Author's Note:
Readers should be aware that the next few chapters will concentrate primarily on conversations within the Citadel and aboard the Normandy. For those of you who choose to persevere, I can promise a few tweaks from the canon conversations, plenty of Shepard's point of view, encounters that are decidedly non-canon or occur earlier than expected and a couple original developments.
Chapter 5: The More Things Change
We arrived at the Citadel and docked at Bay D24. I'm sure it was as amazing and breathtaking as always, but I couldn't be bothered to stand by a window and take in the scenery. Not this time.
A team of medics were waiting for us. They were thoroughly briefed, thanks to all the medical reports and sitreps I'd been sending them on a regular basis, but they still needed to do a quick assessment of their own. For legal reasons. And maybe medical ones. At least they did it while lifting Kaidan—who hadn't opened his eyes since that mech assaulted him on Mars—loading him on a stretcher and running out the airlock. "Barely got a pulse here," one of them announced.
"Move him out," a turian medic barked, somewhat redundantly.
"Where you taking him?"
"Huerta Memorial," the turian replied over his shoulder. (1) "Best care on the Citadel."
I hoped so. I was no doctor, but I'd seen enough injuries and wounds to know that Kaidan was in horrific shape. Even with Joker pulling off every trick in the book—and making up a few of his own—to get here, it was a miracle that Kaidan had lasted this long.
Liara and James joined me. She watched the medics leave with Kaidan. James was busy looking around so quickly it was a miracle he didn't get whiplash. I had the feeling he hadn't been here before. He finally noticed what was going on and pointed at the medics. "We're not going with?" James asked.
"We need to see the Council," Liara reminded him.
"Right. Uh… looks like they might be coming to see you."
I followed the direction of his gaze. He was half right, I suppose. The man approaching me wasn't from the Council, but he was here to see me. "Commander Shepard. Got word you were arriving."
"Captain Bailey," I greeted him, shaking his hand firmly. "Good to see you again."
"You too—though it's 'Commander' now."
Ouch. "Um… I'm sorry?"
Bailey looked at me blankly before realizing what I was thinking. "C-Sec ranks are a little different than Alliance, Shepard. It's actually a promotion. One big step closer to Executor, as a matter of fact."
To my ears, he didn't sound all that thrilled. "Congratulations?" I tried.
He grunted. "Thanks," he said sourly. "Now half my job is dealing with political bullshit and escorting dignitaries around." Belatedly, he added 'No offense."
Wow. From pariah under house arrest to reinstated Commander and honorary dignitary. Who says I don't lead a charmed life? "None taken. This is Dr. T'Soni and Lieutenant Vega," I introduced. "Guys, Cap—Commander Bailey. When I first met him, he was in charge of the precinct on Zakera Ward."
Everyone said their hellos and shook hands. "So you're here to bring us to the Council?" I asked.
Bailey paused. I got a sinking feeling in my stomach. Aw, crap. He motioned for us to follow him. As we walked, he began to talk. "I'm here to tell you the Council is expecting you, but they're dealing with their own… problems with the war and everything. They apologize for the inconvenience and… blah, blah, blah, blah," he finished, giving up on relaying the political bullshit. "Meet them at Udina's office, right over here." He uploaded the latest schematics of the Citadel, with Udina's office highlighted. "They'll be ready soon enough."
"All right," I sighed. "Better than nothing."
"You might have time to go by the medical centre, if you want to check on progress over there," he added. "I overheard the docs saying your man was going to Huerta Memorial Hospital? It's the best spot on the Citadel and it's on the Presidium, not far from the Embassies."
"Thanks," I said, "I think I'll do that."
"You go on ahead," Liara said. "I'll head up to Udina's office and brief him."
"One of my men can show you the way," Bailey said, waving an officer down. "And you?" he asked James.
"I'm just a tourist today," he shrugged. "I'll try not to get into any trouble."
"I'd appreciate that," Bailey nodded. James gave me a quick salute before wandering off. Bailey was about to say something when he suddenly raised a hand to his ear. I could actually hear the report over the comm: "Commander, we've got a situation in the embassy quarters. We could use your help." (2)
"I'll be right there," he said. To me, he added "The other half of my job. I'll see you around, Shepard."
"No doubt," I called out as he headed off.
I took the elevator straight to Huerta Memorial Hospital. It was a big place. Wide, open spaces. Trees and other fauna planted everywhere. Simulated sunlight streaming in through the huge floor-to-ceiling windows. If I didn't know better, I'd think it was a reception area for a hotel rather than a hospital. Mind you, this was the admitting area. Maybe that explained the scenery.
There was a kiosk for Sirta Supplies, presumably a subsidiary or offshoot of the Sirta Foundation. I was about to check out what they had when I spotted a blast from the past. Two blasts, actually. I quickly made my way over. "Dr. Chakwas, Dr. Michel. The two of you are working here?"
"I'm working at an Alliance R&D lab down in Shalta Wards, actually," Dr. Chakwas corrected, "coordinating closely with Admiral Hackett. I heard you escaped Earth in the Normandy and that someone was critically injured. I came as fast as I could."
Dr. Michel stepped aside, ostensibly to consult with another doctor while giving the two of us some space. "We had a run-in with a Cerberus synthetic on Mars," I explained. "Kaidan took the worst of it. How's he doing?"
"Very well, all things considered," she reassured me. "I'm impressed with Major Alenko's resilience, as well as Dr. Michel's expertise. He was more or less stabilized by the time I arrived." She took a step forward. "I wish I could have been there to help on Mars."
"I wish a lot of people could've been there," I said. "But hey, it's been six months, Doctor. How have you been?"
"Good." We stepped towards the huge windows I observed earlier, taking in the stunning view of the Presidium. This must be a prime spot of real estate. I focused on what Dr. Chakwas was saying: "I've been fortunate. When they impounded the Normandy, the Alliance didn't really know what to do with me. I was never officially part of Cerberus and I'd gotten a proper leave of absence from my previous post."
My shoulders sagged with relief. "So you hadn't technically done anything wrong by joining me to defeat the Collectors," I concluded.
"Yes, though I suppose if you were judged to be a war criminal, I would have been tried as an accessory."
"Well, I'm glad you didn't have to face that and you managed to get back on your feet," I smiled. "I have to say, it seems a little weird. I know you've got a research background, but… I dunno, I've always felt your place was in Normandy's med bay, not some lab on the Citadel."
You should've seen her eyes light up. "I couldn't agree more. Say the word and I'm with you."
That might've been the first real bit of good news I'd heard since I arrived. Well, second. The first would be finding out that Kaidan was going to be okay. "The Normandy wouldn't be the same without you, Doctor," I beamed. "Grab your gear. We're at Docking Bay D24."
"Yes, Commander," she said. "And thank you."
"Don't thank me so soon," I cautioned. "Remember: Joker is still aboard."
Dr. Chakwas arched an eyebrow. "And I'd be surprised if he's been remembering his medication."
Heh.
As Dr. Chakwas headed off, I went to see Dr. Michel. She was just wrapping up her consult when I arrived. "Commander Shepard," she greeted me warmly. "Good to see you."
"Dr. Michel, it's been a long time," I returned. "You've come a long way from that small clinic down in the Wards." (3)
"Because of you. I don't know where I'd be if you hadn't dealt with Fist and his thugs. Or Banes. Now I'm head physician at Huerta Memorial. You gave me this chance."
"Eh, you did it on your own," I waved it off. "I just dealt with some things that weren't normal occupational hazards."
She smiled briefly. "I assume you're here about Major Alenko? The head trauma was severe, but we reduced the swelling quickly. These types of injuries can go either way. He hasn't regained consciousness yet, but his vitals are strong so I'm optimistic. You can go see him if you like. He's just down the hall."
"Kaidan's only gonna be the first," I said. "This war may leave a lot of injured people homeless. Can the Citadel clinics and hospitals care for them all?"
"We're fine now, but I'm worried," Dr. Michel admitted. "Every hospital on the Citadel is preparing for the worst. I hear the docks are tightly controlled, but we just can't leave people floating out there forever. Sooner or later, they'll have to come in and when they do…"
"How are you holding up as far as medical supplies go?"
"We're well-stocked for now, but I can't say I'm not worried. We've had to post guards on our reserves. War profiteering has already begun."
Ah yes. Another chance for people to make a quick credit or two off of other people's desperation. Really tugs at the ol' heartstrings. "Well, I'm sure you hear about it before it becomes a serious problem," I said. "With a centre of this size, you must get a lot of direct reports. And challenging."
"We've got twelve full-time doctors and over fifty support staff," she said. "It can be overwhelming, despite all the staffing. Quite different from my days in the Wards. But it's an exciting challenge."
Yeah, I had a feeling that she wouldn't have it any other way. "Keep up the good work, Doctor."
"You too, Commander."
With that done, I headed over to the inpatient wing. A pair of doctors were just leaving Kaidan's room when I arrived. "Patient's stable for now," one of them, a salarian said.
The other doctor, a human, wiped some sweat off her brow. "That was touch-and-go. Good work, Dr. Fraelik."
Dr. Fraelik didn't pay much attention to the compliment, his mind on other concerns. "Neurosplint's still the best course of action, Dr. Perry."
"I'll see if we have the required stratial bindings. Meet you back here in a minute?"
"Sounds good."
I passed them and entered Kaidan's room. He had the whole room to himself. There were a couple chairs by his bed. A picture frame and a bookshelf filled with medical journals and magazines behind him. And a window, curtains drawn back, that gave another breathtaking view of the Presidium. Not that he could enjoy it. He was still unconscious. I watched him for a while, just lying there. Not moving. Barely breathing. "Hey, Kaidan," I said at last.
The beeping of the nearby monitors was my only reply.
"Don't know if you can hear me, but since you can't tell me to get the hell out either… I'm gonna take my chances," I continued. "Don't die, Kaidan. You've got to fight. You've got to come back. We need you in this.
"You know, seeing you in action again… it reminded me you're a hell of a soldier. The Alliance could sure use you. And despite our differences… I could use you."
It was only then that I realized that someone else had entered the room. Another doctor, judging by his uniform and the charts he was reading on his datapad. "You need anything, doc, let me know."
He looked at me blankly before nodding. Guess he didn't recognize me or realize I was a Spectre. As far as he was concerned, I probably wasn't the first friend of a patient who'd given him an oddball request. "Come on, Kaidan," I implored. "Fight."
Dr. Perry came in. Guess they were gonna do that stratial neurosplint whatsit thing. Time for me to clear out and give them some room. I left Kaidan, but not before saying one last thing:
"And that's an order."
As I jogged out of the hospital, I overheard various news reports. Something about some movie. Turian something and dermal tissue. I paused to hear one story, though: "The Council calls these invaders 'Reapers,' the same term once used by disgraced Commander Shepard—"
The elevator doors sealed shut, cutting off that report. Guess the Council can't dismiss the Reapers now, even if I was still disgraced in their eyes.
Its biometric sensors scanned me and greeted me with a pleasant "Welcome, Commander Shepard." It had done that the first time too, though I'd been too preoccupied to really register it. "Please select a destination."
"Citadel Embassies," I said aloud.
"One moment please."
It took more than a moment, but we got there without any hiccups. "Now arriving at Citadel Embassies." I stepped out and looked around. Big. Open. Clean. Ultra-modern. Well-maintained. Mandatory Avina terminal. Scattering of humans and aliens—the latter consisting of a turian guard, a pair of volus chatting, another turian reading a datapad, a turian trying to mind his own business and a volus chatting with a human.
I headed up the stairs and down a corridor. Over the PA, another news story was airing. "Illium is under attack. Although the asari colony, Palaven and Earth—"
What's this? I stopped and looked at the sign over one of the doors. 'C-Sec—Commander Bailey.' Huh. Wonder if he was home?
He was. But he wasn't alone. "There is no anti-humanity conspiracy here, Ms. Al-Jilani," he said patiently. "The Council's simply not granting interviews at this time."
Ah. Khalisah Bint Sinan al-Jilani. Reporter for Westerlund News, specializing in outrage journalism and pandering to popular human opinion, asking loaded questions and taking detours in logic to irrelevant or misleading conclusions. Anyone who wasn't supporting humanity in the most short-sighted and narrow-minded way was a back-stabbing naturally she was a hypocrite who'd made out with at least one asari when she wasn't officially on camera.
I'd met her a couple times before. The first time was after I'd been appointed as the first human Spectre, where she'd accused me of being the Council's latest puppet, a shill to support their interests above humanity's. The second time, she'd accosted me and criticized my choices during the Battle of the Citadel, particularly my decision to save the Council. Both times, I managed to resist the urge to smack her. Others didn't share my restraint: I'd seen images when a krogan had punched her and a volus had kicked her. Good times. (4)
"M viewers are going to know that C-Sec and the Council are denying them access."
That wasn't what Bailey had said, but why let truth get in the way of a good story? Either Bailey had had a bad day or al-Jilani had twisted his words into one too many sound bites. Or both. "Listen, lady," he groaned, "you think I like playing gatekeeper between the paparazzi and the politicians? I don't have time to babysit them and I'm not here to hold your hand."
"Well I'm camping out until I'm granted an audience." She didn't say it, but with the childish tone in her voice, she might as well have stamped her feet and added "So there."
"Fine." He gestured towards the door, a not-so-pleasant smile on his face. "I hope you brought a sleeping bag."
She stomped out the door, only slowing slightly when she passed me and recognized my ugly mug. I smiled and waved at her before hitting the door controls. "Commander Shepard? Commander, humanity has questions!" she managed before the doors closed.
"Nice to see some things haven't changed," I joked.
Bailey grunted. "Damn press."
"I see you're keeping the peace," I said, sitting down.
"Yeah, I feel like a glorified doorman."
"You don't see this promotion as a move up?" I guessed.
"Wedged in here with all the stuffed shirts?" he laughed. "I'd rather be back down on the streets. I appreciate the higher pay grade, but I'm not a political creature."
"I know more than one guy who found himself—or herself—in similar situations," I admitted. "But there's nothing saying you had to get promoted. If you didn't want to be upped, why'd you accept?"
"You don't say no to Councillor Udina. Well, maybe you would, but I gotta live here."
Oh. Political interference. And I had to admit, he had a point. I could get away with ignoring Udina because I had the luxury of coming and going as I pleased. Bailey didn't have that option.
"I know the ol' saying. Squeaky wheel gets the oil and all that. But I didn't lobby for a promotion like some other officers."
Translation: despite the fact that he'd stooped to accepting the occasional bribe and looked the other way once or twice, he hadn't been a brown-nosing, ambitious sycophant who'd sucked up to the bosses and the politicians.
"I'm not even sure why he picked me. Never know with politicians. I hate this BS."
"Don't lose your edge," I cautioned. "You might need it. I know it's hard to believe when you have to deal with the al-Jilanis and the politicos, but…"
"Wouldn't mind an excuse to get my fingers dirty," he sighed. "And I'm not talking about the press or the politicians." I think he was gonna say something else, but then he glanced at his monitor. He had a news feed running in the background and, from what I could glimpse, none of it was good. "It's killing me about Earth," he said soberly.
"You and me both."
"I haven't been back in years," Bailey admitted. "Now I may never. If this ain't the end of days… it's pretty damn close." He shook his head. "You know, I was gonna go back there. Eight… maybe nine months ago? To visit my kids. Son… daughter…" Then he broke down. He didn't cry, but I could see the worry and pain and grief in his face. "They're still on Earth. Never got the chance to tell 'em how much I love them. Now…"
I remembered how he helped me find Kolyat, the son of one of my squadmates when I was preparing to stop the Collectors. Part of his willingness stemmed from his regret that he was a divorced father who might not have raised his kids as well as he would have liked. No wonder he was so upset. "I'm sorry, Bailey," I said softly. "I've got family too. My mom. My sister. (5) I have no idea where they are or whether they're okay."
Bailey took a deep breath. "Yeah, I'm just like everyone else," he said, his voice returning to his usual gravelly tone. "Losing myself in things I can control. Or pretend I can, anyway. And at the moment, that means creating the illusion of security here."
Bailey clearly needed a distraction. Fielding questions was as good a choice as any. The fact that the answers would satisfy my curiosity was completely coincidental. "'Illusion of security'?" I echoed. "Thought things were relatively quiet here."
"Well, compared to where you're coming from, sure." Bailey managed to get that out without thinking of Earth or breaking down. "But the war's being felt everywhere and it's only just begun. Millions across the galaxy have been displaced already. Most of them came here—or they will, if past crises are any indication."
"Must have you doing somersaults," I said sympathetically.
Bailey laughed ruefully. "Already allocated the bulk of my men to Customs, but we're still overtaxed cataloguing and processing them all."
"The political side of your new job probably isn't helping," I said.
"You kidding? With the Reapers running roughshod through the galaxy, it seems like the Council is in constant session. We got more ambassadors and dignitaries here than ever before pleading their cases. But that's just the tip of the iceberg, really."
"Is the Citadel gearing up for war?" I wanted to know.
"Not really," Bailey admitted. "Truth is, there's a false sense of security here. An illusion, like I said. Even people from worlds that have gone down act like they're safe." He shook his head sadly. "I guess it's not just human nature. We all lie to ourselves to deal with horror."
Yep. For the moment, that meant lying to myself about the chances of this miracle Prothean weapon coming through to save the day. Never mind building the damn thing in the first place. "Yeah. Tell me about it," I said.
We sat there for a moment, thinking about our own troubles. Our own problems. Our shared misery. "You were saying that Udina made you Commander?" I asked at last.
"Yeah, he's become an even bigger shot around here. Got a lot of ambition."
Tell me something I don't know.
"He suspected Executor Pallin was conspiring against the Council and had me investigate."
Now that I couldn't believe. When I'd met him, the head of C-Sec was a stickler for upholding and obeying the law. He wasn't a fan of humans, but mostly because we were running amoklike the new kids on the block with a cavalier disregard for the rules. He definitely didn't like Spectres because he felt they acted above the law. Needless to say, he and Garrus didn't get along.
To imagine him breaking the law to go behind the Council's back was hard to imagine. "I can't picture Pallin doing that," I admitted. "Mind you, it has been a few years since I last met him. Did you find anything incriminating?"
"Enough to arrest him," he admitted. "When Pallin resisted… I was forced to kill him. Udina rewarded me with the promotion. Screwed up my plans to go back to Earth and see my kids. Near as I can tell, being a commander just means I'm putting out different fires."
With an effort, I got to my feet. "Speaking of which, we both have jobs to do, Bailey. I guess we better get back to work."
"Figure you're right. Good talking to you, Shepard."
I wasn't just making it up: I had to get back to work. For the moment, that meant crossing the hall and entering the office marked 'Earth Councillor—Donnel Udina.' An asari assistant greeted me when I stepped in. "Commander. Councillor Udina said you'd be coming."
"Yeah. Where is he? And Dr. T'Soni?"
"Meeting with the Council. If you'll follow me?"
We went down another hallway to another elevator, over to the Citadel Tower and up, up and away to the Council Chambers. Where all important decisions regarding the fate of Citadel space were made. Despite the fact that the Reapers were making a mockery of all those decisions.
"We've got our own problems, Councillor. Earth is not in this alone."
Ah, Councillor Sparatus. Turian councillor and perennial skeptic. He'd been the most reluctant to believe that Saren had gone rogue or that the Reapers were coming. And when he was proven wrong? He dismissed any recriminations just as quickly, preferring to change the topic.
At the moment, it looked like he wasn't Udina's favourite turian either. "But Earth was the first Council world hit. By all reports, it faces the brunt of the attack."
"By your reports," Valern, the salarian councillor said. Judging by his tone, he'd dismissed them as unreliable.
Liara was facing them as I approached, so she didn't see me coming. I could see her shaking her head, though. Couldn't blame them. Political posturing and dilly-dallying, even now. Figures. "The reports are accurate," I said aloud. "Earth was attacked—by the Reapers."
I looked Sparatus squarely in the eye. To his credit, he didn't shy away. "And it's just the beginning," I added. "We need your help. Everything you can spare."
Valern and Tevos, the asari Councillor, exchanged looks. Apparently they silently decided it was Tevos's turn to speak. "Each of us faces a similar situation. Even now, the Reapers are pressing on our borders. If we lend you our strength to help Earth, our own worlds will fall."
"We must fight this enemy together," Udina insisted.
"And so we should just follow you to Earth?" Valern asked incredulously. I couldn't help but notice the tone in his voice. Agitated. Adversarial. Much more so than any of the other times I'd heard him speak. Interesting, albeit decidedly unhelpful.
To my surprise, it was Sparatus—Councillor Stick-Up-His-Ass—who made a calming gesture. "Even if we were to unite our fleets, do you really believe we could defeat the Reapers?"
Did… did I hear that right? Was he actually humouring us? This was so weird. "I don't expect you to follow me without a plan." I left out the part where we didn't really have a plan. Just a vague outline of one. They didn't need to know that. That's what Liara was for. I looked at her.
She took my cue and stepped forward. "Councillors: we have that plan. A blueprint. Created by the Protheans during their war with the Reapers."
"A blueprint for what?" Sparatus asked.
"We're still piecing it together," Liara admitted, activating her omni-tool, "but it appears to be a weapon of some sort." The schematics she'd shown me and Hackett earlier shimmered to life before us for the consideration of The Powers That Be.
Valern frowned. "Capable of destroying the Reapers."
"So it would seem," Liara replied.
"The scale is…" Valern broke off, shaking his head. "It would be a colossal undertaking."
"No," I disagreed. "I forwarded the plans to Admiral Hackett. The rest of the Alliance fleets are already gathering resources to begin construction. (6)
"Our initial calculations suggest it is very feasible to build," Liara added. "Hardly a 'colossal undertaking'."
"If we work together," I amended, staring pointedly at The Powers That Be.
"Have you considered that the Reapers destroyed the Protheans?" Tevos pointed out. "What good did this weapon do?"
"It was incomplete," Liara explained. "There was a missing component. Here. Something referred to only as the Catalyst. But they ran out of time before they could finish building it."
Sparatus leaned forward. "Do you really believe this can stop the Reapers?"
Here we go… "Liara believes it can work and so do I," I said firmly. "We have the blueprints right here, right now. Mere days into this war. If we start this now, together, we'll have more time to build it than the Protheans ever did."
I paused before looking at Udina. "And while I haven't always agreed with Udina, he's right about this… we need to stand together. Now more than ever."
Udina looked startled to hear that. Couldn't blame him: I was being nice when I said we 'hadn't always agreed.' The words felt weird coming out of my mouth. Sounded weird too. But it was the truth. Strange bedfellows and all that. "The Reapers won't stop at Earth. They'll destroy every organic being in the galaxy if we don't find a way to stop them. Together."
Sparatus and Tevos looked at Valern, pointedly—or so it seemed to me—ignoring Udina. He shook his head. Udina's shoulders slumped. Aw, crap.
It was Tevos who broke the bad news. "The cruel and unfortunate truth is that while the Reapers focus on Earth, we can prepare and regroup."
Translation: they were going to use humanity as cannon fodder. A meat shield. A galactic sacrifice. Udina dropped his face in his hands, the very picture of dismay.
"We are convening a summit amongst our species," Valern said. "Humanity is welcome to attend, of course. If we can manage to secure our own borders, we may once again consider aiding you."
"Gee. Thanks." That's me: the eternal diplomat.
"I'm sorry, Commander," Tevos apologized. "That is the best we can do."
I guess I shouldn't expect anything else. They offered the best of nothing, which was—hang on, let me do the math, carry the one and so on—nothing. But still… Anderson had sent me to the Citadel to plead humanity's case before the Council and get help. I'd done all that for nothing. I'd failed. I'd failed Anderson. I'd failed the Alliance. I'd failed everyone.
Tevos and Valern left the Council Chambers without looking back. Sparatus, to my surprise, exchanged looks with me, Liara and Udina. He almost seemed… sympathetic. But then he too departed. And then it was just the three of us. "Shepard," Udina said quietly. "Meet me in my office."
"I hope that's an offer of support," Liara said as Udina departed. I gave her a look. She quickly conceded the point and moved on: "I'll be doing more research on this Prothean device, Shepard. Go through my old files, dig up whatever I can."
"Thanks, Liara," I sighed. "Meanwhile, I guess I'll pay Udina a visit."
As much as Udina was a diplomat and politician, he could be rather harsh and blunt. In the tone of his voice, if not the content.
"They're a bunch of self-concerned jackasses, Shepard."
It was nice to see that that hadn't changed.
Udina strode right by me and stared out the window, fists clenched in frustration. "The Council," he spat in derision. "You saved their lives three years ago, and for what? A spot on the Council, which is meaningless as humanity will always be considered second-rate. Apologies that boil down to 'maybe later.' If we don't figure out something, 'Maybe Later' will just be an epitaph on a mass grave of eleven billion."
Plus the countless billions and trillions of lives across the galaxy. "I was afraid that something like this might happen, but I didn't think they'd be so blind."
"They're scared," Udina sneered. "And they're looking out for themselves, as they always have."
"Our people are scared and we're looking out for them the best we know how."
Udina and I turned. It was Councillor Sparatus. Somehow, he'd entered when our backs were turned. And he'd just heard our raw, uncensored criticisms of The Powers That Be. Oops. "Councillor," Udina greeted him neutrally.
"Councillor," I echoed. "I appreciate that you may think that that's the best way to respond, but it's not. Hiding amongst yourselves will just allow the Reapers to divide and conquer us all one by one."
"Commander, you may be right, but I'm afraid I can't give you what you need."
Figures.
"But I can tell you how to get it."
I resisted the urge to clean my ears, but I could swear my hearing was off. It sounded like someone from The Powers That Be was offering… help. And not just any Councillor, but Councillor 'We've dismissed your claims, warnings, data, analyses and conclusions despite the fact that we weren't there.' Once again: this was so weird. "I'm listening," I prompted.
"Primarch Fedorian called the war summit that we mentioned earlier in the Council session, but… we lost contact with him when the Reapers hit Palaven. Those meetings won't proceed without him."
Made sense. The turians were always the most militaristic of the Council species. There was a reason why turians were allowed to build the most dreadnoughts under the Treaty of Farixen.
"The Normandy is one of the few ships that can extract Primarch Fedorian undetected."
I looked at Sparatus for a minute. "Let me see if I get straight," I said. "Right now, there is no single coordinated plan on how to respond to the Reaper invasion. No strategy on where to deploy fleets or armies, no idea of where they fight or with whom. Hence a war summit where various races can get together and hash out some kind of plan. But the man who organized all of this—and thus might have a bit more influence than most—the man who would represent your people is currently MIA.
"So you're proposing that I take the Normandy to Palaven, sneak through all those Reapers and somehow manage to extract Primarch Fedorian."
"Precisely," Sparatus approved. "A grateful Primarch would be a tremendous ally in your bid to unite us behind your plan."
Oh for crying out loud. I could see the sense behind it, but did I really have to run around the galaxy gathering allies? Again? Hadn't I done this song-and-dance enough times? "You do realize you're asking me to play politician in the middle of a war."
"If it gets you what you need, what does it matter?"
It mattered because it was yet another chapter in the never-ending story of my life. The one where I never got anyone who simply said "Sure, Shepard. You're absolutely right. Let me help you. No hesitation. No doubt. No second-guessing. No bargaining or negotiating or asking for you to do something first. Nope, I'm just gonna have your back right from the get-go."
Once upon a time, I would've just thrown up my hands and played along. Maybe I would do that in the future, just 'cuz old habits die hard. Right now? Right now I was getting a little tired of playing this game. Time to start a new one: "Even if we do this, can you guarantee that Primarch Fedorian will support the Alliance's plan to build the Prothean device and deploy the might of the Hierarchy to help take back Earth?"
To his credit, Sparatus at least made the pretence of considering my question before admitting "No."
"All right then," I said. "Let's say I take the Normandy straight to Palaven as soon as possible without any detours or pit stops. I'm willing to extract the Primarch and bring him to the war summit. But only on two conditions: first, I need you to exert every ounce of pressure and influence to convince him to provide the resources, manpower and expertise to build the Prothean device and retake Earth."
"I can do that," Sparatus agreed.
Good. I figured as much. Get the politician to agree to make a few more promises, none of which he might actually keep. More of the same. But he said yes. Which might make my next request a little easier: "Second: as a gesture of good faith, I need you to reassign some turians to assist Admiral Hackett in whatever way he sees fit.
"I know," I quickly added before Sparatus could choke on his gizzard, "It's a lot to ask for, especially in these difficult times. But there's no denying the fact that you're asking me—through unofficial back channels, I might point out—to use Alliance resources in order to help the turian people. All I'm asking is a bit of reciprocation. A few turian resources to help humanity. And this is Admiral Hackett we're talking about. You know he'll make sure that he'll use what he's given to help everyone—humans, turians and everyone else—against the Reapers."
"This… may take some doing," Sparatus said at last.
I found a nearby chair, sat down and propped my feet up on Udina's desk. "Hopefully you'll get a response before the comm channels get bogged down. It's a beautiful day, isn't it?"
The Councillor stared at me with an inscrutable expression on his face before retreating to a corner. I caught Udina's eye. "Too much hardball?" I asked.
He shoved my feet off his desk and brushed a few specks of imaginary dirt off. "It's not the tactics I disagree with," he sniffed.
Picky, picky.
It seemed to take forever, but Sparatus eventually came back. "I contacted Palaven Command," he told us. "They were… reluctant, to say the least, but I managed to convince them to reassign the 79th Flotilla to your Admiral Hackett.
I wouldn't realize until later how significant that was. The Turian 79th Flotilla had first demonstrated their courage and resolve during the Krogan Rebellions, when they sacrificed dozens of their ships to bring down krogan warships assaulting Digeris. Since then, they'd become known for their skill in employing both speed and stealth to launch hit-and-run attacks, divert fire and make bombing runs on enemy ground units. For Palaven Command to give up such a decorated group was a monumental gesture, one that suggested we weren't in this alone. I—and whatever ragtag band of misfits I'd managed to con into tagging along—wasn't in this alone.
But I didn't know that at the time. All I knew was that I got more than I expected, simply because I put my foot down. So all I said was "Thank you, Councillor. Did Palaven Command manage to provide a more specific location fix on Primarch Fedorian? You said he was somewhere on Palaven."
"We lost contact with him when the Reapers invaded Palaven," Sparatus corrected. "Along with the rest of our colonies. (7) According to our latest intelligence reports, the Primarch was moved to a base on Menae, Palaven's largest moon."
Well, at least we'd be searching a moon instead of a planet. Though that was still a lot of ground to cover.
"I've done all I can to help," Sparatus said. "The rest is up to you."
"It's more than we had a few minutes ago," I replied. "Thank you."
Sparatus began walking away, only to stop and turn back. "There is one other thing."
Great. Yet another request.
"The Council wanted me to tell you…"
Oh, I was wrong: they wanted me to go jump in a lake. Luckily for them there was one outside in the Presidium.
"We've chosen to uphold your Spectre status."
Sparatus activated his omni-tool. Seeing how my own omni-tool lit up, I looked down. I'd received a file… yep, it was official. I was a Spectre. Still. Though the last time my Spectre status was reinstated, it meant absolutely squat.
"And various resources will be made available to you."
Say what now? This was… new. It was still open to debate whether these were actual resources of value or just useless junk and empty promises, but it was a step further than anything I'd gotten from them before. (8)
"Good day."
I waited until Sparatus left before turning to Udina. "Well, that was… unexpected."
"It's a start," he said. "Like you said, it's more than we had earlier. I'll talk to the others in the meantime. See if we can support this summit and move things along. Amongst other things."
"Like what?"
"Humanity has created some goodwill in the galaxy. Now we cash in our chips. I will get what funding I can, what materials I can and spread the message: help the humans, help yourselves."
Catchy war slogan, I guess.
"I'll institute a draft in our colonies and order all civilian ships armed. Work on the Prothean device will be around the clock."
"Sounds good," I said, "though you'll want to be careful about arming civilian ships. Not all of them can be readily upgraded for military purposes. If you're not careful, all you'll do is turn them into a target instead of an asset."
Udina looked at me thoughtfully. "Talk to Admiral Hackett to coordinate that," I urged. "He'll be able to offer advice on whether it's feasible and—if so—how."
"Fair enough," he relented.
"Speaking of Anderson…" I paused, "any news from Earth?"
"There is constant news… all of it bad."
Shit.
"The Reapers are destroying satellites and the old nuclear missile silos, along with everything else that could help. We have a handful of quantum entanglers spread out over the continent. All other communication is cut."
At least we wouldn't be completely out of the loop. "Did you know anyone from Earth?"
"Many. It's monstrous to think of them being snuffed out, of course, but the part that gets me in Arcturus."
"Arcturus," I gasped. "They hit there too?"
Udina looked at me blankly. "Didn't you—wait, I forgot. You were still being court-martialled and had limited access to anything when the Reapers invaded. From what I heard, Arcturus Station was the first human target they hit."
"But what about our colonies at Terra Nova or Eden Prime?" I frowned. The only way to Arcturus Station would go through the relays near those colonies. "Didn't we put up a fight there?"
"I don't know," Udina shrugged. All I know is that the Reapers attacked Arcturus Station, held off several of our fleets while the rest poured through into the Sol system. You know what happened to Earth. As for Arcturus Station… it fell. Our best case is that it was destroyed, along with the majority of men and women stationed there.
"I must know… I must have known most of the Alliance Parliament on a first-name basis," he amended. "I required a second VI just to keep track of all their birthdays and anniversaries. Rose garden stuff, I know, but to have it all gone…" he trailed off and shook his head.
"Yeah, I wish there was more we could have done," I sighed. "Isn't there something else you can do when the other Councillors block you like this?"
"With Prime Minister Shastri and the rest of Parliament destroyed, I have more power than any human in history. In effect, I'm now the political leader of the Alliance. But today, you saw how little that matters. Rest assured; I will not be counted out for long. Today's not over yet. I know I can move mountains. Do not lose sight of that, because the task before us is moving planets."
I wasn't sure whether he was quoting that or slipping into speech-mode. Whatever it was, he wasn't kidding when he said we had a lot of work ahead of us. "Anderson would be proud," I told him. "But only if all of us can deliver. I'll do my part. What about you?"
"You need a carrot or a stick to drive a mule and humanity has neither right now," Udina said bluntly. "Our armada is tied down fighting or fleeing, and with Earth's comm buoys gone, our economy is reduced to an IOU. But leave that part to me. I will lean on our colonies for all they're worth, and I can broker enough trade to repair and resupply Hackett's fleets."
"Well, at least there's that," I sighed. "What's your read on the Councillors? Any angles I could pursue?"
"Tevos is a diplomat and compromiser, but she's wrapped up in defending asari space like a mother panther," Udina replied. "As long as that's a concern, she won't care about anything else."
That would explain why Tevos politely shot down any hint of cooperation. Asari were usually the ones to offer conciliatory gestures. They were known throughout the galaxy for negotiating, compromising and other aspects of diplomacy. The threat the Reapers posed to Tevos's people was overriding all that.
"Valern is out of his depth. The salarians like their wars won before they start. They're frightened now."
Made sense. Salarian military doctrine called for them to know everything about their enemy's assets, resources, positions, intentions and timetables beforehand—thus allowing them to move their assets into position, strike first and effectively win their wars in the first few hours or days. None of that was possible with the Reapers. No wonder Valern was so belligerent and stubborn: he was hiding how freaked out he was.
"There's not much more you can do with either of them. As for Sparatus? I'd take what he offers. It's a strange day when the turians are the least hostile to humans, and there's a need there."
By now, I think I'd established that it was seriously weird, but that seemed to be part of the territory. "Yeah, that sounds like my best plan," I agreed. "I should go then."
"I'll be here."
I decided my next step should be to test out how genuine The Powers That Be were when they said they would make resources available to me. As it turned out, the Spectres had an office in the Citadel Embassies, right across the hall from Udina's office.
I'd never been to the Spectre Office before, so I was interested to see what it looked like. It wound up being a dimly lit hallway that expanded to a slightly better lit room. Most of the illumination came from the various computer displays that were clustered around a couple terminals. There was also a shooting range and weapons bench, for testing weapons before and after modification, I guess.
First, I thought I'd check out the Requisitions Terminal. There were only a couple weapons available, all of which cost way too much. Any one of them cost over 200 000 credits and I only had 35 000. You'd think that they'd give them out at a discount at least considering that only Spectres had access to them, but noooooooooooo. And I really liked the idea of the Black Widow sniper rifle. According to the specs, it had less power than the Widow sniper rifle I'd picked up midway through my quest to stop the Collectors, but it could hold more shots per clip. Not a bad compromise—if I could ever scrounge up enough credits to afford it.
Next was the Spectre Terminal, which wound up being a repository of intel. Whoever was responsible for updating it, though, decided there were only two things Spectres needed to know. First was a welcome message. Yippee. The second was a message regarding some quarian named Jen'Volan nar Neema. Seemed that, while he was on his Pilgrimage, he'd gotten a lotta credits from the Flotilla, which he used to buy high-end weapon mounts, kinetic barrier emitters and other military-grade tech. Another quarian had been tracked all the way to Illium. Apparently, he was searching for a ship that had been lost near the Perseus Veil. He wound up being recalled. The conclusion was that the quarians were recalling their pilgrims and upgrading their ships to be combat-ready against someone. The fact that they hadn't asked for help and other pieces of intel suggested they weren't preparing for the Reapers. Instead, projections suggested they were gearing up for… another round with the geth? Oh for crying out loud. I hoped this intel was right. If not… damn it, I didn't have time to go over there and spank those idiots.
Basically there was nothing except a few scant intel reports and some tantalizing, but overpriced, weaponry. There wasn't anything else for me to do, so I left the Spectre Office and started wandering around the Presidium. I saw al-Jilani again, trying to get my attention. I decided to ignore her and talk to James instead.
He was staring out yet another giant window, which showed yet another incredible view of the Presidium. "Hey, Commander," he greeted me when I stopped next to him. "I bumped into Liara earlier. She told me the Council's not interested in helping us." He shook his head. "Guess I'm not surprised. I mean, why would they? Look at this place. There's no war here. People are whispering about it. They're talking about it. But they don't really believe it."
There was a sense of disappointment about him. I thought about that and compared it with the way he'd acted when we left Bay D24. "I take it this is your first time here? Rubbing elbows with the elite of the galaxy?"
"Yes and no," James replied. "I've been to the Citadel, but never up here on the Presidium. It's… not right. It looks calm and peaceful. But… it's not right. It's just an illusion."
"It was peaceful," I said. "Once."
"But was it?" James asked. "Really? I mean, when push comes to shove, they're just gonna turtle up… hope it don't hit them too, right? They'd rather believe in this," he paused, waving a hand at the window and its view of the Presidium, "than face the truth."
"I can hardly believe it myself," I admitted. "I've known about this for over three years—even if two of them didn't count. I saw visions of what would happen if the Reapers arrived, saw what it would mean for us… but to have it actually come to pass? Even now, it feels like everything back on Earth was just another vision. Some kind of nightmare."
"Yeah," James shook his head. "That's what I hate most. It's like this place wants you to forget that."
"Well, we haven't forgotten it," I said. "So what're you gonna do now? Still want to go back to Earth?"
"Hell, yeah. But…"
"But…" I prompted.
"You were right," James admitted. "So was Anderson. We can't stop them alone. Besides, looks like you're gonna have your hands full convincing these pendejo politicians to help us. (9) And I'm up for it. Whatever it takes."
"Glad to hear it. Because we'll be heading out soon."
"Where?"
"During the Council meeting, we were told that there was going to be a war summit," I said. After the meeting was when things got interesting." I quickly filled him in on what Councillor Sparatus had requested.
"Seems like we're doing something for the turians even though they won't do anything for us," he snorted.
"That's what I thought at first," I agreed. "But it's a step in the right direction. Worst-case scenario: all we get is a turian flotilla to deploy where we see fit. Best-case scenario: the most well-organized and disciplined species in the galaxy owes humanity a favour, will be put in charge of the war summit and would push our plan forward."
James shook his head. "I guess. Just seems like a lot of wheeling and dealing to me."
"Welcome to my world," I said wryly.
He made a face. "I'm gonna head down to some of the lower levels where they keep it real. You have some spare time, you should come find me."
"Maybe I'll do that."
While James departed to find something more to his liking, I pondered my next move.
"Commander Shepard! Commander, the people of the Alliance have questions!"
Oh for crying out loud. I guess I might as well get this over with. Plastering a smile on my face, I walked towards her. "You called?"
"Commander Shepard! Khalisah Bint Sinan al-Jilani. Isn't it true that you were on Earth when the Reapers attacked? How do you justify running away while millions of people on Earth die? Is that the best we can expect from the Alliance?"
Right to the point. Some things definitely hadn't changed. "I came to get help for Earth," I replied. "For everyone."
"What about all the people suffering while you play politics with the Council?" she challenged. "What about them?"
Maybe it was just my imagination. Or maybe my memory was starting to fade. But I thought I heard a little more emotion in her voice than my past interviews. Granted, she made a career toying with and manipulating with the emotions of her followers.
"How can you stand here while our families die? What are you going to do?"
"Ms. al-Jilani," I said. After a moment's thought, I stepped forward and touched her shoulder. "Khalisah. We're doing everything we can. How are you holding up?"
"Before they cut the feeds… there were so many dead," she said quietly. She definitely wasn't putting on a show for the cameras. Not now, anyway.
"I'm going to stop the Reapers or die trying," I vowed, "but I need help. From the Council. From the other species. Even from you."
"My help?"
"We need to work together if we're going to win this war. Humans and non-humans alike. But it's hard to do that when it's so much easier to pretend nothing's going on. So keep asking the hard questions. Don't let the Council forget about Earth. Don't let your viewers forget that the Reapers are hitting Palaven, Thessia, Sur'Kesh and countless other homeworlds. The sooner we all start working together, the better chance we have of winning this thing."
"I will," Khalisah said. "Thank you, Commander." She shut down her camera drone and began to walk away. Then she paused. "You know, we haven't really seen eye to eye."
"That might be an understatement," I said with a slight smile.
She smiled back. "But I'm glad you're on our side."
I watched her walk away. Hopefully, that headache had been dealt with. I had enough problems on my plate as it was. (10)
A minute later, I got a message from Liara: Heard about Councillor Sparatus's offer. Should take him up on it. Before we do so, visit Barla Von. Presidium Commons, next to Elkoss Combine Arsenal Supplies. He'll point you to some mercs willing to join us.
Barla Von. Now that was a name I hadn't heard in a while. Anderson steered me his way a couple years ago, back when I was trying to find information against Saren. He was a volus financial adviser who was very skilled at moving large sums of money—without leaving a paper trail—for the elite of the Citadel. Diplomats. Ambassadors. Even Spectres. Nothing illegal, mind you. He just knew all the loopholes.
When he wasn't making tons of credits for his clients, he worked as an agent for the Shadow Broker. He was willing to offer his services for free as the Shadow Broker, Liara's predecessor, had been burned by Saren and wanted payback. The Shadow Broker had hired Wrex to deal with Saren—yes, that's how that wonderful friendship started.
He was busy talking to someone when I found him. "*hiss* I wouldn't go to the settled worlds," he was saying. "*hiss* Larger colonies appear to be priority targets. *hiss* If you're coming to the Citadel, do it soon." He paused and listened. "*hiss* Certainly, look me up. *hiss* Business will keep me here for some time. *hiss* Call me when you have the information." Another pause. "*hiss* No, I'll send you a different number. *hiss* This connection isn't absolutely secure."
Nice to see it was still business as usual.
"*hiss* Commander Shepard," he greeted me. "*hiss* It's been some time."
"Barla Von," I returned. "Last time I saw you was when Anderson sent me your way."
"*hiss* Indeed. *hiss* I heard about Admiral Anderson. *hiss* I admire the courage it took for him to stay and fight on your homeworld."
"As I recall, when you weren't handling financials, you were working for the Shadow Broker."
"*hiss* I still am. *hiss* The Broker has been exceedingly busy lately. *hiss* In fact, you may be in a position to assist him."
I'm sure Liara would be amused to hear she had switched genders. "Go on."
"*hiss* A team of his guards have become stranded in a Reaper-controlled territory. *hiss* Rescue the guards, and they're yours. *hiss* The Shadow Broker fully supports your efforts against the Reapers."
Well, at least someone did. "I appreciate the information."
"*hiss* Just don't wait too long to act on it," Barla Von cautioned. "*hiss* The Reapers are advancing all too quickly."
Really? I hadn't noticed.
"*hiss* Come see me once you've completed the extraction. *hiss* I'll be in my office a while longer. *hiss* The galactic market is in… *hiss* considerable flux."
Yeah. That's putting it mildly. "Is that why you're here?"
"*hiss* I had plans to return to Irune, but business here keeps luring me back. *hiss* Perhaps it's for the best, all things considered."
Yeah. For now. Soon… nowhere would be safe.
With that cheerful thought in mind, I headed back to the Normandy. Clock was ticking, after all.
"Commander Shepard?"
Not again. I turned around started. "Emily Wong?"
The last time I'd met he, she was an investigative journalist. I helped her out by passing her some information on Fist's crime syndicate. After I returned from the dead, I found out she'd moved up to become a newscaster for Future Content Corporation. She sent me an e-mail requesting an interview. Never had the chance to follow up on that.
"Long time no see," she smiled. Well, tried to. It was a bit forced. "Last I heard, you were on Earth. Glad to hear you got out."
"You too."
"Yeah," she sighed. "I was… I was lucky. I was supposed to report on comm buoy outages in the Sol system, but was recalled for another assignment. Both assignments were cancelled once word of the Reapers got out."
"Breaking news?"
"Something like that." She shuddered. "All this time… you know, people heard about your warnings. You kinda came off as a little… out there. No offence."
"None taken," I replied. "And what did you think?"
"Maybe I wanted to get your side of the story," she said.
"Through an exclusive interview?" I suggested.
"A girl can dream." Her gaze drifted off, as she looked around the Presidium. "Weird to see everyone acting so calmly. I don't think they really grasp what's happening. Not yet, anyway."
"I guess not," I agreed. "But that'll change. And when it does…"
"Maybe I can help."
"How?" I asked, looking at her.
"Take me with you. As a war correspondent."
"What?"
"People are trying to be calm and pretending everything's going normal because they don't know any better. The idea of suddenly being forced into a war on all fronts? Against an enemy that no one knows about? One that just steamrolls through anything in its past and has already conquered several colonies and homeworlds in a matter of hours or day? People feel helpless. They're pretending that nothing's wrong because they know the truth is so much scarier and they don't know what they can do to stop it. If they knew what was going on out there, that they weren't alone, that there were ways for them to contribute to the war effort, that there was hope, that might change."
"And you can do that by following me around?"
"Most of my career has been spent in investigative journalism."
"There's a difference between rooting out corruption and entering a war zone. Do you have any training at all?"
"Not much," Emily admitted. "But I've thought about that. I'm not asking you to take me along on your missions. That… that would be bad. For everyone. No, if you take me, I'd stay on your ship. I wouldn't interfere."
"You realize that I'm both an Alliance soldier and a Council Spectre, right?"
"My producers have been preparing this for a while. In fact, FCC just finished negotiating with Alliance Command. I've been granted a temporary security clearance. There are pages of restrictions, but what it basically boils down to is that I can't file any stories without your authorization."
"And you're okay with that?" I asked.
"I understand the need to control the flow of information in order to avoid compromising the security of any missions or the safety of the men and women involved," Wong carefully replied. "I'm hoping you can balance that with the freedom of the press and the right—the need—for people to know what's going on out there."
I thought about it. It wouldn't be the first time that war correspondents were embedded with the troops. It could be useful for morale. And I did have a tenuous working relationship with her, one that had her looking favourably upon me. Still, it might be more trouble than it was worth. "I'd have to think about it," I admitted.
Emily fumbled with a datapad, hastily typing something before handing it over. "I understand. Here are the details of my proposal, my credentials, the clearance I mentioned and my contact information. Think it over and get back to me."
With that done, I headed back to Docking Bay D24. "Ma'am, I can't say when we're deploying or where or why."
That voice sounded familiar. Turning around, I recognized the face. Sort of. Vaguely. He was one of the guys I saw on the Normandy as we were flying to the Citadel. An ensign. What was his name? Copley? Copen? Note to self: get the goddamn crew manifest ASAP.
"But you're on the Normandy, right? I saw it dock. It was last seen on Earth… did Commander Shepard escape? He did, didn't he? So why would he be here? Unless he's seeing the Council? Did he? Did he see the Council? Did he get their help in taking back Earth?"
So many questions. Must be a reporter. Third time this day. What were the odds? I took a closer look. A reporter wearing a skin-tight civvie dress. Not sure if that fit the dress code. But I saw another camera drone hovering over her shoulder.
"Ma'am, I can't talk about that," Ensign… Copeman? repeated.
"You don't have to."
Aw, crap. I've been made.
"Commander Shepard?"
Giving up, I stepped forward. "Ensign? What's going on here?"
Ensign Copeland—finally figured out his name!—looked relieved. "Yes, sir. This woman would like to speak with you." He quickly saluted before hastily retreating. That left me alone with the reporter with the skin-tight dress. White and black. Shiny, like it was made out of some synthetic material. Low-cut. Tits and ass prominently on display. Didn't hold a candle to another woman I really missed. "Can I help you?"
"You're just who I was looking for," she replied. "Diana Allers. Alliance News Network. I think we can help each other."
ANN? Seriously? I thought they had better taste than that. I know, I know: don't judge a book by its cover. (11) But since when did they send reporters out dressed like that? "I suppose you want an interview?" I sighed. Here we go ag—
"Even better."
Aw, crap.
"I'm a military reporter with a show called 'Battlespace.' We're carried on just about all Council planets."
Never heard of it. Though that doesn't necessarily mean anything. I had been out of touch for the last six months or so.
"My producers want me embedded on a human ship, and I want that ship to be the Normandy."
Uh oh.
"You do? And why would I want that?" I asked warily.
Allers launched into her sales pitch. "Wars can be won or lost in the editing room. And this war needs to be won. I've got Alliance security clearance and can operate without a crew. You get veto power over the segments I file. Can you handle an arrangement like that, or do I keep looking?"
Cheesy sales pitch, no way to verify her credentials and I didn't have time to manage some random civvie. Not when there was another option. "I'm afraid you're a little late: I've already accepted another reporter."
She wasn't too happy to hear that. "Really? Who?"
"I'm afraid I have to go," I continued. "Best of luck finding another ship to serve with."
"Thanks. I think."
As soon as she moped away, I activated the comm. "Joker? This is Shepard. When will we be ready to depart?"
"We're loading some supplies right now. Never know when we'll get another chance, right? I'm gonna say… seven hours?"
"Make it six," I said. I closed the channel and made another call. "Ms. Wong? This is Commander Shepard. I've thought about your proposal."
"And?"
"You have a deal. For now. Report to the Normandy's docked at Bay D24. We leave in six hours."
"Uh… okay. I'll have to tell my producers. Good thing I just got here: all my things are still packed."
"The Normandy's not exactly a luxury yacht," I cautioned. "You can bring a standard footlocker's worth of clothes and gear aboard. (12) That's it."
"All right. Just one thing."
"Yeah?"
"What's a footlocker?"
After all the random meetings and various conversations, I didn't think I could be surprised any longer.
"Shepard? Is it… it is you."
I should really know better by now. "Miranda?" I breathed.
She turned around from the window she was looking through, the Normandy gleaming proudly on the other side of the glass. She was back to wearing the white-and-black hardsuit she wore when we first met. Minus a certain Cerberus logo. Too bad. I really liked the black –and-orange she's started wearing halfway through. Didn't matter, though: she still looked… amazing. "It's so good to finally see you again," she said.
"You too, Miranda. It's been way too long. Did you get my message?"
"If you mean the audio file you asked Anderson to pass on to me, the answer is yes. He was gracious enough to give me some privacy to listen too."
Of course he would. More reason, if any was needed, for me to rally the universe together. The more time wasted dealing with petty rivalries and perennial short-sightedness, the harder it would be to return to Earth in time to save Anderson.
"I do have one question, though?"
"You didn't understand why—"
Miranda shook her head. "No, no. I understood the reason why you chose that song. My question was: what is it with you and archaic music, anyway?"
"Hey, they're classics!" I protested.
"I've heard enough of your collection to know that not all of them are 'classics'," Miranda returned. "If you're about to call me a Philistine, think again." (13)
Damn it. She knew me too well.
"I wish I could have seen you again, but I couldn't get anywhere near you when the Alliance had you locked up."
"Relieved of duty," I corrected. "And it's okay. We discussed this before."
"Yes, we did. At best, they would have manipulated us, used us against each other. At worst… well, a visit by the former Cerberus second-in-command would've been disastrous, to say the least."
"I don't know," I said thoughtfully. "You're forgetting the optics of any secret communiqués."
"Oh Lord, yes. That definitely would have looked worse. I'd say there's a… 56% chance that they would arrest me and a 44% chance that they'd simply have me shot on sight. At any rate, I had to play it safe. For both of us. Still, I was tempted to break in and see you—or bust you out."
"That would've been… tough to explain. Optics, arrest, shot on sight, remember?"
"Only if we got caught."
Hee.
"I was keeping tabs on you, though. I'm surprised they didn't court-martial you. The Alliance isn't known for its flexibility."
"They tried. But nothing came out of it. Just a lot of accusations and finger-pointing and grandstanding…" I trailed off, thinking about all the death and destruction I'd seen in the first frantic hours. "But I guess it doesn't matter now. None of it does."
Miranda put a comforting hand on my shoulder. "Shepard… about Earth…"
I couldn't face her, so I pulled away and stared very intently at a blank wall. "Countless people lost their lives within minutes, Miranda," I said at last, when I was sure I wouldn't break down. "Snuffed out, just like that. The Reapers are everything we feared."
"They should have listened to you a long time ago."
Preaching to the choir. Though it was a relief to hear that, in some way. A validation of sorts. Especially when it came from her. Still, thinking of all the people who had died, all the people who I could have saved if I found some way to get through to them…
"I'm sorry, Shepard. That wasn't helpful." Miranda put a hand on my shoulder again. This time I let her. "What about you?" I asked. "What brings you here?"
"I need to talk to a few people," she replied. "Like you. The Citadel is a good place to meet… for now. Come on. We need to keep moving."
"To avoid the C-Sec patrols?" I asked. "Or the pair of salarians on our left?"
"Them too. Though I was more concerned about the hanar drifting along on the right. He wasn't very subtle about his movements towards us."
Oops. Missed that. Good thing she didn't. I remembered when we last played this game on the Citadel. We'd just defeated the Collectors. We were going to Illium to intercept a handoff between Cerberus agents—current Cerberus agents. It had been a simpler time. I was in the midst of reminiscing when I realized Miranda had asked me a question. "What's the Alliance's next move?" she'd said.
"We have a plan," I admitted.
"That's good."
"It's a long shot."
Miranda burst into quiet laughter. "Not surprising."
Yeah. Guess not. I was about to say something when I noticed the look on Miranda's face. She looked… tense. Worried. Preoccupied. "Hey, Miranda: is everything okay?"
"Not… well… um…"
Coming from Miranda, this was really not good. "What?"
"Shepard… am I still part of your plan?"
I just stared at her blankly.
"It's been so long, I wasn't sure where we stood."
What… was she… how could she possibly think I…
Before I knew it, I was pulling her into my arms. She fit perfectly, just as I'd always remembered. Our lips met and I felt… well… relief. For one moment, all my worries faded away. They were still there. I knew that on some level. But for one moment, I could get away from it all. All that mattered was that Miranda was here. Alive. Safe. With me. That was all I could think of.
When we finally pulled away, Miranda was breathing a little faster than usual. So was I, come to think of it. I reached out and held her hands. "Miranda, things are never going to be easy for us. They certainly won't be normal. But I'll always want you in my life."
"No second thoughts?" she asked, still nervous despite the casual lilt in her voice. "This is your chance to back out."
"None," I said firmly. Immediately. "I was so worried about you."
This time, it was Miranda who made the first move to embrace me. We held each other for a minute. "It was hard to be away with you," she murmured into my shoulder. "I surprised myself with how… attached I got. I'm not good at attached."
"Just stay close from now on, all right?" I pleaded. "I don't think I could handle another separation like that."
She pulled away. Aw, crap.
"I wish I could. I really do… but there's something I need to deal with."
"What is it?" I frowned.
"I haven't heard from my sister for a while. I'm getting worried. I don't want to overreact but… well, there's a lot going on."
"Just because Oriana missed an e-mail reply or two doesn't necessarily mean there's a problem," I pointed out. "I mean, I thought we made sure she was safe."
"We did," Miranda nodded. "It's probably nothing, but… I just know my father is involved."
Her father. Mr. Lawson. Upstanding guy who thought very highly of himself. So highly that he created two daughters—Miranda and Oriana—to follow in his footsteps and establish a legacy. A dynasty, as Miranda had put it. He hadn't even bothered finding some woman of good breeding. Nope, he just took his own genetic code, made extensive modifications to it and popped them out of some birthing chamber. He'd spent Miranda's entire childhood trying to mold her in his image and exacting insanely high standards. Hewanted her to be the best at everything. To know everything. To be perfect. When she had enough, she approached Cerberus. Offered to join them if they helped her get Oriana away and hid her. And that had worked, for a while. But eventually Lawson had found her, by bribing and manipulating one of Miranda's only friends. That betrayal had hurt her dearly.
Miranda had moved heaven and earth to ensure Oriana's safety. She'd watched her from a distance as she grew up, enjoying the normal childhood Miranda had never had. The thought that that might be compromised was the first time she'd ever let her composure slip. The first time where she was more than TIMmy's hand-picked loyal representative. "Why do you think your father was behind Oriana's disappearance? She had a normal life, remember? In a normal life, there are lots of reasons why someone might not get back to you. It doesn't always have to do with abductions, conspiracies and the long-lost father, you know."
"Yes, I know," she fretted. "Which is why I had safeguards and contingencies to prevent as many of them as possible, or at least alert me if something so innocuous had occurred. But everything I had in place to make sure she was safe went dark. All at once. For her to just… vanish without a trace… it could only be him. He has motive, Shepard. After I hid her away again, I still knew he'd stop at nothing to find her. She's all he has left. I realize it's just an assumption, but… it makes sense."
To be honest, I wasn't really hearing much in the way of hard evidence. Still, Lawson was the most likely suspect behind Oriana's disappearance. Besides, Miranda was pretty thorough. Only someone with a lot of resources—like their father—could have orchestrated such a kidnapping. "What do you need from me?" I asked.
She smiled. "I knew you'd want to help, and I'm grateful… but you have your hands full. If I need a door or two kicked down, I know just who to call. But for now, I'll be fine. I just have to figure this out."
"You will."
Miranda looked like she could use a distraction, so I did what I did best: pester her with questions. "Have any run-ins with the Illusive Man while I was away?" I asked.
"Just once," she replied. "He said it had been a pleasure to work with me, but he needed to 'contain' the situation."
"High praise if not for the last part," I said. "That sounds kinda final."
"It very nearly was," she admitted. "He doesn't take rejection well."
"Yeah, I got that impression," I smirked. "You know, if you're looking for a lead here, anyone associated with Cerberus will be hard to find. Unless they're attacking Alliance outposts—"
"What?!"
"Long story. I'll fill you in later," I said. "Anyway, any Cerberus contacts or agents operating on the Citadel will be a little more circumspect. They certainly won't be parading around with the logo out there on display."
For a second, I saw a wince flicker over Miranda's face. No doubt she was remembering that she and Jacob had done just that once upon a time. Not to mention plastering the logo on the hull of the Normandy. "You have a point," she conceded. "But I'm owed a few favours. Someone here will give me a tip on Oriana."
"Hopefully," I said slowly—not because I doubted her chances, but because my brain was starting to churn away. "You know, I've got an idea."
"Oh dear."
"Funny," I glared at her. Encouraging the development of her sense of humour was becoming a double-edged sword. "Actually, I thought you could join me on the Normandy."
"Join you? Shepard, I…"
"We both have a lot on our plates," I argued. "Do you really think it'll help if each of us is worried sick about the other, wondering whether anything's happened?"
"Shepard, I have to—"
"—find Oriana, I heard. Well, you're in luck: Liara's with me. You remember her… recent career move, right? She's got access to an entire network of resources that she can tap at any time. Camera feeds, spies, crew manifests—she can get it all. And what she sees, you'll see. If you come with me.
"Besides, you remember how much trouble I used to get into."
"Good Lord, do I ever."
"With my luck, I'll get into even more trouble. It would be nice to have someone else I know watching my back. I'll do the same, of course."
"Of course." Miranda hesitated. "But…"
"Oh come on," I whined.
"I have some contacts I had planned to meet here," she insisted. "When are you planning to leave?"
"Six hours."
"I'll be there."
"You better," I warned, pulling her into another embrace. We held each other for a minute before parting ways.
It was hard to see her go. Especially when she'd expressed such concern about our relationship. I wish there was a way to assure her that I wasn't going anywhere. Words alone clearly didn't cut it. At least, not from me.
Then I had an idea.
Activating my omni-tool, I sifted through a certain directory. I needed a file. But not just any file. Maybe, maybe, maybe... yes! I pulled it up and transmitted it over the comm frequency Miranda and I used to use. Hopefully, she was still monitoring it.
I received confirmation after the first verse, when she turned around.
"When we were young, oh, oh, we did enough.
When it got cold, ooh, ooh, we bundled up.
I can't be told, ah, ah, it can't be done.
"It's better to feel pain, than nothing at all.
The opposite of love's indifference.
So pay attention now, I'm standing on your porch screaming out.
And I won't leave until you come downstairs.
"So keep your head up, keep your love.
Keep your head up, my love.
Keep your head up, my love.
Keep your head up, keep your love." (14)
Her smile was perfect. Just like her.
(1): Named after President Christopher Huerta of the United North American States on Earth.
(2): Which could be an example of Shepard's genetically and surgically enhanced hearing, the fact that Bailey's comm was set too high, or both.
(3): Shepard first met Dr. Michel at her clinic on the Upper Wards, back in 2183 when he was looking for proof of Saren's unauthorized activities. She'd endured a fair amount of trouble, first at the hands of the thugs of a local criminal called Fist, then from a blackmailer working for Armistan Banes.
(4): These recordings, along with the one with her and the asari, were amongst the various items stored in the Shadow Broker's Video Archive. Shepard would have seen them when he first visited me.
(5): Dr. Eleanor Faye 'Ellie' Bartowski Woodcomb—who Shepard regarded as a sister due to their time growing up together.
(6): Shepard had had a few conversations with Admiral Hackett before arriving at the Citadel as his scientists and I completed further analyses and compared notes, but this is the first time he mentions it.
(7): After invading Khar'shan and Earth, the homeworlds of the batarian and human people, respectively, the Reapers attacked the turians. Their first target was Taetrus, a colony made infamous for the site of the worst terrorist attack in turian history after the turian separatist group Facinus rammed a starship into Vallum, the colony's capital city. Hierarchy efforts to take back the colony and stamp out Facinus was regarded as a cathartic moment, proof that heroes would always triumph over evil—which was why the Reapers hit Taetrus first.
When the Hierarchy responded, the Reapers wiped them out. Prompted by popular demand, the Hierarchy continued the assault, a move that was ultimately futile. Once the Reapers emerged victorious, they began broadcasting images of Vallum, once more reduced to smoking ruins.
(8): Shepard neglects to mention how being a Spectre granted him access to advanced weaponry and materials from C-Sec Requisitions. However, he had since encountered so much skepticism, veiled hostility and denial from the Council since then that it was understandable he'd question any help they offered now.
(9): The translation varied from idiot or fool to asshole. Regardless of the exact meaning, it was clear that James was offering a less-than-flattering remark.
(10): Little did Shepard realize how significant his gesture was. Khalisah Bint Sinan al-Jilani would later reach out with her viewers, pleading for unity and cooperation amongst all galactic species in this unprecedented crisis. Her plea struck a chord, prompting a flood of donations for war relief efforts to both the Alliance and its nonhuman allies.
(11): A human saying that admonishes against judging an individual by their appearance or by initial surface impressions, as their true character may lie hidden beneath that façade.
(12): A footlocker is a storage box used to store a soldier's belongings. The name came about as they were essentially lockers located at the 'foot' of a soldier's bunk or bed.
(13): In human philosophy and aesthetics, a philistine was one who had a narrow-minded perspective, a conventional view on morality, valued materialistic concepts and lacked appreciation in cultural and aesthetic values. Since the 19th, century, however, the term became more synonymous with a lack of appreciation in culture or art.
(14): 'Stubborn Love,' released by The Lumineers in 2012.