Chapter 17
Refugees of the Dead City

Shepard had expected the figure to say any number of things, but this had not been one of them.
"You know the Intelligence?" he said, eyeing the man with suspicion.
"Only by reputation," Dyer replied, "Umm, perhaps you should close the ramp, it's getting rather cold in here."
"Good point. EDI, close the cargo ramp."
"Yes Commander."

There was a groan of hydraulics and the ramp closed up, shutting out the howl of wind, leaving the cargo bay in silence.
"Alright then," said Shepard, his eyes fixed on Dyer, "Explain yourself. What are you doing here? And how do you know about the Intelligence?"
"Yes, of course," said Dyer, looking slightly flustered, "As I said, my name is William Dyer. I was, well I suppose I still am, part of a scientific expedition on behalf of Miskatonic University. We were exploring this region for fossils, hoping to prove that Antarctica had once been a lush jungle many millions of years ago, when we discovered this city."

"So you're a scientist?" said Garrus.
"Well, a geologist to be precise," Dyer continued, looking rather alarmed at being directly addressed by the alien.
"What year is it?" Shepard asked, still sceptical.
"What year? Oh, 1930, the 12th of September to be precise," Dyer replied, "I take it that it's a different time in your universe?"
"It's the 22nd Century where we are," Tali replied.
"Really? Remarkable! I'm glad to see you have made much great technological progress in that time."

"Let's get back to the main question," Shepard cut in sharply, "How do you know about the Intelligence? My team and I didn't learn about it until a few hours ago."
Dyer's face became much more sober.
"That might be the more unbelievable part of my story I'm afraid. You see, when we were exploring the city, we met some of its inhabitants."

The team members gave each other looks of extreme puzzlement. Flying over the city all they had seen were ruins, it seemed impossible that anyone could be living here.
"Inhabitants?" said Shepard.

"Yes," replied Dyer, sounding much more confident, "I was shocked at first as well. You see, this city was abandoned tens of thousands of years ago, the inhabitants moved to another settlement, one that had been built under the ocean. However, they still visit here every now and again for scientific work. They were being sort out by the Intelligence, who wanted to recruit them to his scheme to take over the multiverse. It managed to contact them, but they refused to join its plan. The Intelligence attacked them, but the inhabitants were able to fight off its assault. After that, they managed to close off this universe to the Intelligence's portals."

"Close this universe?" said Shepard, looking baffled, "That's impossible!"
Dyer smiled.
"You'd think so, but I've learned over the last few weeks that very little is beyond the abilities of the Old Ones?"
"I take it these, 'Old Ones' are the inhabitants of this city?" said the Doctor.
"Indeed my good man," Dyer replied.
"Who are they?" Shepard asked, "Are they humans?"

"No, but they've lived on Earth for many millions of years. They are a fascinating people, truly beyond anything I thought possible."
Though it was quick, Shepard was sure a hint of fear flickered across the professor's face.
"Before I say any more," Dyer went on, "I should say that you are not the first people to have come here to escape the Intelligence."
"No?" said Shepard.

"No. The others arrived about a week ago. They've been hiding in the city ever since."
"Who are they?"
"They are humans, like yourself. I thought at first they had come from the same universe as myself, but the information I've heard since makes me doubt that."
Dyer finished speaking and the cargo bay became quiet once again. Shepard was still digesting what he had just heard. Learning that he was a fictional character had been a shock, but this new story seemed more troubling. If the professor was telling the truth about the 'Old Ones', then they had come to a universe inhabited by beings perhaps even more powerful than the Intelligence. Who were they, where had they come from?

A shudder went through him as another thought floated to the forefront of his mind. A race that was millions of years old, there was only one he knew of that could live for that long.
"Reapers."
"These 'Old Ones'" he said, choosing his words carefully. "Are they machines?"
"Machines?" replied Dyer, "Oh no, they are flesh and blood I assure you."
The knot of worry in Shepard's chest loosened slightly, but did not entirely leave him.
"These other people," he asked, "Could we meet them?"

"Of course," Dyer answered, "We can go right away if you wish."
"Not so fast," said Lestrade who had been watching the professor with suspicion ever since he had walked up the ramp. "How do we know you're not with the Intelligence?"
Dyer looked taken aback by the question but quickly recovered himself.
"I'm sorry Miss, but I don't think I can prove that I'm not with the Intelligence. All I can do is give you my word of honour that I have been honest with you."

Lestrade still watched him with undisguised distrust. Shepard did not blame her. After what had happened in Columbia, trust was a rare commodity, especially when dealing with a professor who came stumbling out of a snowstorm with knowledge of their main enemy.

"Alright then, Professor Dyer," he said after a few minutes. "Say I believe you, what now?"
"Well, I was hoping you would be willing to meet with the others. You see we, they, need help. This universe is a sort of cul-de-sac. While it is impossible for the Intelligence or its allies to travel here, it is also impossible for anyone to leave without being tracked down. They cannot stay here forever of course. None of them have enough proper clothing, and supplies are running low."

Shepard became quiet once again, thinking.
"I know I'm asking a lot," Dyers said, "The others said much the same when I proposed making contact with your ship, but we simply do not have a choice."
Shepard remained silent for a few minutes, thinking.

"I need to speak to my team about this," he said eventually, "In the meantime, perhaps you would like something to eat?"
"Oh, just a hot chocolate would be nice, if that's possible that is."
Shepard turned to Watson.
"Could you go to the mess hall and get a mug of hot chocolate for Professor Dyer?"
"Of course," he replied, heading to the lift and pressing the call button.
"Alright," Shepard said, turning back to his team, "Booker, Elizabeth, stay here with Professor Dyer. The rest of you with me."

He set off to the far side of the cargo bay, the rest of the team following in his wake.
"Okay," he said keeping his voice low, "Do you think this Dyer guy can be trusted?"
"He seems alright," Benton replied.
"A guy comes out of nowhere claiming to have knowledge of our enemy right after we escape him. That sounds too good to be true," Xena said darkly.
"I agree," said Lestrade, "This seems like too much of a coincidence."

"I disagree," Sherlock countered, "Miss EDI said this universe could not be directly accessed by the Intelligence. Besides, surely if it wished to trick us, it could have come up with something more… convincing."
"Unless that's what it wants us to think," said Sarah.
"Garrus, you were a cop," Shepard asked his old friend, "What's your feeling on this Dyer guy?"

"I'm not sure," he replied, "He doesn't strike me as the dishonest type, but skilful liars know how to mislead you in that regard."
"He did come here unarmed," Tali said, "And he didn't try to hide himself from our sensors."
"That could be a ruse," Lestrade replied, "To try and get our guard down."
"Could be, but I doubt it," said the Doctor, "It's far more likely Dyer is caught up in the same mess we are."

"So what should we do?" Amanda asked.
"I propose we meet with these others who have escaped the Intelligence," said Sherlock. "If Dyer is telling the truth, then we will possibly gain new allies. If not, then we've got another fight on our hands."

"Are you crazy Holmes!" exclaimed Lestrade, struggling to keep her voice low. "You want us to walk into that dead city where we can be ambushed from every direction!"
"I don't deny it's a risk Inspector, but the alternative is sitting here until we run out of supplies or power."

"I'm with Sherlock on this one," Benton said, "We can't afford to turn down possible allies, but we need a backup in case things go wrong. What if a few of us went with Dyer while the rest stayed with the Normandy? I'm sure we've got enough firepower here to deal with any threat."

"I think you're right Benton," Shepard said, "Okay, here's the plan. I'll agree to meet these others. Garrus, Tali, Doctor, Benton, Sherlock, Xena, you come with me. The rest of you stay here and guard the ship. I'll leave Booker in command until I return. Amanda, see if you can get Dex's radio set working again, we have to try and contact any Flying Legion personnel who are still out there."

"Are you sure about this?" said Xena, "If you're wrong, then we're likely walking into the jaws of death for the second time in one day."
"We escaped from them once," Gabrielle said, "How hard can it be to do again?"
Xena raised an eyebrow, but her friend just grinned.
With their plan hashed out, Shepard headed back across the cargo bay to where Dyer was sitting on a crate, a mug of steaming sweet-smelling drink clasped in his hands.

"I must say this is wonderful," he remarked, taking a sip from the mug. "Miskatonic was very generous with our supplies, but unfortunately we ran out of coco over a week ago."
"If you like we can give you a few boxes," said Shepard, "I'm sure we can spare them."
"That would be wonderful, but right now we have much more important matters than hot drinks. Have you made a decision? Will you help us?"

"I've decided I and a few members of my team will come and meet these others. If you are telling the truth, then we will do everything we can to help."
Dyer's face broke into a great smile.
"I'm very glad to hear that. We can set out as soon as you're ready."

•

It took some time for the members of Shepard's party to find and put on clothing that would be appropriate for the biting cold of Antarctica. In the end they donned space suits, as they were designed to keep the wearer warm in the unforgiving vacuum of space. The only one who refused was the Doctor, who stated that he had no need of any specialised clothing.
Once he was dressed, Shepard went and explained their plan to Booker, who was somewhat taken aback.

"Are you sure you wanna do this?" he whispered, despite them being out of earshot of Dyer. "If you're wrong then you and the team are likely walking into a trap."
"I know it's a risk," Shepard replied, "But we don't have much of a choice. Besides, with the people you've got here, you should be able to mount a rescue mission, or at least get away with the Normandy."

"I don't like the idea of leaving you behind."
"It might be your only choice."
Booker looked uneasy, but nodded all the same.
Patting him on the shoulder, Shepard headed to the end of the ramp, where Dyers was waiting, along with his team.
"Alright!" he said, raising his voice so he was heard clearly, "Let's move out. EDI, lower the ramp."

"Yes Commander," the AI replied, "I hope your meeting goes well."
There was a whirl of hydraulics and the ramp began to lower, filling the cargo bay with the sound of howling wind.

"Everyone," Shepard said, speaking into his radio to make himself heard, stick with me and Dyers. If you get separated contact EDI and follow her directions back to the ship."
He gestured to Dyers to take the lead and the professor set off down the ramp.
"See you soon!" Booker shouted from the back of the cargo bay.

Shepard gave him a thumbs up and headed down the ramp.
One by one the team filed after him and out onto the field of snow and ice. As they left the protection of the Normandy, each of them felt the deep cold bite into them, even with the protection of the spacesuits. Xena wrapped her arms about herself, as did Benton. The Doctor however, seemed utterly unfazed by the environment and moved through the knee-deep snow as if on a Sunday afternoon walk.

Dyer took the lead, directing the team back along the route he had taken to the Normandy, which they soon realised were the broken remains of a vast staircase. As they climbed, the team members began to look about and take in the ruins that surrounded them. From above, the walls of cyclopean masonry had been imposing enough, but from the ground they were nothing less than formidable. They rose high above the team, curving and twisting into forms that should have been impossible for stone, especially ones so ancient. The windows they could see were dark and empty, betraying no trace of what lay within. All around the wind flowed, whistling through the spires of the dead city.

Xena felt her suspicions deepen. Surely there was no way this place could still have people living in it as Dyer had claimed. How would they eat? What would they even do in this frozen wasteland?
As the team climbed further, a vast tunnel appeared. It had to be at least twenty metres wide and the same in height. Its arched ceiling was made from large slabs of stone, many of which had collapsed, the empty space left in their wake long filled with ice. Though the day was bright, the depths of the tunnel were pitch black, save for a small yellowish glow some distance inside.

"Move slowly and carefully," Dyer warned Shepard, "There's a guard post up ahead. I told them I would most likely be returning with friends, but we must be cautious."
"Cautious, why?" the commander replied, now feeling very unsure about their situation.
"Because they are armed," Dyer replied simply.
A feeling like ice slipped into Shepard's stomach.

"There's no turning back now," he thought. "Let's just hope the kinetic barriers hold up long enough if this does go wrong."
With slow deliberate steps, he entered the tunnel. The snow thinned out after a few metres and the floor became an even surface of dark stone. As he moved deeper into the tunnel, Shepard began to pick out details. The walls were covered in the most elaborate carvings he had ever seen. Despite never having much of an interest in archaeology, he guessed there had to be centuries of history in this place.

"And yet it's all just another creation of fiction," a voice in his head taunted, "Empty and meaningless, just like you."
"Shut it," Shepard thought to himself. There was no way he could slip back into dejection, not when he was facing a critical situation with Tali at his side.
He turned his attention to the yellow light. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he saw a pile of sandbags stacked up in the centre of the tunnel, a tarpaulin strung up above it, providing some protection from the elements. Getting closer, he saw the muzzle of a heavy machine gun pointing toward them from between the sandbags, the silhouettes of two people sitting behind it.

"Hello friends!" Dyers called out, moving with deliberate carefulness despite his light tone.
"Are these the people from the spaceship?" one of the silhouettes said in a heavy accent that sounded like Russian.
"Yes, indeed," Dyer replied, "I assure you they are allies."
"That remains to be seen."

The figure stood up and came forward into the light. It was a woman, tall and thin, wearing a long heavy coat with a scarf wrapped around her head, a bolt action rifle in hand. She regarded them coolly. Shepard and his team came to a halt, hoping the woman didn't have an itchy trigger finger.
"Carry on," she said eventually, "And no funny business."
"Don't worry," Shepard replied, "I'm not planning on it."

Moving carefully, the team passed the woman who continued to regard them with suspicion.
"Are all of them like that?" Garrus whispered.
"Oh I wouldn't worry too much," Dyer replied cheerfully, "They've just had a hard time and the cold aggravates people."
"At least she didn't shoot us," Tali said, perhaps hoping to sound optimistic.
"Yeah," Garrus quipped, "It's so impolite when people do that."

The tunnel carried on, twisting around in a long gentle curve. Large sections of the walls were cracked and broken, while the peak of the roof was covered in icicles. The floor was uneven and covered in pieces of broken stone, meaning that everyone had to walk carefully to avoid tripping over. The air was cold, but not quite as biting as outside. The walls were still covered in carvings, though the darkness made it hard to see much of them.

"Do you know anything about these markings?" Shepard asked Dyers.
"They tell the history of this city," the professor replied, "I made a detailed study of them with a student of mine when we first discovered this city. It really is remarkable."
Shepard was about to ask more when an object appeared ahead of them. It was a large rhomboid shape, made from sheets of metal riveted together. On each side was a sponson, carrying a small artillery gun. As the team approached, a hatch on top of the machine opened and a man popped out.

"Is that you Dyer?" the man called out in a Scottish accent.
"Yes Townsend, it's me," Dyer replied.
"I see you brought friends!"
The man called Townsend waved to the team.
"Welcome to the end of the world friends! Don't worry about Bessie, she doesn't bite!"
"Bessie?" said Xena, eyeing the machine with distrust.
"Aye, Bessie," Townsend answered, patting the roof next to him, causing it to let out a metallic ring.

Curious, the team came forward and passed the machine. Close up they saw it had tracks running around its hull, and two small armoured windows on its front. On its side a name had been painted, BLACK BESS.
"What is it?" said Garrus.
"I think it's a tank," Tali said, "An armoured vehicle developed on Earth in the early 20th Century."

"It is," Shepard said, searching the memories of his history lessons, "I think this one is from the First World War."
"Let me guess," said Garrus, "It's powered by explosive fuel as well."
"Yup."
"You humans sure do like your death traps."

Leaving the tank behind, the team carried on, until the tunnel opened up into an enormous chamber. Shepard looked around in awe. The ceiling was thousands of metres above them, encrusted with ice, while the floor before him was even larger than the surface the Normandy had landed on. On his left was a large rectangular chasm, the remains of bridges reaching out from the walls. On the other were a series of low arches that appeared to run the length of the room. Looking toward the arches, he saw a large number of yellowish lights and beige colours, stark against the grey and white of the dead city. It was an encampment.

"Welcome to our home away from home," said Dyers.
He led the team across the vast floor until they reached the edge of the camp. The archway had been lined with sandbags and a man wearing a greenish tunic under a cloak stood guard.
"Ah, Professor Dyer!" he exclaimed warmly, his accent sounding Italian, "You have returned with friends!"
"Yes indeed," Dyer replied, "Could you let us in? I must speak with Mr. Coupee and Mr. Bishop."
"Of course! Of course!"

The man stepped aside, giving the team a great smile as they passed.
Once they were under the arch, Dyers led them along a narrow path between the tents. They soon saw more men clustered around fires, trying to keep themselves warm. All of them wore military uniforms of green, khaki or grey. There had to be a dozen different nationalities here. Shepard was intrigued. Who were these people, and where were they from in the first place?

Moving deeper into the camp, they saw more of the rhomboid-shaped tanks, almost all of which were being worked on by their crews. They also saw workshops where people were making bullets or repairing weapons, and an open-air kitchen where a large pot was bubbling away.
"You've got an impressive setup here Professor Dyer," Sherlock remarked.
"Oh I cannot take the credit," Dyer replied, "The real heroes are Mr. Coupee and Mr. Bishop. Without them, I doubt half these men would have survived this long."

A pair of wooden huts appeared ahead of the team. They were simple structures, but looked warm and comfortable from the glow of the windows.
"We brought these cabins from our camp," Dyer explained, "They're not much, but they've served us well."

He went ahead to the closest hut and opened the door. Stepping inside, Shepard found the cabin was a single large room, with beds around the walls and a row of tables in the middle. At the tables sat two people. One was a dark-skinned man wearing a khaki tunic and field cap, while the other was white, and looked slightly older, and wore a blue shirt and light brown cape.

"Glad to see you made it back," the dark-skinned man said to Dyer in an American accent, "I was starting to worry about you."
"I wasn't worried," the other man quipped, his accent sounding Australian, "I knew they'd send you back, I just wasn't sure in how many pieces."
"Yes, well, lucky I was right. As I believed, these people are enemies of the Great Intelligence as well."

He waved a hand at the team as they entered the cabin.
"Nice to meet you," said the dark-skinned man, getting up and holding out a hand to Shepard, "I'm Clarence Coupee, 369th Infantry Regiment of the United States Army."
"John Shepard, Systems Alliance Navy," Shepard replied, taking his hand and shaking it.
"Frederick Bishop, Australian and New Zealand Army Corps," said the other man, getting up and shaking Shepard's hand as well.
Why don't you all take a seat?" said Dyer, gesturing to the tables, "I know that you will have much to talk about."

Happy to oblige, the team made their way deeper into the cabin and sat down. Dyers went out, promising to get them some food and hot drinks.
"So," said Coupee once everyone was seated, "What's your story Commander?"
"It's a long one," Shepard replied.
Coupee chuckled.

"Don't worry, there's not much else to do here."
Shepard and the team spent the next hour explaining how they had been plucked from their universes by the Lutece twins to track down the criminal mastermind, James Moriarty. At first, they had believed that he was building a criminal empire across the multiverse. During their last battle however, they learned that Moriarty was just a puppet, and the real master was the Great Intelligence.

"The Intelligence told us it wants to control the universes," Shepard finished, leaving out the part about their own realities being a creation of fiction, fearing it would be too much. "Our guess is that it was using Moriarty and the Cybermen to gather an army, or build a machine that would allow it to access all the realities at once."
"Yah know," Bishop said after a moment, "A few weeks ago, I'd have called you a lunatic."
"I wish I could call you that," said Coupee, "But after everything we've been through, I dunno what's real anymore."

"If you don't mind us asking Mr. Coupee," said Sherlock, "How did you come to be here?"
"I guess our story isn't much different to yours," Coupee replied. "I was on the frontline in France. The Germans had just started a massive offensive and my squad had been ordered to hold them back until reinforcements could be brought up."
He visibly shuddered at the memory.

"We must have killed hundreds of those bastards, but they just kept coming. We managed to hold our ground when our position was hit by an artillery strike. I thought I was a goner, when there was this blue flash and suddenly, I was in this big room, with hundreds of other soldiers. Not just Americans, there were British, Russians, Italians, Austrians, Italians, even Germans. I don't have to say it was a bit tense at first, before that voice spoke to us."
"What voice?" said Shepard.

"I'm not sure, we never saw whoever was speaking, but I'll bet you anything it was the Intelligence," Coupee replied. "The voice said that we should not be afraid, it had plucked us from our reality at the moment just before we died. It said it was here to give us a second chance, a chance to become rich and powerful."
Bishop snorted, as if the mere idea was ridiculous.
"What did the Intelligence want from you?" asked Xena, "I guess it wasn't just giving out money for free?"

"No," Coupee went on, "The Intelligence said we would need to carry out attacks on targets it gave us and take the resources it needed. Most of us were sceptical, but enough were willing to go along with it, at first at least?"
"I guess it wasn't all smooth sailing," said Shepard.

"You got that right," replied Coupee, anger creeping into his tone, "Our first target was an underwater city. We were told to grab any scientific stuff we could and then destroy the place with dynamite. It claimed the city was abandoned, but we'd barely gotten through the portals before we were attacked by these… these things."

Coupee's expression became grave.
"They looked human, but twisted, wrong, and downright insane. We managed to fight them off and retreat back through the portals, but not before we lost some good men."
"I take it the Intelligence wasn't happy about that," said the Doctor.
Bishop laughed.

"You shoulda heard him. He screamed at the lot of us for nearly an hour, saying we were useless idiots. That pissed off anyone who might have thought it was worth fighting for the sod, so we began hatching a plan to escape."
"How'd you manage it?" asked Benton.

"It was remarkably easy," Bishop grinned. "You see, the intelligence had supplied all the officers with these machines that could open and close portals for us to move between different realities. We were meant to return them after the mission, but no one came to check, so we just kept them. Not long after that the men began talking among themselves, saying they wanted out. We ended up deciding we would make our escape during the next mission. The officers would enter different coordinates on their portal machines and we'd scatter to different realities."

"Why didn't you just go home?" asked Tali.
"We wanted to Miss, but we didn't know where to go, and it wasn't like the Intelligence was going to tell us."
"So how did so many of you get here?" asked Shepard, "You couldn't have all ended up in these ruins by chance."

"Aye, you're right," Bishop replied, "We carried out our plan, scattering to different universes, but it seemed everywhere we went, the Intelligence followed. We would have no sooner settled down somewhere when a portal would open and some spaceship would start blastin' away at us. It was only pure luck that the group I was with ran into Coupee here."

"My guys were in the same position," Coupee said, "I got desperate and entered some coordinates on my portal machine at random and found myself on this big field of snow. I guess it was around the same place you guys landed that ship of yours. Luckily for us, there wasn't a storm, and we managed to find shelter in the ruins. It was only pure chance that we bumped into Professor Dyer and his men. After we learned that this universe was safe from the Intelligence, we were able to make contact with some of the other groups and gather them here. It's far from ideal, but we're alive."

"That's quite a story," said Benton.
"Almost as impressive as your own," Bishop replied.
"So, what's your plan?" Shepard asked, "I take it you don't plan to stay here forever."
"No indeed," replied Coupee, "Our plan is to try and return to our home universe. Only problem is we have no idea how to find it. Like I said, the Intelligence gave us portal machines to access different worlds, but it only supplied coordinates for places it wanted to raid and never gave us any maps."

"Basically we're stumbling around blind," Bishop said in resignation.
"We might be able to help," Tali explained, "We have maps of the multiverse and coordinates from the Intelligence."
"You mean… you mean you could get us home?" Bishop replied, sitting up straight for the first time.
"We'll certainly try," Shepard replied.

"That's better than any other offer we've had!" joked Coupee.
Shepard was about to ask some more questions when his radio crackled into life.
"Normandy to Shepard," came Joker's voice, "Normandy to Shepard, do you read?"
"I read you Joker," he replied, "What is it."
"Amanda and Sarah just picked up a message on the interdimensional radio. It's Captain Sullivan, he's alive!"