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Shepard was looking for the Primarch. After the death of Fedorian, the new Primarch turned out to be Adrien Victus, a soldier of Garrus's own stamp—a man who thought for himself, a rare leader who might have the creativity to find a way to defeat the Reapers, or at least to hold against them until a way could be found. The turians were going to need him here, on the ground, and Garrus said as much to Shepard.

"Garrus, you've seen what these things can do," Shepard said urgently. "It's not about Palaven, or Earth, or anyone's homeworld—it's about everyone's homeworlds. And we need leaders who can think outside the box up there as much as we need them down here. Possibly more."

"It's just …" He looked around him at the shambles, the completely un-turian-like mess of a camp. "Without him down here, we may lose this moon, and if we lose the moon …" He couldn't finish. He didn't want to put into words how close they were to losing Palaven entirely.

"I know. But without him up there, we could lose everything. The Council won't help, Garrus. They're burying their heads in the sand, again. Only Sparatus was even willing to consider something beyond protecting his own borders, and I have to start somewhere. If even you can't see how much we need to band together as one now—" She looked away, shaking her head. "Then we've already lost." Her comm link crackled before Garrus could say anything, the familiar and welcome voice of Joker coming through. Something about EDI and the Normandy going haywire. Shepard sent Liara back to the ship to help calm Joker down and see if she could figure out what was wrong with his beloved ship, then she turned to look at Garrus. "You may not believe in what we're doing, but will you come with me to find Victus and at least ask him if he'll come to the summit?"

Garrus looked over Shepard's shoulder at a Reaper far on the other side of the moon. The thing was massive, towering over everything. "Look at that," he said softly. "They want my opinion on how to stop it. Failed C-Sec officer, vigilante … and I was all they had for an expert advisor." He looked down at her. "Shepard."

"Garrus?"

"Do you think it's possible to win this thing? Do you think you can do it?"

He looked deeply into her brown eyes, knowing her, knowing the ways she hid the truth when her subordinates didn't need to see how she really felt, and saw nothing but determination and honesty. "I don't know, Garrus, but I am sure as hell going to give it my best shot."

"Well, I'm damn sure nobody else can do it, so your best shot is good enough for me. Let's go get the Primarch."

"Thank you, Garrus."

"Thank me when we find him in one piece."

They set out across Menae, the three of them—Garrus, Shepard, and James Vega. Vega fell behind, his heavy armor and large bulk not conducive to speed, and his lungs not yet used to the thinner air of his respirator.

Rounding a pile of rocks, Garrus saw Palaven shining before him, looking almost close enough to touch. Dotted across the planet's surface were splashes of orange—fires. Destruction. Reapers. He swallowed, wishing he had the time to stop and be sick.

Shepard and Vega came up behind him.

He gestured to the planet. "That blaze of orange? The big one? That's where I was born."

"That's tough," Vega said sympathetically. "You got family down there?"

Garrus nodded. "My dad. A sister."

"They all right?" Shepard asked.

"Last I heard. That's the best I can ask for."

"It's the best any of us can ask for," she told him.

"Your mother?"

"On a ship. Alive—for now."

"Come on. The war won't wait for us to worry."

"Your people look like they're dug in for the long haul," Vega noted as they passed a fortification.

"The turians have the best military in the galaxy," Shepard said.

Garrus sighed. "We do for now … but we're losing men faster than I would have imagined possible. And how long can you keep at it, in the face of odds like these, before the fight's kicked out of you?"

Shepard caught his arm, pulling him to a stop. "Hey. You fight as long as someone is still standing who can load a heat sink into a rifle. That's how long. Start thinking otherwise and the Reapers have already won."

"Yeah." He wished he felt convinced. Looking across the rocks where another Reaper was landing on the far edge of the moon, he sighed. "If only they'd listened to your warnings about the Reapers. If only they'd listen to you now."

"That's why we're here. To make them listen."

"And while we're up in space talking their ears off, our people are on the planets dying," Vega snapped. "I never should have left Earth."

"You didn't have a choice," Shepard reminded him.

"Yeah, I know, but leaving a fight just pisses me off."

Garrus pointed out, "That's what you're asking Victus to do: leave the fight to make nice in some boardroom."

"Battles are won on the ground, but wars are won in the boardroom. You know that," Shepard said urgently. "Victus up there creates an alliance that might have a shot at building an army that can stop these things once and for all, rather than piecemeal battles against their minions. We need the people down here holding them back and the people up there figuring out how to create a decisive victory. This summit is the only chance we've got."

"You know what this fight can use? The meat! Where the hell are the batarians? The krogans?" Vega asked.

"Well, the batarians took the brunt of the initial invasion. Not much left of them now," Garrus said.

"And the krogans aren't exactly fans of the turians."

"Right. 'Cause of that time you made them sterile."

"The salarians did the actual work," Garrus pointed out uncomfortably.

"And the krogans hate them both for it," Shepard added.

Vega grunted. "Too bad. I've fought with a krogan. They're tough sons of bitches."

Garrus and Shepard exchanged glances, thinking of Wrex and Grunt. Garrus wondered if Shepard already had a plan to convince Wrex to get into the war. He hoped so. Vega was right—they were going to need the krogans.

When they finally found Victus, once Shepard had made him see how important the summit was, and how necessary his presence was, he said much the same—he couldn't promise troops for Earth or anywhere else until somehow the pressure was taken off Palaven, and the only way he could see that being possible was to bring in the krogans.

"I'll see what I can do, Primarch," Shepard promised, looking irritated by the condition but not despairing. She must have something up her sleeve, Garrus thought. Punching the comm link in her collar, she called, "Shepard to Cortez."

Who the hell was Cortez? Garrus felt his hackles rising. Vega already looked at Shepard like the sun rose and set in her—which quite possibly it did, Garrus had to concede—now there was this Cortez, too?

"Primarch, you ready?" Shepard asked, and at his nod, she keyed the comm link again. "Prepare for pickup."

"Number of passengers, Commander?" came the voice through the comm.

Shepard looked up at Garrus. "I know your people need you here, but I need you, too."

Need him, or need his weapon? He hoped it was both, actually. But it didn't matter—there had never really been a chance he was letting her off this moon without him, anyway. "Are you kidding?" he asked her. "I'm right behind you."

"Four, Cortez," Shepard responded. "Glad to have you aboard, Garrus."