42 – Armageddon

Gorman tried, and failed, to take a deep breath without getting choked up.

In a roundabout way, he was finally feeling alive, truly alive in the sense that he was real, things around him were real, the situation he found himself in was real. Before, he had no obligations, nothing holding him down in this time. Now, his actions had consequences, and to at last be confronted with them was equally relieving and distressing. For if he was real, everything he'd experienced was also real – advanced technology, friendly and hostile aliens, a new family tree, and most importantly, the threat of everything real being wiped out by a mechanical foe that defied scale. The clock was still ticking, and he had done nothing to stop it. He didn't even know how.

His head slipped back into his hands.

"You were right, Cassandra. I'm a fraud. I can't handle this."

Instead of replying with some more platitudes, the Admiral went back to the computer. She pulled up, intriguingly, a compilation of videos for the two of them to watch…so that others could do the talking.

"Commander Gorman? Yeah, the man might seem like he's got a few screws loose, but he can't help it. What would you be like if you were suddenly dropped two hundred years in the future?"

Kevin glanced up to see a recorded session that took place in a very familiar location. Not this interrogation room, but the crew quarters of the Shackleton. On one side of the discussion was the man who'd just spoken, Kabiru Kalu. On the other side was the one and only Don Bodewell. This was a recent episode of the Phenomenon.

"Something like that should destroy your brain," Kalu continued, "It should make you cry and scream until you accept reality. Not Gorman. He took 2183 by the scruff of the neck and made it beg for mercy. He knows what he's doing. Saved my life more than once. We've had to go all over the galaxy…but he's never lost sight of the homeworld."

Without giving the Commander a second to react, the Admiral tapped a key on her keyboard and the feed switched to a different interview. This time, a young biotic was in the hotseat.

"When Eden Prime was under attack, the Alliance fleet didn't show up in time – but Gorman did," Zaz remarked, her arms folded in presumed defiance of her hairy interviewer, "So, yeah, I jumped at the opportunity to get revenge and use my abilities. Speaking of, Gorman has this unnatural ability of getting us into as much danger as possible…but he somehow gets the job done every time. It was dumb luck that we got into some of those fights, but there was nothing lucky about how he won each and every one of them."

Another keystroke changed the episode again, this time featuring a quarian who was incapable of sitting still.

"Keelah, that's exactly what I've been thinking!" Sally threw up her arms in exclamation, "Captain Gorman is a hero! He saved all those asari, all those humans, all those salarians…he must get tired of saving everyone all the time! And yet he still has time for jokes, for checking in on all of us, for making me feel safe on my Pilgrimage. I don't care if he's not actually an Alliance captain, he should be an example for all humans."

"Your Pilgrimage…" questioned Bodewell, "…Has Commander Gorman helped you to find a suitable gift?"

"He's trying," Sally replied, "And that's more than anyone else ever did for me. He has bigger things to think about, anyway, like saving the galaxy."

The Admiral switched the feed yet again. It was hard to see the next interviewee within a cloud of cigarette smoke.

"I like to think that we make a good team," Blanc paused for another puff, "But let's not kid ourselves. Gorman is two hundred years behind the curve, and yet he's been making a mockery out of our so-called modern technology with every bullet from his antique rifle and every Alliance combat rule he breaks. Frankly, he scares me…if he one day decides to equip himself with something halfway decent, he'd be unstoppable."

"You've known Gorman longer than any of us," Bodewell took a moment to find the right wording, "Do you think he's changed since you first met him on that batarian ship?"

"No, and honestly, I'm a little worried about him," Blanc conceded, "One of these days, he's going to have to face the music. Everyone he knew, everything he knew is gone. No man is ready for something like that. No man can move on from that." He took a drag of his cigarette. "But if I've learned anything about Gorman, he'll find a way to make it work for him. If he's going to fall apart, it'll be on his own terms…and he'll make anyone even remotely responsible pay. Don't tell him I said that, though. He's still angry that I left him floating in space during the Siren battle."

With a decisive last tap on the keyboard, the video switched to what Gorman was now expecting to be another excerpt from the Phenomenon. However, it instead displayed the very same interrogation room he was sitting in. The Staff Sergeant and the Specialist were on one side of the table. On the other was an asari.

"What is your relationship to Kevin W. Gorman?" Sargent enquired as Spector jotted notes on the computer.

"I'd like to think we're friends," T'Lore responded, "Maybe 'confidants' is the better word."

"So you would say you understand Mr. Gorman?"

"As far as I possibly could."

"Tell us, then; what are your impressions of Mr. Gorman as a person?"

"He's impulsive, driven, a natural leader. He enjoys defying the odds. Demands, and deserves, the loyalty of his team. " T'Lore brushed her scalp back. "He's also under tremendous pressure. More than any of us can imagine. The fact that he's accomplished so much with such a burden on him is remarkable."

"How do you think Mr. Gorman handles this 'pressure' you're speaking of?"

"I ask myself the same thing," the asari admitted, "But I know, I just know, deep down, that he's strong enough to break through to the other side, defy the odds again. We need him to overcome it. I need him to overcome it."

The monitor flickered off.

Commander Gorman, after all his weal and woe, heard exactly what he needed to hear. He felt slowly yet surely reinvigorated, the cumulative pep talk working just as the Admiral intended. He also felt a barely perceptible tremor underfoot – likely a shudder at hearing just how much the crew actually respected him after all the trials he put them through. No sign of Petronis, interestingly. Either she never appeared on the Phenomenon…or the Alliance failed to take the turian in.

"Hard to argue with all that," Rear Admiral Gorman leaned back in her seat. "I have a feeling I'm going to file an appeal on the charges against you and your crew."

"Even if we weren't related?" the Commander replied.

"Let's ignore the DNA test, say we're not related…for now," she plotted, "Looks better on paper. Contrary to what you might hear, nepotism's not a problem the Alliance has a high tolerance for. Can you believe that Jason Chen thought I was your mother? Some nerve…"

That could explain why Captain Chen was so lenient with the Shackleton inspection after Eden Prime, what felt like an eternity ago.

"So, back to my cell?" he guessed what the very next step was. As a former cop he couldn't help but appreciate that for once, things were getting done the proper way. No workarounds, no secret docking codes, no prison breaks necessary.

"It is what it is," Cassandra rose from her chair, "Won't be for too long, I promise. You should take it easy, anyway. Between the beacon, your time out in the galactic backroads and now this, you deserve a rest."

Then, there was another rumble – slightly more intense this time, enough that it couldn't trick Gorman into thinking it was just in his head. The other Gorman noticed it this time too, it made her shift her footing.

"Hardly an earthquake…" the seated Gorman tried to laugh it off.

"On second thought, stay here," the Admiral ordered. She donned both her kepi and regular sternness, and marched right out the door.

This left Kevin Gorman truly alone again. He was physically tired and mentally obliterated, his worldview having been upended, destroyed, rebuilt and upended again so many times that it was almost comical. So, strangely enough, right now he was feeling…fine. Things were out of his direct control for once, and he was content not to push back against fate. He deserved a rest, just as the Admiral said. He sat there patiently, blissfully knowing that the right people were taking charge. After all, the last time he took matters into his own hands he only emerged with an unrelenting sadness. All he could do now was wait, and surely things would go his way.

It lasted about a minute, maybe two.

Another rumble – the loudest and most intense yet. Something was definitely wrong.

The lost generations, the loyal comrades in arms, allies new and old, he could hear them all. Once as individuals, then as one resounding chorus, they chanted the call of duty – the call to command…

Time for action!

"Alright, party's over," he muttered to himself, rising from the chair and stretching his legs. He flipped around the case on the table and opened it up, pulling out a bulletproof vest with his name on it.

The vest hung over his shoulders and clicked around his waist, the cards and cash folded into the wallet, the wallet folded into the vest, the sunglasses shoved in a pocket alongside magazines of nine-millimeter ammunition. With a gunslinger spin, the P99 slotted into its holster.

The words of his two worlds penetrated, reverberated and settled into his mind, every soul that he knew sharpening his resolve like a sword against a grindstone. He would not let them down. The Commander was back.

Noises were coming from outside the door. Lots of bootsteps, lots of murmurs, lots of entrances and exits opening and closing…but the one now in front of Gorman would not budge. He was certainly not going to let a door stop him. After an attempt to push a button resulted in a red light and a buzzer sound, he took a few steps back. Armed with his Doc Martens, the door folded under the pressure of a textbook SWAT door kick. He was then able to pry it open and tread unto the breach.

It did little to deter the jogging in all directions from C-SEC's distracted employees. Men and women and others of all species were darting back and forth with a sudden and unexpected urgency. He picked out one out from the crowd, a familiar face in an Alliance uniform that may have the answer to his most pressing question.

"G-Gorman?" Spector stammered, now with his arm caught by the man he was thoroughly interrogating not long ago. He looked anxious, and not just by the sight of the door bent out of shape. "W-What are you -"

"What's going on?" Gorman's brow lowered and the grip on the Specialist's arm tightened.

"I-I don't know, man. The A-Admiral said to contact the H-Human Embassy. I-Immediately, she said."

"The Admiral, where is she?"

"T-That way," Spector's free arm pointed down the longer hall, coincidentally where most of the traffic seemed to be headed.

Gorman released the man, gave him a nod, and picked up the pace.

He followed the blue wave of Citadel cops and Alliance berets to something resembling a command center. Screens in their multitudes glowed, showcasing intricate layouts of structures upon structures. Two flashes of red were emanating from one section, and in the time it took Gorman to blink and take it all in, it turned to three…then ten. Half of the officers in the room were yammering away into their earpieces, the other half weaving back and forth between the archways in and out. He had to be careful not to get stampeded by a duo of elcor, clad in enough armor to be mistaken for something Hannibal might use.

Out of the corner of his eye, an Alliance kepi bobbed up and down towards the other arch at the far end of the theater. He was going to have to dodge his way across, and was about halfway when some turian shouted loudly close to his ear.

"Kanihae! I need those visuals! Where's my uplink?"

"Visuals from the cruiser are coming online…now!" a skittish salarian responded. They rose their omni-tool towards the largest monitor, which took up most of the back wall.

The center quietened down and its occupants slowed down as the image cleared up. It was a camera feed mounted to what appeared to be the bow of a large warship. The purples of the surrounding nebula were clear, as were the enveloping petals of the station's Wards. Somewhere beyond, however, was a dark splotch. Several flashes could be seen in and around it, but from the cruiser's distance it was impossible to tell what it was.

"Do we have anything closer?" barked the apparent turian in charge.

"Can't connect, can't connect…" the salarian frantically tried every option they could, "…Frigate Ticinus, online…now!"

When the second feed showed up, it initially looked like more of the same. Purple hues, dark spots, intermittent flashes. Then it started to clear.

There was a monstrously large ship, bigger than any in its vicinity, slowing hovering towards the camera. An arrowhead body, mechanical tusks, ominous glows and an otherworldly feeling. On its flanks were an escorting force of geth ships, their hornet-like frames pointed right in the Citadel's direction. In an instant, the room fell silent. An overwhelming sense of dread started to seep in. The ships facing against the beasts fired a salvo – lightning-fast bolts that were swallowed by the dark. In response, the geth fleets fired back. A hailstorm of projectiles filled up the screen, even as the frigate veered to port to try and evade them. A similar ship ahead of Ticinus was eviscerated. Gasps filled the hall. Most of the geth shots flew right by the camera…and a few seconds later, the footage suddenly got a lot more real – a strong rumbling underfoot almost swept some C-SEC officers off their feet.

Gorman stood tall in the face of what he alone recognized. Not just a reaper, but the reaper. Sovereign.

When it rains, it pours. Everything the Commander had ever feared was coming to pass.

He knew this day would come from the moment he first encountered the beacon's warning. He knew the day was always near, and always getting nearer, but the stubborn part of him foolishly believed that it wouldn't actually happen so soon. He was underprepared…but he did not buckle. He did not fall to his knees in pitiful surrender. His overworked mind had already made its decision. Time for action.

The frigate took a round right in the bow, and the feed cut to static.

The volume of the room cranked right back to where it was before, but with even more pandemonium. Gorman resumed his search, seeing that same navy kepi rushing out of the arch at the far end.

This next chamber was comparatively quieter – people were shouting instead of screaming. It offered not so much a digital view of the station but a glimpse of the 'outside' through a pane of glass that covered half of the room. The Presidium, on first glance, was something that could only be seen to be believed; the inner ring of the station unsurprisingly curved up and away from the horizon. Levels upon levels of clean white facilities and grassy glades were divided by avenues for skycars and a stream of water at ground level. Prothean architecture at its most pristine. If Feros looked like Boston City Hall, this place looked like the Public Garden.

From this vantage point, the perfect nature was starting to falter. The flashing of emergency services was common on the skyway. Smoke was rising just where his vision met the bend of the ring. If there was a puncture in the circle, that could spell disaster.

The Admiral noticed him first, turning around with widening eyes and a hand descending from her ear. There was a tired-looking man in a similar dress uniform standing beside her. Gorman remembered his mustachioed face – one of Mikhailovich's drinking buddies from all the way back on Polaris Station.

"Kevin – I mean, Gorman?" the Admiral spluttered.

"You! You're not supposed to be here," her associate spat, turning to the Admiral, "I thought you locked the door?"

"Is this it, Gorman?" Cassandra asked bluntly, pointing behind him. He swerved around to see, above a wall of duty rosters and C-SEC records, another large monitor. This one was a news broadcast, showing a hundred different angles of an incomprehensibly large vessel on direct approach for the station. He snapped back around to face the officers. "Is this what you saw and what Shepard saw?" she continued, "From the beacons?"

"It's a reaper," Gorman gave an equally blunt response. "A sentient machine. Its kind wiped out the protheans. Looks like we're next."

"What the hell are you talking about?" the other officer was understandably indignant, "No, no, that can't be it." He glanced to the Admiral. "You warned me, you told me, this guy's insane. Whatever it is, the Citadel Fleet is more than capable of -"

Another rumbling underfoot. All eyes drifted out the window, where a fireball sprayed out in every direction from the inner layer of the ring, not too far away. A few seconds passed, and the sound was heard – the roar of the distant explosion. Everyone in the room jumped in momentary shock…except for Gorman.

"What defenses do we have?" he asked.

"For the whole station?" the Admiral likely never had to cover an event like this in her training manuals. She took a deep breath and tried to gather the facts. "They'll close the arms, for a start," she referred to the station's petals, "The Citadel Fleet, as we saw, is already mobilizing. My Reserve Squadron is busy getting spaceborne. I've been trying to contact the Fifth Fleet…but comms are completely overloaded right now."

"You think the Fifth Fleet can handle…that?" the other officer scoffed, his disbelief turning to anger. His pointing finger swung from the news footage to the man in the turtleneck. "If you know so much about them, smart guy, then tell us – what can we do? What the hell can we do?"

Gorman didn't have a quick answer. His instincts told him that there was something he was missing. Shepard was still out there, until proven otherwise. He really wanted to believe that a reaper appearing here and now didn't mean that the Spectre failed to make it to the Conduit in time. As long as there were those kinds of unknowns, there had to be a fighting chance buried somewhere in this impending disaster. But what good are three Alliance officers, two of them genuine, against something that once exterminated a galaxy-spanning species? The answer, after all, was simple. They had to do anything they could, no matter how insignificant it seemed.

He considered the fundamentals of an attack like this. The reaper and its allies were starting their campaign by heading straight for the galactic capital – the telltale sign of a decapitation strike. Take out the leadership, leave the rest scrambling to respond without them. Divide and conquer. He already had experience planning one such maneuver on Earth, but that was a long, long time ago.

"Where are the Council?" he therefore asked.

"As if they'll save us!" the other officer let out a panicked laugh, "You want to debate that…thing to death?"

"Get a grip, Decker," the Admiral reprimanded, "The Council are likely being evacuated to the Destiny Ascension, the Citadel Fleet's flagship." A ship didn't seem like the safest place to hide, given the Shackleton's last experience, but either way it was good that any kind of contingency plan was in place. "I'm still waiting to hear from the Human Embassy, but I assume that Ambassador Udina's being relocated as well."

Gorman nodded with intent, but before he could pry further, a shout echoed from one room and was repeated across the command center – 'Over there!'

All eyes latched onto the burning wreck of the inner ring's targeted section. One bulbous lilac craft emerged, drifting downwards and ejecting streams of plasma fire downwind. It was followed by several more, a whole swarm of purple ships. The geth had broken through the Citadel Fleet's makeshift blockade – and they were pouring into the Presidium.

"No, no, no! This isn't happening!" Decker was the first to unfreeze, running away from the group. He jostled through a herd of officers with his fingers up to his earpiece and a flurry of words from his mouth.

The visuals on the television screen were enough to stir C-SEC into panic, but this crossed the line. Deafening alarm bells rang out over announcements on loudspeakers.

Amidst it all, a younger officer broke through to reach those left by the window.

"Admiral!" shouted Staff Sergeant Sargent, grabbing both of their attention, "Just got word, the Human Embassy's under attack! Major Ward says they're pinned down by twenty-plus hostiles and counting!" She had to pause to catch her breath, but the bad news didn't end there. "Ambassador Udina couldn't evacuate in time. He's stuck there with them."

"Scheiße!" the Admiral broke formality, "Get Captain Decker back here, Sergeant. Now."

"Aye aye, ma'am!" Sargent saluted and swerved away.

"Human Embassy's our best link to the Fleet, too," the Admiral pointed outside, towards a set of structures along the ring that rose perpendicular to eye level. From below, the red and blue lights of C-SEC skycars rose and flew off in every direction. The headquarters was sending everything they had, even as geth ships continued to lower. "It's a stone's throw from the foot of the Citadel Tower. Two, maybe three kilometers that way."

"What's the quickest way there?" Gorman's next question caused her eyebrow to rise. Before she could acknowledge it at all, the Sergeant and Captain returned and she addressed them first.

"Embassy's under siege, Captain," the Admiral informed him. It was somehow possible for Decker to look even more distressed than before. "What units do we have nearby?"

"The 10th is all the way in Tayseri Ward, the 11th was in the middle of zero-g training, I can't even reach the 12th…" the Captain listed, eventually arriving at the chilling conclusion, "…We've got nothing to spare."

The Admiral turned towards the odd man out, taking in his pure, unfettered determination.

"Not quite," she rebuked, "How soon can you get combat ready, Kevin?"

"I'm all set," Gorman flicked out the P99 and checked for the round in the chamber. The glint of brass shone right back at him. "But I need my team."

"You're putting him in charge?" Decker interrupted, despite how moments prior he was begging the same man for a strategy. "He's…he's not even a real Alliance officer!"

The Admiral reached into her navy jacket's collar and tore off a metal chain with a small pair of metal plates attached. For all the technological advancement in the military, the dog tags she now held could easily have come from two centuries ago. She tossed them up in the air. Gorman caught them.

"Then consider this a battlefield commission…Commander."

So much for being against nepotism, thought Gorman. His next thought was that there was a strong glare coming through the window. He turned his head to see a bolt of blue energy on fast approach.

"Everyone down!" he yelled, and rugby tackled whoever was closest.

The others hit the deck just as the missile hit the building. The window smashed into a thousand pieces, chunks of ceiling collapsed, the holographic screens all around fizzled out. It wasn't a direct impact…but nobody was going to stick around in case the next one was. The Admiral was the first back on her feet, brushing dust and glass off her uniform.

"Your crew's this way, Commander," she said tersely, cocking her head towards the arch out. Gorman let go of a truly bewildered Captain Decker and followed her from of the ruins of the room. Somewhere behind them, a lilac dropship was gliding down with a full platoon of geth troopers in tow.

Deep within the bowels of C-SEC's headquarters, there was a larger holding cell. Inside this cell were two benches facing each other. Three individuals sat idly on either side. The room was silent…but they couldn't ignore what they were hearing from beyond the locked way out. Anxiety was rising.

T'Lore was brushing her scalp back, Sally was nervously wringing her hands, Zaz's lips were pursed and her brow lowered, Kalu was scraping his boots on the floor, Bodewell was scratching his beard…and Blanc was somehow sound asleep. Their silence wasn't always the case, of course. Earlier, some choice words were exchanged between the Shackleton's former crew, blaming each other for following or deserting the Commander. Arguments over the little things – Bodewell's new quasar addiction, Blanc's haggling nightmare trying to repair the ship, Zaz's upset victory in the arena causing Petronis to bail – gradually faded away as the ruckus in the room was matched by the commotion outside it. T'Lore's local perspective was unhelpful. A so-called 'earthquake' on the Citadel was simply impossible…much less several more of increasing intensity.

The door suddenly opened. The pilot woke up.

Commander Gorman stood over his crew again with fire in his eyes.

"Gorman!" half the crew said in unison. "Commander!" said the other half.

"What's going on, Kevin?" Kalu was first to ask.

"We're under attack," the Commander responded, "It's the reaper."

The crew didn't need a second opinion. They were stunned, speechless…except for the asari. In her mind, there was only one possibility. She briefly reverted back to herself on Polaris Station, the moment after she was given the galaxy's horrible truth.

"The day of wrath has come," she announced, "Armageddon."

"Not if I have anything to say about it." This time, Gorman didn't fall into the trap of despair. He held his head high. "I've got a job that needs doing. A mission more important than anything I've ever done." The sheer confidence in his voice, in spite of everything, was startling. The crew looked at each other, then back to him as he shared the call to action. "I can't do it alone."

"Say the word, captain!" Sally bounced up from the bench. One by one, the rest of the crewmates rose. Their fingers itched to get back on their weapons. Hopefully C-SEC's armory wasn't completely empty by now.

The loyalty of the crew, now proven beyond doubt, was enough to give Gorman a hint of a smile again.

"Ready to save some more lives?" he asked them.