If It Meant Living: Tales

"Redemption"


February, 2186: Twelve Days after Destruction of Collector Base / Five Days after Destruction of Alpha Relay


Normandy SR-2, Nos Astra Docking Bay A-5, Illium: Tasale System, Crescent Nebula

Shepard tossed the bottle of Turian liquor in the direction of the couch as the door to her quarters closed behind her.

Garrus reached up and caught it as it sailed overhead. He kicked a foot up on the table, opening the bottle as Shepard reached into the cabinet against the wall and pulled out a bottle of pure clear liquid.

His eyes narrowed slightly. "That's not one of your usual drinks."

"Nope. This, my friend, is vodka." She cracked open the cap then grabbed a tumbler.

Garrus shrugged mildly. "Hmm. What's it go with?"

"Ice." She grabbed a handful of cubes, dropping them into the tumbler then drowning them with the clear liquor. She plopped down next to him on the couch, glass extended. "To the end of the world."

He huffed a breath and gave her a wry look but accepted the toast. "To the end of the world." Glass clinked against glass, and together they knocked back a long sip.

He relaxed into the couch. "So everyone else is off the ship?"

She nodded slowly, lips not quite leaving the rim of the glass. "Yep. Chakwas is staying, and Joker – once he was assured through official channels that he was not going to be placed under arrest – but otherwise, it's just you and me. Kasumi and Thane were the last to leave; I'm afraid I had to not-so-gently shove them out the airlock and onto the dock."

"They're worried about you…" his mandibles fluttered slightly "…so am I."

She rolled her eyes at him, a smirk hovering on her lips as a foot joined his atop the table. "I'll be fine."

He shook his head…damn but this woman was hard-headed. The whiplash of her going from victorious hero to war criminal in the span of several hours was enough to give him a neck ache; he could only imagine what it must be like for her. But she refused to show weakness, refused to falter, even to him. Though he supposed in its own way, the simple fact that she had asked him to stay – had wanted, maybe even needed, to not be alone this last evening – was an act of weakness. One that she had chosen to let him see.

He was more than happy to oblige her; it was, quite literally, the least he could do.

"You could run, you know. Speaking from experience, it's a totally viable option. And when you inevitably find yourself alone and under fire from a hundred or so mercs, just comm me; I'll come rescue you."

She punched his arm lightly, giving him a slight smile. But it didn't quite reach her eyes, which were dark and turbulent and lacking their usual shine. "It's tempting. But I run, and I'm definitely helpless to respond when the Reapers hit. I surrender now, and I figure I have at least a very, very small chance of being in a position to fight when the time comes."

She dropped her head back against the cushion and stared at the ceiling. "I'll scream and shout and bang on the walls of my cell and maybe, eventually, someone will listen…"

He watched her thoughtfully, again wishing he knew some way to help her…beyond getting sloshed with her on her last night of freedom, that is. She'd risked her life time and again for them all, had given her life for them all, bore such a heavy weight and did so willingly – and they were going to lock her up for it. It was a goddamn travesty. And, the dark, rebellious part of his mind whispered, exactly the kind of fucked-up, bone-headed move I've always expected from the bureaucracy.

"Hackett's already listening; Anderson's already listening. They'll be getting ready," he merely replied lamely.

She nodded in silent acknowledgment. Then she knocked the glass back and emptied it, got up and refilled it, kicked her boots and socks off and into the corner, then rejoined him, crossing her bare ankles atop the table and sinking back into the couch.

"You know, I've enjoyed entertaining you and all, but I'm afraid this party simply must come to an end. Anderson will be here in the morning, so you are going to have to get your ass off the ship by 0-600."

He chuckled, brow twitching up in mild challenge. "What if I'm too hung over from this little bender and oversleep?"

"EDI?"

"Yes, Shepard?"

"Could you make sure that Mr. Vakarian is awoken tomorrow morning at 0-500 by a rousing rendition of 'La Marseillaise' at full volume?"

"Of course, Shepard."

She grinned wickedly at him. "See? Problem solved."

He took a long sip of his drink, relishing the smooth burn as the fiery liquid spread through his chest. "Excellent…"

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, watching the slowly rippling water of the empty-of-fish but still brightly-lit fish tank as they nursed their drinks…or perhaps "briskly imbibed" would be a better descriptor. Eventually, she nudged a talon with her toe. "So where are you going to go?"

He exhaled slowly, catching his warped, distorted reflection in the blue-hued glass. He thought it might have a larger meaning.

Or maybe he was just drunk…yeah, that was probably it.

He huffed a somewhat sloppy laugh, hardly believing the words even as he uttered them…

"I'm going home."


One Week Later – Cipritine, Palaven: Trebia System, Apien Crest

Garrus stepped off the transport shuttle and into the capital's busy spaceport, bag in hand. He glanced around as he followed the sea of people into the atrium, keeping a sharp eye out for…there. A familiar hand waved in the distance; he shifted his course in its direction.

A moment later he was met by a warm embrace. "Garrus, it's been forever!"

He smiled in spite of himself, returning the hug. "It's good to see you too, sis."

Solana Vakarian pulled back slightly, mandibles twitching as her head tilted to the side, a curious frown marring her features. "What happened to your face?"

He smirked mildly. "I caught a stray rocket, what can I say?"

She fell in beside him as they walked towards the exit. "They have this new invention called 'medicine,' you know. Doctors use it, and with it they can fix things like that."

He shrugged as they stepped outside and into the early-afternoon sunlight, a blast of Palaven's omnipresent heat washing over him. "I kinda like it. It gives me character."

"Like you didn't have enough of that already…come on, the vehicle's this way." She rolled her eyes exaggeratedly, then turned to the left and motioned him along.

He threw his bag in the back, then settled into the passenger seat as she lifted off and banked right, headed towards their paren– their father's house on the outskirts of the capital. He hadn't been back home since his mother's funeral; he still, and probably always would, think of it as their home.

She glanced over at him once their course leveled off. "So I heard you saved the galaxy again."

He chuckled lightly. "Something like that; it wasn't as glamorous as it sounds. But we can talk about that later – what about you? How's work?"

A corner of her mouth turned up slightly. "We're designing a new water purification plant to replace that aging dam facility up north. You know the motto: 'Adapt, Improve.' So we are."

"Any potential suitors?"

"Suitors, Garrus, really? I am a grown woman and the Hierarchy's Regional Public Works Director – I do not get suitors, thank you very much. But to answer the question…maybe. We'll see."

He nodded slowly, impressed. "Do I get to meet him?"

Her head shook vehemently. "No. Absolutely not. It's far too soon for you to bring your terror down upon him."

"What about Dad's terror?"

She sighed heavily. "It could be that Dad isn't quite so terror-bringing anymore, Garrus."

He leaned against the door frame so he could look at her more directly. "What do you mean?"

"Since Mom died he's been…gentler. Sadder, quieter, more subdued. But also, gentler."

"Huh. I'll believe that when I see it…"

Her tongue clicked against the roof of her mouth. "Give him a chance, Garrus…please. When word hit the extranet that your ship had come back through the Omega 4 Relay, he was so damn happy. He's proud of you…even if he can't admit it."

He stared out the window at the familiar landscape of craggy hills and moss-tinted steppes framed by a silver-gold sky. He reminded himself that when it had mattered, when he had been sure his life was coming to an end, he had reached out for his father…and his father had been there for him. For those few moments on Omega, low on thermal clips and faith, his father's voice had come over the comm, and all the distrust and bad blood and baggage of the past hadn't mattered, to either of them.

The truth was, if that conversation hadn't happened, he probably never would have come back here. He would have come to Palaven, because he had a larger mission…but he might not have come home.

He looked back over at his sister and forced a smile. "I'll try."

... ... ...

Garrus stood in the center of the living area, bag still in hand, and nodded curtly. "Dad."

Didacus Vakarian rose from the desk in the corner where he had been reading and returned the nod. "Son."

They stared at each other for a moment, neither flinching…then his father smiled the slightest bit, approached him and clasped his shoulder formally. "It's good to have you home."

He cleared his throat, unsure how to react to what for his father was a gushing of emotion. Finally he dipped his chin slightly. "Thank you. I'm going to, um, get unpacked…"

His father turned back towards the desk. "That's fine. Dinner will be ready in about an hour; we can talk then."

He went upstairs and stepped into his old bedroom, then stopped – assaulted not so much by a flood of memories as a flood of feelings. The angst of an shy, nervous child, uncertain of what he wanted to do with his life but certain that whatever it was, it would never be enough. The warmth of a loving, affectionate mother, and the cold of a harsh, demanding father…

He shook his head roughly and sat his bag on the bed. He was no longer that child; hadn't been for a very long time. He had done heroic things and terrible things…though even the terrible things had been done for what he had thought were the right reasons. In the last few months, serving on the Normandy, he had come to terms with his mistakes; made peace with his choices, both good and bad. Eventually he had found an inner strength that, he hoped, would see him through what was to come. He nodded to himself and began to unpack.

... ... ...

Dinner passed pleasantly enough, the conversation filled mostly with anecdotes of daily life, the state of politics on Palaven, and the particulars of Solana's work. After the plates had been cleared, they retired to the back porch.

The sun setting over the sloping fields provided a peaceful backdrop…which was promptly shattered when his father turned to him.

"So this Spectre of yours blew up a Mass Relay? I know you've made some…questionable decisions…in the past, but I didn't think you'd be hanging out with a mass murderer."

He whirled around, annoyed with himself for thinking things could ever be different. "Shepard's the only reason I'm alive today, so you'd do well to thank her instead of insult her."

Didacus snorted. "You know how I feel about Spectres – lawless thugs; loose cannons. She just proves I was right all along."

His teeth ground together as his jaw clenched, angry retorts racing through his mind and heading for his mouth…then he stopped himself. He wasn't that child any longer. He took a long, deep breath, and made sure his voice was calm and even. "She did what she had to do to buy us all time."

His father looked at him strangely, perhaps having expected the flailing outburst that usually occurred at about this point in their conversations. "I cannot imagine a scenario in which destroying an entire star system is justified."

"I can." He sat down on the bench, his elbows dropping to his knees as he looked over at his father. "Dad, I'd like to tell you a story. I ask only that you listen with an open mind through to the end of it, after which I'll answer whatever questions you have…then we can decide where to go from there."

His father stared at him a moment, unknowable thoughts flitting across his eyes…then sat down across from him. "I'm listening."

His head tilted slightly in acknowledgment. "Three years ago I was assigned the task of investigating charges of treason against Saren Arterius. I – "

"I know full well about your investigation, son, and what happened – "

"Dad, in order to understand, you have to hear the whole story – from the beginning."

His father exhaled, then slowly nodded. "Then we're going to need some beverages. Solana, would you mind brewing us some megdi?" He looked back at Garrus. "Please, continue."

"Right. So I was going after Saren – but I wasn't the only one…"

Three hours later the carafe of megdi had grown cold; the night sky shone with starlight; Garrus' voice had become hoarse and tired.

Didacus ran his talons along a mandible. "And you've seen Reapers?"

Garrus nodded emphatically. "Yes, two of them – their holographic projections anyway. I talked to Sovereign – well, talked at it. I saw Harbinger's projection at Project Base before we rescued Shepard. Everyone saw Sovereign at the Citadel. It wasn't a Heretic creation, Dad; they worshipped it."

"But Heretics are just Geth, right?"

"Some of them, those that split. But all the Geth believe the Reapers exist. Cerberus believes the Reapers exist. The Shadow Broker believes the Reapers exist. Alliance Admirals believe the Reapers exist. The Collectors believed the Reapers exist, were controlled by them – "

"And the Collectors are Protheans…?"

Garrus smiled slightly in spite of himself; he knew it must be a lot to take in. "They were, before the Reapers altered them. Dad, I've seen Reaper artifacts – probably dozens by now. I've talked to people, spread all across the galaxy, that were indoctrinated to do the Reapers' bidding…had to kill most of them."

His father huffed a breath, looking over at him with what seemed like a measure of respect. "You've had a busy couple of years, son."

He leaned forward intently. "I have. And they have shown me one thing above all – the Reapers are real, and they are coming now, with one singular purpose: to kill us all. We have to get ready."

His father reached over to the table and took a sip of megdi, only then realizing it had gone cold; he set the cup back down. "So if Commander Shepard hadn't destroyed the Alpha Relay, the Reapers would already be here and attacking."

It didn't slip past Garrus that the statement seemed to assume the existence of the Reapers, or that it was a statement and not a question, or that his father no longer referred to Shepard as "your Spectre"; he breathed an internal sigh of relief. "That's right. They were literally within an hour of having access to the entire galaxy."

Didacus stood up and began pacing. "We'll want to begin increasing our defenses immediately, move critical resources off-world. I'll comm Fedorian in the morning and set up a meeting. He'll need your advice and input." He glanced over. "When you talk to him, leave out the part about Omega, it'll hurt your credibility; Fedorian doesn't care much for outlaws, and it isn't relevant to the issue of the Reapers. Highlight the Collector data, it's scientific and objective. You should – "

Garrus grinned, shaking his head. "So you believe me then?"

"Of course I believe you. Garrus, I've never doubted your intelligence, just your judgment. But perhaps I was wrong about that…occasionally. Regardless, you've presented a damn good case. I'll do whatever I can."

... ... ...

Aeneas Fedorian walked to his window and stared out at the gleaming plaza below as the door shut behind Garrus. An elbow rested on the arm crossing his chest, talons drumming a pattern on his cheek. "I assume you believe him, or you wouldn't have brought him here."

Didacus paced slowly around the Primarch's office. "I do. My son has made some mistakes in his life, but he's a shrewd, sharp man, and not given to flights of fancy; if anything, he's a cynic. Besides – there's a lot of evidence, and a lot of other people out there who back him up."

"I know." Fedorian turned from the window and met his old friend's gaze. "I had a holo-conference last week with Alliance Admirals Hackett and Anderson, the former Councilor. They said essentially the same thing Garrus just did, and advised that I begin preparations. They agreed to a princely sum in order to license the Thanix Cannon specifications, and suggested that we get them installed on any ships that didn't already have them as soon as possible."

Didacus exhaled heavily. "This is really going to happen, isn't it?"

"That remains to be seen. I'm still not entirely convinced the Reapers aren't a boogeyman…but this isn't the kind of thing you want to be on the wrong side of." He flicked on his terminal and started typing. "I'll loan him some men from the Strategic and Intelligence Divisions; we'll call it a task force, give it some legitimacy. They can make recommendations on where to bolster our defenses, other steps we should take." His left mandible fluttered. "We might even take some of them."

"Aeneas, don't you think we should – "

Fedorian looked up from the screen and smiled. "Give it some time, Didacus. Let's take a little while to wrap our heads around the idea of thousands of enormous, billions-of-years old, AI starships showing up out of nowhere to wipe out all sentient life. See how we feel about it in a month or two."

Didacus nodded respectfully. The man may be his friend, but he was also the Primarch. "Of course. I'll let him know. Thank you for your support."


Two months later

"An orbital satellite network of Thanix Cannons around the entire planet? I'm sure the Defense Ministry will be jumping with glee at the thought of spending thirty billion credits on that…"

Garrus sighed, elbows dropping to the conference table as he leaned forward. "Orinia, is your only purpose on this task force to shit on every idea I have? Because I can't think of anything else you've contributed since you got here."

The analyst straightened up in his chair, visibly bristling as his mandibles flared. "You'll do well to watch your tone, Vakarian. My family is – "

Garrus flung a hand in Orinia's general direction. "I don't care that your mother is the Citadel Ambassador. I wouldn't care if your great-great-great-grandfather was head of the fucking Valluvian Order. You're here because Primarch Fedorian thinks you have something of value to offer. Please demonstrate it, and soon."

Orinia's retort was cut off as an aide burst in the room. "The Intelligence Minister has been assassinated!"

Everyone started talking at once. Two members of the team quickly stood up and hurried out, rightly presuming that their presence would be required at their primary jobs.

Garrus slammed his hand down on the table. "Everyone, quiet!" He turned to the aide. "Is there footage of the attack?" The aide nodded quickly. "Could you pipe it in here please?"

A moment later a vid from a security cam appeared on the main screen at the end of the room. It showed the rotunda of the Defense Ministry building – which was only two streets over from their location. A man recognizable as the Intelligence Minister stood in the top left corner of the picture, talking with another man and a woman.

After a moment a man walked in, stopped in the center of the rotunda, and began shouting. Some of it was garbled, but Garrus could make out: "The day of The Return is upon us! Our salvation is through destruction – you cannot stop it! Our age is ending – but I will receive their blessings!" The man quickly pulled out a heavy pistol and shot the Minister in the head; several seconds later he was gunned down by security officers.

Garrus looked over at the aide. "Do they know who the shooter was?"

She nodded. "The news is reporting that his name was Polonus Nazurik; he was a high-level staffer in the Intelligence Division."

Garrus turned back and stared at the frozen image of the assassin lying in a pool of blood. "I need to see Primarch Fedorian as soon as possible. He'll want to know he has indoctrinated Reaper agents inside the government."

... ... ...

Garrus' head dipped respectfully. "Primarch, thank you for making the time to see me."

Fedorian gestured to the chair in front of his desk. "Have a seat. I'm sorry it took several days to squeeze this meeting in; I have, as you can imagine, been rather occupied."

"Of course, sir. It's a difficult time." He raised his head to meet the Primarch's gaze. "And I'm afraid I'm here to tell you that it's worse than you realize."

Fedorian chuckled ruefully. "You have been quite the bearer of bad news since your return to Palaven, Mr. Vakarian."

Garrus raised a palm in protest. "Please, just Garrus. My father is Mr. Vakarian…" he cringed slightly "…though not to you, I suppose."

"Indeed." Fedorian clasped his hands together on his desk and leaned forward. "So. What is the nature of this bad news?"

"Sir, you have indoctrinated Reaper agents inside the government – possibly a lot of them. I'm very concerned that the assassination this week was just the beginning."

"You're referring to the nonsense Nazurik was shouting before he shot the Minister, of course. Based on the information you've previously provided, I would agree that he certainly seemed to be 'indoctrinated,' as you call it. But I haven't seen any evidence that would indicate he wasn't an isolated case…"

Garrus nodded in understanding. "While there's a lot we still don't know, there are a couple of things we have learned about indoctrination. First, it can occur on a sliding timescale – it can be slow, it can be fast, or it can be anywhere in between. How fast it occurs seems to depend on both the intent of the Reaper – or Reaper artifact, apparently…we honestly don't yet understand how much sentience a stand-alone artifact has, or even whether it's truly stand-alone at all – and second, proximity to the indoctrinating influence."

He cleared his throat. "I think it's clear from the vid that Nazurik was fully indoctrinated. Certifiably crazy. Even rapid indoctrination, to that level, takes weeks at a minimum. But once you're that indoctrinated, you're that way all the time; you can't hide it, because you have, quite literally, lost your mind. I did some checking – Nazurik hasn't left Palaven in eight years. During those eight years, he received three promotions and multiple stellar performance reviews. There's no way he was that crazy for the last eight years."

He made sure Fedorian's gaze was meeting his. "Sir, that can mean only one thing – there is an active Reaper artifact on Palaven; probably in or near to Cipritine. And unless it's in Nazurik's basement, I'd stake my life that he's not the only one who's been indoctrinated by it."

Fedorian's chin dropped, his eyes focusing on some spot on his desk or, rather more likely, nothing at all. He was silent for a full twenty seconds – a remarkable length of time for a politician.

Finally he looked up, a grim expression on his face. But his voice was firm and resolved.

"What do you need?"


Three weeks later

Garrus hurried into the hastily-constructed surveillance room, having run late with General Victus. While they weren't getting an orbital network of Thanix Cannons – not yet anyway – they were getting installation of the Cannons on not just every cruiser, but every frigate in the Navy. In addition, crucial surveillance and communications backup systems were being moved to Menae, and to a lesser extent Nanus, and construction would soon begin on military outposts on the moons.

As welcome news as that was, for the moment he had more pressing concerns. "How's the review coming?"

Litha Palamin didn't look away from the bank of screens. "We've tracked him heading southeast twelve out of the last thirty days before the day of the attack. We've requested pulls from the cameras in the nine southeast quadrants; they should be here later this evening."

He patted her on the shoulder. "Trenis is going to relieve you overnight, right?"

She shrugged. "He's coming in in about an hour; whether I leave or not…we'll see."

He couldn't help but chuckle a bit; she reminded him more than a little of a younger, more idealistic version of himself. "It's a marathon, not a sprint, Litha. Get your sleep."

But as he walked over to a terminal and sat down, he couldn't help but think, it may be a marathon today but it will surely be a sprint tomorrow or the next day or the day after. The Reapers are coming, and they are coming soon. And Shepard is locked up in a cell. And try as I might I'm not her. I can't save them all.

But maybe he could save some of them. He willed himself to focus on the screen in front of him, and began reviewing surveillance footage.

Palaven wasn't a police state – at least, not in the way Humans thought of such things. He knew that, probably more than any species he had encountered, Humans valued their individual rights, their privacy. It wasn't that Turians didn't value such things – gods knew he had been desperately glad for his dark, silent, private space on more than one occasion. It was more that Turians knew – believed – that their public persona mattered. They didn't mind the heavy public scrutiny, because they knew it was important – to themselves, and to society. Privacy could still be found in the dark of the night; and if privacy were needed elsewhere, well, it probably shouldn't be private…

He laughed to himself. Shepard would positively skewer him for having such a thought, even if it was just an expression of what most turians thought and not necessarily his personal opinion. Shepard valued the individual above all. The trick was, she valued each individual – whatever their background, whatever their species. She seemed to believe that each person wrote their own fate, was capable of anything or nothing and everything in between. It didn't seem to matter what species they came from, or whether that species was ten thousand years more or less advanced than Humanity; she seemed to believe that the soul was the same – or at least had the same capacity – in every sentient individual.

She was probably right, of course – as she was with most things. Personally, he didn't think that most turians felt they were giving something up in their acquiescence to a rather more public life. And while cultural rubrics swayed the middle towards the norm, those that fell outside the norm – of which he was surely an example – still thrived or failed on their own merits.

He thought perhaps he had thrived. Damn but it had been hard – and not because of any turian cultural norm or his rebellion against such. It had been hard because it was supposed to be hard, and one only came out the other side if one was worthy of doing so. It was true of Shepard, it was true of people like Liara and Anderson and Victus. And maybe, just maybe, it was true of him.

He blinked, his attention suddenly drawn away from his self-aggrandizing reverie and to the screen in front of him. He watched another twelve seconds, rewound, then watched again, just to be sure. Then he pulled up another vid, then another. Finally he pushed the chair back and swung around.

"I've got something."

"Of course you do. I sit here watching vids for thirty-eight hours; you sit down for ten minutes and get something. Story of my life." Litha leaned far back in her chair and glared at him, but couldn't entirely keep the twinkle out of her eye. He grinned sympathetically at her. "You're a damn good analyst, Litha. That won't go unrewarded."

Her mandibles fluttered exaggeratedly. "Excellent. What you got, sir?"

He nodded, back to business. "Twenty-third quadrant. Nazurik goes into a building that, so far as I can find, has no discernable purpose. Better yet, he goes there again on the 23rd…the 27th…and the 4th of this month. I've put an inquiry on the location; we'll know in nine hours whether he could possibly have any reason for being there."

She nodded in appreciation. "Nice work, sir."

"Luck of the draw, Lieutenant. The funny thing about luck is, it goes where it will; but talent always rises. Now we can't do anything until tomorrow. Get some sleep."

She raised her hands in surrender. "Fine, fine. I'll see you in the morning, sir."

He smiled at the small victory, watching her as she walked out, then turned back to the monitor. It was going to be a long night…


One month later

Garrus stared down the scope until the crest of the man came into focus. Satisfied that he had the shot, he hit his comm with a free finger. "We're sure about this guy?"

The artifact had been found in a nondescript building in a light industrial area on the outskirts of Cipritine. The building wouldn't have been built around it, of course; it would have been brought there deliberately. When and by whom, they would probably never know; the building had been constructed ten years ago, housed a small packaging company that had gone under, and sat abandoned ever since.

Review of recorded surveillance footage from the area had shown a number of individuals visiting the building over the last three months; but since that building had no apparent importance, the cameras hadn't focused on it, and the quality wasn't high enough for them to identity the visitors. Unable to risk live surveillance due to the indoctrination risk, they had set up new cameras directed at the building entrance…then they had waited.

After a month they had identified nineteen separate visitors to the building – and presumably, to the artifact. The man in his scope was number thirteen on the list.

"He visited the site nearly as often as Nazurik. He's indoctrinated; no doubt."

Garrus twitched. "What does 'nearly as often' mean?"

There was a silence of several seconds. "Um, 68.7% as often…sir."

He cringed…then lowered his rifle, leaning against the ledge of his rooftop vantage point. "That's not enough, not to take him out. Collar him and bring him in for questioning."

"Yes, sir," came a chorus of replies. He watched as a team moved in, guns drawn but fingers off the triggers. The man raised his hands in apparent surrender, but then quickly reached in his pocket and yanked out a pistol, raising it to his temple. The soldiers did the smart thing and knee-capped him before he could pull the trigger.

Face-first on the ground, the man writhed in agony as the team approached him, guns still drawn…then suddenly he just stopped. After a second dark blue blood seeped out from beneath him, mixing with the dirt-and-gravel-covered ground.

Garrus tossed his visor to the rooftop in frustration. The man had of course fallen on his pistol; even through the pain, the indoctrination had won out and forced him to shoot himself, probably in the heart, rather than be captured. He rubbed a mandible wearily. At least they had saved some as-yet-undetermined government official from an assassination attempt or some facility from an attack. Absent their intervention, quite likely a successful one, he reminded himself. He closed his eyes.

He threw his arms into the air in disgust. "So he's dead anyway. That's great, but what was the point of all this then?"

Shepard stood over Dr. Saleon's body, the question hanging in the air. Finally she looked over at him, her lavender eyes seeming to pierce straight through him. "You can't predict how people will act, Garrus – but you can control how you respond. In the end, that's what really matters."

Shepard would be proud of him, he thought. Presumption of innocence applied, restraint exercised, target neutralized, future victims saved.

He dropped his head back against the ledge. It would really help matters if it felt like a victory.

After an appropriate period of self-pity, he hit his comm. "What's his status?"

"He's dead, sir."

"Understood."


Five weeks later

Garrus gazed across the conference table. His eyes passed across faces belonging to men whose remaining doubts had by now been erased – by the trickle of information coming from certain members of the Systems Alliance; by the comparative flood of formerly intelligent and rational, and now fully indoctrinated and thus insane, men and women here on Palaven; by the profoundly disturbing sight of the Reaper artifact.

They had each been allowed to visit the artifact, once and only once. They had each gazed upon its bright white orb encased in its curved cage of heretofore unknown materials, watching as it pulsed. Darkly. Malevolently. Patiently. They had each walked away believers.

The fact that the faces across the table happened to include the Primarch, the Defense Minister and several of the most respected Generals in the military was just, well, what it was. The fact that his father likely had strived his entire life for the opportunity to sit in a room such as this was, well, irrelevant. The fact that he could probably gloat over the fact that he was here and his father wasn't was, well, true…but also irrelevant.

The stakes were simply too high to spend time or energy on petty grudges…and he found himself more concerned not with besting his father, but rather with trying to figure out how he could make sure his stubborn, proud father was safe when the attack inevitably came.

But that was the back of his mind – and this meeting was about the front of it. He frowned.

"Primarch, I don't really think that's necessary. I can assure you that the primary and auxiliary Menae posts are nearly complete, installation of surface-to-space missile launchers have begun, and the broad-spectrum tracking systems are in transit to Menae as we speak. Further, real-time synchronous backups and simultaneous communication capabilities have been tested and are ready to go. There's no need for you to inspect the facilities."

Fedorian twitched slightly. "I know. You have things well in hand, Vakarian, and there's nothing I can contribute to the operation. But we haven't been able to completely conceal our efforts on the moons; the media is sniffing around, and hard. I've decided to present our activities as a state-of-the-art strategic training center, designed to replicate harsh alien environments. Hide its true nature in plain sight, as it were. That requires me to make a show of touring the facilities, so I'll be making a visit in two weeks. But let's focus on the far more serious matters at hand. General Corinthus?"

Corinthus nodded. "If – when – the attack comes, I think we all agree it will likely hit Cipritine particularly hard. The bunker beneath the Hierarchy Assembly has been restocked and double-checked to ensure everything is in working order, and we've tested the alert system. We're recalling virtually all our military transport ships and as many civilian ones as we can without raising suspicions. We've already tripled our normal evacuation capacity, and it should be quadrupled by week's end."

Fedorian nodded thoughtfully. "Good work. General Victus?"

Adrien Victus' head slowly rose from its former position, which had been staring down at the conference table surface. Victus often gave the appearance of being an intellectual – perhaps a university professor, or an author of books on philosophical topics. His words were nearly always measured and seemed to come from a place of deep contemplation. In a lot of ways he reminded Garrus of his father – except that where his father tended to choose caution and adherence to the rules, Victus tended to choose clever trickery and strategic violence.

Garrus respected and, yes, even loved his father – but he admired Victus.

Victus met Fedorian's gaze. "Everyone General-level and above in the military, and Director-level and above in the Defense Ministry branches, have been apprised of the situation – after being reviewed for signs of indoctrination, of course. The reactions to the news were…varying…but the consensus opinion is that the Army forces can lead a suitably fierce defensive campaign from the ground while also overseeing evacuations and refugee centers – and that Menae is the best location for the Navy to coordinate offensive maneuvers."

His shoulders twitched. "The problem, sir, is that we can't just move the Navy command structure to Menae for what could be days, weeks, months even. If we knew when the attack will come, we could move Strategic Command to Menae just ahead of time. But in the absence of that, I think our best option is to get a core of people who can capably manage the situation up there now, and do our best to put in place a plan for moving the rest there when we believe the attack is imminent."

Fedorian exhaled. "The Batarian Hegemony has been unreachable for five weeks now. Based on the information provided by Alliance Commander Shepard and Admiral Hackett, unless the Reapers stopped and set up camp in the Viper Nebula, even pessimistic travel calculations put them at the next Relay within the next four weeks." His gaze moved across the table. "Vakarian, is there any way we can get a lead on them before they get here?"

He slowly shook his head. They were all calm, reserved, controlled, as turians nearly always were…but he knew they secretly pleaded for him to have all the answers.

And he just didn't. No one did, not even Shepard, whose visions and nightmares contained nothing about travel velocities or engine signatures.

"After they pass through the Relay and into Trebia, sure – the mass effect trails alone will light up our sensors. But Sovereign got from the Widow Relay to within weapons-range of the Citadel in twenty-seven seconds. Sure, the Trebia Relay is further away, but we're still talking minutes. We've sent some scout ships to the Viper Nebula, but with the Alpha Relay gone it's a long trip, and they'll probably pass the Reapers in transit like dust in the wind."

He sighed heavily. "I'm sorry, Primarch, Minister, Generals…but there's simply no way we will have adequate warning. All we can do is have the best plan possible in place for when they arrive."

The Primarch met his eyes, nodding slowly in understanding, and acceptance. "I'll stay close to Headquarters from now on; my wife will understand, as she always has. The plans and procedures you have been implementing sound first-rate, and above even the best I thought we could do; I commend you all."

Garrus sighed heavily. If he had his way, he would sequester Fedorian on some no-name planet half the galaxy away…but he knew the Primarch would never agree to that; that was probably why he was the Primarch. He looked back across the table.

"Generals, I think that means both of you should be on Menae – the sooner the better. When it comes, the attack will be swift; as the Primarch has astutely pointed out, we can't be caught trying to transition controls and decisions across the planet and shuttles and the moon. Respectfully, you are the best strategic minds we have – so you should be the first ones to Menae."

Victus nodded sharply; he had clearly already come to the same conclusion. "That's fine – but Vakarian, I want you there with me."

... ... ...

Garrus sipped the piramo…decidedly stronger than the megdi of the first night, in more ways than one. His sister joined him in drinking piramo, though perhaps she sipped it more slowly; the fact that his father stuck to megdi…well, that was his father. Ever measured, ever controlled.

Didacus watched the sun drop below the silver-gold sky. "So how are things going with the Task Force?"

He shrugged mildly, belying the tension that seemed to constantly ripple beneath his skin these days. A different tension than what had come before, perhaps…but tension nonetheless.

He took another long sip. "We've nabbed twelve confirmed indoctrinated government officials. Lost five to suicide; two have disappeared. We've only lost three officials to assassins, which all things considered isn't too bad; I wish it were zero. We've likely identified all the indoctrinated agents we're going to, so we buried the artifact in a polonium/iron tomb last week. The transfer of backup files out to the moons is eighty-two percent complete, with sub-backups being transported to Pheiros. Thanix Cannon installations across the Navy are seventy-six percent complete. The strategic posts on Menae are eight-seven percent complete as of this morning, and critical personnel have started transitioning to there."

Solana looked over at him all too perceptively, cup at her lips as she cut straight through all the statistics to the heart of the matter. "Will it be enough?"

He stared out at the darkening sky. "It will buy us some time."

His father leaned against the railing. "Time for what?"

He squeezed his eyes shut. Time for Shepard. "Time for a miracle."

His father, unsurprisingly, was not pacified. "What makes you think we'll find a miracle?"

He exhaled slowly as the last golden light disappeared into darkness. "Because we have to."

As the sun set below the horizon, he turned to his father, meeting his gaze as one no longer afraid, no longer cowed. "I can get both of you on a transport to Digeris tomorrow, if you'll take it."

His father's chin dipped slightly, acknowledging the offer in all its fullness. "Thank you, son. I don't doubt the truth of what you say is coming; but for all the years spent on the Citadel, this is my home – our home – and I will claim it as long as I am able."

Garrus nodded slowly; he had known what the answer would be. "You have all the current emergency transponder codes, right?" His father practically rolled his eyes in annoyance. Of course he did.

Garrus ignored it. "This place should be far enough away from the city center to avoid the worst of the initial attack; you should be safe here for a couple of days. But when the opportunity comes for you to get on an evacuation transport…" his head dropped as his eyes closed for a moment before looking back up to his father, then his sister, in plaintive turn "…you take it. Dad, no one could ever doubt your courage or fortitude, but you can't fight these things. The bravest, strongest thing you can do is live. It's the one thing they would take from you and it's the one thing you can deny them. Please."

His father held his gaze for a long moment before turning to stare out across the plains, now blackened under the night sky. "Cassia always loved you, Garrus, with all her heart…but I think today, she would be proud of you." He turned back from the fields and to his son. "As am I. You've become everything I could have ever hoped for in a son, and then some."

Solana smiled, not minding the comparative lack of praise. For she had enjoyed their father's affection for the entirety of her life, whereas her brother had suffered from a relative lack of it for many years. When their father's arms stretched out, she willingly joined her brother in the family embrace, sadly feeling the absence of her wonderful, wise mother but thankful for the love she had here, now.

After a moment they separated, a couple of awkward throat-clearings along the way. Garrus took a deep breath. "So it looks like I'm going to have to head for Menae soon; I likely won't be here when things get bad." He smiled bravely. "But I know you both can look out for yourselves, and one another. You'll be fine."

Solana chuckled tearfully, hugging at his shoulder. Their father merely nodded serenely, as always. "I'll feel better knowing you're among those leading our defense…" he noted Garrus' slight twitch "…even if 'our' ultimately means everyone in the galaxy. I know you have a larger purpose, a larger destiny, Garrus. When the time comes, son…follow it. We'll do our best to be here when it's all over."


Two weeks later

"So as you can see, sir, this encampment is capable of serving as a fully-functional command base. It isn't much to look at – but that's the idea. We're hoping that the low-key, almost camouflaged nature of the camps will delay their detection by the Reapers; with a little luck, they won't even know we're here, at least for a while. We have four smaller outposts spread out across the Palaven-facing side of the moon, and they can all operate as a distributed network as well."

Primarch Fedorian looked around a last time, nodding slowly. "Excellent work, Gen– Vakarian." He smiled. "We live through this, we're going to need to get you a title."

Garrus chuckled lightly. "We live through this, sir, and I might even accept one." He gestured behind him. "If you'd like, we can – "

The specially-designed broad-spectrum early warning system lit up as a cacophony of sounds and alarms rang out from it.

The tech officer on duty looked up, eyes wide. "Sirs, we're getting readings on, well, virtually all signals – radio, infrared, dark, gamma – everything just went crazy!"

Garrus' chin dropped, his eyes closing for just a moment.

Time's up.

He looked over at the Primarch. The man wore a grim but determined expression as he gazed up into the sky. "Congratulations, Vakarian. Looks like you were right."

"I'd prefer it if I were wrong."

"Wouldn't we all…" Fedorian nodded sharply, turning and hurrying into the bunker, hitting his comm as he did so. "Victus, Corinthus, the board is red. I repeat, the board is red. I'm implementing Alpha Protocol, effective immediately." Then he turned to the communications officer as Garrus quickly followed him inside. "I need the Defense Minister, the Select Committee Chairman, Admiral Talladin and Councilor Sparatus on holo-conference in thirty seconds."

It was twenty-eight minutes before the first Reaper appeared – time enough for the majority of their cruisers and dreadnoughts to have deployed in a defensive formation around Palaven, as they had been on priority alert for days now. That Reaper, and the three dozen that followed it, flew right past Menae and engaged the fleet directly.

They didn't go completely unnoticed, though. Four hours after the attack began, the first fireball crashed onto Menae's surface not far from Outpost Charlie. Then another, and another. At first, they carried four-eyed creatures, recognizable all too easily as Batarian Husks. After several hours though, they started including more and more Human husks.

Garrus cursed as a wave of Husks set off one of his proximity mines and exploded ten meters from the outer perimeter. They could have picked up Humans in any number of places – Eden Prime, Terra Nova, Bekenstein, to name a few. But given that the Reapers had come directly to Palaven, bypassing several turian colonies along the way, he had a deep suspicion that they had gone directly to Earth as well.

He had his own problems to deal with, to say the least. He motioned for Lieutenant Tebestik to take his team and flank the area where the fireballs had been dropping, then turned and headed for the comm center to check in with the other outposts. Still, he couldn't help but think about Shepard. When he had last checked a week ago, she had still been in detention…but if he knew her, and he'd like to think he did, by now she'd have a ship, an army, and a very big gun. Probably two.

He grabbed an energy drink from the cooler and hit the secure comm. "Outpost Bravo, report in."

There was silence for a moment before Victus responded. "Vakarian, we have a problem. We've got a Reaper landing approximately two kilometers from our location. Looks like the enemy knows we're here."

"I'm on the way." He cut the link and hurried over to the command bunker. "General Corinthus, I'm taking a buggy over to Bravo; they have a Reaper incoming."

Corinthus nodded distractedly, his gaze focused on the battlefield readout in front of him. "So I see. I'm sure we'll have our own soon enough." He looked up briefly. "Good luck."

"And you." He turned and was heading toward the small assortment of ground vehicles when his name rang out.

"Vakarian!"

He quickly looked around to find Fedorian motioning him over. He changed course and jogged over to the Primarch. "Sir?"

"I'm headed back down to Cipritine. I need to – "

"Sir, I don't think that's a good idea, it's too dangerous. It's a war zone out there…"

"I know. But I wasn't intending on being here when the attack hit; there are a number of things I need to take care of before I leave."

"Leave?"

Fedorian nodded. "I've called a summit among the leaders of the Council races; hopefully we can work together and come up with a joint plan to fight these…monsters. The Council is sending someone to pick me up; they'll be here in the morning. I've got just enough time to get down to the surface, handle what I need to, and get back here before they arrive."

Garrus gazed up at a sky at war. A pitched battle continued in the space over Palaven, as it had for the last twelve hours. A number of cruisers and four dreadnoughts had already been destroyed, creating gaps in the defense net that allowed several Reapers to reach the surface. Multiple regions of Palaven now glowed a red-gold hue of fire and destruction. His gaze flitted to a transport ship as it slipped between several Reapers and flew overhead on its way to the Relay. Dad, sis, please be on one of those evacuation transports. Get out of there.

He nodded grimly at the Primarch. "I can't stop you sir, and I know you only do what you must. Fortune willing, I'll see you in the morning."

Fedorian reached out and clasped Garrus' hand warmly. "I'm truly glad your father convinced me to listen to you; you've given us a chance. If I don't see you again, it's been an honor."

"The honor's all mine, sir. Be safe."

Fedorian nodded, then turned and hurried toward the waiting shuttle.

Garrus turned and headed in the opposite direction, toward the waiting Reaper.