered the general. "Where are the fleets the Council was to send us? Where's the Systems Alliance? The turians? The asari? How could we start fighting Them when we're powerless? You," and at these words, he raised his hand and pointed at the Commander with his finger, "you are the cause of my illness. But now," he reflected, serenely, "time's up for the both of us. We shall both drop into oblivion."
"Then I won't keep you any longer, General."
"Turning out your most obedient servant?"
"You God-damned clown."
The Commander-in-Chief turned his face in disgust, and walked through a back-door, his biotic bodyguards following right behind; at their going, the menial clerk looked up from his work, waited for a few seconds until their footsteps had receded into silence, and then anxiously ran out through the front door.