37 – The Summit
BANG!
With two deafening shots, the cannons fired a barrage. The Lieutenant snapped his head over the cover just in time to see the Prime's torso get ripped apart. The right arm was torn clean off, sending sparks flying.
Bewildered, his attention flipped to just who was emerging from the vehicle's rear door. First an armored human with a head of excessive hair, then another human with a shorter trim and a jungle pattern to her armor, then an asari – what in the world was going on? What were these people doing here? Didn't they know…
Commander Gorman was still in the Bluntnose. He was just being given some unfortunate news – the price of the miracle maneuver they'd just pulled off.
"Engine's given all it could," Kalu stumbled out of the driver's seat, his hands still shaking from gripping the wheel so tightly, "This truck's going nowhere, Commander."
"And the gun?" Gorman winced, noticing the turian finally crouching her way out of the cupola.
"Both barrels overheated," Petronis lamented, grabbing her Phaeston at long last, "Can't say we're defenseless, though."
The Commander huffed, took up the M16 and swung his legs out of the truck's missing doorframe. The rest of the team were already taking up positions to the left and right of the landing – where, strangely enough, a whole platoon of salarians were both shooting geth across the roof and giving his crew surprised glances.
There was one human on the right, staring him down with a grave expression. Gorman ducked his head and carried himself across to that side. Incoming bullets whizzed by overhead, but the salarian response was joined by the weapons of the Shackleton's finest.
The man was raven-haired and tanned, with a square jaw and baffled brown dots for eyes. His familiar Onyx armor was battered but not broken, his Lancer rifle was still steaming, and his accent – at a guess, Canadian – was the very same that spoke to Gorman earlier on the radio.
"You picked a very bad time to show up," he almost laughed – half at the situation, half at what he noticed Gorman had decided to wear and carry.
"Truck's busted. How long do we have?" the Commander got straight to business.
The man sighed with a hint of relief, it seemed he wouldn't need to confess the uncomfortable truth to to an unsuspecting stranger.
"Honestly, I can't tell you. I haven't seen the Normandy take off yet, if that means anything."
Must be the man's ship…but if he had a ship, just what exactly was everyone doing here?
"Your ship's going to leave you behind?" Gorman raised a brow.
"The Commander made a call," the man's face got a lot sterner, "The right one, might I add. We can't take any chances; this base must be destroyed at all costs."
"What? You're not going to disarm the nuke?"
"The nuke was our idea!" the man was clearly straining himself to keep his cool, "Hate to break it to you, but it's going off whether we like it or not. We're just here to hold off the geth while the others get it armed."
Gorman did not feel the need to know why the base needed to be blown up. The soldier's expression said it all – there was the implication of something staggeringly monumental at stake.
This was an awful lot to take in – but the Commander's principles shined through. He had a vow to uphold. He would not lose any allies today.
Not one more.
"I'm sorry," the raven-haired soldier hung his head on Gorman's behalf, "All we can do now is buy as much time as possible."
Another figure bounced into the conversation. A salarian, complete with scaly green skin, big bulbous eyes, pointy antennae and sandy curved armor. It was hard to believe T'Lore's father was a salarian like him – she looked nothing like one. He examined Gorman with a quick up-and-down glance, blinking upwards. He spoke fast and clear.
"I was told you're in charge of this very welcome support," the amphibian addressed Gorman. "Can I say that your arrival to this planet could not have been timed worse."
"So I've learned," Gorman quipped.
"Captain Kirrahe, Third Infiltration Regiment STG," the salarian introduced himself, "I see you've met Lieutenant Alenko."
"Gorman, Commander Gorman," he nodded in response, then declared with determination, "I'm going to get you all out of here before that bomb goes off."
"I would have assumed you came by ship," Kirrahe quickly inferred, "If not for the fact you seem to prefer flying armored personnel carriers."
Gorman raised his chin, donned a confident grin and put two fingers to his ear, setting his radio back to long-range.
"Blanc, we're ready for pickup!" he announced.
Silence.
Alenko and Kirrahe stared him down. The pew-pew of geth gunfire flew overhead, clinking against their metal cover. On the other side of the tower, the familiar boom of the Phaeston's concussive shot could be heard.
However, there was nothing but static coming through Gorman's earpiece. A bead of sweat formed at his brow. The two soldiers hunkering down next to him looked skeptical…but through their doubts he could tell they really, really wanted some good news right now. He had to misuse their trust and keep his own for the pilot.
"My ship's on its way," Gorman kept his composure and lied through his teeth. "Soon," he added to avoid being specific.
"Soon's better than never," Alenko got a touch more jittery. Mere moments ago he was resigned to his fate…but now? "We've just got to keep the geth at bay!" he exclaimed, and to Gorman's surprise, he started to glow a vibrant blue. He rose above the cover, slamming a fist upward in a biotic uppercut. Somewhere down the way, a handful of geth troopers found themselves flung helplessly skyward.
Kirrahe was less ecstatic. He pointed at the Commander's weapon with his own, a sleeker, shiner rifle.
"Magazine ammunition?" he noticed. "The Council didn't send you, 'Commander', did they?"
"I'm old-school, sue me," Gorman defended the M16 once again, "I'm also here voluntarily, if you can believe it. Did they send you?" The salarian tilted his head down and to a side – as close as he could get to a human nod.
Gorman's smirk got a little more genuine. It might well be the result of completely separate events…but he chose to believe that Tara pulled through. The recording from Feros made it to the Council. Even if the Shackleton never came, even if that nuke was seconds from blowing everything here to kingdom come…he felt somewhat satisfied. All of his efforts finally had an impact. His fate was not entirely irrelevant.
"Then we've got more than just a common enemy," Gorman checked his ammunition and loaded a fresh clip – the red-tipped rounds. "Call it a return on investment."
Kirrahe didn't fully understand – how could he – but he saw the Commander loading his rifle with purpose and didn't waste another second interrogating the armed stranger. Both of them rejoined the fray.
"Aeghor, Mannovai, Jaeto!" the salarian called out to his squads, "We need this LZ cleared! Push up!"
The salarians let out a fierce battle cry. Gorman flicked his M16 to fully automatic before hurdling the barricade. The summit of the tower was a bombsite, filled with jagged metal debris and littered with disintegrating geth troopers of all shapes, even the airborne models he hadn't seen since Eden Prime. Despite this, he was able to pick out the actively approaching troopers by following the tracers of more than twenty rifles. He lowered his profile, planted the rifle to his shoulder and pulled the trigger.
In rapid succession the contents of his magazine were dumped into the advancing robots. The M16 was breathing fire like a dragon, sending flares downrange and igniting the conductive fluid spurting from a fallen trooper. With each bullet, he was either tearing down an enemy's shields or adding to the growing inferno on the ground. He stopped firing just before running out of ammo, the barrel of the rifle itself was glowing red and his warranty was long void.
Salarians and his crew were advancing into new positions left and right. He sped off before the geth could come up with something equally devastating, ending up next to Lieutenant Alenko again. The two men only exchanged a look before getting back into action, Alenko waiting for his Lancer to cool off and Gorman slapping some good old regular bullets into his M16.
His heart was beating faster and faster. Still no word from Blanc nor Sally, still no sign of the ship anywhere in the sky, still against a nuclear clock of unknown length. Every second was therefore a gift. How better to spend it than shooting bad guys with friends?
Another boom – another concussive shot spent. Showtime.
His arms rose with the rifle, mind picking out targets, finger pulling the trigger in bursts. He timed his shots with his breathing, focusing deeper on the battle and nothing else. He was in his element, and one by one geth troopers collapsed onto the concrete. A geth's barrier would break from the hailstorm of fire, and he'd latch onto its head like a flashlight-seeking missile. He gave it a burst to be sure, but one shot was all it took to smash the light.
There went another one, and another one. Gorman didn't need to wait until the receiver clicked, he was in the zone and knew exactly when his gun ran dry. With an almost unnatural calmness, he leaned back from danger, dropped out the spent magazine, pulled out a new one from his vest, pushed it into the rifle and slapped the bolt release faster than any Lancer could cool off. Just like that, he was stepping up to the plate again, aiming at the endless wave of foes that were scaling the tower's far wall.
"There!" yelled Alenko, breaking Gorman's intense concentration. "Commander, look!"
Gorman's focus shifted skyward as his eyes followed the Lieutenant's pointing gauntlet. Rising higher and further into the sky over another section of the base was a large ship – and not the Shackleton. As comparisons go, this one was longer, wider, and looked more like a souped-up jet airliner than a transport dinghy. The tiered delta wings and narrow snout reminded him of the Concorde – and sure enough, as it darted into the clouds, it broke the sound barrier like it was nothing.
There ended up being no time to process the full extent of what its departure meant.
"Armature!" yelled a salarian.
One leg at a time, the geth's coup de grâce mounted itself onto the tower's platform, glistening in the flames of the embers underfoot. The platoon didn't need to be told to open fire with everything they had – but every bullet just pinged off of a blue haze. Gorman knew that it took the Bluntnose's smoldering cannons several attempts to crack those shields, but he aimed his rifle and blasted it with the rest of his firepower.
Its unyielding headlight started to grow brighter and brighter. Gorman depleted one magazine…then two…
BOOM!
Suddenly, a massive explosion rocked the tower. Gorman and company found themselves stumbling to the ground, but not before seeing a brilliant flash where the geth tank once was. He got back up just in time to see the Armature – and any nearby henchmen – fall through a new hole in the crumbling rooftop. Through his ringing ears, the noise was tremendous.
He turned around. The humble Shackleton's main gun was smoking, and its battered, dirty, weathered hull was rotating to bring the open cargo bay around. He couldn't believe it.
The Commander stood up straight and shouted as loud as he could.
"On your feet! We are leaving!"
The run began. With every step, there was a new uncertainty that the rest of the roof could cave in under his feet…but he powered through. He passed the Bluntnose for the last time. That brutish six wheeler had given him everything in its thankless service. He might even miss it.
His mad dash ended at the lip of the exposed bay. He wasn't the first to make it, with crewmates and salarians being hoisted up by a very confused quarian. The wounded were carried by their peers, salarians and Zaz included. Gorman, however, stayed on the roof a little longer. He was throwing his arm around to rally the slower troops and scanning the tower's peak for anyone at risk of being left behind…and again…and one more time to be sure…
"Captain! Time to go!" Sally's voice got through the uproar, the crumbling and the flames. Gorman spun around, grabbed her three-fingered hand, and boarded the ship.
Without any more delay, the Shackleton's thrusters re-engaged at full power. The bay door creaked up, covering more of the retreating base. It was a truly sprawling complex, shrouded by concrete walls and thick foliage, and in its center were pipes and waterworks like the locks of a canal. That's where the other ship took off from…and where they needed to be as far away from as possible. The Shackleton pierced the clouds, causing the entire ship to rumble. The bay door was still slowly closing, hiding more of the outgoing tropics…and then, a flash more vivid than anything the Commander had ever seen peeked through the last gap. There was no sound to accompany it – just a sublime light that subsided when the door at last closed shut.
Gorman rubbed his eyes and every sense that wasn't tuned for battle slowly started to return. He felt exhausted, tense, hungry…but above all, relieved. He had plummeted headfirst into danger and come away with only a couple scrapes…not to mention a platoon of salarians. He looked over the cargo bay. There wasn't an air of celebration but of reprieve. The soldiers were sitting wherever comfortable, waiting for their feverish reflexes to calm down and breaking out personal effects. To them, what just happened was nothing less than a miracle. His crew, interestingly, were much the same. As he started walking through the crowd, they all gave him mixed glances of appreciation and awe.
Everyone made it.
The Shackleton lived up to its namesake.
"And there he is now," T'Lore spotted the Commander on approach. She was already talking to the platoon's salarian leader.
"I understand your intel was what led the Council to send my team here in the first place," Kirrahe began. The asari nodded. "You have an unorthodox way of following through on a hunch…" he outstretched a webbed hand, "…But your timing got better. My men and I won't forget it."
Gorman reached out and shook it – not unlike squeezing a lot of small suction cups.
"Just doing my job, Captain," he responded. "Your men fought like hell. You're not recruiting, by chance, are you?"
"A human in the STG? Normally I'd say it's impossible…but you should see Alenko's record."
That got Gorman to laugh. He liked this guy already.
"Speaking of…where is the Lieutenant?" the Commander enquired, flicking his gaze around the cargo bay one more time to see if he'd missed the raven-haired man hiding somewhere.
"He's trying to contact his ship before it leaves the system," Kirrahe informed, "His Commander's going to be in for a surprise. If we're not too late, we might witness the moment." The salarian motioned towards the stairwell.
Gorman held up a hand.
"I'll catch up," he said. The salarian nodded and began climbing to the upper deck.
"Are you alright, Kevin?" T'Lore asked, now that the two of them were mostly alone. "I wasn't counting the seconds between our departure and the bomb…but it was close. Very close."
"Honestly?" Gorman reflected, "I feel great. Like I told Kirrahe, I was just doing my job. I knew what to shoot, I had my friends right beside me. I was completely in my lane, you know?"
"A nuclear bomb nearby has a way of making you forget your other problems," T'Lore smiled, "I felt almost the same way…but for me, I think it was the weather. I've always had a thing for the tropics. I love the sensation."
"Is that how you knew when to turn?"
"Hm?" T'Lore didn't remember, so Gorman did it for her.
"Back down at the levees. I was out in the open. You, well, took the bullets meant for me…but your reflexes were superhuman."
"Not quite human," T'Lore raised her hand and brushed her scalp back, "But I know you'd do the same for me."
"Either way…thanks."
"Don't thank me. Thank my salarian side."
It was only when her boot touched his that he realized he'd accidentally stepped close to her…or vice versa. He'd gotten lost in those eyes, just like he did at his unpaid 'therapy' session. He took a step back from the alien and glanced towards the stairs.
"I…go," Gorman stammered out fewer syllables than he'd liked, something resembling a cue to leave.
"You go," the asari gently smiled back, allowing the Commander to backpedal away.
Gorman shook the focus back into his head as he mounted each step. He still wasn't brave enough to peek into the crew quarters after its crash-induced rearrangement, so he rounded the door to the bridge once he hit the upper level.
Out of all the rapid repairs done to the ship, none were spared towards interior decoration. Some floor and ceiling panels were still loose or misplaced, some flashing lights were still silenced, two of the front viewport's panels were turned off – so not much of a difference from the rest of the current view – and the occasional spark fluttered out of an exposed wire.
Only the most senior staff were gathered at the central console. For the newcomers it was Alenko and Kirrahe, for the Shackleton's crew it was Kalu and Blanc. The pilot noticed Gorman's arrival first, and stood at attention with an absolutely beaming face full of pride. The helm's radio was quiet; any conversations with other ships were over. Alenko made for a salute, Gorman shot it down with a modest open palm.
"What did I miss?" he asked, joining the group circle.
"The Lieutenant's message is away, heading for the…'Normandy' as we speak," Blanc explained. His happiness to see the Commander was momentarily replaced by disdain, but Gorman didn't think anything of it.
"It was hard to find the right words," Alenko admitted. His tone had relaxed significantly since the last time he'd spoken to the Commander. "I gave them a rendezvous point, and we're flying there right now."
"Good, good," Gorman approved. Now that the situation didn't call for immediate action, he could get back to the original mission that had fallen flat within seconds of arrival on Virmire. "Tell me, Lieutenant – why did the base need to be destroyed?"
"You really didn't know?" Alenko was incredulous. He looked at Kalu. "Your crewmates told me you were on Virmire because a recording from a geth mentioned it. Well, as it turns out, I think my crew have the other half of that recording." Gorman had barely considered that what he'd heard from that disabled geth was only a snippet of a larger conversation. Two sentences were already enough to have wide-reaching implications, so what could a third or fourth entail? The Lieutenant continued. "The voices on the tape are Saren Arterius, a rogue turian Spectre, and Matriarch Benezia, his right hand asari. They're responsible for the recent wave of geth attacks, which are actually a front for them scouring the Traverse for something they call the Conduit. We've been tasked with hunting them down before they find it."
"What happens if they do?" Kalu asked.
"According to the Commander…" Alenko began, referring to his own superior officer. There was the tiniest bit of hesitation in his voice, not because he didn't believe what he was saying, but because he doubted Gorman and company would. "…The same machines that wiped out the protheans will return. Benezia called them 'reapers'."
Piece by piece, the puzzle in Gorman's head started to take shape. The true meaning of the recording, the geth attacks, the prothean beacon, the…reapers…
His blood ran cold and a shudder rolled down his back.
"God, that ship!" Gorman's widened eyes darted to Kalu and Blanc. Their faces slowly started to understand too. "The massive one! You don't think…"
"I don't remember any massive ship," Alenko dismissed. Those that did remember it exchanged very worried looks. "You mean Saren's flagship? From Eden Prime?" His skepticism was slowly faltering.
"I know what I saw," Kalu stated, "It spoke to us."
An uneasy silence lingered.
"Anyway," Alenko changed the subject when he saw how frightened both he and the crewmates were getting, "It wasn't easy to convince the Council to investigate Saren, given his Spectre status, but they soon saw reason."
"Which led you to the base on Virmire," Blanc tried to draw the story to Gorman's original question…but there was more.
"Eventually. We've been following leads for weeks. That facility we just escaped was his main base of operations. He was breeding an army of krogan there."
"Breeding?" Kalu started, "But what about the -"
"Genophage?" Alenko predicted. That word rang a dormant bell in Gorman's mind. Hadn't Petronis used it before? "Somehow, Saren circumvented it."
"Exactly why the base is history," Kirrahe finally chimed in.
An unending army of those monsters would be unstoppable, thought Gorman. Good thing the complex went up in nuclear fire – he was more than happy not to be face-to-face with one anytime soon.
"So…was this Saren there at the base?" Gorman asked. "Did you get him?"
"I hope so," Alenko shrugged.
A loud beeping sound emanated from the helm's controls. Not the earsplitting alarm of a ship-wide emergency, but a mellow chirp that nonetheless got the pilot's attention. He ambled over, took a look at his systems, and reported back.
"We're being hailed," Blanc announced, "Secure transmission. Call for you, Lieutenant."
"Patch it through," Alenko gave a sigh of unbridled relief, walking off to a corner as the ship's radio system worked its magic. The transmission made it to his headset but not to anyone else's. Gorman, Kalu, Blanc and Kirrahe waited and listened.
"Yes, I'm still here. No, they haven't 'flayed' me. This isn't a prisoner swap, Joker."
Gorman and the others raised their brows or twitched their antennae. Alenko nodded a handful of times before signing off.
"Well you can tell him yourself soon. I'll let him know." The Lieutenant turned back towards the group, then cast his gaze towards the ship's front viewport with a smile. "Right on schedule. Normandy's here."
Blanc scoffed.
"Euh…no it's not," the pilot gestured towards all the helm's instrumentation. "We've no heat signatures within thirty – Sacré Bleu! Where did they come from?"
Gorman, Kalu and Kirrahe approached the helm to get a better look. A long saber of a ship suddenly appeared out of the dark, gradually angling its bow to align with the Shackleton's side. An appropriately big dot blinked into existence on the pilot's radar dish alongside several brief collision warnings – even the computers were caught by surprise.
"They're…requesting to dock," Blanc caught his breath. "Say the word, Commander."
"Go for it, Blanc," Gorman permitted. He approached Alenko and stretched out a parting hand. "Been a pleasure, Lieutenant."
This time Alenko declined the gesture. Instead of shaking back, he pointed to the docking hatch.
"Save it for later. Commander Shepard wants to meet you."
Shepard? The Shepard? How hadn't the thought occurred to Gorman that he didn't know just who the other Commander was? Of course it was Shepard! The Spectre had a habit of being that one step ahead, all the way back to Feros and probably earlier. Shepard was once after the same thing he was – ancient prothean knowledge – and if what Alenko had to say was any indication, such a search was getting the other Commander into just as much danger, if not more. Gorman, however, was smart enough to know when he was outclassed. He was only 'Commander' by virtue of a job that no longer exists. Shepard was the real deal. Alenko was being amicable, but what he just said sounded almost like a threat.
"And you, Kirrahe," Alenko added. The salarian blinked receptively as the light above the docking hatch flickered a similar green.
Gorman looked back to his own crew for encouragement. Both Kalu and Blanc were giving him the thumbs-up, Kalu with his face and Blanc with a literal thumb. He tore off the M16 from his back, propped it up against the captain's chair, and followed the marine and the salarian through the open hatch. Into the decontamination chamber they went.
A laser beam swept through the corridor and its occupants. His ears popped. Then the entrance at the far end parted, revealing part of a narrow hallway. The deep, dark blues and metallic greys inside were not dissimilar to the Shackleton, but the walls and the electrics that covered them looked factory fresh. Similarly, on the Shackleton the dim glow of holographic terminals had a habit of highlighting a whole heap of dust motes in the air…but not here.
There was also a figure waiting to receive them.
Commander Shepard was tall, broad-shouldered, and well-groomed. He was wearing the Alliance regulation jumpsuit, an impeccable buzzcut, and a piercing blue stare with that certain distant feeling. He looked younger than Gorman expected for someone with his resumé, but he had an overwhelming…presence, not from reputation alone. A presence so rare that Gorman knew it when he saw it. Immediately it became clear that Shepard was able to project an endless reserve of confidence from experience. This was a man that knew his limits and knew when to surpass them. Competency embodied. Gorman had to stop his sudden urge to drop everything and follow the Spectre into the deepest ends – and he hadn't even spoken yet.
Shepard's face broke as the first man set foot on the Normandy's deck, a weary smile…but also a hint of sadness. Alenko broke into another quick salute before Shepard gave him another hand to shake.
"It's damn good to have you back, Kaidan," Shepard's voice was clear and direct. The two men shook. "I hope you know that leaving you down there was not a decision I made lightly. There was -"
"Hey! Kaidan's alive!" a happy yell from down the hallway's left interrupted Shepard's speech. "Is the other guy there too?" Gorman and Kirrahe looked at each other.
"It's alright, Commander," Alenko ignored the pilot, "It was a tough decision, you made the right choice. Don't get hung up about it."
"There is no right choice for something like that," Shepard was quick to reply. He sighed, and looked up and down at his Lieutenant. "Dr. Chakwas should take a look at you. We'll start the debrief once you're ready, that is, after everyone on the ship sees that you're alive and well. We thought we'd really lost you."
"I understand," Alenko tried to picture the upcoming scenes, "I should talk to Ash first. She probably blames me for staying behind."
"She blames me more than anything," Shepard admitted, "But you can hear it from her, LT."
"I'm glad to be able to," Kaidan gave his Commander, the other Commander and the Captain a parting nod, making his way down the ship to the right.
The salarian stepped forward and puffed out his chest – achieving little except Shepard's attention.
"We meet again," Kirrahe began, "Your Lieutenant performed admirably – as have you, Commander." Both Gorman and Shepard cracked a little pleased smirk. "My platoon is waiting in the other ship's cargo bay as we speak."
"It's all thanks to them, and your leadership," Shepard acknowledged, "Bring your troops to the Normandy; we've got the space."
"Consider it done, Commander," Kirrahe turned face and reentered the decontamination chamber.
Gorman, truth be told, was barely listening. He was chancing small peeks down either side of the hall, absolutely entranced by the design of the deck. He'd briefly been on an Alliance warship before, but there was something about this one that was a cut above the Antwerp. Out to the left, there was a cockpit filled to the brim with holographic inputs, with an impressive overhead starry view. One lone pilot with a baseball cap was nonchalantly tapping away at his systems – had Blanc snuck aboard without anyone noticing? To the right was the rest of the walkway, flanked by dug-in seats and fancy monitors. At the end was an open space dotted with crew, already putting the Shackleton to shame. A virtual, slowly spiraling display of a galaxy took center stage. Florescent lights were underfoot, as opposed to above his head, reminding Gorman of jetliners and Concorde again. This was an equally high-tech vessel with a high-stakes purpose if he ever saw one.
"Commander…Gorman, was it?" Shepard finally took notice of the last man standing.
"That's right," Gorman followed Alenko's lead and snapped into a salute, despite the fact their ranks were technically the same. In fact, he could tell that he and Shepard had something else in common, but the connection was just out of reach. "Thanks for letting me aboard."
"Thanks for pulling off the rescue," Shepard rebuffed, "You've made a lot of people on this ship quite happy. Including me." The Normandy's Commander gestured down the right side. "Walk with me."
Gorman dropped the salute and kept up with the Spectre's strides, trying his best not to be distracted any more by the ship.
"Just what exactly were you doing on Virmire, Commander?" Shepard asked.
Gorman had nothing to gain from being vague.
"Ever hear of a prothean beacon?" he asked in response.