Two weeks ago, James Vega had been in a shitty bar, wrecking his liver as thoroughly as he'd wrecked his career. He'd thought that eventually the MPs would find him and haul him in as a deserter, and toss him in the brig, and that would be that. Instead, here he was, on Arcturus Station in his dress blues waiting for Rear Admiral Anderson's ship to dock.
Life could be funny like that. Real funny. Put you on your ass.
Was that why he'd gone with Anderson? Because the old man could still put Vega on his ass? Or because he believed him when he said he was too good a Marine to be wasted? Or because they were talking about Emilia Shepard?
He'd looked up to her. Her actions were the subject of Marine Corps legends, a lot of 'old' Marines in their thirties telling no shit, there I was kind of stories about operations she'd been on. He still couldn't quite believe that she'd done what they said she'd done.
What would it mean, if she had? He didn't know what to think. What to feel.
But here he was, dressed in his blues.
The Normandy's bow curved past the window of the dock, sleek and predatory, and still in Cerberus colours. That would be the first thing to go. Strip the paint back and slap some Alliance blue and white on her.
Outside the military docks was a crowd of reporters and their camera drones, held back by the Marine guards. Everyone wanted a piece of Shepard, it seemed. The Navy most of all.
"Sir, I don't understand," he'd said to Anderson when the Admiral had given him his new posting. The job that was keeping him out of the brig. "This is a job for the MPs or the masters-at-arms."
He was infantry, after all.
"Shepard's not a flight risk, Vega. If she wanted to run, we wouldn't have caught her in the first place."
"So what, I'm just decorative?"
"No. Your job is to keep her alive. More than the batarians want her head on a stick."
The airlock door slid open and Admiral Anderson stepped out, a frown firmly on his face. Vega drew himself up and saluted.
"Good evening, sir."
"Nothing good about it," he responded shortly, settling his cap on his dark-haired head. Behind him, two MPs led out Commander Shepard.
She was shorter than he'd thought she'd be. She looked a lot like she did on the old posters they'd had of her, the recruitment ones, in her dress whites and her Star of Terra glinting golden in the harsh artificial light, except for the cracks that ran along her jawline, the scars glowing a disconcerting red-orange.
"Shepard, this is Gun- excuse me, Staff Sergeant James Vega of the 103rd. Vega, Commander Shepard."
Still kinda stung, the demotion, but he couldn't say he hadn't expected it.
"Ma'am," he said.
She nodded to him. Her gaze was cool and sharp, like a knife. It felt a little bit like being dissected or measured. She didn't look like someone being brought in for a world-shattering atrocity. She didn't look scared. Maybe a little defensive in the tight set of her shoulders and the lift of her chin.
"Vega will be…"
"My prison guard," she smiled, sharp-edged, and he shifted uncomfortably.
"Shepard," Anderson said, warningly.
She rolled her eyes. "I'm behaving, aren't I?"
"Uh huh. Sergeant Vega, please take Commander Shepard to her quarters. Remember, only people allowed in are those authorised by Admiral Hackett. Absolutely no press."
"What about my lawyer?" Shepard asked dryly.
"Your mother has already sorted that. And yes, he's on the damn list. Now get moving."
"Aye aye, sir."
After an awkward moment Vega took a hold of Shepard's arm and steered her towards the skycar waiting for them. It was clear she really didn't like being 'handled' - she was tense as steel - but she went quietly.
At least until she called over her shoulder, "Make sure someone takes care of the damned hamster, Anderson, I swear to God!"
After that she let him guide her into the back seat and then he got in beside her. The driver was some squid but he kept the privacy window up. Must've been the admiral's car. He was armed, as was the driver, and he noted that Shepard's eyes touched on the gun and her surroundings. Cataloguing.
He hoped Anderson was right and she had no intentions of trying to escape.
"Used to be a Gunny, huh?" she asked as the car took off. Only the main thoroughfares of Arcturus could fit two lanes of skycar traffic. The rest of the time it was trams or foot. Most people only used the latter two forms of transport.
He eyed her. "Used to be, yeah."
"How did that happen?"
Straight on the offensive, was she? "Fucked up."
He had a whole lot of lives on his conscience and he'd tried to find peace at the bottom of a bottle. She had a lot more.
"Hmm," she leant back in her seat and crossed her arms.
A few moments of silence passed. It was straight shot from the docks to the officer quarters. Shepard was to be confined in an isolated apartment with Vega and a rotation of MPs to guard her.
He glanced over at her. He couldn't help the question. This was his hero, tossed off her pedestal. "Why?"
The look Shepard gave him was less than friendly. "I know how this thing works, Vega. I'm not a fucking idiot enough to give you a car ride confession."
"I'm not a cop. I'm infantry." Vega felt a bit stung despite himself. He just wanted to understand.
"Just like me, huh? Is that why they picked you?"
"Anderson picked me."
"Huh." She was quiet for a long few moments, watching the non-descript metal corridors of Arcturus flash past. She was quiet long enough he thought he wasn't going to get an answer.
Then, she spoke, almost softly, "Sometimes there's only bad choices."
James understood that too well.
Shepard's new home for the foreseeable future was a small one-bedroom apartment, but off from the outside world and the extranet. Four white walls. Her life shrunk down. She dropped the bag of belongings she'd been able to bring with her on the couch and stared at the room for a moment.
What now? What did she do?
They put a biotic inhibitor into her amp port once the ship arrived on Arcturus Station. She'd barely held back from punching the tech who'd put it in. She couldn't feel the gravity fields around her, just the strange numbness the inhibitor left behind.
Her relationship with her biotics had varied through her years. As a teenager she'd hated them; hated the way they set her apart, hated the fear too many people looked at her with once they saw the amp port and hated the way she was singled out by security guards and police. Hell, even once she'd joined the Marines she'd always felt that she had to be above reproach. Don't be the crazy biotic. Don't get into fights like your friends, definitely don't flare.
At least in the military they'd been useful. She'd saved squadmates' lives with a quick barrier, cleared machine gun nests with a flick of a wrist.
And now her biotics were just - gone - and it felt like a part of her had been removed.
"Commander," Staff Sergeant Vega said from behind her.
She turned. "Yeah?"
She wasn't sure what to make of her -jailor? Bodyguard? - yet. He seemed...normal. Nice, even, nice enough to make her feel bad for using him as a verbal punching bag. Maybe that was Anderson's game - send someone she'd feel guilty for messing with.
Bastard.
"Your mother is here."
Shepard's first reaction was relief - the child's deep seated belief that her mother could fix anything. Her second was dread. What would Hannah say about what she'd done?
"Let her in, then," she said, like she was his commanding officer - but she wasn't. She had to remember that. He was the one with the power here, even if it seemed he didn't quite understand that.
Hannah Shepard came through the door in her uniform, because of course she was wearing her uniform, her hands clasped behind her back. In the sterile lighting of the apartment , the command star on her chest gleamed. She'd dyed her hair back to dark brown.
"Jefa."
Hannah opened her arms and Shepard stepped forward into them. She closed her eyes, feeling her mother kiss her gently on the temple.
"Hey, sweetheart," Hannah murmured.
"I'll, uh, give you guys some privacy," Vega said and retreated.
"Mum," her voice cracked, "I -" killed them all.
Hannah shook her head, cutting her off, "Not here. I don't trust them not to have bugged this place."
Right. Of course they would have. They. The Navy. The organisation they'd both dedicated their adult lives to. She'd never heard Hannah Shepard sound so bitter about it.
She cleared her throat. She wanted to confess it all - the snap of bone under her fists when she'd killed her way through the Alliance personnel, the way she'd gunned Kenson down, how empty she'd felt when she'd pressed the button- to the one person who might forgive her for it but she couldn't.
They sat on the couch together in silence for several long minutes before Hannah reached over and took her hand.
"I've organised for a lawyer. You still need to sign off on it, of course," Hannah said briskly, because this was how her mother had always dealt with a crisis. She tried to fix it. "His name is Adalberto Castillo. He's a Senior Counsel and one of the best criminal defence in Alliance space."
A civilian? She frowned. "How much is that going to cost?"
Hannah paused and then waved a dismissive hand, "Don't worry about it."
A lot then. "Jefa, I can just use the JAG they'll assign me-"
"Absolutely not," Hannah's grip tightened on her hand.
Shepard frowned at her. "I'm not a child anymore."
Hannah's expression gentled and she smoothed a curl out of Shepard's face. "I know that. I knew that a long time ago. But," her voice hardened, "I will not watch them subject you to a show trial for political reasons."
Shepard swallowed. "Mum…"
"I haven't been able to protect you in too long," Hannah smiled sadly, "at least let me do this."
"Sorry to interrupt, ma'am," Vega was back, apparently. Hannah didn't let go of her hand. "But the Investigative Service agents are here."
Here to interrogate her. She needed to remember what Anderson had told her to say.
"A waste of time," Hannah said, with a sharp smile, "considering my daughter will not be speaking to them without her lawyer present."
The days blurred together. Shepard went where she was told, answered the questions the interrogators asked - except for the ones her lawyer told her not to answer, underwent more assessments than when she'd been med-boarded. At many of the interrogations, a batarian accompanied the Alliance Naval Investigative Service agents and glared at her with all four eyes.
A batarian military officer on Arcturus Station at the invitation of the Alliance government. Would wonders never cease?
From what Castillo told her, there was quite a lot to be resolved before she stepped into a courtroom. Whether she could still be considered a part of the Alliance military, if she really had died and what they meant for the law. Her Spectre status - and the Council's claim to the right to try her - resolved itself with a proclamation of the Council withdrawing it. She was more trouble than she was worth, apparently.
Shepard could handle the interrogations. She'd been trained for that and she knew she was intelligent enough to redirect weak questions, sidestep traps. The prodding at her cybernetics on the other hand, she could do without.
"Extensive cybernetics," one doctor had noted, "reconstruction of the face, right upper limb, reinforcement of muscle and bone tissue-"
"They replaced my eyes too," Shepard said helpfully and one of the nurses winced.
In between the legal bullshit was the real work at the 'Threat Analysis Office', Hackett's vaguely titled task force. Some linguist had her translate a text in English to Prothean, saying something about the Rosetta Stone. And then she read report after report after report."
"It's not going to be enough, sir," she admitted when the Admiral met her at the Office.
He looked at her with clear blue eyes. "Talk me through your reasoning."
What had he known about Bahak?
She shook the thought off. "Even if we can complete Project Prometheus," the Alliance's project to arm as many ships as possible with improved defences and Thanix weaponry, "all of our projections show us being defeated within two years. And if Lieutenant Williams," don't pause on her name, damnit, "is correct and the Hegemon is indoctrinated, we're gonna be fighting a war on two fronts."
"What Project Crucible?"
Project Crucible. The planet killer. "If we can finish it and it does what it's meant to do, okay, we can kill Reapers. But it's fragile, unwieldy - and as soon as we kill one, they'll swarm it, sir. Without hundreds…"
And they couldn't build hundreds. Hell, progress were maddeningly slow due to the need for secrecy.
Hackett nodded slowly, thoughtfully. "Do you have any suggestions?"
Something surfaced in the back of her mind. She wasn't sure if it was something she'd remembered herself or the restless ghosts of the Protheans stirring. "We could have another look at the Prothean records. They held out for centuries, sir."
"And still lost," he pointed out with a frown.
"Still. We might find something they ran out of time to implement."
He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, a rare sign of human fragility from the Admiral. "I'll contact Doctor T'Soni."
"Sir," Commander Frankston stuck his head in the door, "Apologies for the interruptions but General Petrovsky is here."
Hackett let out another sigh. "How did he find out where I was?"
"I don't know, sir."
"Tell him I'll be with him in ten minutes."
"Aye aye sir."
"Who's General Petrovsky, sir?"
"An army officer, and one who can't find you here. Get Vega and go out the back way. Now."
She stood up from the conference table and gathered her notes. She was halfway to the door when Hackett spoke again.
"And Commander? Good luck for tomorrow."
The skycar was unassuming except for the blue and white Alliance Navy paint and the bulletproof tinted windows. Shepard sat in the back seat, her hands folded over the sword on her lap. Seemed a bit strange, giving someone accused of genocide a sword, but full dress whites was full dress whites.
Vega sat beside her, dressed in fatigues and a plate carrier, a pistol at his hip. She knew he had a rifle in the boot of the skycar. The driver was Navy but Shepard didn't know him. Anderson sat in the front passenger seat, resplendent in his own dress uniform and fruit salad of medals.
The car settled with the soft hum of thrusters, right in front of the Madam Kastanie Drescher court complex, the seat of the High Court of the Systems Alliance. Navy courts martial usually used part of the FLEETCOM complex for trials, but apparently her trial required a bigger room. Or rather, a bigger public gallery.
The last time the Navy had asked the High Court for a spare courtroom had been the war crimes trial of the Marines charged over the Torfan killings. Those Marines had gone down in infamy as the Torfan Three.
Would the media give her a nickname? One to overshadow the things they'd called her after Elysium and the Citadel?
When the three of them exited the vehicle, the reporters were waiting for them. Anderson almost had to push his way through the throng, cameras going off in Shepard's face. A cacophony of questions were thrown at her - hell, she couldn't have answered them if she'd been inclined to.
She did her best to tune it all out as Vega guided her into the lobby, where the reporters were still barred from. Her expensive, civilian lawyer was already there, waiting outside the courtroom in a suit and robe, surrounded by the rest of her legal team.
"Good morning, Admiral, Commander," Adalberto Castillo said with a cheery smile, "I've checked in for you already, and in a few minutes the Masters-At-Arms will let us in and you can sit in the box. How are you feeling?"
"Fine," she said shortly.
"Good, good. Now, I'll just remind you of the procedure. Once we go in, you'll sit in the box. The judge will read the charges and ask how you plead to each of them. Make sure you stand when he's addressing you. You'll enter your pleas of not guilty, and then sit back down. Once you're done, you shouldn't need to talk again. All we're doing after that is setting a date for the next hearing, and we can all enjoy the rest of the day. Any questions?"
"No, it seems pretty straight forward." She squared her shoulders. "Can't be worse than getting shot at."
Castillo chuckled. "Well, I don't know about that. But tell me afterwards, and I can tell clients which is worse next time."
She smiled. "Sure thing."
Anderson touched her shoulder. "I'm going to go find my seat with your mum. Remember, chin up, N7."
"Aye sir." She watched him go, feeling a moment of warm gratitude. Anderson was risking his career by standing by her like this.
"He's a good man," Castillo remarked. "But for circumstance, you're pretty lucky. Having so many stick by you."
"Yeah, I know. If it wasn't for him, I'd probably already be in the brig."
Castillo nodded and opened his mouth to say something else, but a Master-at-Arms emerged from the door next to them. "Shepard, Emilia."
"Alright, that's us. Remember, up into the box. They'll have a few minutes to let the reporters in and then the judge will enter."
"Alright. Let's do this." She followed the Master-At-Arms into the courtroom and went straight for the box, settling uncomfortably in the seat there - nearly catching her ceremonial sword - and folded her hands in her lap.
'The box' was a low, wooden wall that separated her from the rest of the court room. There was a door just behind her that led to the cells - where the Accused who were in custody would enter the court from. Blocking the small wooden door that gave access from the courtroom and the box, a Navy Master-at-Arms stood at attention. Her guard. She felt sorry for him if she thought about it. Standing at attention while people talked incessantly was never fun.
The dress uniform sat uncomfortably on her shoulders and she resisted the urge to slide her finger under the Star of Terra's ribbon. It felt too tight. Everything did.
Once everyone had settled in - Shepard in the box, Hannah Shepard and Anderson in the front of the gallery, and the defence and prosecution teams at the bar table, they opened the doors and let the reporters in. It took several minutes for them to file in, taking any spare seat they could and setting up their camera drones. There was a low hum of conversation that hung over the court room.
Once they had started to quiet down, the Judge's associate, a young Navy Lieutenant, stood and left the courtroom. After a few moments, she returned, standing behind her allocated seat directly in front of the bench.
"All stand," she loudly announced, and the entire courtroom did.
Shepard ignored the flashing of the camera drones. At least Al Jilani wasn't here. Emily Wong was. Perhaps she ought to thank Al Jilani for giving her plenty of practice holding back her temper in front of the press.
The Judge entered then, Navy Captain Chakir, and headed to his seat. He stood, still for a moment, his dark skin juxtaposed against the pristine, bright white of his uniform. Then he gave a deep bow, and everyone in the courtroom bowed back. Then, the Judge sat and, again, the courtroom followed suit.
"Alright. What are we doing here today?"
Castillo stood. "Your Honour, my name is Castillo on behalf of Commander Emilia Shepard, the Accused. My client intends to enter her plea in relation to the offences with which she has been charged."
"Very well. I will now read the charges to the Accused," he looked over to Shepard in the box. "Now, Commander Shepard, you have been charged with a series of offences. I will go through them one by one and you will enter your plea in relation to them. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Your Honour," she said clearly and calmly.
"Very well." He cleared his throat, pausing for a moment. "You, Emilia Shepard, stand before the Systems Alliance Naval Court charged with the following offences. One count of genocide. One count of treason. One count of aggravated dereliction of duty. One count of conspiracy to commit treason. One count of conspiracy to commit terrorism."
In the brief pause in the Judge's words, the camera drones clicked furiously.
"In relation to the charge of genocide, how do you plead?"
"Not guilty."
"In relation to the charge of treason, how do you plead?"
"Not guilty." Whatever she'd done she was not a traitor.
"In relation to the charge of aggravated dereliction of duty, how do you plead?"
"Not guilty."
"In relation to the charge of conspiracy to commit treason, how do you plead?"
"Not guilty."
"In relation to the charge of conspiracy to commit terrorism, how do you plead?"
"Not guilty."
The Judge allowed a few seconds of silence as the press did their best to capture the moment. "Very good. I imagine we will want to proceed to a pre-trial conference?"
Castillo stood to answer again. "Yes, Your Honour. We've some disputed facts we'd like to clear up."
"I'll set a date next month for the PTC to give the Navy time to assemble a jury pool. Counsel, be aware that if the Navy has assembled the pool by that date, we will select them at that time."
The Judge's associate turned around to face the captain. "February 7 is free, sir."
"February 7 at 9:30AM, here, do either of you object?"
The prosecutor stood. "If it please the court, Vogt for the prosecution. I am unfortunately indisposed on the 7th of February. Is the 8th okay?"
"Perhaps the 13th?"
"The 13th, Mr Vogt, does that suit?"
"Yes, Your Honour."
The Judge looked the other way. "Mr Castillo?"
"Yes, Your Honour, that suits the defence."
"Good. I will see you all on the 13th of February for a PTC. This court is adjourned until 13 February at 9:30AM, local time."
He stood, bowed, and left. The reporters were forced out of the room as the Master-at-Arms stepped aside and let Shepard out of the box and just like that it was over.
CODEX ENTRY
Service Record - Commodore Hannah Shepard:
-SADF database search version-
Service Number:
Name: Shepard, Hannah Lucy
Rank: Vice Admiral
DOB: 2132
Place of Origin: Melbourne, Australia
Nationality: Australian
Language Proficiency: Spanish - intermediate, English - native
Marital Status: Married
Next of Kin: Isabel Alves (wife, deceased), Captain Emilia Shepard, SAN (daughter), Sub-Lieutenant Nicolas Laurent Shepard, SAN (son), John Laurent (husband)
Status: active duty
MVC: F7, C7
Biotic: N
Service Record:
Graduated Australian Defence Force Academy, 2153
Commissioned as Pilot Officer, Royal Australian Air Force (RAAF), 2153
Maternity leave, 2154
Commissioned Sub-Lieutenant, Systems Alliance Navy Aviation Corps, 2155
Assigned to 333rd Test and Evaluation Squadron, Terra Nova, 2155
Awarded Navy Achievement Medal, 2156
Commended for development of in-atmosphere to orbital and deep space small spacecraft tactics while serving as a test pilot.
Transferred to DSF-5, CAW-12, aboard the SSV Stanley Savige, Second Fleet,2156
Participated in the Siege of Shanxi, during the First Contact War, 2157
Awarded Distinguished Combat Medal, 2157
Purple Heart awarded, 2157
Shanxi Liberation Medal awarded, 2157
Prisoner of War Medal awarded, 2157
Air Medal awarded, 2157
Meritorious promotion to Flight Lieutenant, 2157
Assigned to 301st Test and Evaluation Squadron as Flight Leader, Arcturus Station, 2158
Awarded Navy Achievement Medal, 2159
Transferred to MAG-34, Terra Nova, as a staff officer, 2160
Transferred to Fleet Replacement Fighter Squadron 34 as instructor, 2163
Czarnobog Fleet Depot
Promoted to Lieutenant Commander, 2165
Transferred to DSF-40, MAG 14, 6th MEB, Sector 17 in the Skyllian Verge as Squadron XO, 2165
Awarded Naval Commendation Medal, 2166
Participated in Space Warfare Command Officer Training, 2167
Transferred to SSV London as Navigator, 2167
Maternity leave taken, 2167
Transferred to DSF-16, CAW 10, aboard the SSV Einstein as Squadron XO,, 2169
Participated in the Relief of Mindoir, 2170
Participated in anti-piracy operations, 2170-71
Air Medal awarded, 2171
Promoted to Commander, 2171
Transferred to DSF-81, CAW 35, aboard the SSV London, as Squadron Commander, 2171
Awarded Distinguished Flying Cross with V, 2172
Transferred to SSV Joan of Arc, as Executive Officer, 2173
Transferred to SSV Marie Curie, as Squadron Commander, 2175
Participated in Relief of Elysium, 2176
Awarded Joint Service Superior Service Medal, 2176
Promoted to Captain, 2177
Transferred to CAW 23, aboard the SSV Kastanie Drescher as CAG, 2177
Participated in anti-piracy operations, 2177-2178
Traverse Campaign Medal awarded, 2178
Awarded Distinguished Flying Cross with V Device, 2178
Transferred to Systems Alliance Naval Academy as military professor, 2180
Transferred to SSV Kilimanjaro as Executive Officer, 2182
Compassionate leave taken, 2183
Promoted to Commodore, 2183
Transferred to SSV Orizaba as Commanding Officer, 2183