Chapter 12: The Hope of the Future
All right. Here's a few things you might have forgotten: I was in the midst of the longest court-martial ever when all my warnings came true and the Reaper invasion finally began. I had to get the hell out of the Sol system, no matter how much that stuck in my craw, to get help for Earth. Then I had to reroute to pick up Liara who had stumbled across some plans for a Prothean superweapon that turned out to be our only hope for winning this goddamn war. Naturally TPTB were useless, so I had to start rounding up allies on my own. I'd gotten the promise of turian aid on one ridiculously enormous condition. After that, I went back to Eden Prime, where it all began, and actually dug up an honest-to-gosh Prothean who turned out to be a cranky, imperialistic ass with a major axe to grind against the Reapers. And then I went and rescued a bunch of students—kids, really—from the tender mercies of Cerberus.
Despite all the misery and strife throughout the galaxy, even I had to admit that wasn't bad. (1) So what could make things even better? How about a call from my old CO, mentor and friend? I practically ran all the way to the Comm Room to receive his signal.
His image shimmered to life in a flare of blue light. To my relief, he looked good. He was wearing some kind of military fatigues with the sleeves rolled up. A slightly rumpled cap covered his head. His face broke into a warm smile when he saw me. "Shepard. Damned if you aren't a sight for sore eyes."
"It's good to see you too, sir," I replied.
Anderson raised an eyebrow. "'Sir?' I may have reinstated you, but that doesn't give you permission to go all formal on me."
Oh, was that the way we were gonna play it? All right. Two can play that game. "Then I'm glad you managed to keep your sorry ass alive, Anderson," I retorted. "Thought you were going senile, sitting behind a desk and all."
"That's more like it," he approved, only partially in jest. "How have you been? What happened with the Council? Hackett didn't have time to give me a lot of details."
I quickly gave him a sitrep, starting with the unexpected detour to Mars and ending with our recent departure from Grissom Academy. "Sounds like you didn't waste any time getting to work," he said when I finished. "I can only imagine what would've happened to those kids if they'd fallen into Cerberus hands."
"They're definitely eager to help," I admitted.
Anderson shook his head. "These students are some of the best humanity has to offer…" Then his voice suddenly became angry and frustrated. "…and we're throwing them into battle. Goddamn it, I hate this war!"
Yeah. I mean, they were just kids. The hope of the future, if by future you mean the next couple days or weeks because after that we might all be dead. So much for optimism. "I've thought the same thing myself," I said. "But it's not all bad. I'm recommending that they fight this war in a support role. Let them contribute to the Alliance and make a difference while minimizing the potential risk."
"That's good. We're in no position to turn down help, but the thought of making kids fight on the front lines makes me sick." He paused before tentatively asking "Hackett didn't mention it in his report…"
"Kahlee Sanders is safe," I reassured him, guessing what was on his mind. "She's with the recruits."
Anderson practically sagged in relief. "Thanks, Shepard. When I heard about the attack… well, I've already lost a lot of friends."
From what I'd gathered, he and Kahlee were more than just friends. "She asked me to tell you to stay alive," I told him.
"Did she now?" Anderson chuckled, a certain knowing tone in his voice. "Well. Thanks, Shepard. That might be the first good news I've heard this week."
"How are things on Earth?" I wanted to know.
"A lot of running. A lot of hiding. A lot of deaths," Anderson said honestly. "We've managed to rescue a lot of people. Even make some plans for organizing a real resistance. But it's the not-knowing that's been killing us. We finally managed to get this QEC up and running. I can't tell you what a relief it was. Knowing what's going on out there, knowing we're not alone… I can't emphasize enough how much that meant, even knowing how much misery and suffering was out there. But hearing about Kahlee… like I said, that's the first good news I've heard this week. Maybe even longer."
"Happy to help."
"Well, I wish I could catch up and talk, but I've gotta go. Good talking with you, Shepard."
"Likewise. Watch your six." (2)
"You too. Anderson out."
I think I actually had a spring in my steps as I left the War Room and began my rounds. Funny how hearing that your mentor and friend was actually alive could do that.
"You see the feeds from Palaven?" I overheard Westmoreland ask. "It's brutal. I'm amazed the turians are holding."
"The birds don't quit when things get ugly, I'll give them that," Campbell admitted.
"Just remember that the next time you see Garrus," I said.
The two privates immediately stood to attention, as if it had just occurred to them that their commanding officer could hear them. "Yes, sir!" they chorused in unison.
"At ease."
"Yes, sir!"
Kids.
On my way to the cockpit, I paused to talk to Traynor. "I just got word," she said. "A transport will be rendezvousing with us to pick up everyone from Grissom Academy."
"Good," I said. "You know, we wouldn't have known about them if you hadn't caught the distress signal. I meant what I said earlier: good catch."
"Thanks, Commander," she smiled.
Joker shook his head when I entered the cockpit. "So Jack's an instructor? Guess anyone who messes with biotic kids'll get turned into a small stain on the floor. And ceiling. And walls."
"Probably a safe bet," I agreed."
Something else occurred to Joker: "Ooh—and that was Cerberus attacking the academy. Man, that must've been like Christmas for her!"
"She certainly wasn't holding back," I agreed. "Kid, candy shop, whole nine yards."
"Anyway, nice job on getting them out of there."
"Well, the students deserve some of the credit," I said modestly. "It wasn't just us or Jack. They were throwing out some impressive biotic power."
"Good. We could use some heavy hitters in the biotics department. It'll be good for them too. Biotics face a lot of discrimination, you know. Maybe if they save the galaxy, people will get over their issues."
"Maybe." Unlikely, but anything could happen. "I didn't realize you were sensitive about that."
"Hey, I'm just tired of them stealing the spotlight from people with actual disabilities," Joker replied. "I break ribs if I sneeze too hard. Being able to move crap with your mind is not a handicap. I'm fine with them fighting against discrimination, 'cuz God knows that happens way too often. But fighting for disability rights? That's going too far."
Interesting. Joker would have a unique perspective, having dealt with discrimination all his life due to his Vrolik's syndrome, one of the rare conditions that couldn't be treated with modern medical science. He'd been forced to adjust his entire lifestyle around the limitations of his handicap. To see other people make similar claims that were undeserved must've stuck in his craw.
I exchanged a little more chit-chat with Joker before seeing how EDI was doing. "It is good to know that Jack has thus far survived the Reaper invasion," she said. "I have amusing memories of her attempts to insert additions into my reports to the Illusive Man. Most of them centred around inappropriate uses of the word 'cockpit'."
Well, well. Who knew Jack had a hacker streak. Or at least enough computer skills to at least attempt to mess with reports to TIMmy. I'd never actually participated in that sort of mischief myself, come to think of it. Mostly because I had too many things to do at the time. Like scanning planets. Shooting mercs. Harassing the crew. Shooting Collectors. Helping squadmates fix their inevitably screwed-up lives. Shooting random hostiles. That sort of thing. (3)
"It was odd to see an entire academy just for biotic children," Liara said when I entered.
"Technically, that's just the Ascension Project," Miranda corrected. "Grissom Academy was geared towards all sorts of students, some of whom had no biotic ability but plenty of aptitude in other areas."
"True," I agreed. "What do you mean, Liara? Don't asari have biotic schools?"
She looked at me blankly for a moment. "Every asari school includes biotic training programs. It's basic education."
Oh. Right. That makes sense.
"Still, those children in the academy were very impressive. I'm sure Jack's proud. Or perhaps I should say Jennifer. Did you know that's her first name? Her real first name, that is. It took some work, but one of my search bots finally came up with a credible hit. I offered to find out her last name, if she was polite about it. Which reminds me…"
She trailed off and went back to her console. Miranda looked up at me. "Much to my astonishment, Jack was polite about asking for Liara's assistance. In her usual crude manner, of course."
"So… have the two of you… talked?"
Miranda gave me a thin smile. "Did you hear any frantic calls from Joker asking for your intervention?"
"Good point."
"Besides, with my luck, any conversation between us would come to blows, the whole thing would be recorded and posted on the extranet and our catfight would be preserved for eternity—probably into the next cycle, should things go… badly."
She ended that last part lamely, belatedly realizing that we didn't need such happy thoughts at the moment. "What're you up to?" I asked, bailing her out.
"I was using Liara's information network to run some analyses based on my prior experiences with Cerberus operating procedures," she replied. "It's too early to say, but I may have discovered a few patterns in their ship movements. I'll let you know if I come across anything more significant about this or… other matters."
Judging by the way she looked at me, I figured she was referring to a certain secret side project I had her working on.
"While you're here, I thought you'd be interested in hearing the latest news from Eden Prime."
"Good news, I hope?"
"Very. Thanks to the intel we provided, the colonists were able to drive Cerberus off Eden Prime, remove them from the system entirely and regain control of their shipping lanes. The colony has begun setting up supply lines, sending millions of tons of food and several Athabasca-class supply freighters to Alliance troops. Furthermore, some of the colonists included researchers who specialized in Prothean technology. They forwarded copies of their work to the Alliance when they heard it might be useful."
"That's great!" I beamed. "Any other good news?"
"Remember all the minerals that were lying around because you were… overzealous in scanning and strip-mining every planet you came across during our preparations to assault the Collector base?"
I liked the way she worded that. Sounded less dirty than 'probing' the planets. "Yeah?"
"The Alliance seized all the ores when you handed over the Normandy. They're now being used to help construct the Prothean device."
Oh yeah! Did you hear that? All my rampant looting paid off! (4)
"Somehow, I knew you would be pleased to hear that."
On the way out, I happened to look at the Broker Terminal. Liara had been making a log entry of her own. I probably shouldn't have peeked. I mean, what if it was private? But my curiosity got the better of me:
Prothean Notes: 2186—Entry 2
I'm not sure what to make of Javik. I approached him while we were traveling to a different system, but he wasn't very inclined to talk.
What little he does say concerns the Reapers, and our possible failure. Is he simply a soldier mourning his people, or is it a fundamental difference in our cultures?
There probably were any number of cultural differences, but from what I'd shared with Javik, I suspected it was the former. Javik had spent his life fighting and, from his perspective, losing. Losing battles. Losing worlds. Losing everything. All he could see now was waking up and losing again. Small wonder that that was all he could talk about.
Maybe I could offer him something else. Give him a chance to fight the Reapers again. Let him contribute to defeating the Reapers, assuming such a thing was possible. Help him avenge his people. Give him some sense of satisfaction, accomplishment and peace so he could mourn the loss of his people. I guess we would have to see.
Saying my goodbyes, I left the office. I was on my way to the Main Battery when I saw Jack and Kahlee in the mess hall. "Hi there," I greeted them. "How's it going?"
"Well, thank you," Kahlee replied. "Jack had just finished giving me a tour of the ship."
"You know she spent most of her time here beneath Main Engineering, right?" I asked. "That tour must've taken, what, a minute? Tops?"
Jack wordlessly gave me the finger. (5)
"She showed me Decks Three through Five," Kahlee explained.
Ah. That made sense. With all the sensitive operations that might be going on in the CIC and the sensitive information that was definitely on display in the War Room, Deck Two was off-limits. Crew who were scheduled to work there got a pass. So would visiting dignitaries who hopefully could be persuaded to help retake Earth without making too many requests. Random visitors taking impromptu tours… not so much.
As for Deck One, well, that was my quarters. Oddly enough, I didn't want anyone randomly waltzing into there without my say-so. Even if I did do a reasonably good job of tidying up after myself. Mom instilled that in me at an early age.
"It's a beautiful ship," Kahlee continued. "Cerberus is without a doubt guilty of horrific crimes, but they do know how to make ships."
"They do," I agreed. Then a thought occurred to me. "Hey, where are the students?"
"Crammed in the Port Observation Deck playing poker."
I looked at Jack in mock horror. "You're letting a bunch of impressionable youth gamble? Shame on you!"
Jack opened her mouth. Kahlee gave her a Look. Jack closed her mouth and wordlessly gave me the finger again. No swearing. Really. Kahlee must have magical powers. Anderson was either really lucky or doomed.
"They need to blow off some steam before we ship out," Jack finally said.
"Jack and most of the students have been assigned to the 103rd Marine Division," Kahlee explained. "They were looking for a biotic support unit and they asked for us. I understand we have you to thank for it."
This time, Jack had an entirely different reason for not keeping her mouth shut. Though the grateful look in her eyes spoke volumes. "Well, I made a few calls," I said modestly. "Actually, just one. Hackett was surprisingly accommodating. But you said 'Jack and most of the students.' What about you?"
"Funny you should mention Admiral Hackett. He's asked me to work on some top-secret project."
Wonder what that could be.
"David and some of the more technically-minded students are coming with me as well."
Good. After all he'd been through at the hands of Cerberus; he deserved to be out of harm's way. I shuddered to think how he'd react on the battlefield. Unless Kahlee was talking about a David other than David Archer. Which I suppose was possible. David was a fairly common first name. I mean, Anderson's first name was David.
While I was busy thinking about all the Davids in my life, Kahlee turned to Jack. "Oh, before I forget, I persuaded some Alliance friends to part with that biotic-amp you and the students were testing. Supply lines to the 103rd are a bit unpredictable right now, so I told them to send it to the Citadel. You can pick it up there.
"Damn!" Jack grinned. "One of the L3-X1s? You know how much shit I could tear up with one of those installed?"
"I had an idea." Kahlee paused, then lunged forward and pulled Jack into a hug. "Look after yourself."
"Yeah, yeah," Jack rolled her eyes.
Then she hugged Kahlee back. "And hey… thanks."
I left the two of them alone and went to visit Garrus. Surprise, surprise: he was buried in yet another calibration. "Can't you ease up on that?" I asked. "Just a little. Why can't you stop and enjoy yourself? We saved all those students at Grissom Academy, after all."
"One of the worst parts of this war is watching the kids react," he replied. "If they're lucky, they grew up thinking the galaxy is basically a decent place. Some rough sports here and there, but for the most part, life makes sense. Now? Now they find out it was all a lie. They wake up to see these things in the dark that just want to destroy everyone they ever cared about. If they survive, there'll be a lot of angry orphans out there looking for answers."
When I stopped to think about it, I couldn't disagree with him. There were millions of people out there—and not just kids—whose innocence had just been suddenly and irrevocably shattered. At the moment, that was all Garrus could see. (6) To be honest, I was surprised I wasn't seeing things in glass-half-empty manner too.
Garrus visibly forced himself to put on a cheery face. "On the other hand, we beat Cerberus again. Do you think the Illusive Man fires lieutenants over failures like this or just line them up against the wall and get it over with?"
"Probably the latter, if Miranda's case is any indication," I shrugged. "She told me the Illusive Man had a little conversation with her after I turned myself in. Apparently it didn't go well."
Garrus chuckled. "Yeah, I could see that. Hey, change of topic: life just wouldn't have been complete if I didn't see Jack one more time. It's nice to see she's downgraded from 'dangerous lunatic' to 'mildly insane'."
"Does that mean you miss having her around?" I asked.
"The kids need her more right now," he said. "Besides, her tattoos used to give me a headache every time she walked into the room. I don't think Dr. Chakwas would appreciate me making regular visits for migraine medication."
"Probably not," I agreed. "So what did you think of Grissom Academy?"
"Amazing," came the reply. "I wish they'd had a Grissom Academy for turians when I was growing up. Always wanted to learn how to paint. Now I mostly paint wallswith Reaper blood—not the same, but it's a living."
"Somehow I don't think painting is what Grissom Academy offers."
"Life's full of disappointments, isn't it?"
"Poor Garrus," I mocked before I left.
That conversation reminded me to drop by sickbay and see how Dr. Chakwas was doing. "Fine," she told me. "I haven't had nearly as much work as I expected. Perhaps you're finally learning to look before you leap."
"And if I forget?" I grinned.
"Oh, I'm sure you will sooner or later," she sighed. "And then you'll expect me to patch you up. And then, instead of remaining in sickbay for observation or staying in bed for a week, you'll go back to doing your usual ridiculously dangerous activities."
"I try to be consistent."
Dr. Chakwas rolled her eyes. "I'm glad to see we have Garrus back," she said. "Even if he's almost as bad as you."
"I taught him everything he knew," I said proudly.
"That would explain a lot. Including the scars. You know, I wanted to help with them, but I think he actually likes them."
"He does," I confirmed. "Thinks women find them attractive."
"Well if he tries putting the moves on me, he'll have another think coming," she said archly.
On a whim, I went down to the sub-levels of Deck Four. To my surprise, I found Javik there. "Commander," he greeted me. "I was exploring your ship."
Clearly. "Find anything interesting?"
"That human biotic who led the young ones… Jack… she lived in this space. There are traces of her anger."
"Yeah, I'm not surprised," I smiled. "Anger was her specialty."
"Traces of her pain are still present as well," Javik revealed. "I'm told she sought revenge against Cerberus when she was here. A goal you helped fulfill." He paused and gave me a meaningful look with all four of his eyes. "I hope you will do the same for me."
"That's the plan," I replied. "To the best of my abilities."
Javik grunted and looked around. "At least I have better quarters."
"She could've had somewhere else to stay, but she preferred it down here," I told him.
"And now she will go with the students to war."
"Yeah," I said quietly. "If they were recruits going from Basic training to war, that would be one thing. This… this feels like something different."
"During our fight against the Reapers, we had no time for teaching the young anything but war," Javik told me. "We had no choice."
"Didn't you regret forcing them to grow up so fast?" I wondered.
"Only the foolish mourn the loss of innocence. It is inevitable. The galaxy has never rewarded the naïve."
Which might be true. Still, I kinda felt sorry for him. It was clear he'd lost his innocence a long time ago, longer than fifty thousand years. He never knew a carefree time in his life where he was free to play for the sake of having fun. There was no time for that in his cycle.
I hoped that this cycle would be different.
The Shuttle Bay was a bit cramped, what with the two Cerberus shuttles we'd liberated stacked next to our Alliance shuttle. I managed to find James tinkering with his particle rifle. "How's it going, James?" I greeted him.
"Everything's fine, Loco," he replied. "Just trying to see if I can squeeze any more juice outta this baby."
"And?"
"And I think I need to go back to school first. This tech's outta my league. I mean, I can add mods on, and they'll work, but I have no idea how or why. As long as it works, I won't complain, but still…"
"Maybe Javik will be willing to help you," I suggested.
"Maybe. Gotta figure out how to ask him, though. Buggy's not exactly a people person, you know?"
"Yeah."
"Hey, so you used to fight with Jack, huh? She's one mean SOB. But kinda hot… if you like that sort of thing."
"Well, you clearly do," I grinned, tapping at the side of my neck. He scratched the corresponding part, where the tip of one particularly large tattoo stretched out and grinned back. "So… Anderson and Sanders?" he said, quickly changing the topic. "That's quite a couple."
"Picked up on that too?"
"Yeah, I've been in and out of enough relationships to know it when I see it. There's that look everyone gets. And Sanders definitely had it. You know… my dad's last name is Sanders."
"Really?"
"No relation," James added.
"Good to know. Otherwise, if things work out, you might see Anderson at family reunions."
"That would be weird." James thought about it, then added, "but kinda cool."
"Yeah."
On that note, I said goodbye to James and wandered over to find Cortez. He was fiddling with the latter's engines. "Commander, I feel terrible about leaving you on Grissom Academy like that," he said when he saw me.
"I did order you to leave," I reminded him. "You wouldn't be any good to us if you were caught and blown out of the stars."
Cortez didn't buy it. "Yeah, doesn't make me feel any better. I'm just glad it all worked out."
"Everything's okay with the shuttle?" I asked.
"Just double-checking the inertia dampener coils," he replied. "Can be twitchy in these UT-47s, much less the 47A's. But don't worry. This bird's built like a rock."
Better be. I'd been told that it could fly like a rock too.
"Just a few more minutes and I can start checking out the other two. We'll see which one we'll keep and which one we'll hand over."
I should explain.
Without an infantry fighting vehicle to take up space, I thought it wouldn't hurt to have another shuttle. Two shuttles meant two possible insertion routes on missions. Besides, if James got it in his head to crash a shuttle into something, we'd have a spare. As fortune would have it, we just so happened to have two extra shuttles. One would go to the Alliance for study, with particular emphasis on the IFF systems. The other we were allowed to keep. There are times when pulling Spectre rank could come in handy.
Still, looking over two more shuttles would mean a lot more work. "I know we haven't known each other for long, but I always see you down here working your ass off. Ever take any down time?"
"I get my sleep, Commander," Cortez replied. "Flying tired is nearly worse than flying drunk. I've never done that before; I'm not about to start now."
"What about your waking hours?" I frowned. "Any R&R?"
"James helps with that when he's not too busy admiring himself. I need to keep myself busy. Otherwise, well… too much time to think."
Think about the love of his life that he still hadn't gotten over. Which could lead to despair. Which could lead to a lot of things: most of them bad. Very, very bad. "I appreciate your dedication, but I don't want to see you burn out."
"I know my limits," Cortez reassured me. "I wouldn't take a chance with your life."
"Good to know." I walked over and leaned against one of the shuttle thrusters. "So before this war, you must have done something to relax. Read. Play sports. Something."
Cortez didn't say anything at first. I was about to repeat myself when he started talking. "Sure—I remember back when the Hawking was based out of Arcturus and I was just a fighter jock. There was this observation deck overlooking the main flight paths. You could watch every ship taxi in and out. When I was alone, I'd turn off the auditory emulators and just watch them drift by in silence." (7)
"You know, there are views like that on the Citadel," I reminded him. "I remember the first time I was there. My teammates and I stood by one of the windows in the Wards and just… looked out. It was the first time we realized how big the damn thing was. Bigger than any space station. It really was a city, just… floating in space. We could see a lot of ships too. Civvie freighters. Patrol craft. Even the Destiny Ascension.
"Next time we're there, you should take some shore leave. Find a spot with a good view. Clear your head."
"I don't know," Cortez hesitated. "Maybe…"
"Do what you need," I said, "but it might help."
"I'll think about it," Cortez promised. "Thanks."
"Any time," I replied. I turned to leave and looked across the shuttle bay. James had put down his rifle and was looking at me. I met his gaze, then flicked my eyes towards Cortez. James solemnly nodded.
If I needed a reminder that the stakes were impossibly high, I got it when I dropped by to see how Emily was doing. "Breaking now: a city of four million, blasted from orbit. Adelaide, Australia is no more."
I stood by silently and watched Emily face the vid-drone as she somberly gave her report: "New footage from Earth reveals the Reapers' plans to attack large industrial centres. Stay tuned to FCC and ANN for the latest on the war."
She turned the drone off with her omni-tool and closed her eyes. "You okay, Emily?" I asked quietly.
"You'd think that I'd get used to reporting something like this," she replied. "It's part of our training to report on newsworthy stories, no matter how bad they might be. I started out investigating stories about crime and corruption—that's how I found out about Fist."
Which was how we had first met, I recalled.
"Good or bad, you're taught to investigate and report these stories with integrity and professionalism. Viewers and readers are free to react however they want. Reporters can't."
"Reporters are also human," I reminded her.
"Yeah. I know. So I hope you have a happy story that I can tell. Because right now I could really use one."
"How about the story on how Cerberus thought it would be a fun idea to attack a school full of the best and brightest young minds that the Alliance has to offer and how they got spanked for their efforts?" I offered.
Apparently, there were no words to express how happy Emily was, because she was forced to settle for giving me a fierce hug. I guess that story fit the bill.
The next few days went by in a blur. We rendezvoused with a couple transports—one that took Jack and the biotic students to the 103rd and another that Kahlee and the rest of the students boarded to go to wherever the Prothean superweapon was being built.
What was more frustrating was setting up the war summit. I had no idea how complicated it was. Setting up quarters, figuring out what everyone could safely eat, rearranging or reassigning quarters based on the requirements or whims of whoever was scheduled to arrive, tinkering with the menu to find a balance between politicians' demands and the limitations of what we had in our galley, coordinating with the two or three parties involved to determine where we'd meet.
The worst part was all the politicking. Not from Primarch Victus—he was already onboard, though we were told that a few aides would be joining him to provide a little help. All we had to do was make sure we had something to eat that wouldn't kill him. All Wrex needed to know was where to meet, when to meet and was there enough meat for him—and he only put up a token effort of grumbling when I told him the answer to the last question was 'probably not.'
No, the worst part was dealing with the salarians. Specifically one Dalatrass Linron, leader of the Salarian Union. Just before the Reaper War broke out, she was re-elected as leader of the Linron bloodline in what was considered a very close race.
As far as I was concerned, though, she was a pain in my ass.
All she did was bitch, bitch, bitch—several times per hour, every hour of every day. This was a mistake, my room was too small, how could you even think of dealing with those krogan savages, this was a mistake, your protocols are all wrong, what was that neophyte Primarch thinking, I demand to get copies of just about everything, this was a mistake, you humans are so short-sighted, and did I forget that this was a mistake?
After the first dozen or so e-mails, I developed a system: scan the e-mail for viruses, worms or other cyber-delights—because salarians loved that sort of thing more than any other race—open the e-mail, ignore the complaints, skim through it for the few sentences or paragraphs that actually had to do with requirements or requests for the war summit and maybe make a token effort to fulfill them. And by token effort I mean as long as it could be done within an hour or two. Maybe I'd work harder if I was a career diplomat or had some semblance of a diplomatic staff that I could pawn that crap off on. But I wasn't a politician, I had no one to spare and I had more important things to do than humour some cranky salarian.
Which meant it was almost a relief when the Reapers found us and came this close to ripping us apart.
I should explain: we were passing through a star cluster that supposedly had a lot of Reaper activity. We were trying to run some scans—both for monthly maintenance and to see if we could find any ships that needed help. A single sweep covered a limited region of the system we were in, so we had to trigger the scanners again to cover another part of the system. And again for another part.
And again.
That last one triggered a flurry of activity. "Whoa!" Joker exclaimed, straightening up so fast I thought he'd give himself whiplash—or crack his bones. "Shepard, the scanners just went nuts!"
The back of my neck began tingling.
"Contacts detected from multiple vectors," EDI reported. "All of them are on an intercept course."
Aw, crap. "Joker," I said between gritted teeth.
"Wetting my pants and laying a course in for the mass relay now," Joker replied.
"Shepard," EDI said sharply. "I am now detecting four ships coming in from all neighbouring systems. Energy patterns consistent with Reaper signatures."
Oh shit.
I leaned over and transferred the data from the galaxy map to a spare monitor. We were about one billion kilometres away from the mass relay.
"Beginning transmission sequence to mass relay!" Joker said tersely.
Five hundred million kilometres…
As we flew towards the mass relay, I could see the Reapers pop up on our sensor display. One… two… three… four not-so-little Reapers. And if I was reading the screen correctly… "Is it me or are they a little faster than us?"
The fact that Joker chose to type a little faster on his console instead of throwing a quip or two was all the answer I needed. All I could do is watch. Indulge in some wishful thinking that we could beat the Reapers to freedom by using sheer willpower.
One hundred million kilometres…
So I was a little confused and worried why Joker seemed to be taking a rather indirect route, one that would require a little manoeuvring around various planets. You'd think that that would be the last thing you'd want to do. I might have said something, but I didn't want to distract Joker.
Which was a good thing, since I realized what he was doing a second later: he was using the power of physics. Specifically, the gravitational pull of all those planets to help slingshot the Normandy closer to the mass relay.
"Connection established," EDI announced. "Calculating transit mass and destination."
Fifty million kilometres...
Even better, those same planets prevented the Reapers from lining up a clean shot. They had to chase us. And manoeuvre around all those planets, because not even a Reaper could just plow through them.
Ten million kilometres...
Still, the Reapers were fast. Really, really fast. With eezo cores that could put any other dreadnought to shame, they had more than enough power to beat us—given enough time. But we had a headstart. So now it came down to a simple race, with the lives of the men and women under my command—and the men, women and children throughout the galaxy who, whether they knew it or not, were counting on me.
One million kilometres…
Five hundred thousand kilometres…
At some point, I must have stepped forward and put a hand on the back of Joker's chair. That hand currently had a death grip on the leather.
One hundred thousand kilometres…
Fifty thousand kilometres…
"Relay hot. Acquiring approach vector!"
Ten thousand kilometres…
Five thousand kilometres…
"The Reapers are charging weapons," EDI warned.
"Hang on!" Joker yelled.
"This is Shepard!" I called out. "All stations, secure for emergency transit!"
One thousand kilometres…
Five hundred kilometres…
The Normandy shuddered as a Reaper beam hit her. It was only a glancing shot, but we were talking about Reaper tech. "Shields at 73 percent," EDI warned.
Oddly enough, that hit gave the Normandy a little extra momentum. We were only fifty kilometres away now.
Ten kilometres…
Five kilometres…
"Hitting the relay in three… two… one…"
The Normandy was suddenly pulled forward, leaping towards the light…
We'd made it to the mass relay and zipped on through. No Reaper nasties had followed us. And the light was the usual flare that accompanied any trip through a mass relay and not the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel that meant we were dead.
Still, I waited until we exited the connecting mass relay before slowly exhaling and releasing my grip on Joker's chair. No one was around, but I still took care to surreptitiously massage my aching hand. "Good job, Joker."
Joker was breathing heavily, his face covered in a sheen of sweat. He reached towards the console, then stopped and lowered his hands into his lap. His shaking hands, I noted. Small wonder, after the brush with sudden death we'd just had. Clearly he needed a little time to recover. Still, we needed someone to pilot the Normandy, since the alternative was lying dead in the water. I entertained the thought of calling Cortez up to see if he could handle things.
Then I had a better idea: "EDI, I've been meaning to run a test on your fine motor skills. Nothing too fancy. Just manual computer work, inputting navigational stuff, operating the flight controls, that sort of thing.
"You would like me to pilot the Normandy while Joker—"
"—monitors and observes your progress. Can't have him slacking off, after all."
"Thanks, Shepard," Joker said. His tone was a bit wry, but I was fairly sure he was thanking me for more than one reason.
"Anytime," I said before leaving the cockpit.
Miranda was waiting outside. "I heard what happened," she said.
"We escaped." I waited until the cockpit doors closed before adding "It was really close. Joker's still winding down from the adrenaline and shock and whatnot. EDI's got the helm for now."
"And I'm sure her presence will ease Joker's mind and help him re-establish his equilibrium," Miranda added, deducing the strategy behind my impromptu plan. "How did the Reapers find us?"
"Best guess? We used the active scanners one too many times and drew their attention like blood attracting sharks."
"There's a wonderfully image," she said dryly. "Why did we need to use the scanners so frequently?"
"Because we were trying to thoroughly scan the system and a single pulse wouldn't cut it."
"Hmm," Miranda said thoughtfully. She was quiet as we walked back through the CIC and into the elevator. "Deck Three," I announced.
"Deck Four," Miranda told the elevator—and EDI.
"Not going back to crunch some numbers or analyze some intel?" I asked.
Miranda shook her head. "I've been thinking about what you said about the scanners. I have a few ideas, but I want to run them by Lieutenant Adams first."
"OK," I nodded. "Talk to you later."
"Until then."
Miranda was lowballing it when she said she had a few ideas. Adams later told me it was more like twenty. Most of them were quickly dismissed as impractical, but only because of the limited resources we had onboard and the state of our supply lines. A few of them were more promising, but the details went way over my head. All I got was that they needed to run some simulations, both to determine the best option and figure out the most efficient way to implement those changes. That and we shouldn't be so trigger-happy with the scanners until we made the upgrades. I was happy to comply with the last part.
The one upside of this nightmarish encounter—aside from kick-starting our efforts to boost the scanners—was that it helped put things in perspective. After narrowly escaping a pack of Reapers, dealing with politicians didn't seem so bad.
Eventually, the big day came. First day of the war summit. Joker took us to the Pranas System, deep inside the Annos Basin. It was pretty easy to find the diplomatic ships: all we had to do was look for a couple salarian ships, a couple turian ships and a couple krogan ships. They were all keeping their distance from each other, making damn sure that they were out of weapons range.
"Commander," Traynor announced. "The salarian dalatrass and the krogan clan chief are ready to come aboard."
"At the same time?" I asked.
Traynor shook her head. "No. To avoid any… accidental diplomatic incidents, they've requested that the Normandy dock separately with the designated salarian and krogan ships."
Translation: they didn't want to start shooting at each other, either because their ships were too close or their ships were bickering over who got to dock first. Which led me to my latest diplomatic quandary: what order should they dock?
Today's meeting was strictly between the head honchos. I was very clear that this was a war summit where things had to get done, as opposed to one of those leisurely chats where diplomats and their ridiculously large entourages gathered, wasted time talking or posturing, gorged themselves on all sorts of expensive edibles and came away with a few sound bites, a couple vague promises and no real substance. Yet another thing that honked Dalatrass Crankypants off big-time. (8)
Victus was already here. I was already here. The only other people who were waiting were Wrex and Dalatrass Crankypants. There was some merit in letting the Dalatrass come aboard first. Wrex probably was mature enough not to have a fit and yet another gesture of conciliation might go a long way.
On the other hand, Dalatrass Crankypants had been a thorn in my side from the moment we'd rescued Victus from Menae. Thanks to her, the asari weren't coming. And there were several reasons to choose Wrex. He had a vision and foresight that dwarfed the petty rivalries of his people. He had the courage to hope for a better future for the krogan, and the strength and conviction to see it through.
Most importantly, Wrex was my friend.
"Grant permission to both parties," I told her. "We'll rendezvous with Urdnot Wrex first. Have Wrex and Dalatrass Linron brought to the conference room when they arrive."
"Understood, Commander. Do you have any other orders?"
"Yeah," I groaned. "Cross your fingers and hope this doesn't start another war."
With all that had been going on, I hadn't had a chance to change into my dress blues, so I had to head up to my quarters and put them on. By the time I arrived at the conference room, the war summit had already started.
"The krogan is in no position to make demands!"
Needless to say, things were already going downhill.
Wrex leaned on the conference table—which Miranda had reinforced in anticipation of such a situation—and glared at Dalatrass Crankypants, who was crossing her arms on the other side. "The 'krogan' has a name," he growled. "Urdnot Wrex. And I'm not just some junkyard varren you unleash whenever you're in trouble."
I took up a position at the end of the table. Primarch Victus was already standing at the other end, a bland façade not quite concealing his exasperation and dismay. Wrex paused long enough to nod a greeting at me before continuing. "I've got my own problems. Reaper scouts have arrived on Tuchanka."
Naturally.
"So why should I care if a few turians go extinct?" he asked, giving a sly look at Victus.
"Trying to draw out negotiations will get you nowhere, Wrex," Victus said, his voice tight with frustration. "I have no time for it. Just tell us what you want."
"I'll tell you what I need..." Wrex paused and looked each of us in the eye before finishing: "A cure for the genophage."
Aw, crap. I knew it. I knew it was too good to be true! Wrex just couldn't resist the urge to stick a condition of his own.
On some level, I could understand it. The genophage had been killing his people for over a thousand years. The krogan had spent centuries watching other races and envying the thing that they all took for granted: the ability to have a child. That simple act that could change your life forever. The embodiment for all your hopes and dreams for the future—as a family, a community and as a species.
If there was ever a time to demand a cure, now was the time. Now, when the leaders of some of the most influential races in the galaxy were gathered together. Now, when the stakes were so impossibly high and extinction was imminent for every race out there. Now, because it might be the last chance for the krogan.
Though an honest-to-gosh cure might take a miracle and I was pretty sure I'd exceeded my quota.
Dalatrass Crankypants's eyes bulged and her mouth dropped. I made a mental note to go through the vid-recordings afterwards and get a screenshot of the look on her face. To her credit, she quickly recovered. "Absolutely not! The genophage is non-negotiable!"
"Why are you so opposed to the idea, Dalatrass?" I asked, speaking up for the first time.
"Because my people uplifted the krogan. We know them best."
And here I thought the krogan knew themselves best. Truly, the salarians were wise beyond their years.
"You mean you used us!" Wrex cried out. "To fight a war you couldn't win! It wasn't the salarians or the asari or even the turians that stopped the rachni! It was krogan blood that turned the tide!"
"And after that you ceased to be useful!" Dalatrass Crankypants snapped. "The genophage was the only way to keep your… 'urges' in check."
Dalatrass Crankypants was proving to be even less diplomatic in person—no wonder that election for the Linron leadership was so close—but she had a point. In gratitude for their role in ending the Rachni Wars, the krogan had been given all the conquered rachni planets along with several other worlds. However, the krogan had evolved to breed very quickly due to the harsh conditions of Tuchanka. None of their new worlds were anywhere near as hostile. So the krogan basically became a sapient version of an invasive species and bred like wildfire. Even worse, the krogan began swiping territory from other Citadel races, becoming more belligerent when the locals understandably took offense. Things escalated until a new war broke out: an incident the galaxy now knew as the Krogan Rebellions. (9)
So the krogan weren't completely blameless. But in the opinion of this lowly, unlucky grunt, they had long since paid for their sins. Of course Dalatrass Crankypants couldn't—or wouldn't—see that. No, she had to trot the same tired set of lines out yet again. And twist them to make them as inflammatory as possible.
The way Wrex clenched his fist and quietly curled his lips into a snarl told me she had succeeded. I opened my mouth to speak before that second war I'd mentioned to Traynor broke out—
"Dalatrass, you may not like him, but Urdnot Wrex is right," Victus sighed. "Insulting him won't change that."
Well wonders never cease? Maybe Victus was the right man—turian, whatever—for the job after all. If I looked hard, I could see Wrex's jaw drop subtly in astonishment.
There was nothing subtle about Dalatrass Crankypants's response: "I won't apologize for speaking the truth! We uplifted the krogan to do one thing: wage war. It's all they know because it's all we wanted them to know."
"Wow," I said in mock astonishment. "You mean the salarians knew the krogan from the beginning? Like, the beginning beginning? You knew the krogan and their ancestors and their ancestors before them all the way back to when they were just single-celled organisms? Because that's the only way you could possibly determine that war was all they know.
"Hey," I added thoughtfully, "if you guys knew the krogan so well, maybe you should've thought the matter through. Maybe you should've realized that the krogan evolved to reproduce quickly because Tuchanka's harsh environment required it. Maybe you should've realized that giving the krogan new worlds that weren't as tough would mean they'd breed like rabbits. Maybe you should've realized that all those krogan would need some extra elbow room.
"Maybe you should've thought of all that before the krogan revolted."
Dalatrass Crankypants glared at me.
"Just a thought," I said innocently.
"That's precisely my point, Commander," Dalatrass Crankypants tried. "We made a rash decision. We turned to the krogan in desperation." She crossed her arms. "It's the same mistake you're about to make today. No good can come from curing the genophage."
"The krogan have paid for their mistakes," I disagreed. "The genophage has gone on long enough."
"One thousand, four hundred and seventy-six years," Wrex rumbled. "If you're keeping track."
"You want to know why the krogan haven't contributed to galactic society?" I asked. "Maybe that's why. Maybe because galactic society's gone overboard on punishing them for one thousand, four hundred and seventy-six years. Maybe the krogan have been selfish, short-sighted and belligerent because they didn't see any point in thinking about the long term. Because, for one thousand, four hundred and seventy-six years, they didn't have a future worth thinking about. They didn't have any hope. You want to talk about good, Dalatrass? What about the good that can come when the krogan realize there's an alternative to the status quo? That they can hope for the future again. That the galaxy is willing to give them a second chance if they're willing to change?" (10)
"Typical human short-sightedness," Dalatrass Crankypants retorted. "Blathering on about things you know nothing about. You romanticize about the past when the truth is that we had a thousand years of peace, free from these… these brutes!"
"Enough!" Victus snapped. "Whether or not they deserve a cure is academic. It would take years to formulate one. Years we don't have."
Exactly. While there hadn't been a concerted or organized effort, doctors and scientists had tried to cure the genophage on and off for the last one thousand, four hundred and seventy-six years—to no avail. The only cure came from natural krogan evolution, an adaptation to the genophage.
An adaptation that was corrected by a covert re-introduction of the genophage.
"My information says otherwise."
Say what now?
Wrex stomped over to the other end of the table. Victus quietly stepped aside, allowing Wrex to download a file from his omni-tool to the Normandy's computers. "A salarian scientist, Maelon, grew a conscience. He was on my planet testing a cure on our females."
"I remember," I said quietly. "He was the protégé of a scientist who helped me fight the Collectors last year." That scientist, Dr. Mordin Solus, was part of a team that infected the krogan with Genophage 2.0. So did Maelon. That was the point where he grew a conscience. Though not enough of one to influence the horrific experiments he ran on the krogan who volunteered to be test subjects. "Maelon might have meant well, but his methods were barbaric."
"But what you didn't know is that some females survived his experiments." He stabbed a thick finger at the controls. A holographic recording began playing, the images hovering above the table. We watched a dimly lit room through a shaky lens, no doubt the result of efforts taken to hide the fact that any footage was being taken. We watched as a salarian—judging by the shadow cast on the ground—nervously darted from spot to spot, moving past other salarians. The image focused on what looked like a series of cells, each holding a single, large person. We couldn't see any firm details, but the shape of each cellmate was unmistakably krogan.
"So the dalatrass here sent in a team to clean up the whole mess," Wrex said, "and to take them prisoner."
Dalatrass Crankypants shuffled nervously. "Where did you get this? It… it could be a fabrication."
"Don't insult me," Wrex shouted. "Those are my people! They're immune to the genophage—and you're going to give them back!"
Victus stepped forward. "Dalatrass," he said quietly, "is this true?"
"How will curing the genophage benefit my people?" Dalatrass Crankypants laughed derisively.
"You're really not thinking this through," I smiled coldly. "Right now, the Reapers are laying waste to my people. And the turians. And the batarians. They're moving in on the krogan. And the asari. And the salarians. If you keep offering nothing but insults, soon every other species will be wiped out or on the run. Then instead of keeping an eye on a few Reapers, you'll be facing their entire armada on every front. With no one else to help you. There's a word for that, Dalatrass: surrounded.
"I wonder: how long do you think you'll last alone against the Reapers? Because if you don't help, that's how it'll end up."
The dalatrass tried to look away, only to face Primarch Victus, glaring angrily into her eyes. "And I'll be the last friendly turian you ever see," he promised.
"What's it going to be?" I pressed. "Are you going to help your people? Or are you going to help the Reapers? There isn't any middle ground here."
Dalatrass Crankypants rubbed her forehead wearily.
"Clock's ticking," I prodded.
"The females are being kept at one of our STG bases on Sur'Kesh," she finally admitted.
I immediately headed towards the exit to set a course.
"But I warn you, Commander!" Dalatrass Crankypants cried out. "The consequences of this—"
"—will be nothing compared to what happens if the Reapers win," I butted in. "Quite frankly, I hope there will be consequences, because that'll mean we're actually still alive to face them."
Wrex clapped a hand on my shoulder. Somehow, I kept myself from dropping to my knees. "Let's go get them," he said.
"You're not setting foot on Sur'Kesh," Dalatrass Crankypants scowled. "This will take time—"
"It happens now," Victus interrupted. "As a Council Spectre, Shepard can oversee the exchange."
Right. I'd have to remember to take off my Alliance Commander hat and put my Council Spectre hat on before I reached Sur'Kesh. "We're going," I said firmly.
Wrex and I left the conference room, Victus hot on our heels. We left Dalatrass Crankypants, quivering in indignation. "I won't forget this, Commander!" her voice followed us. "A bully has few friends when he needs them most!"
I raised a hand up and mimed someone yapping away. The doors closed, cutting off Dalatrass Crankypants's latest outburst. Stretching my neck, I turned to Wrex and Victus and sighed. "That went well."
Victus looked uncertain.
Wrex settled for a hearty laugh.
(1): Readers will surely agree that this is a case where Shepard's gift for understatement can be more frustrating than anything else.
(2): Human military parlance, stemming from ancient analog clocks, meaning to watch your back or rear.
(3): And let's not forget saving the galaxy at great personal expense and helping countless people in ways both large and small.
(4): Oh dear.
(5): Extending the second finger—commonly known as the middle finger—while keeping the other fingers and thumb tucked against the palm. Humans consider that an obscene gesture.
(6): Garrus had also received some intel from the current state on Palaven. Amongst the many depressing reports were a preliminary list of the number of schools that had been attacked and the resulting casualties.
(7): Sound did not carry in a vacuum. Auditory emulators and other equipment were frequently used to simulate what would be heard in atmospheric conditions, both for operational reasons and to minimize confusion from too many poorly-written vids.
(8): Shepard's latest unflattering nickname. In this case, it was earned after the constant barrage of hostile and belligerent e-mails exhausted any goodwill he might have had.
(9): A rebellion that the krogan were winning, thanks to their aggressive nature, their capacity to absorb an astonishing degree of punishment and their ability to replenish their numbers. Out of desperation, the Council made contact with the turians, but even they could not defeat the krogan by conventional means. As a result, the turians deployed the genophage, which was originally designed by the salarians as a deterrent.
(10): This would not be the first time that Shepard adopted a controversial position that flew in the face of decades, if not centuries, of traditional opinion—a testament to his strength of character and the conviction he had towards what he felt was right.