Shepard jolted awake from the dream, sweating with his heart pounding in his chest.
Groaning, he pushed himself upright and swung his legs off the bed as the first rays of morning sunlight began to stream through the windows of his room. Setting his elbows on his knees, he pressed his hands against his temples, trying to force the images of the nightmare from his mind.
After being freed from the cryo-pod that Richter and his men had kept him in and allowed to return to a normal sleep schedule, he'd been haunted by the same dream many nights since. But he hadn't dreamed in stasis. Instead, there was just a sudden chill, followed by an enveloping blackness before descending into the timeless void.
Now, part of him longed for that dreamless, black emptiness.
Anything would be better than reliving her death over and over again, he thought wearily.
Exhaling heavily, he stood and crossed the room over to the bathroom. Waving a hand over the sink's tap, he leaned over and splashed a handful of bracingly cold water across his face before straightening up and gazing into the mirror at himself.
He'd stopped shaving more than three weeks ago and his hair was well beyond a regulation cut. His eyes were bloodshot after too many nights of restless sleep and his skin had started to take on a grayish, unhealthy appearance.
It was the face of a man that had stopped caring, simple as that.
Finishing up in the bathroom, Shepard walked over to the large floor to ceiling, east-facing window of his quarters.
The sun was rising over the distant mountains, bathing Vancouver in its cleansing, golden light. Shepard looked out over the city that stretched out before him with an indifferent eye as he reached up and scratched at his beard absentmindedly. It was a picturesque scene, the bright, shimmering city. But he could hardly care.
Buoyed by the presence of the sprawling campus of the North American Systems Alliance Command, Vancouver was a shining example of humanity's prosperity during Earth's golden age. The skyline was a mixture of gleaming steel, mirrored glass, and towering ultra-modern buildings set against the backdrop of the Pacific Northwest's natural beauty.
It was Shepard's latest home and a far cry from the rundown, overcrowded Chicago megatropolis he'd grown up in.
Back then, before the Alliance, he'd rarely stepped foot outside the maze of thirty-story tenement buildings that made up the Public Housing Complex he'd been raised in.
The room he stood in now, which served as his glorified prison cell, was a helluva lot nicer than where he'd lived back then. His tiny room in the apartment he'd shared with his mother wasn't much bigger than an average sized closet, crowded with the meager plastic and metal furniture they bolted to the floors to keep people from selling it for scrap.
Shepard never knew his father. The man had left his mother and him before he was born. When he was young, his mom used to tell him that he'd been a soldier who'd died fighting separatists on Mars. But once he'd grown a little older, she figured he might as well know the truth and dropped the fairytale. The fact was she didn't know what became of him. She just knew that he'd refused to stay and see their son brought into the bleak world they inhabited in Chicago PHC.
But his mother was tough and streetwise. She knew that John needed to grow up fast if he was going to survive long enough to escape that place before it swallowed him up. She kept him clean and out of the gangs for as long as she could. But by the time he hit thirteen, she was gone too, dead by the Foreman-Elford virus that had ravaged much of the inner cities of North America in 2165.
The government didn't waste much time before forcing him out of their meager dwelling to make room for a new impoverished family. Shepard was sent to the city-run orphanage, just six blocks from where he'd lived with his mother. But he didn't spend much time there.
With his mother gone, it wasn't long before he'd started running with the underworld thugs and criminals that ruled the unforgiving streets of Chicago's South Side PHC. At that point, there was little other choice for him if he wanted to survive long enough to fulfill his mom's hope for him to escape.
Fortunately, he was big for his age and carved out a spot among the older kids, running with far more accomplished thieves and killers. They seemed to like him, too. Despite the desolation and misery they faced, he had a way about him that drew others in and inspired something close to loyalty—at least as much loyalty as could be reasonably expected in a world where it often came down to choices as simple as you or the other guy. He was fourteen when he'd killed his first man. Others followed.
Still, he never forgot what his mother had taught him and what he was living for. It was simple. There was only one real chance for a kid like him with no money and little education. It was either military service or remain in the PHC and struggle along before someone bigger or smarter came along and put a bullet in his head.
He would have lied about his age and left years before if he could get away with it. But the screening tech was far too advanced for that. Determining someone's precise age was a fairly rudimentary process, regardless of whether or not there were records on file. Of course, there were genetic modification procedures that could have solved that problem, but Shepard couldn't have hoped to afford a procedure like that, not it he'd robbed and cheated half the Chicago low-rent neighborhoods for a decade.
When he finally was able to march into the Alliance recruitment office, after miraculously living long enough to see his eighteenth birthday, he' been eager to get away. He gladly left Chicago behind with everything he'd ever known and everyone that had ever known him. He never planned to come back. Never.
In basic, his knack for violence was quickly identified but he'd also found that he had an aptitude for tactics. Some of his instructors even called him a natural leader. Four years later, somehow, he'd ended up on Elysium.
After he'd slaughtered more batarians than he could count, they called him a hero and pinned a medal on his chest. He'd barely had time to make the trip back home and place the Star of Terra in his mother's memorial alcove before the N7 program called, followed immediately by Advanced Fleet Operations School.
After that, life had been a blur, moving from one combat op after another, post to post, and spending time on half a dozen warships. He was rarely in one place longer than six months at a time until he made Commander and got the XO post onboard the SSV Normandy.
That ship turned out to be the closest thing to a home he'd ever had. And through all the wonders and the horrors they'd seen together, the crew had become his family.
But, eventually, all that too came crashing down.
Turning from the cityscape outside his window, Shepard glanced at the clock on the nightstand. It was just after six a.m. Looking around the room that served as his prison cell, he supposed things could have been worse.
But after more than ten weeks cooped up at the Alliance HQ facility, he was beginning to go a little stir crazy. The bed was soft and the meals decent, but it didn't suit him.
His ever-present guard, Lieutenant Vega, was a solid guy at least. It didn't take much for Shepard to recognize that the burly young Marine had been specifically assigned to the task by Admiral Anderson. He supposed the Admiral was still concerned about the snakes in their midst after the whole SAIS debacle. He still hadn't seen the man since the last time he'd stopped at the Citadel, after the Collector mission, but he had no doubt his mentor was doing everything he could for him. Hell, if it wasn't for him I'd likely have been extradited to batarian space months ago.
Shepard still didn't know the full details of how Anderson had managed to extract him from SAIS custody. His first memory after being pulled from stasis was of being carted off to surgery at the Alliance Naval Hospital to have his still badly mangled shoulder properly attended to. Apparently the docs on Earth had been a little baffled when they sliced him open and found all the cybernetic tech Cerberus had dropped in him and had to call Chakwas in to consult.
He hadn't been allowed to speak with her either but at least he knew someone else from the Normandy had made it out alive. If she'd gotten clear of Richter and his goons, there was at least hope for the others.
And with that shoulder finally fixed, he at least felt whole again. Well, mostly.
His access to Alliance-Net information was so watered-down that average civilians likely had more insight into what was happening in the galaxy than he did. Still, Anderson managed to forward him the heavily redacted versions of Alliance Navy operation reports and he had a vague sense of the conflicts going on out along the frontier with the Hegemony and the scattered geth resistance. But John was still frustratingly in the dark when it came to the events that really mattered—Cerberus and the Reapers.
Knowing how imminent the Reaper threat was and yet being impotent to act was maddening on a scale he hadn't felt since being trapped in the Chicago PHC, waiting to reach his eighteenth birthday.
Then there were the endless debriefings he'd been forced to suffer by the Naval Intelligence types. They wanted to know about Cerberus, how he'd fought the Collectors, who'd he dealt with, where he got his orders from, how they'd managed to make it through and back the Omega 4 Relay, and, of course, why the hell he'd taken out the entire goddamn Bahak system.
Without any hard evidence to say otherwise, he didn't have much hope in refuting that last issue.
In the beginning, like a good soldier, he'd been forthright and reasonably thorough; keeping in mind that most of what they wanted to know was already detailed in the data he'd shared with Anderson and Hackett. Those men he trusted. These people he wasn't so sure about.
But as the weeks went on, he'd become more and more frustrated by the same questions they asked over and over again. He'd grown progressively more irascible and uncooperative, to the point the Navy investigators began to cut back on the extracurricular privileges he'd been granted. Soon, there was less time outdoors, fewer trips to the gym, and even a noticeable decline in the quality of the meals.
It was ridiculous. After all I've been through, after all I've seen, these fools think I give a shit about a slice of apple pie in the evenings.
It would have been funny if he didn't know the truth, if he didn't understand the horror that was coming for them.
But part of him just didn't care anymore. The whole, endless uphill battle he'd been fighting had finally worn him down. He was just so tired of it. It was the kind of weariness you felt down into your bones.
Maybe he'd feel different or been more resilient if he hadn't had his soul ripped out of him. If he hadn't lost her.
Thinking back to the early days of their contentious relationship onboard the new Normandy, Shepard couldn't help but crack a weak smile at the memory of Miranda.
Despite the fact that Shepard's successful revival and rehabilitation had been the woman's crowning professional achievement, Miranda had resented him from the get-go of their mission. She didn't have to say it outright, but he knew the idea of being subordinate to his command was galling for her. She was a woman used to being in charge, giving orders and not taking them.
And while Shepard had initially been as taken with her physical beauty as any man with a pulse would have, it didn't take him more than a minute to realize she was about the most coldhearted, uncompromising, callous bitch he'd ever met.
But only, she wasn't. Not really.
In so many ways, the connection was inexplicable. They were entirely different sorts of people from backgrounds that were worlds apart. And after his last relationship with Liara, the contrast couldn't have been starker.
Shepard still cared deeply for the asari woman and he figured he always would. And there was a time when he thought they were literally meant to be together. But once the mission was removed from the equation, things had changed for them both and it was clear their romantic connection wasn't sustainable.
He shared a bond with Liara that he would take to the grave, but the feelings Miranda had stirred in him were on a whole other level.
Where Liara's kindness, patience, and gentle heart had once moved him, there was now this unrelenting, driven, stunningly gorgeous femme fatale. And honestly, part of him found Miranda just the tiniest bit scary.
But that only reeled him in further.
Initially, it had been the pursuit of a woman who seemed so unattainable that had excited him. But soon he had come to realize that it wasn't the chase at all that drew him to her. Nor was it simply her beauty.
It was that she was like him. They had both been broken in a way but had refused to let that pain be the end of them. And they each had to change into something harder, something crueler, to survive. Only, where Shepard had molded himself into a killer at a young age in order to live long enough to punch his ticket out of the PHC, Miranda's transformation into the severe woman she'd become was born out of a far more selfless cause.
And ironically, after all those years of enduring on the girl's behalf, it had been her sister who had been the catalyst that allowed Miranda to transform again and open herself up to something new.
It hadn't been easy for her and Shepard was forced to be patient, but he was in no rush. Miranda was worth the wait.
When the Illusive Man had dropped the bombshell that she'd been ordered to get close to him from the start, it had briefly shaken him. But once the fog of the painkillers and anesthetics he'd been doped up on began to fade, he knew he didn't need to question Miranda about whether or not what they had together was an illusion.
He'd grown up around liars, cheats, and worse. He knew damn well when someone was playing him and there wasn't a doubt in his mind about the truth of their relationship. The savviness he'd learned on the unforgiving streets of Chicago had taught him well, but there was more to it than that.
She had loved him, he was sure of it.
She hadn't said the words, out of stubbornness or fear. After all, it was a big thing for the infamous Ice Queen of Cerberus to admit that a simple Alliance Marine had thawed that frozen heart of hers. But he knew it all the same.
And he didn't blame her. Before that day on Illium with Oriana, before everything had changed for her, she obviously hadn't let anyone through those thick, high walls of hers for a very long time.
So he didn't push her on it. And as it turned out, he was just as stubborn about that sort of thing as her. In fact, he knew long before they pushed through that godforsaken Omega 4 Relay that he'd fallen for her unconditionally. But he was holding back too. Why, he couldn't say for sure. He supposed he didn't want to scare her.
Damn it. Why didn't I just fucking tell her? She was everything to you.
But she was gone now. And it was his fault.
Gazing out over the sweeping parks and the pristine high rises, pain and anger churned violently in his gut. It was a beautiful city, but just then, he wished he could burn it all down. Without her, he simply wanted to raze the whole fucking planet to the ground and be done with the fight.
But then he quickly shook himself of those dark thoughts. Yes, she was gone. But there was still a fight ahead and he refused to back down from it now.
Maybe it wasn't a fight they could hope to win. Surely it was a struggle that would test him like nothing ever had before. But his mother had taught him how to persevere through a world that seemed hell bent on grinding them down.
So he would press on. He'd do it the woman that had raised him to do nothing less and for the woman he'd loved so passionately, but yet so briefly. They were both gone now, but he would channel that loss and the fury it dredged up within him and aim it at his enemies.
These walls won't hold me much longer, he reminded himself. One way or another, he'd bolt from this absurdly cozy cell.
And once he was free, there wasn't an army strong enough that could keep his hands from closing around the neck of the Illusive Man. He'd take pleasure in slowly squeezing the life from him.
And then he'd move forward again. He owed Miranda that much.
Ashley Williams sat naked among the disheveled sheets of her bed with her arms wrapped around her knees as she gazed out the window of her Vancouver apartment. The morning light was just beginning to play across the harbor and reflect off the mirrored facades of the dozens of tall buildings dotting the city's skyline as the sun steadily rose higher.
The Vancouver residence the Alliance Navy had arranged for her was relatively modest, but comfortable, and had a great view from where it sat on the twenty-first floor. It was a luxury that not many officers of her rank enjoyed, being in this part of the city and off-base.
Glancing to her left, her eyes settled on the box containing the new gold oak leaf collar device that sat atop her dresser, mocking her. Up-jumped in rank for the second time in the last year, now to Lieutenant Commander, the sensation felt more surreal than satisfying. She ought to feel proud. But instead, she was left feeling strangely hollow and anxious. Part of her still felt like the same Gunnery Chief John Shepard had pulled out of the fire on Eden Prime just a few years ago.
God that seems like a lifetime ago.
I should be ecstatic, she told herself. The prospect of getting out again soon for some proper combat operations ought to have felt exhilarating. And she certainly should have felt proud about the promotion and what she'd accomplished of late. But something was nagging away at her. Something she just couldn't quite put her finger on.
After Noveria, she'd transferred back to Earth along with Captain Dah's task force, with Shepard remaining in stasis for the duration of the journey. Admiral Anderson had arrived home a few days later and had quickly taken Ashley onto his newly formed staff. She was immediately set to work helping with all manner of tasks—as a special advisor/trainer, sorting through loads of intel on batarian and Cerberus activity, helping to screen Alliance personnel and clear them from SAIS involvement, and even monitoring some of the fleet retrofits going on in orbit.
She was also one of the few people alive that knew about the clandestine operation Anderson was running out of the Citadel with Anita Goyle and that involved some very interesting intelligence assets.
Ashley shook her head thinking about it all. I guess I have come a ways since Eden Prime. Fucking Incredible.
"Hey, you got anything other than lavender body wash, Ash?" the man's voice called out from the shower in the next room.
Ashley snorted and smiled. "You're S-O-L, Edge," she called back. "Guess you're going to morning briefing smelling like flowers today."
"Hardy har har, Williams,"
Ashley had first met Lieutenant Nicholas "Edge" Edgerton over a year ago on Arcturus Station when she'd been attending Fleet Operations School. He was there doing a stint as a combat pilot instructor while she was busy throwing herself into her training with the tenacity of someone trying to forget their recent past. He'd immediately taken to her but she had been too focused on her work to let anything serious happen between them.
But after transferring back to Earth and finding that Nick was now attached to the Tactical Support Wing of the newly formed Ninth Fleet, or what was more commonly referred to as the Home Fleet, she'd been suddenly eager to see him—And this time she wasn't holding back. They'd been sleeping together for more than a month.
After the messy end to her last field assignment on Noveria, having been rocked by finding Garrus and Liara working alongside the Lawson woman, Ashley had made the trip home half in a daze.
Shepard had immediately been moved to full lock-down and restricted to a very specific wing of the Systems Alliance Homeworld Defense Command facility in Vancouver. She didn't even have the opportunity to speak with him before he'd been taken out of stasis and shut away.
And after what had taken place onboard the Persephone and the chaos that followed on the surface of that frozen world, she'd come away feeling strangely adrift.
So once she'd gotten back to Sol, debriefed with Admiral Anderson, and had a chance to decompress for a bit, she'd been eager to get her mind off of things. And Edge was just the sort of remedy she needed at the time.
And, as it turned out, he was a solid guy. Of course, being a fighter jock, Edgerton was ridiculously cocky. But that sort of thing wasn't necessarily a turn off for Ashley. And honestly, he was entitled to be a little arrogant.
He was a true ace, claiming more than two dozen confirmed kills across various engagements over the last few years, including skirmishes with batarian pirates, numerous mercenaries, geth, and even a few hush-hush battles with Cerberus air and space assets. He was funny too, great looking, and fantastic in bed.
But she already knew it probably wouldn't last between them.
Military romances were like that. It was always a challenge when you never knew where you would be posted from one month to the next. There were some official regulations that could pose obstacles too, especially when you were fraternizing with subordinates or superiors. And now that she was a Lieutenant Commander, she was technically Edgerton's superior officer.
They were all perfectly legitimate excuses that she could use to predict that her fling with the man wasn't likely to last. But none of them were the real reason. Truthfully, she just knew there was something missing for her in the relationship. Oh, the sex was great—and god, how she needed that kind of release and physical comfort right now. But he didn't truly move her.
But to be fair, there were very few men she'd encountered over the course of her adult life that had moved her in the way she thought she ought to be. And making the situation on Earth all the more awkward was that one of those men was currently being held in total lockdown at Alliance Command, just across the bay.
"Hey, don't you have a meeting with Admiral Anderson this morning?" Edgerton shouted as steam billowed through the open door of Ashley's bathroom. "You better get going… Maybe you should jump in here with me and save some time."
Ashley gave a smirk. "If I jump in there with you neither one of us is getting to work on time. Hurry up!"
She heard Edge laugh and a few moments later the water shut off.
Jumping up from the bed, she kicked her clothes from the previous night that were scattered about the floor into an untidy pile in the corner. She'd deal with the laundry later. She then grabbed the robe hanging over a chair in the corner, pulled it on and fastened the ties around her waist.
Nick emerged from the bathroom a second later, a towel wrapped around his waist. He paused just outside the doorway, tilted his head to the side and smiled broadly at the sight of Ashley in her robe. "Sure I can't tempt you?"
"Oh, you always tempt me, Edge," she said. "But right now you need to hurry up and get out of my place so I can get my ass in gear."
"It's such a pretty ass, too."
"Argh… Move it, babe!"
"I've sent the report to your terminal, Admiral."
Anderson nodded, waving his thanks to the aide as he walked over to his desk. He took a seat, moved his hand over the interface to allow the security protocols to read his biometrics and authenticate his account to the Alliance Navy secured network, and waited the nanosecond for his terminal's holo-enhanced display to flash to life and produce the report he was waiting for.
The morning's daily status report contained all manner of updates he would need to turn his attention to, but first, he cycled past the numerous screens of fleet status items, R&D updates, and personnel assignments and went straight to the colonial intel portion to read for himself what had been filtering through the backchannels the night before and was now headline news: The colony on Horizon had officially rejected Alliance aid and aligned with Cerberus.
It was a stunning, if not necessarily unexpected, turn of events. Their intelligence assets—that is, those independent of the now disbanded Systems Alliance Intelligence Service—had been closely monitoring the situation on the colony world for months, sending back increasingly grim reports on the political climate within the capital city of Discovery. Opinions on the Iera System planet had been swinging decidedly anti-Alliance for a long time, even before the Collectors struck in 2185. Back then, Ashley Williams's reports about the tensions and, in some cases, flagrant hostility toward humanity's legitimate galactic governmental body had sent up plenty of warning flares, prompting a renewed Alliance diplomatic effort to mend fences.
But the Illusive Man had become exceedingly shrewd with how he'd chosen to capitalize on his organization's recent upswing in popularity, setting his sights on attainable targets of opportunity.
Much of the Attican Traverse was already tainted by the lawlessness of the Terminus while the Citadel Council had essentially adopted a hands-off policy when dealing with human interests in the region, leaving the bulk of peacekeeping operations in the hands of the Alliance Navy. But humanity's military, even with the Collector threat out of the way, was stretched thin as it tried to shield their more substantial colonial holdings from batarian and geth aggression. So into the vacuum stepped Cerberus with promises of safety and largely unregulated freedoms.
Not that the Illusive Man had limited his pursuit of greater influence to only the more modest human colonies. In fact, he'd been steadily increasing efforts on Eden Prime, Terra Nova, and Elysium, flooding the major population centers with propaganda and engaging in unofficial recruitment drives. Fortunately, Cerberus had encountered much more resistance from the larger, more substantial colonies. Those worlds had been Alliance stalwarts for decades and majority public opinion wasn't swayed nearly as easily or rapidly as was the case on worlds farther out along the frontier.
Nevertheless, the fact alone that the one-time terrorist organization had arrived at a point where it could operate as a legitimate political rival to the Systems Alliance and openly campaign for influence on Earth and the Citadel was alarming. But the uncomfortable truth was that even without the aggressive pressure being exerted by Cerberus and the damage that the SAIS had done more recently, the Alliance had been on shaky ground for some time now as it struggled to keep up with the needs of an increasingly dispersed human presence in the galaxy.
Still, the Cerberus challenge to Alliance dominance would have been unfathomable just a few years ago. But the news from Horizon made it starkly clear that they could no longer underestimate or ignore the threat they posed. Cerberus was now a legitimate force to be reckoned with.
Scanning further down the report, Anderson shook his head, noting that even before the ink had dried on the Horizon Colonial Parliament's declaration to officially reject Alliance aid and align with the Illusive Man's organization, a sizable Cerberus fleet of cruiser and frigate class warships had arrived in orbit around the garden world.
The sudden breadth and reach of the Cerberus military was yet another troubling development the Alliance had been observing.
Though the Systems Alliance Navy and Marines easily outpaced the upstart paramilitary organization by an overwhelming margin in sheer numbers, Cerberus's ability to construct a vessel as advanced as the Normandy SR-2 pointed to a shocking level of technological capability. In fact, as Alliance observers monitored the engagements with batarian forces along the frontier, evidence was mounting that Cerberus had tapped into some new—and likely alien—resource driving their rapid advances and producing some exotic weaponry and technologies.
And now with the recent seizure of Omega, with that station's massive element zero processing facilities, combined with surging recruitment numbers, substantial private enterprise support, and access to a number of other strategically important galactic assets, Cerberus was poised to make another set of dramatic strides toward closing the gap with the Alliance. The resource-rich world of Horizon throwing their lot in with Cerberus would only accelerate that trend even further.
Sighing, Anderson turned in his chair and looked over to the large bank of vid monitors lining the wall of his office that displayed the bustling activity in orbit above Earth at the Yeager Naval Weapons Station and Olympia Station's massive shipyard.
One of the screens was filled from edge to edge with the image of the nearly complete John Grissom, the namesake of the newest and most powerful dreadnought class the Alliance had ever produced. Its counterparts, the Zhukov and Montgomery, were in a similar state of construction at the Arcturus Naval Shipyard and would be ready to assume active duty within a few weeks.
The three new dreadnoughts were packed with the most advanced defenses and weaponry available to the Systems Alliance, bristling with enough ordnance to make even the most powerful turian flotilla think twice before engaging them in open combat. In fact, in the wake of the Battle of the Citadel, the turians had shared the same urgency to increase their readiness levels across all the branches of their military. And just as the Hierarchy had been jointly involved in the development of the original Normandy SR-1, an even more unprecedented level of cooperation between the two species had led to the design and outfitting of the new Grissom class warships.
To the left, the next screen over offered a dramatic view of the Normandy SR-2. Cerberus built but based on stolen, highly classified Alliance Navy schematics, it had arrived at Yeager Station by way of Arcturus just two weeks ago and was now hurriedly being prepared for active operations and final post-refit combat trials.
Gazing at the elegant, clean lines of the massive frigate, Anderson allowed a thin smile to creep over his lips as he took satisfaction in the fact that the deadly vessel was no longer in the hands of the Illusive Man. Though Cerberus engineers and mechs had assembled the ship, the Admiral felt that it somehow belonged in the Alliance fold. Maybe that's just my own self-righteousness, though, he thought wryly.
But the Alliance was making no apologies for taking charge of the ship. In fact, after a thorough inspection of the Normandy, five additional frigates based on its design were quickly approved for production. But while the massive dreadnoughts had been on the yard assembly lines for nearly two years now, the keels for the Normandy's sister vessels hadn't even been laid yet and vital materials would still need to be gathered for the projects.
But those new, cutting-edge frigates and the behemoths of the Grissom class dreadnoughts were only a small part of the largest build-up of Terran military power since the First Contact War.
With the space-based shipyards bursting at the seams and scrambling to build the big ships that were generally incapable of atmospheric operations, the Alliance had resurrected old plans for corvette-class vessels that the Earth-based assembly lines could produce in rapid numbers.
Smaller in tonnage than the mainstay frigates, the new Havoc class ships were designed to be fast, maneuverable, and most importantly, quick to manufacture. They sacrificed a good deal of armor and barrier capabilities for speed and offensive punch and wouldn't be able to stand up to anything that Sovereign had dished out at the Citadel, but they needed warships in numbers that just couldn't be attained if they limited production to the big and more advanced ships.
Along those same lines, the Admiralty had rushed through development and space trials of the next-gen fighter craft slated to replace the aging Trident platform. The Enterprise class carriers were already taking delivery of the first batches of new Tomahawk fighters high in Earth's orbit while the Intrepid, still months away from commission at Arcturus, would get its allotment as soon as enough trained pilots were available to make the trip out with them. Those, along with the recently introduced Dragonfly tactical close air support combat shuttles were now being turned out by the Earth and Luna-based assembly lines in prodigious numbers.
It was all, to one degree or another, a product of what had occurred at the Citadel three years previous.
While the Council and the other represented major governments of the Citadel had very publically dismissed John Shepard's evidence of Reaper existence and the imminent threat they posed, Anderson knew that most of that bluster had been aimed at avoiding massive, galactic-wide panic. But that didn't necessarily translate to a committed, unified political will to seek out the information they desperately needed or a unified effort to prepare militarily.
And though a good deal of the Alliance military apparatus, along with the Turian Hierarchy and Salarian STG, had been more willing to err on the side of caution and quietly began ramping up intelligence efforts to better understand the threat, the majority of the major civilizations were still too preoccupied by the more present and clear danger the geth posed.
But now, after what had occurred on Arcturus and in the face of the stunning Cerberus advances, the political winds were finally blowing strong enough in their favor to significantly increase the momentum.
But, though they were making progress, the depressing truth was that the Alliance simply didn't have the yards or raw materials to churn out warships in sufficient enough numbers to combat the threat that Anderson and Hackett feared was only a matter of months—or maybe only weeks—away. And that didn't even take into account the challenge of crewing the new ships with competent sailors and combat networking experts.
Using the batarian and geth conflicts to stimulate recruitment efforts and the ongoing expansion at the Arcturus Fleet Operations School was helping, but it was a process that really ought to have started years ago, back when Shepard had first stumbled upon the horrifying truth.
Anderson was a pragmatic man and understood that all their recent scrambling wouldn't amount to all that much if the Reapers arrived in the kind of numbers that Shepard's recent intel suggested they might be capable of unleashing against them. After all, it had taken the combined effort of the entire Citadel fleet to bring down Sovereign and they had still suffered terrible losses in the engagement. If even just a dozen ships of that size and capability showed up in orbit around Earth, it would be nothing short of devastating.
The chirp of his office intercom pulled Anderson back from that grim thought as he glanced over at the inter-office vid display where the image of the young ensign had just appeared.
"Admiral, Lieutenant Commander Williams is here to see you."
"Fine. Send her in."
A moment later the office door slid open and Ashley Williams walked in, outfitted in her Alliance Navy blue and black service uniform, which had recently been updated as the non-combat standard for officers. She approached Anderson's desk, snapped to attention, and saluted.
Anderson returned the salute and gave a subtle nod. "At ease, Lieutenant Commander," he said, not failing the notice the subtle flash of a grimace that played across the young woman's face at the mention of her new rank.
Ashley relaxed her stance slightly, spreading her feet a little wider and clasping her hands behind her back. "Sir. You wanted to see me."
"I have your new assignment. Once she's ready, you'll be assuming the duties of Executive Officer onboard the Normandy SR-2."
Ashley stood in stunned silence for several seconds before she realized her mouth was agape. "Sir?"
"Don't look so surprised, Williams. You've earned this," he said and folded his hands on top of the desk. Keeping his eyes fixed on the young woman, he eventually realized she was having a hard time processing the new orders. "Look, I know it must seem to you that everything's been moving at light speed recently. Hell, that's because it has been. But you and I both know we don't have the luxury of a lot of time these days."
"So you really think there's an invasion of some sort coming, sir?"
Anderson nodded his head solemnly. "I do. When you've served as long and seen as much conflict as I have, you begin to respect the signs that keep popping up, trying to warn you that something bad is on the horizon." He paused, leaned back in his chair, and drew in a long breath. "The Collectors. Batarians. Cerberus. The devils that were right under our nose in the Intelligence Service. Even if the Reaper threat Shepard's evidence points to is inflated, there's no escaping that the galaxy is on the brink of something awful. You can feel it in the air."
Ashley exhaled deeply. "Yeah, I guess I can't deny that. But, sir. XO of the Normandy? Don't get me wrong, I'm a confident person, but I have to say, I'm not entirely certain I'm most qualified for that post."
"Don't sell yourself short, Williams. You were one hell of a Marine when we plucked you off Eden Prime three years ago and you've come a long way further since then. You received top marks in your class at Fleet Ops School on Arcturus and Admiral Kaneda spoke very highly of you when you served on his staff on the Citadel. Add to that your work out in the Traverse, the SAIS infiltration, and all the way back to the decorations you received during your stint on the SR-1." Anderson paused and gazed at Ashley with a look of pride. "It's a damn impressive body of work. I'll say it again, you've earned this."
Ashley swallowed and tried desperately not to redden. She was never very good at accepting praise gracefully. "Thank you, sir. I appreciate you saying that and your confidence in me. It's just been a bit of whirlwind these last few months."
"I understand. But you're command material, Williams, and this is an outstanding opportunity for you to learn what it means to run one of the most advanced vessels in the fleet."
Ashley smiled, trying to look as pleased as she ought to be. "And may I ask who I'll be serving under?"
"That'll be me."
Ashley gave the Admiral another puzzled look. "Sir?"
"We have a very unique role in mind for the Normandy. Once the refit is complete, it will serve as a true mobile strategic command and control platform. Whatever conflict we end up fighting, we'll be tasked with coordinating fleet activity in Sol and with our allies among the Council races. It'll be combat and diplomatic operations all rolled into one. For obvious reasons, Admiral Hackett figured I was the best candidate to assume the post. But I'll need someone like you to do the heavy lifting of running the ship while I'm focused on the broader, strategic operations in theater."
Williams looked a little overwhelmed, taking in the scope of it all. "Very well, sir. When should I report to my new duty station?"
"I'd like to get you up to Yeager Station tomorrow morning so you can begin overseeing the final phase of the retrofit. But there's no need to for you to move out of your Vancouver residence until we start final combat trials in a few weeks. You can commute until then."
"Yes, sir," Ashley said, sounding almost unfocussed.
Anderson gazed at her more deliberately, sensing her pensive state of mind. "Something else on your mind, Lieutenant Commander?"
The mention of her new rank seemed to jar Ashley from her brooding and her eyes snapped back into focus. "Yes, sir," she said after a moment's pause. "I was just wondering about Commander Shepard. Is he any closer to being released?"
A sympathetic look flashed across the Admiral's features and he gave a thin smile. "In a sense," he said. "But given the continued tension with the Hegemony, the Joint Chiefs aren't likely to authorize his reinstatement, or, even an honorable discharge for that matter, anytime soon." His expression turned grim. "In fact, they're still pushing for a formal military court-martial. And they haven't entirely ruled out allowing his extradition to Khar'shan."
Ashley felt a knot begin to tighten in her gut. "Sir, pardon my language, but that's bullshit. I don't know the full story of what went on with him over the last few years, but I saw first-hand what he accomplished against the Collectors. He saved lives, plain and simple. And as for Bahak? Well…"
"You're preaching to the choir, Williams," he said, choosing to ignore his subordinate's informality. "But I can only continue to shield him for so long. Sooner or later the politicians are going to get their way." He then stood up from his desk and walked over to his office window and gazed out across the green courtyard and manicured lawns of the Homeworld Defense Command facility. "At this point, I'm really just stalling for time." Anderson let out a long sigh. "So I'm arranging for him to be moved to Palaven."
Ashley's jaw dropped in dismay. "Palaven?"
"It's still several weeks away, but I'm laying the groundwork now," he said as he remained staring out the window with his back to Ashley. "The official cover story will be that he managed to escape custody and sought asylum on Palaven. He enjoys widespread support there, and not just among Garrus Vakarian's circle of allies. And the turians despise the batarians. They won't give him up and the Hegemony isn't dumb enough to try and tangle with another Council species," he said, sounding as if he was trying to sell himself on the idea as much as explain the rationale to Williams.
"So instead we're going to make him out to be a fugitive."
Anderson turned to face Williams, his jaw set and his face a stony mask. "Let me be clear, Lieutenant Commander," he said. "I will never allow Shepard to fall into the Hegemony's hands. Never. I'm still holding out hope that we won't have to do it, but I'm prepared to follow through and do whatever's necessary to ensure that man never sees the inside of a batarian cell or is forced into prison here on Earth."
Williams let out a long breath and tried to compose her suddenly raging emotions. "Does he know?"
"No. Not yet."
"Sir, what exactly does he know?"
"Not nearly as much as he'd like. I've been able to send him basic reports on batarian and Cerberus activities, but only the highly censored versions. Nothing about what happened on Arcturus last month. And his extranet access is extremely limited and monitored as well."
"So you haven't personally talked to him at all yet? He's been on Earth now for more than three months."
Anderson scowled, more at the situation than at Ashley. "It's complicated. Part of my strength is appearing relatively unbiased toward Shepard," he said and crossed his arms in front of him. "I'm in the unenviable position of needing to curry favor from an array of politicians, as well as the Joint Chiefs. And frankly, a lot of them are still highly suspicious about the Commander's association with the Illusive Man. And with what's just happened on Horizon that issue is going to be thrust right back into the forefront of their minds while they settle on what to do with him."
Ashley grimaced, considering all the recent Cerberus gains. "Right, I saw the Horizon story flash across the news vids while I was on my way in this morning. I still can't believe it," she said, shaking her head. "Sir, if he's being kept in the dark that much, then he doesn't know that…"
"Miranda Lawson is alive and working for us?" Anderson completed her thought. "No, he doesn't."
"But why?"
"As I said, Lieutenant Commander, it's complicated."
Ashley frowned and began to look more uncomfortable. "Admiral, that woman can go to hell for all I care. I mean, in my book, whatever good she's been doing for us recently doesn't erase fifteen-plus years of evil. But Garrus and Liara were behind her on Noveria. And I read through the classified report on the Arcturus incident about half a hundred times." Ashley sighed, visibly struggling to reconcile her conflicted thoughts on the subject. "Sir, I saw Shepard's reaction when Richter showed him the doctored vid footage of her execution. He went absolutely ballistic. She definitely wasn'tjust his Cerberus handler. He cared deeply for the woman and keeping the truth from him now just seems… cruel."
Anderson gazed back at Williams with an expression that effectively concealed his unease over the subject. Despite everything Lawson had recently accomplished on behalf of the Alliance, he was still deeply suspicious of her true motivations and loyalties. Early on, Anita Goyle had echoed as much in the reports she sent to him. But more recently, Anita had been sending him rather glowing reviews on the former Cerberus operative's commitment to their cause and had been advocating for the woman more and more vigorously.
But Lawson was still an enigma to the Admiral. On the one hand, she'd risked her life to stop the Arcturus plot and had secured vital intel when her team handed over the intact Reaper-augmented virus to Captain Dah. However, it was clear that she had also been responsible for the death of Dorian Logan. That man could have proven to be the link Anderson needed to connect Cerberus to the treasonous actions of the SAIS and take a bite out of the Illusive Man's recent lead in the poll of public opinion. Was part of her still looking to shield her former organization? Anita had argued vehemently that that wasn't the case, but he still wasn't convinced.
"I understand what you're saying, Lieutenant Commander," Anderson said. "And I don't enjoy keeping Shepard in the dark. But Lawson's current association with us is an extraordinarily closely guarded secret and before I authorize bringing anyone else into the loop, including him, I need to be certain she's onboard for the long haul."
Ashley swallowed and considered the Admiral's statement for a long moment, having no trouble understanding the implication. He still doesn't trust her, she thought. And he won't hesitate to eliminate her if she betrays us. The idea sent a brief shiver through her body. "I understand, sir."
"Good. Then if there's nothing else, the complete brief on your new assignment and updated security codes will be forwarded to your secure Alliance account today."
"Actually, sir, there was one other thing," Ashley interjected. "I'd like permission to see him."
Anderson frowned and narrowed his gaze. "I'm not sure that's a good idea right now, Williams."
Ashley briefly glanced down at the floor, looking conflicted. "Sir, when I was on that freighter and had to stand by while the Commander was interrogated and tortured, it was like getting kicked in the gut over and over again. I… I just need the chance to talk to him for a bit. Please."
Anderson studied Williams with a sympathetic eye before finally letting out another long sigh. "Very well. I'll authorize it. But nothing about the Lawson woman. Are we clear?"
"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." Ashley then snapped a crisp salute, turned on her heel, and strode out of the office.
Watching Lieutenant Commander Williams leave and shifting his thoughts away from the subject of Miranda Lawson, Anderson turned back to stare at the bank of displays along the wall and the images of the ever-increasing activity in orbit, high above the Earth.
Time. Time is what we need but what we're almost sure not to get.
Shepard marched through the door into his quarters, followed closely by Lieutenant Vega. Both men wore sweat-stained training clothes and were sporting a few new bruises.
They had just returned from the Marine training grounds, where they'd been allowed to workout in a quiet section of the complex that sufficiently kept Shepard out of sight from the rank and file that the Alliance brass was so adamant he have no contact with.
When Shepard had first woken that morning and found himself consumed by the typical foul mood that followed yet another nightmare-filled sleep, he hadn't felt like doing much of anything. But Vega had been persistent and seemed to gauge it was time to get him into the field and work off some of the frustration that had steadily been building within him. The Lieutenant was good like that.
They'd hit it hard, starting off with an eight mile run, about an hour and a half in the weight room, a rapid pass through the obstacle course, and then topping it off with a friendly bit of sparing in the hand-to-hand combat ring.
"Damn, Shepard. Maybe next time you can go a little easier on me," Vega said and laughed as he rotated his arm in an exaggerated motion. "You got a fire in your belly today, Commander."
"Damn it, James. How many times do I have to tell you that you're not supposed to call me that anymore?"
James laughed again, almost mockingly but still somehow sounding respectful. "Whatever you say, Commander."
Shepard just shook his head, deciding to drop it.
Since his return to Earth, he'd been officially suspended from the service and barred from any entitlement of his previous rank. The Naval investigators almost seemed to take pleasure in making it clear that he was fortunate he hadn't already been dishonorably discharged while they kept him in custody.
I suppose I should at least be grateful they took me off the official MIA list and ruled out that I might be a clone, Shepard thought derisively.
But Vega and his other Marine guards seemed determined to ignore their orders to disregard the man's rank. He supposed he ought to have felt heartened about that, but somehow it just annoyed him. The bitterness he felt about the whole situation was growing every day now. And as far as he was concerned, if the Alliance no longer felt he was fit to carry on as an Officer in their military than they could all go fuck themselves.
"Alright, sir. I have to seal the door and officially announce that you're confined to quarters here until seventeen-thirty hours," Vega said, sounding shamed that he had to utter the words. "Hansen and Linkowski will be relieving me until then. But you know you can call on me at any time, Commander."
Shepard glanced over at the younger man from across the room. "Thanks, James," he said somewhat wearily but then gave him a wry smile. "Looks like you could use a little rest."
Vega snorted a laugh. "The rematch is coming soon, Shepard!" He then snapped off a quick salute, wisely not waiting for the response the other man wasn't likely to give, and walked out of the room.
Shepard remained standing in the middle of his quarters for a long moment, staring over his shoulder at the door that had just slid shut with the telltale sound of heavy bolts locking.
He's a good kid.
John then sighed, pulled off his sweat-soaked shirt, tossed it in the corner, and made his way toward the shower. But he stopped just short of the bathroom when the door chime sounded.
Cracking another brief smile, Shepard turned around and walked back toward the entryway. "You come back for your pride, James?" he called out as he hit the button on the keypad to accept the man on the other side of the door—another courtesy his guards typically extended to him.
The door then slid open and the ironic smile that had played across Shepard's face morphed into something closer to bewilderment. Where he had expected to see the stocky, young Marine stood someone entirely different.
His heart caught in his throat and his mind immediately turned to her when he registered the long dark hair and delicate feminine features. But she was gone.
Recovering, John managed a smile and met the eyes of the uniformed woman who was gazing at him expectantly. "Hey," he said softly.
Ashley let out a short little breath and gave a tentative smile. "Hey, skipper."
Author's Note:
It's been a while since we've checked in with Shepard so I thought it was important to get a sense of what his state of mind is at this point and also establish a bit of background for the man.
I also wanted to cool some of that persistent suspicion that Ashley has toward Shepard in canon ME3. It just becomes a little insufferable after a point. And besides, there's been plenty of really solid work done on the site here that covers that angle. So why not take a different approach?
I also wanted to carry on with the narrative of Cerberus as more of a legitimate alternative to the Alliance and not just another army of faceless guys for Shepard and Co. to shoot.
And, as we get into the meat of the upcoming war, I'll be playing around a bit with the military-related details of the story. I'll still look to stay consistent with the ME universe, but things like every species in the galaxy operating the exact same shuttles, gunships, etc. are a little silly.