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A Dream Within a Dream
Part 1
Chapter 7
The Normandy
It took a few days, but Shepard finally began to achieve a sense of familiarity aboard the Normandy. Despite her initial struggles to understand and accept the truth, every day it became easier to process, more natural, more real. And falling into something of a comfortable routine certainly helped.
Her eyes opened at the first sounds of movement from the bunks around her. She lay there for a wonderful moment, savoring the feeling of not having had to wake up from that old, awful dream that was not a dream, and the disorientation that had always followed. Instead, she woke like a normal person, groggy but mostly ready to begin her day.
She shifted to sit up and slid her privacy curtain open just enough to allow her to reach down into the drawer beneath her bunk and grab out a clean set of clothes. They'd no doubt had plenty of owners before her, but they were finally beginning to feel like they belonged to her, despite their holes and darnings.
Closing the curtain again, she changed into the clean set and folded up her sleep clothes before setting them aside. She opened the curtain again and flipped her feet over the edge and into her waiting boots. After doing up the laces, she quickly made her bed before grabbing her toothbrush and a towel and heading through the door.
When she arrived in the bathroom, it was blessedly empty. She set about her new morning ritual, and when she went to wash her hands, her eyes remained on the flowing water instead of glancing up into the mirror above the sink.
There was always something unsettling about her reflection. Perhaps it was odd seeing her hair so short, though she nearly always wore her new hat. Perhaps it was the disturbing ports strewn across her body that she still had trouble processing were real. Perhaps it was that, despite everything, the face that looked back at her through the mirror was still the same face that had looked back at her every morning within the Citadel.
Shepard turned off the faucet and sighed before forcing herself to look up and meet her own gaze. The woman that stared back at her looked so strangely foreign and yet so similar that it ached. It was her face in the mirror. But it was her real face, not just a projection.
She looked back down as she cupped her hands and let the water pool within them. She brought it up to splash across her face once or twice, then brought her ragged towel up to wipe it away. Every sensation felt as real and vivid, just as it should. And she found comfort in that.
The rest of her day would follow her usual routine. She'd force down her morning serving of rations, then she'd be assigned to shadow a member of the crew as they went about their duties for the day. She would learn about the workings of the ship and help out where she could. Despite their grand mission to unplug those they could from the Citadel, the actual day-to-day life aboard the Normandy was fairly unexciting. Space was big, and it took a while to traverse it.
A few hours after lunch, Garrus would come find her, and together they would upload into the simulator. So far, he'd been walking her through a series of protocol and operational programs, and though some were interesting, most of it felt like she was back in school and being expected to take in information she didn't even know what to do with. But Garrus found ways of making it fun or interesting when he could, and she was growing to look forward to her training periods with something akin to anticipation.
Afterwards, they would join the rest of the crew for dinner. Having the same slop for three meals a day over and over again was beginning to get old, but if everyone else could adapt to it, then so could she. Though Vega sure did like to complain every chance he got.
While the crew took turns manning a night shift skeleton crew, a majority of them had a little free time after dinner before lights out. Some people would take to the simulators either for practice or entertainment, and some would gather on the port side observation deck. There they had a makeshift game table where they played card games with hand painted approximations of card decks, or they'd just shoot the breeze and relax. She'd heard whispers that Joker had a stash of home brewed booze hidden somewhere, but no one ever mentioned it when Miranda was about.
Despite their warm welcome, Shepard still didn't quite feel like one of the crew. She felt like an outsider looking in, and though they made a point of including her, she didn't really know how to go about fitting in. She'd always been a loner—it was how she was raised—and sitting with them as they all laughed and joked felt more stressful than relaxing. So on days she didn't feel like using the simulator, she found herself gravitating toward the less frequented starboard observation deck. The space was mostly used for storage, with various crates and supplies stacked about haphazardly.
There was a single bench that was easily accessible, and so she'd sit and watch the stars drift past when she wasn't leafing through various manuals for the Normandy's systems. Even as she savored the familiar quiet and solitude, she absolutely loathed it. The loneliness, the isolation… they were her old friends. Her old, bitter enemies.
Shepard let the manual slip from her fingers as she leaned her elbows forward onto her knees. It hit the ground with a thud as her hands came up to cradle her head.
"Mom," she murmured as she fought the prickling at the corner of her eyes, her throat constricting as an old pain welled up in her chest. "What the hell am I doing here?" she whispered as, not for the first time, she took a step back from the situation and registered how surreal it all seemed. Not the world around her, her physical body told her that was real in a way the Citadel never had been. But the situation still seemed so strange and dreamlike that it appeared unbelievable.
And, oh God, how she missed her mother. She might have passed ten years prior, but over the past few days since she'd first woken up on the Normandy, the pain of her mother's death felt so fresh and raw that it ached in her quiet moments. Learning the truth of how Hannah Shepard had died had ripped the wound open and left her reeling in its wake. She didn't even know how to begin processing it, except for the growing hateful anger that every day became harder and more solidified.
When she slept at night, it was the icy blue eyes of Saren that leered down at her from his perch atop that building. But it wasn't fear that filled her chest as she stared back up at him now. It was something far more ugly, far more dangerous.
Searching for calm as her blood began to pound at her temples, Shepard found herself reaching for the technique her mother had taught her. The flame appeared in her imagination almost unbidden, and she poured her anger into it. Her loneliness, her uncertainty, her fear, everything.
But even when she was left with nothing but the quiet peace she sought, something about it just felt… off. The calm was strangely empty, it lacked something of the comfort and familiarity that she'd always felt in the past. It wasn't something she could put her finger on, and with a frustrated sigh, she gave up the exercise as she glared down at her hands in her lap.
The door creaked as it opened and Shepard's head shot up as she twisted to watch Anderson step into the room. He closed the door behind himself before turning a small smile on her.
"Shepard. How are you doing?" His tone was light and friendly as he walked over to her and she leaned down to pick up the manual at her feet before shifting to make space for him on the bench.
"I'm doing fine, sir." She sat up stiffly, discomfort rolling off her in waves. She had absolutely no idea how to behave around the ship's captain. He seemed larger than life, somehow inspiring complete and utter loyalty in his crew. Nearly everyone spoke his name with a low, resonating awe, like a hero or some kind of icon. She somehow dreaded his notice and yet yearned for it all at once.
"Relax, child." Anderson's smile softened and the corner of his eyes crinkled as he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "I'm not going to bite." He sat back and relaxed into his seat as he crossed his legs. "How are you adapting to life here on the Normandy? I know it's a big transition."
Shepard was taken aback by the man's laid back tone and casual posture. Somehow, it was the same man that strode about the CIC like a general commanding his troops, the same man who had stoically revealed to her the dark truths of the universe. Now he smiled at her with warmth and comforting understanding, like a parent checking in with his child.
Something in her chest clenched as her muscles unwound.
"I'm… I'm doing okay, I think," she murmured as she looked down, unsure how she should react. She kept her expression neutral. "I've been adapting to using the simulator. It feels a lot more natural than it did at first."
"Yes, Garrus tells me you're doing well. He tells me you're something of a natural, and I trust his judgement. I'm excited to see how you'll do when your combat training begins."
"Ah…" Shepard trailed off as she fought down an upswell of embarrassment and nerves. "Will I be getting to that point soon?"
"Yes, I believe so." Anderson nodded in consideration, and Shepard rested her hand on her knee in an attempt to keep it from vibrating anxiously. She changed the topic.
"The environment programs are really amazing. I enjoy them a lot."
"Yes, Garrus mentioned that, too. That's not an uncommon feeling for those who have been unplugged recently. It's the first time anyone gets to see nature outside of the trim and manicured Presidium."
"Exactly," Shepard breathed as she smiled, the captain's easy manner finally making her feel more at ease. "I really loved that forest in the rain, the one by the ocean."
"Ah, yes. That is a favorite of mine, too." Anderson hummed contentedly as he looked up at the ceiling, his eyes half lidded.
"The simulations, they feel so different from the Citadel, but I can't figure out if that's because they are different, or if it's just because I understand now. I haven't been having any of the issues I was having in the Citadel back before I was unplugged." Shepard shut her mouth with a click as she registered her own babbling with embarrassment.
Anderson looked back at her, his interest clearly piqued. "What were some of these issues you were experiencing?" She watched him closely, but he displayed nothing but genuine interest, so carefully she began to explain.
"Well, I had been having a dream, which in retrospect makes more sense now. I think I had been dreaming of the pod my body was in, back on the on the farm." Shepard stumbled over the word, the concept still so bizarre and terrifying. "It was happening nearly every night toward the end there. It always left me feeling disoriented, like I wasn't really existing within my body most of the time."
"That is most likely exactly what was happening." Anderson mused as he stroked his chin in consideration. "I've heard of this before. But please, continue." Shepard nodded as she thought back to the Citadel. It almost felt like another lifetime ago, or perhaps someone else's life altogether.
"Then sometimes it was as if inanimate objects didn't feel real. Like down in my gut, I knew they weren't. Sometimes, especially toward the end, they would even seem to flit in and out of existence. Like some sort of glitch. Is that what was happening?" Anderson shook his head slowly, his expression becoming more interested by the moment as he looked at her with weighing eyes.
"Not exactly. But I believe I can explain it so that it may make sense to you." He leaned back into his seat, his fingers interwoven as he laid them against his middle. "Most people who live within the Citadel are so well synced with the neural interactive simulation that they never notice anything is wrong. It is nearly impossible for us to unplug people who are like that without killing them."
"But how can they possibly avoid seeing the logical issues within the Citadel? None of it makes any sense when you stop and think about it for even a moment." Shepard's brows furrowed as she watched Anderson, who nodded in agreement.
"You would think it would be obvious to everyone. But there are programs that run within the Citadel, they're called General Environment, Technology, and Habitation programs, or GETH. They run every aspect of the Citadel. From the air you breathe to the functioning of skycars, from the ground you walk on to the lights you see with. Every aspect of the Citadel is run by GETH programs. There are certain GETH whose job it is to ensure no one notices anything is wrong. If someone's mind is well synced with the Citadel, then a GETH program can easily slip in and make them believe, see, or think whatever it wants them to."
Shepard stared in horror as she took in his words. She opened her mouth to reply, but nothing came out. Anderson continued.
"Occasionally, a person's mind falls out of sync with the Citadel. Their mind begins to reject the simulation, thus allowing them to see the cracks, the inconsistencies, and GETH programs are less able to access their minds. These are the people we search for."
"And how are we able to find them?"
"It can be difficult. Usually we find them via the extranet."
"So just with your omni-tool or a console from within the Citadel?" Shepard asked skeptically, but Anderson shook his head.
"Yes, and no. The extranet is more than just a network of consoles within the Citadel. The extranet is a network that spans the entire galaxy. It is broadcast out through the mass relays that connect all the major systems, and it is within the extranet that the Citadel resides. It's when we are within range of a mass relay that we are able to hack into it."
"Huh. That's… really interesting," Shepard mused as she looked back out through the window into deep space, imagining the extranet network connecting all the little points of light before them. She wasn't sure how she felt about that, caught between amazed and disturbed.
"On the surface, the extranet is a communication network. Beneath that, it is massive and nearly incomprehensible. We believe we have only begun to scratch the surface, and there is a great deal we are just not equipped to perceive or understand. But I suspect that the key to defeating the Reapers lays within it." Anderson's eyes gained a gleam that made Shepard shiver. There was a fierce determination there, and for an instant, she could see why the others followed him with such devotion.
"Generally," Anderson continued, "we are able to track down people who start questioning the reality of the Citadel. Like you, people often reach out looking for answers. The extranet as you knew it within the Citadel is accessible here aboard the Normandy so long as we're within broadcast range of a mass relay. Once we identify someone whose mind is rejecting the Citadel, we set about the process of unplugging them if they are receptive."
"I see," Shepard said as she shut her eyes and fought a shiver, the memory of her own unplugging still painfully vivid.
"Occasionally, it's not someone's mind that loses sync with the Citadel, but their body within the farm." Anderson frowned, his expression sad as he continued once again. "These people never notice anything is wrong, and yet they slowly become inexplicably sick. It's impossible for us to successfully unplug them in order to save them, and so they die no matter what we do. It's truly a shame." His voice was grave as he looked away, and Shepard had the feeling it was a topic that he felt deeply.
"So there's nothing we can do to help them?"
"No." Anderson sighed as he shook his head. "Organic life wasn't meant to be synthesized with technology like this." His hand pushed up his sleeve to expose one of his ports. "It's unnatural, and it's not surprising that it doesn't always work as they intend. It's not sustainable. We believe that at one point, the asari used to have life spans over a thousand years. Now, they're lucky to reach three or four hundred years old. After countless generations bred within the farms, we seem to be devolving." They sat in grim silence before he finally turned to look at her with that weighing look again.
"In rare cases, we encounter those whose mind and body are rejecting the Citadel. They have utterly lost sync with the neural interactive simulation, and often experience dissociative episodes and utter disconnect with what they perceive as reality."
Shepard slowly turned to look at him in shock as what he was suggesting clicked into place. "Eventually," he continued, "they begin to become unplugged all on their own. I believe this may have been what was happening to you. It's a miracle we found you when we did. If you'd managed to become fully unplugged on your own, they would have discarded you and there would have been no one to fish you out. Though, more often than not, Spectres seek out people like you and kill them long before that happens."
"That's why Saren was hunting me," Shepard stated as she sat back, her heart hammering in her chest. She brought a hand up to run over her head, her hat shifting as she reached back to feel the port at the base of her skull. "Because both my mind and body were out of sync with the Citadel. That's why I was dreaming of the farm, because I was beginning to wake up."
"Those are my thoughts exactly," Anderson agreed, his eyes still on her.
"Then that must have been what was happening to my mom, too."
"Your mother?" Anderson blinked in surprise, and Shepard nodded as she looked back at him.
"Yeah. She was experiencing the same symptoms as me. I think she had for most of her life. I don't know how she managed to hold on for so long."
"Perhaps she clung to the Citadel because a part of her couldn't bear leaving you behind," Anderson added thoughtfully, and the idea made Shepard's throat tighten again as the world swam, her eyes watering. She looked away as she lifted a hand to scrub at her eyes furiously, mortified to show such weakness in front of her captain. But she felt a warm, comforting pressure on her shoulder as he placed his hand there again in support.
"It's rare to find immediate family members who both become unsynced," Anderson said after a moment, "and even more rare to find people whose mind and body are both rejecting the simulation. How very curious that it happened to you both." He paused before adding in a gentle voice, "Do you mind me asking… What became of your mother?" Shepard was silent for a moment as red hot anger spiked, and her face hardened.
"Saren," she spat as loathing crept through her, grabbing her soul in a stranglehold like vicious vines. For an instant, her anger lashed out, leaving her wondering why Anderson couldn't have found and saved her mother before it was too late. But she cooled immediately as she answered her own question. The secrecy and paranoia that had kept Saren from finding Hannah for so long had also prevented people like Anderson from helping her. That would also explain why it had taken them so long to help Shepard as well.
"I see. I'm sorry to hear that. I wish we could have helped her. But at least we were able to free you before it was too late." Anderson's words were gentle but firm, a reminder not to dwell on what could not be changed. Shepard sighed, and nodded as she let the anger ebb away, the pain receding to a dull and cold ache in her chest. "What was her name?"
"Hannah. Hannah Shepard."
"That's a good name. She must have been a singular woman to have raised a child as strong and determined as you." Her face slackened in surprise as she looked up at him.
"Thank you, sir," she murmured appreciatively. His words sat with her, sinking into wounds she'd carried for a decade, soothing the ache like a balm.
They sat in companionable silence for another minute or two before Shepard broke it.
"Speaking of names, I have a question. No one here calls me by my birth name. They all call me 'Shepard' even though it was just a screen name, not my legal name. Why is that?"
"Would you prefer we called you 'Jane'? Or 'Smith'?" He raised an amused eyebrow at her.
"Good god, no," she choked out, and Anderson chuckled.
"Well, generally when people are unplugged, they are allowed to pick their own name. Sometimes, they keep either their first or last name. Sometimes, they make something up or adopt one that has significance to them. But, as you may have noticed, we usually only take a single name. Freeborn people often have family names, too, like Liara T'Soni. And some Freeborn, like Joker, choose a new name if they join a crew."
Shepard thought of the crew, and sure enough, they'd all been introduced with single names except for Liara. The thought that some of them might have gone by different names back when they lived within the Citadel was strange. Had Garrus always been called 'Garrus'? Or had he been born with a different name? Did it really matter?
"Garrus first referred to you as Shepard. But people generally make their name official when they receive their first posting to a ship." Anderson stood and dusted off his pants before turning to face her. "Word just came through about an hour ago. You'll be remaining here as one of my crew. You're officially part of the UCS Normandy. Would you like your name to be 'Shepard' or something else?" Anderson held his hand out to her.
She stared up at him with wide eyes as his sudden bombshell landed and sank in. Her heartbeat thudded in her chest as hope began to creep in, and she slowly lifted her hand to take his. It was warm and welcoming and real.
He tugged her up to standing, and their hands remained clasped as he gave it a firm shake. "Yes. 'Shepard' feels more like me than my old name ever did."
"Then welcome to the crew, Shepard." He released her only to bring his hand up to rest on her shoulder again. "Try not to dwell on the past. Your future is here, with us." He gave her shoulder a squeeze before releasing her and turning toward the door. She watched him go, feeling lighter than she had in living memory as she smiled.
"Thank you, sir."
Garrus sat at a console in the empty CIC as he flicked through extranet posts from the Citadel. It was late and his eyes felt like lead as he fought the urge to let his chin drop to his chest. But he didn't mind taking the night shift, even if sometimes it dragged a little. There was something about the peace and quiet afforded by the night shift that was rarely found while trapped aboard a small frigate for months at a time.
He yawned and reached for his steaming drink of something that was almost, but not quite, entirely unlike the coffee that he wistfully remembered from his days living within the Citadel. Everyone had something they missed the most, and coffee was pretty high up there for him.
There was the clattering sound of someone climbing the ladder from the lower deck, and Garrus turned to see Sidonis step off into the CIC.
"Hey there." Garrus nodded to the other turian, who nodded back before coming to take a seat nearby. "Are you on engineering duty tonight?"
"Yeah, but I thought I'd come stretch my legs, keep an eye on things from up here for a bit before heading back down." Sidonis leaned back as he gestured to one of the CIC's many monitors. "You know, to say hi and all that. Seems like I don't see much of you lately if I'm not the one making an effort."
"Ah, yeah, sorry about that. I've been busy lately, what with training Shepard," Garrus mused as he glanced back at the empty scanners. Sidonis grunted in reply, and Garrus turned to see him sneer as he looked over the ship's readouts. "Don't give me that. Just because you're a pessimist doesn't mean we all have to be."
"Why do you bother playing their stupid game?" Sidonis asked as he turned back to him with a frown. "What's the point of it all?"
"Well, training is sort of a necessity for survival when we enter the Citadel," Garrus replied dryly as he stated the obvious. "We can't really unplug anyone if we can't stay alive long enough to reach them."
"You know what I mean. Just, all of it. Why do we have to get stuck out in the middle of fucking nowhere sifting through this crap," Sidonis gestured to Garrus' monitor displaying extranet forum posts within the Citadel, "and just waiting to find some unlucky sod and rip him from his blissful ignorance, just for the sake of this crap?" He waved his hand vaguely around them, and Garrus sighed.
"What we're doing isn't pointless, it's important. We need to continue freeing people, or else the Reapers win."
"Garrus, do you honestly think we stand a chance? All of this is a waste of time. We're all just going to die eventually, either painfully on one of these frigates, or after a sad and sorry existence on that spirits-forsaken fleet." Sidonis' words were laced with bitter resentment, and Garrus shook his head sadly.
"Not every ship goes the way of the Gabriel, Sidonis. There is an active push to combat and uncover Cerberus' operatives, and you know Anderson takes their threat seriously," he explained evenly, outlining an argument they'd had many times over the last few years.
"Yeah, well, I'm sure that's of great comfort to Butler, Weaver, Vortash, and the others." Sidonis sneered as he crossed his arms, and Garrus felt the same old stab of pain at the mention of their names. "Sometimes I wish I could have been put out of my misery along with them," Sidonis added in a grim mutter, and Garrus looked at him sharply.
"You don't mean that," he reprimanded, but Sidonis didn't move.
"What's the point of fighting? We can't beat the Reapers. There's no plan, no hope. We just continue surviving day after day, and for what? This shit?" He gestured to Garrus' drink. "I wish I'd never been unplugged. At least I could have lived out my life in comfort in the Citadel."
"You're wrong. There is hope," Garrus said firmly before taking a sip and forcing himself not to wince at the tepid brew. Sidonis let loose a rough bark of incredulous laughter.
"Oh, don't tell me you've bought into Anderson's harebrained delusion!" He laughed again, scornful and harsh. "So, what now, exactly? Are you planning on following him blindly to your death in search of the goddamn 'Conduit', too?" He scoffed as he turned a disbelieving look on Garrus, who glanced back at his monitors uncomfortably.
"I know your feelings on the matter, but if it really does exist, then it's our best chance at defeating the Reapers."
"You've got to be kidding me." Sidonis sat forward, his face becoming angrier by the moment. "You used to be the sensible one. You never gave any credence to any of that bullshit. Now you're telling me you've let him get his claws into you?" Garrus didn't answer, only spurring Sidonis to continue. "You know you're going to die for his pointless crusade, right? That asshole is going to get us all killed, eventually."
"That's not true." Garrus' voice gained a hard edge as his gaze met Siondis' disdain head on. "Shepard has more potential than anyone we've unplugged in years. In generations, maybe. If we can unplug enough people like her, then we stand a chance."
"Just listen to yourself. He's completely brainwashed you." Sidonis stared at him uncomprehendingly, and Garrus looked away, uncomfortable as the words stung. "He has no idea how to find the Conduit, or if it's even real. And even if he were to find it, he would have no idea how to use it to defeat the Reapers. It's all a hopeless cause, and we're all going to die senselessly because of him." With that, he stood abruptly and stormed away toward the ladder.
"Sidonis," Garrus called after him, but he knew it was pointless. The other turian slid down to the lower decks and was gone. Garrus sat back in his chair and let out a huffed sigh. He hated how Sidonis' words had slid like razors under his plates, hitting him in all the soft, sensitive places.
He shook his head and took another sip of his awful drink. Sidonis would always be like that, but he'd come through when it mattered. He always did. It was best just to give him space to calm down, and they could talk about it another time. Garrus had enough on his plate as it was without worrying about babysitting his friend.
The following day would be an interesting one. Anderson had finally given him the go-ahead to begin Shepard's combat training, and he was excited to see what she was capable of. Like most people who grew up in the Citadel, she had no prior combat experience, but that hardly mattered when you could have knowledge uploaded straight into your brain. He was excited to see what she could do with that knowledge.
Thus far, she kept surprising him at every turn. The thought of what other surprises she had in store for him made something thud painfully in his chest. He looked down at the lukewarm drink in his hand. Perhaps he needed to lay off the caffeine for a bit.
He turned his attention back to the scanners and let his mind wander, his daydreams flitting to warm climates, the gentle caress of ocean waves, and a sparkling set of emerald eyes.
(AN: If you haven't already seen the beautiful work of art for this story by Finchmarie, please go check it out! I'll leave a link in my bio. I'm going to work on getting it embedded in chapter one over on AO3, but I want to do it correctly so it's not a pain to view in mobile. If you have time, I really appreciate those of you have taken the time to leave a comment here. Thank you so much!)