Part 1, Chapter 3, Soldier:
Holy shit, did that just happen? Rear Admiral (Lower Half) Victoria Shepard, Alliance Navy [Semi-Retired] / Citadel Council Spectre [Semi-Retired], strode away from the Council Tower towards the Presidium Promenade. Shepard's pace quickened, maybe if she just walked faster she could get ahead of the emotional wave building behind her. It's over. It's really over. Of course she wasn't retired yet, well, not really. She was on indefinite paid leave pending formal debriefing and recognition of her efforts. Undoubtedly she'd have to sit through some parades or other such nonsense, but, it's over!
The meeting was surprisingly bland. No mention of the recovery efforts. No mention of the Rachni queen's reappearance, pivotal help in the war, and request for an embassy on the Citadel. No mention of similar requests from the Geth, or their apparent reconciliation with the Quarian Flotilla. Nothing of substance. Holy shit! I'm done!
It became too much, she spied a park bench and walked toward it. Sitting down she smoothed her skirt, interlaced her fingers on her lap, and tried to remain composed. Her thoughts raced. Her heart raced. She replayed the meeting in her mind:
"We owe you a debt," the Salarian representative had said, "one that, I'm afraid, we can probably never properly repay."
Shepard had stood in her 'dress blues', motionless at 'parade-rest', and took in the scene. Emotions swirled within her. Anger: Fucking right you do, and not just me! Sadness: How many people would still be alive if you'd acted sooner? Apathy: It doesn't matter. Nothing matters. This last emotion surprised her the most. The past several years, not counting the two years she was 'dead', everything mattered. The whole damn universe, they were depending on her! Now? Why the sudden change? She was shaken from her reverie.
"Captain," said the Asari representative, "we were wrong. This is a fact we cannot deny, and can only hope history doesn't take too dim a view of us for our shortsightedness." The Turian representative's mouthparts twitched slightly. Garrus had once mentioned this was a gesture of embarrassment. "We will never know how things might have unfolded differently if you had only had the support you deserved. At this point, we can only offer you, and the entire galaxy, our profound apologies." That's an understatement, thought Shepard.
"Our respective races have recalled us as no longer fit to sit upon this prestigious council," the Turian representative hung his head slightly. "However, before we depart, we wish to offer you what is truly a tiny token of the thanks we owe you."
"It is our honor," spoke the Asari representative, "to bestow upon you our races' highest military awards; the Nova Cluster of the Turian Hierarchy, and the Silver Dagger of the Salarian Union. This is only the second time these awards have been granted to a human. The first, of course, was your Lieutenant Alenko following his actions on Vermire." A feeling of loss jabbed through Shepard's gut. She remembered her last radio transmission to the Lieutenant, fight hard, die well. She remembered the white flash of the twenty kiloton improvised explosive device detonating. She remembered the Wilson cloud expanding rapidly in the humid swamp air, quickly replaced by the all too familiar fireball and mushroom cloud. We held the line. She returned to the present.
"As for the Alliance," Councilor Anderson piped up having taken his place on the dais, "you're being promoted to admiral, and you've been awarded the Star of Terra," he paused, "again." Anderson had a smirk on his face. "At least until or unless we can come up with something better." Thank you old friend, thought Admiral Shepard. "And is there anything else we can do for you?" asked Anderson. His smile widened.
"I'll make a list." Anderson chuckled in response. "And I'm retiring," said Shepard.