Chapter 39 - The Day the Reapers Came
It is a warm day of early June in Vancouver. Shepard sits on a bench in the courtyard, in the shade of maple trees, idly watching Vega pace around her seat. There is absolutely zero wind, and a strange stillness in the air. Even the rush hour noises from the nearby metropolis seem subdued. For some reason the usual chirping of the sparrows is absent, and she looks up in the trees to see that the birds are still there, only silent. Suddenly she feels very cold.
"James?" she asks, forcing the marine to stop marching. "Do you know that saying about someone walking over your grave?"
"Yeah, I've heard people say that. What of it?" he looks at her curiously.
"Have you ever felt that way?" Shepard asks.
"...funny you should say that now, Commander," James remarks, looking a little unsettled.
"You too, eh," she remarks quietly. "Not the most pleasant feeling in the world." Vega nods in reply. "James... can I ask you something?" she asks a while later.
"I knew it was coming sooner or later. I'm single, Commander, but I'd rather keep things professional between us," James grins wickedly at her.
Shepard sighs before smiling. "You're really lucky I kind of like you, kid," she chuckles. "And sorry to burst your bubble, but that wasn't what I was going to ask you."
"Shoot, Commander."
"You've never told me what you think of my warnings about the Reapers," she says.
"You know we're not supposed to discuss that, ma'am," he replies.
"Yeah. But I figure in a few days... none of that will matter," Shepard speaks grimly.
"You think that... aw, shit," James sighs. "Hope they can delay that invasion until Saturday, I've got a hot date lined up for Friday night."
"Ah, good priorities, James," Morgan can't stop herself from laughing.
"To answer your question, Commander. Yeah, I've fought Collectors. You claimed they worked for the Reapers, and I have to say... we saw a lot of tech that pointed towards the Reaper involvement," James tells her. "So yeah. I'm not one of those who think you're crazy, Shepard. Well... I mean, you'd probably have to be a little bit crazy to do some of the things you've done, but you know what I mean."
"I know, James. And thanks for the support. Good to know someone doesn't think you're completely nuts."
"I've got a better word for that, Commander. Loco. You're just a little loco," James grins, before turning serious again. "So... in just a few days, huh?"
"Yeah. I'd love to be wrong, but I don't think we'll be as lucky as that," Morgan admits heavily. I just hope that Liara has had success in her research. Without... something unconventional... there's not much we'll be able to do to stop the invasion. Oh, Liara. At the very least... I hope I get to spend more time with you, before the galaxy around us crashes and burns.
It takes two days for something to finally happen. Vega barges in through the doors of her 'cage' at an unexpected time. "Bit too early for the gym, James," she says, noticing immediately how severe the young marine looks.
"Gotta go, Shepard," he speaks with urgency. "The defense committee awaits."
"The defense of what-now committee?" Shepard shrugs her shoulders, following James out. The two soldiers standing day and night at the doors are no longer there. In fact, the whole building is swarming like an anthill. Then she sees a familiar face, waiting for her at the end of the hallway. "Admiral Anderson," she summons a weak smile. I was right after all. It has started.
There is another old acquaintance standing next to Anderson. "Kaidan," she acknowledges his presence with a curt greeting. Why is he here? He made it perfectly clear what he thought of me back on Horizon. She turns back to Admiral Anderson. "Something is happening, and I think it can only mean one thing," she says. "Tell me I'm wrong."
"We don't have a confirmation yet," Anderson shrugs, but the expression on his face betrays the gravity of the situation. "But... there is something massive on the long range scanners. Important enough for Hackett to mobilize the fleets."
"It can only be the Reapers, and you know it, Anderson," Shepard says. "And throwing our fleets at them is..." she presses a palm against her brow, shaking her head.
"That's why the defense committee wants to talk to you, Shepard. You know more about the Reapers than anyone," Anderson explains. "If anyone can tell them how to prepare, it's you."
"And suddenly, I'm once again useful and important," Morgan exclaims bitterly, waving her arms in disgust. "But I've never successfully repelled a Reaper invasion before, Admiral. They'll be rather disappointed when it turns out I can't offer them much."
"Don't underestimate yourself, Shepard," Anderson shakes his head, disappointed to hear her cynical, bitter words. "I fear the humanity will once again be relying upon you to get us out of this mess. I hope you will answer the call, Commander."
"This is bigger than your wounded pride, Shepard," Alenko joins in, looking upset at her reaction as well. "If not for Admiral Anderson and Admiral Hackett, you would have been tried a long time ago, rotting in a brig by now."
"You would like that, LT, wouldn't you?" Morgan snaps angrily.
"Enough! Save your anger for the Reapers," Anderson admonishes them both. "And Shepard, it's Major Alenko these days. I thought you knew."
"Thought I knew? Are you kidding me? I haven't had any access to the outside world in six months, Anderson. It's a wonder they even told me about your own promotion… Admiral," she sighs, before fixing Kaidan with a frosty glance. "And please accept my congratulations... Major."
"Major Alenko, Lieutenant Vega, wait for us here," Anderson orders. "I will bring Shepard before the committee myself. Come on," he leads Morgan away, but she still manages to overhear the brief conversation between James and Kaidan behind her.
"You knew the Commander?" James asks.
"I thought I did... once, long time ago," Kaidan replies.
Who does he think I am? Traitor to the Alliance, a Cerberus sympathizer? Mass murderer of batarians? Morgan fumes in anger for the rest of the way, but eventually it settles down, giving way to dark, depressive thoughts. Gods, Kaidan, with all that you must have heard about me from other sources... I should not be surprised. My public image probably has not been very flattering... until now, when the Reapers arrive and vindicate my crazy theories. Talk about not feeling satisfaction when proven right.
The courtroom is full with important looking people on the verge of panic, desperately looking upon Shepard as their would-be savior when Anderson brings her before them. She is quickly brought up to speed, forcing to admit that things do not look good. Communications beyond the Sol relay are already down, they are sitting in the dark, only option left to them is waiting to be hit.
More and more reports are coming in as they speak. Luna base goes dark. Five minutes at most and they'll be here, Morgan thinks grimly. It takes even less than that, barely a minute later the UK headquarters has a visual. When it is broadcast to the committee and everyone in the hall, despair filled whispers and faint sobbing somewhere in the corner drifts to Morgan's ears as everyone's stares are drawn towards the insect-like shapes of the Reaper destroyers, beginning to ravage the streets of London.
"How do we stop them?" they ask, hanging on her words for some kind of miraculous solution that she knows she can't provide.
"You don't stop something like the Reapers," she shrugs. "Certainly not with your fleets and your strength of arms alone. Until we know what it will take, the best thing we can do is to survive."
"Then our fleets are... doomed to destruction?" one of the female officers on the committee asks, nervously wringing her hands.
"Admiral Hackett would have never sacrificed them all foolishly in open combat," Shepard shakes her head. "He knows as well as I do that the Reapers cannot be defeated by conventional means. Now our tactic must be to buy ourselves more time."
There are deep rumbling noises suddenly surrounding them and one by one the dark, merciless, alien shapes of Reaper destroyers begin to descend, landing amidst the tall spires and skyscrapers, overshadowing most of the buildings with their height and size. The committee instantly forgets all about her, crowding the large windows to get a better impression of the slaughter taking place out in the streets as the red particle beams tear down one building after another.
"We need to get out of here, Sir," Morgan whispers to Anderson, trying to urge him to move. "We need a ship, something, we can't stay here and throw sticks at them!"
Anderson looks at her, about to reply, but then tackling Morgan and dropping her on the ground instead. A loud crash shakes the entire building as the destroyer beam weapon rips through it, like a scalpel slicing soft tissue. As Shepard dares to raise her head and look around, she sees that the hall is almost completely filled with rubble, the ceiling giving in just above the committee and coming down to bury them all in a pile of debris. I think that just put an end to all the questioning. Not that we could afford any more time wasting, anyway.
"Agreed, let's get out of here, Shepard," Anderson quickly speaks, pulling Morgan back to her feet and dragging her along with him. "Let me try to raise the Normandy..."
Boom. An Alliance frigate lasts about ten seconds after foolishly opening fire on one of the destroyers, failing to make a dent. Boom, boom, boom. The evac shuttles are mercilessly shot out of the air, and Morgan can hear the last agonizing cries of the people who thought they had been so close to escaping.
"We're almost at the Normandy," Kaidan reports over the comms. "Lieutenant Vega is with me, but we are taking heavy fire."
"Shepard, when we get out of here, we'll need to go to the Citadel," Anderson says as they crawl through the remains of another building that has been neatly carved by the Reaper weapons like a birthday cake. "Talk to the Council. They will have to help us!"
"Their worlds will be hit as well, if they already haven't been," Shepard replies. "Knowing that, how can I demand their fleets?"
"What do you propose then?" Anderson asks.
"We need to get in touch with Hackett. If he does not have a plan... then, with all due respect, Sir... we are pretty much fucked," Morgan replies, shrugging her shoulders.
"I know things have been rough, Shepard, but... you need to work on your attitude," Anderson shakes his head, before giving her a stern look. "Did you really expect to be treated any differently for what you did? I suggest you get rid of your anger and bitterness and start focusing on doing the right thing."
"Or what? The Alliance were quick to drop me like a hot potato! I'm under no obligation to help. Remember, I no longer take orders from you, Anderson," she replies, knowing that he is right, but not finding it easy to just let go of all that has happened.
Much to Shepard's surprise, Anderson grabs her roughly by the shoulder and shakes her hard before pressing something small, cold and metallic in her palm. My tags, she realizes, staring down at the object in her hand. "Then consider yourself reinstated, Commander," David Anderson barks at her. "Now cut the bullshit and follow me, Shepard. We still need to reach the Normandy."
"Sir... yes, Sir," she replies weakly, before turning around to follow, feeling like an utter fool. He's right, I need to quickly bury my hurt feelings and all that crap. This is too big to hold grudges.
They emerge from the twisting passages, now running across narrow edges of the building, in at least fifteen story height, trying to find a way to get closer to the harbor where Normandy can pick them up. As they run, there is another loud blast to their right and the building of a local police department is instantly reduced to rubble as a destroyer aims its particle beam at it and then stamps on the remains for good measure.
"Looks like they're hitting all the strategic objects hard," Anderson comments. "I've seen them deliberately avoiding civilian targets on a few occasions."
"That makes plenty sense to me. They want civilians alive for harvesting," Morgan replies.
"That was a very casual statement. Are you really that jaded by now, Commander?" Admiral Anderson sounds slightly disturbed.
"No, it gets to me, David. Oh, how it gets to me," she replies. There are sounds of children crying and calling for their parents all around her. Death rattles and gargling of those mortally wounded. Panicked screams and cries for mercy at the sight of the destroyers. Bloody corpses everywhere she looks. I really wish I was that jaded... but I'm not. I'm not, she sighs inwardly, knowing that no shrink will be able to ever erase these mental images from her much tormented consciousness. "It's just that I've seen it all before. In my visions," she adds a moment later, the images of the Prothean beacon surfacing in her mind.
Anderson glances back at her, rare softness in his eyes, and it conveys more than words. You've been through too much already, child.
Yes, I have, she silently agrees. But the road is not at the end yet, and I don't have a choice but to walk it.
She stands in the darkness of the docking bay, eyes closed, living through the last images before leaving Earth.
Admiral Anderson, standing defiantly on the docks of Vancouver, refusing to climb aboard the Normandy, choosing to remain behind. "These men and women will need someone to lead them," she can still hear his voice in her ears, desperate to argue his decision, feeling like a traitor for abandoning the fight, even if the rational part of her mind claims that her talents will be best used elsewhere.
The evac shuttles, trying to bring those trapped in the harbor to safety. They are shot out of the sky immediately after liftoff, and she can see each and every burning body thrown out of the wreckage, screaming as they die, charred bodies disappearing in the water below. One of those shuttles had children onboard. Children...
The Alliance dreadnaught, engaging a destroyer near the harbor. The pride of the Alliance fleet had lasted almost a full minute, managing to leave a few chinks in the destroyer's armor. In the end, it had been destroyed almost effortlessly, it's only success in distracting the Reapers and allowing Normandy to pick up Shepard and then escape. If the pinnacle of our technological advances is annihilated as easily as this... what hope could we possibly have?
Remains of the Fourth Fleet, stationed around Earth in full alert mode, their eradication utter and absolute, down to the last frigate. They knew what was coming, they claimed to be prepared, but the battle had been shockingly one-sided, as Normandy now picks its path through a graveyard of Alliance ships, trying to reach the Charon relay. How are we supposed to fight something like that? she thinks desperately.
"Commander," she hears a voice, interrupting her musings. It is James. "Your hand," he says.
"What about it?" Morgan asks, then suddenly becoming aware of the sharp pain in her clenched fist, releasing it immediately. Her tags topple to the ground, released, smeared with her blood.