Chapter 4: Debrief

The galaxy had dissolved into a tumultuous haze.

Images flitted across his mind's eye, but they came too brief, too disjointed to make any sense. Occasionally, one would stand out from the rest: a figure dropping to it's knees and gripping it's head, accompanied by a hideous scream; a wall of fire racing across a planet's surface, devouring all that stood against it; a host of dark silhouettes that blotted out the stars.

And beneath it all, a pervading aura of dread; the chilled grip of Death at his throat.

He reacted the only way he knew how.

The orange hue that tainted his sight began to brighten until it was piercing white... and died away to resolve itself into a single bar across his vision.
"Doctor! Doctor Chakwas! I think he's waking up!"

He blinked, and the lightstrip above him came into focus. Then he screwed his eyes up against the brightness, feeling the dull ache on his face as the scar tissue on his cheekbone pulled tight.

He sat up, kneading his eyes with his fingers before taking a bleary look around.

He was in a medbay – the Normandy's medbay, he realised, noting the SR-1 designation on the wall. The ship's medical officer, Doctor Chakwas, was leaning over the bed he was sat on, peering at his face.
"You had us worried there, Shepard," she remarked tenderly. "How are you feeling?"

With after-images still flashing across his vision and a feeling that his brain was indulging in a spirited attempt at DIY lobotomy he replied, "not that much worse than usual, Doc."
She frowned at him, evidently disbelieving him. Before she could prescribe him a full examination he said, "what the hell happened? How long have I been out?"

"About fifteen hours," the Doctor replied, "something happened down there with the beacon, I think." She left the sentence hanging, angling for an explanation.
"It's my fault," another voice said from his other side. He twisted around to look at Chief Williams, now clad in a set of fatigues and a guilty expression. "I activated some kind of security field when I got close to it," she explained, "you had to throw me out of the way."
Shepard waved a hand dismissively. "Forget about it," he said bracingly, "no harm done."
"I wouldn't say that, Commander," Williams said, guilty tone unalleviated.

Shepard sighed and lay back down on the bed. "Hit me," he said, running a hand over his scalp.
"The beacon exploded; a system overload, maybe. The blast knocked you cold. The Lieutenant and I carried you back to the ship."
Shepard sighed again. "Great."
"I'd better let the captain know you're up," Williams said. Shepard heard her footsteps receding, then the door opening and closing.

"So Doc," he said lightly, staring up at the ceiling. "Give it to me straight: how long do I have left? Two weeks? A month?"
"A good few decades at least, if I'm any judge, Commander," Chakwas replied firmly, "there's nothing to worry about. Although," the Doctor picked up a datapad and frowned down at it, "I did record some strange brain activity - unusual beta waves. I also saw an increase in your rapid eye movement – signs normally associated with intense dreaming."
"I was," Shepard said slowly, trying to recall something other than the feeling of foreboding that still rankled in the back of his mind. He seldom remembered dreams, but the images came to him with unaccustomed ease. "There was..." a humanoid figure writhing in pain, "death..." a landscape in flames, "destruction..." The Commander blinked and mentally shook himself. "You know," he added flippantly, "all the cheery stuff."
"Hmm," the Doctor mused, "I'd better add this to my report, it may-" The door opened again. "Captain Anderson," she said.

Shepard sat back up and nodded to the Captain as he entered the room.
"How's our XO holding up, Doctor?" Anderson asked. If he was concerned, he wasn't showing it.
"All the readings look normal, I'd say the Commander's going to be fine," Chakwas replied in that clinical but reassuring manner all doctors possessed.
"Glad to hear it. If you don't mind, I'd like to speak with him. In private."
Chakwas nodded and left the medbay, tapping on her datapad.
"Sounds like that beacon hit you pretty hard, Commander," Anderson started conversationally, "you sure you're okay?"
Shepard took a moment to take stock, rolling his head around on his shoulders. The Captain was one of those old-fashioned soldier types – honourable, considerate of his command and able to crack skulls on his grit and nerve alone. There were maybe three people in the Alliance military who ranked higher than himself that Shepard respected utterly and he was related to one of them; Anderson was the second.

"I'm still breathing," Shepard shrugged. "Unlike some," he added grimly.
"Jenkins wasn't your fault," Anderson reassured him, "you did a good job, Shepard."
"Yeah. I know," Shepard said indifferently. The poor kid had been caught out of cover by the drone swarm that had come to investigate their drop. One volley of rounds had punched straight through his shields and that had been that: another day, another fallen comrade. "Is that why Chief Williams is here?" he asked, "keep the roster full?"
Anderson nodded, "I figured we could use a soldier like her."
"Good call," Shepard said, "I wasn't expecting much from a garrison marine, but she pulled through alright."
"Lieutenant Alenko agrees with you," Anderson smiled, "he made the recommendation."

So," Shepard said after a brief pause, "what's the fallout, Captain?"
Anderson's expression turned pensive as he spoke, "I won't lie, Shepard: it looks bad. Nihlus is dead, the beacon's destroyed and the geth are invading." Anderson sighed heavily, "the Council's going to want answers."
"Fuck 'em," Shepard said contemptuously, "we don't answer to them."
"You know it's not that simple, Commander."
"We came this close to losing an entire colony down there today," said Shepard, pinching his thumb and forefinger together for emphasis. "Again," he added in disgust before going on, "I'm not responsible for a Spectre's well-being. Or how well the protheans future-proofed their technology, for that matter."

Anderson nodded thoughtfully, unaffected by Shepard's steadfast tone. "I'll stand by you and your report, Shepard. You're a damned hero in my book. But that's not all that I'm worried about. It's Saren – that other turian."
The Captain began to pace, his eyes losing focus. "Saren Arterius is a Spectre – one of the best. But if he's allied with the geth, then he's gone rogue.
"A rogue Spectre's trouble. But Saren is dangerous. And he hates humans."
Shepard snorted. "You say that like it's unusual."
"True enough," Anderson conceded, "but most aliens don't do anything about it. Judging from what happened down there today, Saren is after something – and I bet it had something to do with that beacon."

The Captain stopped pacing and turned to Shepard. "You were there before that beacon self-destructed - did you see anything? Any clue that might tell us what Saren was after?"
Shepard knuckled his forehead. "You could say that," he started hesitantly. "Just before I was knocked out, I had a... a vision, I guess..."
Shepard had half-expected the Captain to laugh at him. The other half expected Anderson to call the Doctor in to administer a nice, strong sedative. But he took it as seriously as anything else.
"A vision," he said, sounding more intrigued than incredulous, "a vision of what?"
Shepard took a moment to recall some of the images branded across his vision.

The flesh torn and ripped, the machine tightening it's grip, suffocating in an atmosphere of despair, erosion of consciousness-

"I saw synthetics," Shepard said, his voice sounding distant to his own ears as he tore his mind away from the images, "geth, maybe? Slaughtering people, butchering them."
The Captain eyed him for a moment. "We need to report this to the Council, Shepard."
"They'll think I'm crazy," Shepard scoffed, shaking his head derisively, "forget it."
"We don't know what information was stored in that beacon. Lost prothean knowledge – maybe for a weapon of some kind-"
"Or maybe it was an ancient prothean vid-player," Shepard cut in sardonically, "maybe I've just watched the protheans' last big hit before they all went extinct."
"Shepard," Anderson snapped, "this is serious: we don't-"
"I know," Shepard interrupted him, holding up a hand, "I know, but if we blunder onto the Citadel and start raving about visions of killer synthetics, how seriously is the Council going to take it?"
"Whatever it was in that beacon," Anderson said, "Saren took it," Anderson's expression darkened, "and if I know Saren, he won't rest until he's used it to wipe humanity from the face of the galaxy."

Shepard cracked his knuckles. "The stars'll burn out before I let that happen."
"If only it were that easy," Anderson said bitterly. "Saren's still a Spectre; he can go anywhere, do anything."
"Does he have a bulletproof skull?" Shepard asked scornfully.
"He does have an army of geth at his command," Anderson reminded him coolly, "we need the Council on our side."
Shepard sighed. "They won't listen to us," he said flatly, "they never do."
"They have to," Anderson said, "they can't ignore this attack; it might as well have been an act of war.
"We're en-route to the Citadel right now," Anderson said in a tone that suggested the informal part of this debrief was over, "I'll need a full report from you before we arrive."
"Aye, aye, sir."

It was easier to think here.

Here, isolated in the depths. Only the gentle pulsing from the sterile metal around him, soothing his frustrated mind.

He let his head drop into the palm of his hand, willing the pictures, the sounds, the sensations in his mind to resolve into the clarity he required.

But no. They denied him, the details twisting away from his grasp, eluding him.

More. He needed more.

"We identified the ship that touched down on Eden Prime."
The voice was harsh and grating to his senses. It cut through the serene atmosphere he had been lost in.
"The Normandy. A human Alliance vessel. It was under the command of Captain Anderson."
The serenity started to fall away from around him, replaced by aching wrath.
"They managed to save the colony."
"And the beacon?" he heard himself demand, his own voice sounding guttural and broken. There was a pause before the answer came.
"One of the humans may have used it."

Rage consumed him so suddenly, so overwhelmingly, that it seemed that the very air around him had erupted into incandescence. He could feel the blood pulsing in his veins, roaring in his head. To have come so far, so close to his goal, to suffer complications now!

As abruptly as it had ensued, the anger abated; it ebbed and faded into cold, clinical resolve. As it did so, he became aware of a face scarce inches from his own, the head to which it belonged clutched in his hand, his fingers poised to crush the skull beneath his grip. The eyes that met his were devoid of any panic or fear. With great effort, he forced his hand open and down to his side.
"This human," he said deliberately, "must be eliminated."

He turned away without waiting for a response, stalking over to his seat and slumping down again, head clasped in his hand. He bent his mind back to the omens he had been granted, falling back into a contemplative trance.

It was a minor setback. Nothing more.

He would succeed. No matter the hindrance.

He would save them all. Whatever the sacrifice.

Half-an-hour later, Shepard was washed, dressed and putting the finishing touches to his report. He gave the report a last glance over before submitting it to the Captain. As he left the medbay with a nod to the Doctor, he yawned and rubbed at the stubble on his chin. It would probably be proper of him to shave before he met the Council – so he wouldn't.
"Hey Commander."
Shepard glanced over at the speaker. Chief Williams had stood up from the mess table to walk over to him. He noticed that her dark hair was scrunched into a regulation bun that was somehow more severe and intimidating than the armour she had been wearing on Eden Prime.
"Glad to see you're okay," she went on, "the crew could use some good news after what happened to Jenkins."
"Losing people is never easy," Shepard agreed. "Especially on a first mission."
"Part of me feels guilty over what happened," Williams admitted, "if Jenkins was still alive... I might not be here."
Shepard considered her for a moment. He'd seen survivor's guilt a hundred times before – why did they die and not me? – He was almost jealous, in a way: Jenkins had gotten killed while under his command and the one more torn up about it was the marine who'd never met him.
"Jenkins' death was no-one's fault," Shepard asserted, "least of all yours. And believe me when I say the Captain isn't the type to pick up strays just to fill a gap in the roster. If you're here, it's because he thinks you're good enough." He paused before adding, "and so do I. You did a damn good job down there, Chief."
"Thanks, Commander. That means a lot coming from you; I've never met someone who was awarded the Star of Terra."
"Someone's told you who I am, I see," Shepard noted.
"I worked it out," Williams corrected him, "- didn't exactly take a genius - but not until we came on board; didn't exactly have time to think down there."

"You can say that again." Shepard was no psychologist, but even he noticed the slight downturn in her voice and expression. "How are you holding up?" he asked, trying to file the hardened edge off his voice.
Williams paused before starting awkwardly, "I've seen friends die before – comes with being a marine – but to see my entire unit wiped out... and you never get used to seeing dead civilians."
Shepard decided not to comment on that point and merely nodded.
"Still, things would have been worse if you hadn't shown up." Williams added.
"Would've been a lot harder without you there, Chief," Shepard said. "Any problems, come lay them on me; I guess it'll be part of my job from now on in."
"Thanks Commander," Williams said, "I have to say, I was a bit nervous about being assigned to the Normandy; it's nice when someone makes you feel welcome."
"Do your job, do it well, don't piss off the Captain, and you'll fit in just fine here, Chief," Shepard advised her.
"I'll bear that in mind, sir."

"All stations, secure for transit," Joker's voice came over the ship's intercom.
"I should go; want to be on the bridge when we come into the Citadel," Shepard said, turning to leave.
"Mind if I join you?" Williams asked.
"Not at all," Shepard said, leading the way up the curved stairway to the CIC. The Normandy's main deck was a bustle of activity. This was still only the ship's second trip via mass relay, and it was a longer one than had been planned.
"Good timing Commander, I'm about to bring us into the Citadel," Joker said as they reached the bridge. Alenko was back in the co-pilot's seat.
"Just relax and watch those taxpayer credits at work."
The Normandy dropped seamlessly out of FTL. The view out of the windows was obscured by a thick, blue-tinged fog.

"The hell?" Williams muttered.
"It's the Serpent Nebula," Alenko explained, "the Citadel's in the middle."
"Who's the new girl?" Joker asked, giving Williams a vaguely suspicious look.
"Gunnery Chief Williams, Flight Lieutenant Moreau – call him Joker," Shepard introduced the pair. "And don't worry, Lieutenant," he added dryly, "she's not going to take your ship away from you."
"I'd like to see her try," Joker pouted, running a loving hand across his console.
"You sure about that?" Williams asked, walking over to loom over the pilot.
"Hell yeah!" Joker exclaimed, "I'd get up and kick your ass right now, but this seat is just too damn cosy."
"Play nicely, children," Shepard warned them tiredly.
"She started it!"
Shepard sighed and phased out for a moment, casting a glance out at the nebula. His head was still throbbing from the beacon's... whatever. Yet another ghostly flash across his vision-

Pair of hands clawing at the skull, loss of mind, loss of self-

He shook his head and it disappeared. He blinked a few times and gave his head another quick shake.
'If this lasts much longer, I'm going to go crazy...'
"So you're our souvenir?" Joker was saying to Williams. "Neat – I guess we needed to get something after you guys broke that prothean thing."
Williams bristled and said, "first, I'd love to see you try and put me on a mantelpiece. And second, we didn't break that-"
"Look," Alenko interrupted, gesturing through the bridge windows and forestalling the budding argument.

The nebula began to thin out, giving a progressively less obscured view of the Citadel. They were still kilometres away, but it was already an enormous blot on the otherwise majestic view of the nebula. Five gargantuan arms reached out towards them, the outside edges smooth and unblemished, the insides studded with comparatively minute towers that pointed inwards. At the far end, the arms were joined by a spindly ring, a single spire jutting outwards to it's centre.

"That's..." Williams started, then trailed off.
"Pretty impressive," Shepard finished for her. Having grown up in space, he'd seen dozens of stations in his time but the Citadel was something else entirely. As the Normandy drew closer, other ships came into view, hundreds of them, coming and going, ranging in size from shuttles to patrol frigates to-
"Look at the size of that ship!" Williams said, stepping over to the portside window to get a better view. Shepard joined her, looking over the behemoth that had drifted into view. With it's silvery-blue finish and smooth curves, it looked more like a piece of artwork than the warship it was.
"The Destiny Ascension," Alenko said, "flagship of the Citadel Fleet."
"Well, size isn't everything," Joker said dismissively, kicking the Normandy into a lazy roll as it passed under the Ascension's outspread wing.
"Why so touchy, Joker?" Williams needled him.
"I'm just saying you need firepower, too!"
"Look at that monster! It's main gun could rip through the barriers on any ship in the Alliance fleet!"
"Good thing it's on our side then," Alenko noted.

Joker tapped theatrically at his display to open a comm channel, "Citadel Control, this is SSV Normandy, requesting permission to dock."
"Standby for clearance, Normandy," the reply came back briskly. Within seconds, the voice said, "clearance granted, you may begin your approach. Transferring you to an Alliance operator."
"Roger, Citadel Control. Normandy out."
The Normandy swept into the empty void between the station's arms. The view from one side offered an uninterrupted flyby vista of one of the arms: A sprawling cityscape, dotted with skyscrapers, criss-crossed with lines of the flickering lights of traffic.

"Normandy, this is Alliance Tower, please proceed to dock four-two-two."
Joker pushed the Normandy towards a new course, heading for the point where one of the arms connected to the central ring. With a flourished frenzy of finger-tapping, he brought the Normandy swooping into a ship dock, where it settled with undeniable grace. Magnetic clamps deployed and latched onto the ship's hull, holding it in place. Joker settled back in his chair with a satisfied sigh, lacing his fingers behind his head, smirking widely.
"Money well spent."