Surrender
- December, 2185
Messalina stood in rigid attention in her dress Alliance naval blue dress uniform, adorned with N7 insignia and Commander's stripes in front of the docking platform entrance on Ilium; as she had been trained, arms rested at her sides, the line from her shoulder to middle finger extending along the crease of her trousers and hems of her coat. A platoon of Alliance marines had been dispatched early and had side arms drawn and ready, pointing at her. The senior Marine, a Lieutenant Commander Karrato had proceeded to deploy her men in fashion of acquiring a rogue vessel, passing Shepard and overriding the hatch, then thoroughly inspecting the ship from top to bottom for remnant insurgents. Meanwhile, a squad of soldiers maintained a firing perimeter around Shepard.
Lieutenant Commander Karrato, either instructed to do so or chose to, never offered Messalina an exchange of words, other than simply ordering her to keep her hands behind the back of her head and kneel. However, Messalina maintained posture, and Karrato did not pursue the issue.
When the group sent into the Normandy had exited, Karrato radioed in, informing her superiors that the Normandy had been disabled of hostilities and it was safe to acquisition the pirate. Messalina kept her eyes forward and immobile throughout. She would not raise an incident, but she will maintain her actions just.
The senior officer who appeared was, judging from his lack of insignia, was from Alliance HQ. He sported plainclothes and no other marking of rank or affiliation, which he offered casually when he appeared before her.
"Captain Mittenmeier, Alliance Intelligence," he smiled casually.
Messalina offered a salute, which he ignored as he continued. "You need not salute me, Miss Shepard. Alliance HQ does not recognize your status as an officer. You didn't need to acquire this elaborate dress."
Messalina held her salute, rigidly.
"We have received reports of your alleged return, after you were reported KIA. Your body and associated person will be subject to suspicion before determining whether or not you are whom you claim to be."
Messalina persisted with her salute, which Mittenmeier found amusing. "Naturally, the nature of this arrest is thus that you are a member of Cerberus, with crimes against the Systems Alliance. You are under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do may be used against you in a court of law."
His words were slow and drawling as he began to slowly circle her with patient footsteps. "Understand, Miss Shepard, since the extremely unnatural circumstances concerning your presence, you are subject to enter as a suspected clone. Also considering the nature of our allegations against you, article seven of the Infiltration and counter infiltration field doctrine dictates that we hold you under thorough processing to determine your nature until you are allowed 'human rights'." He stepped forward. "Do you understand me, Miss Shepard?"
Messalina refused to acknowledge him.
"I asked you a question, Cerberus."
Messalina counted the armed men surrounding her. Eight small weapons. Her mind reflexively ran the scenario in her head: chop Mittenmeier in the larynx, take his side arm, shoot Karrato through her visor, roll, cloak, slit the neck of the one on the right, blade through the one on the left, cloak, acquire another pistol, and a couple of standard shots landing through the rest, three minutes. Instead, she waited.
"Karrato, commandeer the ship. Vega, escort Miss Cerberus here to the brig."
Vega was a mountain of a man. His armor could barely hold his bulging arms, which seemed to be as thick as her thighs. He stepped forward and gently tugged at her arms, which she stubbornly maintained in salute, even after Mittenmeier had left.
"C'mon, Commander." The man begged. "I don't like this, either. I promise this will all get sorted out, okay? Trust me on this."
Karrato's men had already disappeared into the Normandy, quickly firing up its engines. Messalina lowered her arms and slowly walked over to the railing, as the magnetic clamps began releasing from the ship's hull. Some of the remaining marines objected, aiming at her in alert, but Vega shooed them off as he carefully walked over to stand behind her.
Messalina leaned on the railings as the Normandy slowly pulled back, rotating slowly. The pilot seemed to be in a hurry, and without the assistance from EDI, who had hidden herself in a virtual shell program, the Normandy hiccupped once or twice, barely missing scraping the dock supports before slowly sailing towards the clouded skies of Ilium.
Vega remained patiently for Messalina to finally turn back to the troupe of marines.
"Thanks, Commander."
"I thought you were supposed to consider me an imposter, Vega." Messalina quipped dryly, as he manacled Shepard.
"Yeah, and I'm also supposed to not speak with you either, but Hell if I'm going to pass off a chance to get to know Commander Shepard!"
Vega grinned widely, displaying a row of white even teeth, eagerness leaping out of his eyes.
"Sorry about these," Vega apologized as he tested the cuffs. "heh, as if this would stop you in anyway. Just a formality."
"Vega," one of the other Marines called out in warning.
"What, Debulco?" Vega shot the other marine a sharp menacing glance, which immediately silenced the others. Shepard wasn't sure if those marines were now keeping a safe distance from them because of her or Vega.
"What unit are you from, Vega?" Shepard conversed as they made their way through the docks of Ilium.
"I'm actually not a part of these skinny little bastards." Vega jerked his thumb back, indicating the cadre of Marines. "They're a wet-works crew from Alliance intelligence. I'm from Delta squad."
"Think you can take me?" Messalina sized James up.
"Heh, you're joking." James flexed his muscles. It looked like he had babies packed under his arms. Shepard was small, definitely dwarfed by Vega, she was also skinny and wiry, and to someone who would glance at the pair walking side by side, one would think that Vega would probably be able to throw her with one hand. But, even as James chuckled, he caught the glint in her eye, the slow roving as her gaze swept up and down on him, as if cataloging his weaknesses. It was a predatory look, one he recognized from the wolves in the zoo back in San Diego. Even behind caged bars they seemed to stalk you, testing the bars once in a while, almost ignorant of the fact that they were the prisoners. "Right?" he added meekly.
Her gaze softened as she looked out across the horizon. "Yeah, just pulling your leg."
The shuttle that awaited them was a modified UT-47 Kodiak shuttle. The way it seemed to slightly dip below dock level showed Shepard that extra plating had been added at the last minute without compensation to the engines. A couple of atmospheric gunships and a squadron of patrol craft also told Shepard that they came prepared.
"Where we headed, Vega?"
"Call me James, Commander Shepard." Vega didn't seem to do much escorting, as he was now casually strolling along ahead of Shepard, minding his own pace. Despite his familiarity, he also seemed to have a bit of an attention problem, or was he just teasing her.
"And where are we headed, James?"
James spun around, like an eager boyfriend, or more like an excited child. "SSV Everest."
Messalina spent the next couple of hours lying on a cot, listening to James Vega talk about cooking. He seemed to carry almost no weight or concern of the world anywhere, carefree to the extent that Messalina began to see that he was actually trying to hide something. But she was too tired and stressed out to pry into his mind. The ordeal of handing over the Normandy caused stress far beyond what she had prepared herself for; listening to James talk about inane subjects put her mind off things.
He seemed extremely excited to see her. She had dated men once or twice when she was young. They would try to come on to her like this: eager, jittery, babbling, excited. In turn she had found them uninteresting and soon bored of meeting people. But James was young and impressionable, with a slight color of slyness from what seemed to be his rough-and-tumble days in the back alleys of Earth. Obviously, James was one of the newer generation of officers, growing up now in her shadow. It was jarring to think that there were a whole fleet of impressionable young men and women like James who had joined the military wanting to emulate her.
Just then the corridor bustled with activity. James got up to look outside, he hadn't even bothered to lock her cell, but had kept her manacles on per regulations. James, however, disappeared into the corridor and only returned following the heels of two very familiar faces.
Fleet Admiral Hayes of the second fleet, and Admiral Anderson, diplomatic attaché to the Citadel entered followed by James Vega. A small troupe of soldiers lined outside with armed weapons.
Her two former bosses looked down at her, Emily Hayes scrutinizing her while David Anderson seemed to wait for her approval. Emily Hayes's hair had grown completely white since she had last seen the old pirate queen. She seemed to have hugged her proverbial title of "Grand Mama of the Second" literally. She squatted down and peered closely at Messalina, who had found it difficult to suddenly sit up straight due to her manacles.
Messalina grinned back at Hayes, slightly embarrassed at her predicament. Emily's eyes roved over her for a few more seconds, before she got up and sat down on an empty chair. David Anderson, relieved of Hayes's approval, followed suit.
"Release those manacles, soldier. She looks ridiculous." Hayes barked at James. James hurried over and unfastened the omni construct and stepped back. Anderson ordered the soldiers to leave them alone.
"What have you to say for yourself, young lady?" Emily Hayes glared at her.
"Uhm…" Messalina stalled, "sorry?"
"You turn up alive and kicking and I have to get second hand word from Steven Hackett, the smug old bastard. He seems to think that he owns you; told me the other day that I already had a Shepard under my command, so it was fair that he had the daughter. Is that what you think?"
"Either way's good enough for me, as long as I can get back my ship." Messalina shrugged, sitting back.
Emily Hayes glared at Anderson, which made even the hardened ex-spec-ops warrior jump.
"A little bit of you rubbed off on her as well, I see." Hayes accused Anderson.
"Shepard's always been very frank in her assessments." Anderson evaded the question.
Emily Hayes harrumphed, crossed her arms. "As far as I know all both Steven and David, here, are also subject to some inquiry when we reach Earth. Not as severe as your own, Mess, but nevertheless….. Steven's been scurrying about like an old mad prophet, wailing about some impending doom to the Alliance high council. David's been a bit less tactful, running afoul of the Citadel Council, itself, trying to convince them that ancient sentient robots are going to destroy us. Anything you want to say about that?"
Messalina sat up straight and stared at Emily Hayes intently. "It's true, ma'am. The Reapers are coming."
Emily Hayes held her stare for a heartbeat or two. Finally, breaking down into a concerned frown.
"I was afraid of that." Emily confessed. "I had hoped that Steven and David were just being crazy. I don't know, I had thought that maybe the two of them, being such megalomaniacs, had just veered a promising impressionable officer off into engineering some anti-Batarian war for them."
Hayes got up, pacing about the room, eyes closed as she tried to recall what the reports from Anderson and Hackett, and more importantly the wild and unbelievable tales from Shepard's own classified eyes-only had read. A couple of minutes passed by in silence, as Hayes tried to process it. Failing, she warily stumbled into her seat.
"I don't mind a tribunal, Admiral." Messalina spoke calmly. "Hackett warned me that I'd probably have to return to Earth. I surrendered the Normandy because I couldn't fight My War alone with Cerberus resources. I need the entire Galaxy at my back for me to charge up the hill."
Messalina stood up, which alarmed James. But even with the lightest push Messalina kept the hulking man in his seat. James, first alarmed at Shepard walking casually around the cell, with two of the highest ranking officers he had seen up close calmly ignoring the situation, was now alarmed that despite all his might, Shepard was forcing him down, so casually, as if she were pressing down on a soft pillow.
Messalina continued, "I don't care what the Alliance Brass thinks whether or not I performed crimes against humanity, or dishonored the code. Even though I have never besmirched the uniform, that is secondary to the threat we face. The threat that is coming will wipe out every civilization in the Galaxy. I have seen the face of the devil, and it not something we can reason with. It is older than eons, and through practice, it has become very efficient in purging the Galaxy. Even if we rally everyone everywhere, we will probably lose, as countless other civilizations have crumbled before us. We must rally everyone with a singular focus to destroy or be destroyed. Frankly, admirals, this trial which I try to uphold with honor, is a blasphemy to the countless other civilizations that have perished before us. I have tried to warn everyone. I have delayed their coming, not once, but twice now. And still no one listens. But, if this trial is what it takes for me to do that, then I'm willing to go through whatever I must."
By now, Messalina's grip on his shoulder was so hard that James was profusely sweating. But it wasn't her grip or hidden physical strength that put James out of his breath. As her words echoed through the brig, both admirals, each a great officer in their own right, seemed to shrink before her. To him, Shepard, his hero whom he had first found disappointingly smaller than he had expected, suddenly seemed to grow enormous, terrifying. The glint in her eyes shone through her tired lines and dark circles, alive and consuming.
Messalina suddenly removed her hand. James stumbled forward, breathing heavily.
Emily Hayes stared at the woman whom she once held in her arms as a small baby. Four years away from her had changed Messalina. She had seen the girl as a baby in her grandfather's arms, as a girl running around the war ship under her command, as a sullen teenager stalking the empty space station corridors, and as a young officer, bright and promising. It seemed like only yesterday, when she had warned the young woman of the towering charisma of David Anderson. And now, David Anderson sat with her, looking tired, with a wry smile on his face only befitting an old man surrendering his legacy to the giant before them.
Emily felt slightly cheated. In four years Steven Hackett, the sly fox, had turned her promising pupil into a legend. Where had the stars asked Messalina to go during all that time? What had she seen to have changed her from a socially inept army brat to a blinding tower of will? Was she still the same Messalina she had greeted when entering the cell? That had been the old Messalina, granted with some new found spunk that she had never seen before.
She wasn't a clone, Emily determined. Clones were always a fickle bunch. Insecure of their identities. The full-grown clones were the most unstable, waking up to a body they had no experience in growing up in. Even clones reared from youth were a suspicious bunch at best. Messalina before her was no clone.
Mind control often betrayed signs of unnatural personality traits, characteristics that would conflict with each other. Despite being exceptionally driven, she still seemed like an extension of her old self.
"Anderson?" Hayes smothered her pride and deferred judgment to Messalina's most recent CO.
"I haven't had the pleasure to know the Commander as long as you have, Admiral. But I believe every word she says. I've come to trust her with my life. We may outrank her, Admiral, but she is our Leader. And if we want to survive, we had best start following her orders."