Trial of the Millennium

Music: Disappear, Phutureprimitive; Face to Face, Dead Sara
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12.3.2186
James
Alliance Command Headquarters, Vancouver

The sun shone brightly through the window, glittering off the high-rises near Alliance Command in Vancouver. James stood in the doorway of the bedroom inside Shepard's detention cell, a ritzy apartment reserved for dignitaries that found themselves on the wrong side of the law. He watched as she twitched and mumbled under the thin covers of her bed, her hand clawing against the sheet, uncertain about the wisdom of waking her at this moment. She was obviously having a nightmare.

Her words became more clear as her anxiety heightened. "No, no - get Tom, Dad! Never mind me!" she called out.

Hearing this name brought him out of his indecision. He strode to the side of the bad and shook her shoulder gently. "Shepard. Wake up."

Before her eyes had opened, she grabbed his forearm, her hand buzzing with biotic energy. She blinked rapidly, trying to focus on his face.

"Knock it off, Shepard," he whispered intensely. "Wake up. It's just me."

The biotic field dropped, but she didn't immediately release his arm. She looked into his eyes, her body gradually relaxing. She released a slow breath and squeezed his arm gently before letting go.

"What-" She coughed and cleared her throat. "What do they want now? Thought there wasn't going to be a session today."

"The Normandy sent the black box over. They want to go over the evidence on the Moorhead Massacre."

"So? Did they find anything interesting inside?"

He gave her a half-smile. "They can't open it. They want you to come down and unlock it."

She smirked. "Sometimes I do my job too well. Do I have time for a shower?"

"Sure."

He was waiting at the doorway with the rest of her security detail ten minutes later when she emerged from the bathroom.

"Clear the street as much as you can before the court session today. I don't want a frenzy like we saw last time," he was saying to Sgt. Nicky. Nicky nodded, but craned to look around him, his eyes alight with the admiration he always wore when Shepard appeared.

Her long hair was pulled back into a wet ponytail which dripped a dark streak down the back of her uniform. She went to the small kitchenette and poured herself a cup of coffee and downed it, black and steaming hot, in one swift gulp. It was the only technology in the room; they didn't even give her a digital clock out of fear that she'd cannibalize it and use the components to escape. Her abilities were too well-known not to take precautions.

"Okay, let's do this," she announced, and fell into step behind them.

After six months of guarding her this should have been routine, but James kept himself in a state of constant readiness, not taking anything for granted. Already there had been a number of assassination attempts on her, using everything from poison to bombs big enough to destroy a city block. James had to keep constantly aware, which was difficult enough when she was around. It had been a struggle to keep knowledge of the threat from her attention, but he didn't want her any more stressed than she already was.

She held out her wrists for him to cuff her. They completed this ritual in silence.

"Moving out," he said into his comm, and led the way through the security checkpoint down the hall to a small room in the area outside the detention center. Passers-by in this part of the building stopped talking and moved to either side of the hallway as they passed, forgetting their conversations to stare.

A group of officers were arguing in front of the office. A dozen security guards blocked their way.

"Clear the way!" James called out, shoving his way through to the officers. "What's the problem here?"

The square-jawed Chief of Detention Security addressed him. "We don't know what's in that box. It's impervious to scans. She could have a weapon in there. You may be charged with keeping the prisoner safe, but I'm responsible for keeping her from massacring anyone else."

"Shepard, what's in the box?" James asked over his shoulder, not looking away from the man.

"A datacube and some personal effects."

"See?" James said. "It's not big enough for a weapon, anyway. Let's just get this over with."

The Security Chief considered this, then looked at Shepard. "The prosecution is watching through a closed-loop vidfeed. Don't try anything funny or it'll be held against you as if we were in court. Understand, Commander?"

She nodded her assent. Her eye twitched slightly, as if restraining herself from further comment.

James led the way into the small room, which was furnished only with a square metal block of a table, on top of which rested a nondescript box about the size of both of James' fists, side by side. It was pitch black, as its name implied. The Security Chief stepped inside and shut the door behind him.

Admiral Anderson was waiting next to the table. "As your counsel, I've been permitted to oversee this. Go ahead and open it, Shepard. It gave our engineering team a run for its credits."

She held out her hands to be uncuffed. When her hands were freed she held out her hand for James' omni-tool. The Security Chief intervened again.

"She's not allowed to have one of those," he said, setting his hand on his sidearm.

"Do you expect me to unlock it with my mind?" Shepard asked sarcastically.

"This has been cleared with Command," Anderson said. "We don't have all day, chief."

Disgruntled, the man stepped back. Shepard immediately set to work on the box. James watched as her fingers danced over the digital display. The lid of the box popped up slightly.

Anderson reached forward, but she put out her hand to forestall him. "Don't touch. There's a fingerprint scan too." She set two of her fingers against the underside of the lid. A slight hissing sound came from inside. She waited for the sound to stop, then lifted the lid.

"Is it safe?" Anderson asked. She nodded. He opened the lid and lifted out a rectangular object wrapped in a faded black cloth. He pushed the cloth aside when he saw the datacube inside.

"Was this data illegally obtained?" the Chief asked, pointing at the cube.

"Most of it, probably." She shrugged nonchalantly. "It depends on whether the court decides being a Spectre means anything."

"How much data is in here?" Anderson asked, turning the cube over in his hands.

"A hair under three petabytes, last time I checked."

Anderson made an exclamation of surprise. "What did you do to accumulate this much data?"

"Backups from every terminal I've hacked since I enlisted. The Moorehead data is a good part of it. I copied the Sangre Carnal's entire database." She began to describe the file structure.

James was barely attending to this conversation. He was staring at the cloth which had been protecting the precious datacube. It was a threadbare t-shirt, about the size he was in his early teens, with the Urban Combat Championships logo and the words "San Diego 2172" emblazoned across the front.

But Shepard wouldn't meet his gaze when he cuffed her before they left the room. Still slightly discomposed by his discovery, James grabbed the t-shirt as he left, intending to add it to her small collection of personal effects in storage later that night. He led the way to the lift at the other end of the corridor with detention security trailing behind. Anderson disappeared in the opposite direction with the datacube.

"Looking forward to hearing the testimony today," the Security Chief said as they approached the lift. "I hear it's the last witness. For your sake, he'd better have something good. The facts are hard against you." He sounded like he took glee in this estimation.

James held his hand out when the Chief made as if he was going to follow them inside the life. "Sorry, sir," he said, setting his hand on the door to allow Shepard to precede him, "but security rules are clear on prisoner transport. You'll have to wait for the next one. Mala suerte, hermano."

He heard Shepard's snort of laughter as the door closed on the man's suddenly angry face. James moved to stand behind her so he could see her hands, part of the security protocol he'd been given.

The walls of the lift were of polished metal, reflecting their faces back at them. He knew that she was equally as aware of the bugs in each corner of the small space, providing a live feed of everything they said or did. But none of the cameras were at the right angle to tell that they were looking directly into each other's eyes in their reflection. He stood almost a head taller than her, appearing slightly to the left of her shoulder in the mirrored surface.

His eyes asked her a question.

She looked down, then up, and lifted her chin.

A yes. So it was his shirt.

His eyebrows pressed together in further inquiry. Her face softened and she looked at the floor, looking strangely vulnerable.

Her hair was pulled forward over her shoulder, exposing the back of her neck. Just below the hairline, a tiny freckle beckoned. He leaned forward, coming close enough that when he breathed, the small hairs on the back of her neck ruffled. She shivered.

The lift chimed and came to a stop. James started and moved to the front of the lift, clearing his throat. "Sgt. Nicky said there was an even larger crowd out today. Be ready."

She nodded. He entered the code to open the door in the panel by his arm.

The roar of the protesters could be heard from the back of the lobby when the door opened. Nicky and his four-person crew were waiting just outside. "A word, sir?"

The others moved to guard Shepard while James stepped to the side of the room to hear Nicky's report. "We found two packages along the west side of the street. Not homemade like the last ones. We did a full sweep and didn't find anything else, but that can't be all they have planned."

"What are you thinking?"

"Sniper, maybe. Nearby buildings check out but with today's tech, they could be miles from here controlling a drone."

"I'll turn on my shield and we'll move quickly. I wish they'd let us take her in a car, just drive her one rooftop over."

Nicky snorted. "Yeah, but then they'd miss their daily spectacle. The batarians eat it up, I hear."

"Well, they won't miss their show today. It's hard to watch her go through this. But maybe it'll be over soon."

Nicky frowned, looking across the room at the rest of the security detail surrounding his hero. "Don't wish for that. The longer they draw this out, the better it is for her. There's no chance of a 'not guilty' verdict, you know."

"You think so? Why?"

"If they say she's innocent, the Batarian Hegemony will declare an all-out war on us. The Alliance won't risk that to save one person. Not even her."

With a sinking feeling, he realized Nicky was right. James thought he must be either really naïve or really distracted to make it all this time without realizing it. Probably both. None of the evidence would matter one way or the other.

Waving his team into position, James activated his shield. "Grab onto my belt," he said. Shepard, immediately understanding his intent, tucked her hand behind the wide leather, pulling his shirt up slightly so her warm hand was in direct contact with his skin. The flickering field shone over her pale face when he glanced back at her. The electricity seemed to come directly from her fingertips instead of from the device on his wrist.

The shouting crowd surged forward when they stepped outside. Some flung insults at her and gobs of spittle sizzled against the shield as they passed by. The lights of the news cameras practically blinded them. James felt her grab his hip with her other hand and press her face between his shoulder blades. He helped the team push away anyone that came too close, reaching around with the other arm to hold her to his back protectively.

Once the door closed on the protesters when they reached the lobby of the court building, they took a moment to catch their breath.

"Are you alright?" James asked, putting his hands on her arms.

She nodded, but she always seemed disturbed after running that gauntlet. James got the feeling she wasn't as disturbed during a firefight.

Turning off the shield, he ordered his men into position and led Shepard to the courtroom doors. "Good luck," he murmured, and opened the doors for her before taking his usual position just inside the doorway. The rest of her bodyguards fanned out into the room.

Once she was seated, the female officer seated in the middle of the court-martial panel banged her gavel in the ancient call-to-order. "The prosecution may call their final witness to the matter of the Moorehead Station Massacre. Hopefully we can settle this today and get on with the greater charges."

The head of the prosecution rose. He was a short, thin man with an equally short and thin moustache. "The prosecution would like to call Mr. Cong Jia to the stand."

The crowd began to chatter loudly at this. The appearance of the drug kingpin was a surprise even to James; they should have mentioned this in his security briefing this morning. Shepard sat up straight in her chair.

Anderson stood up."Objection! I was given no notice of this witness. We need to prepare our defense."

The prosecuting attorney held up a hand with a smile. "We notified you of our subpoena more than six weeks ago, but Mr. Jia was offworld. We were told of his arrival only an hour ago."

"Actually, it's Mr. Cong," an incredibly tall asian man said as he stepped into the room. "The surname comes first in my culture." He smiled graciously, but the smile didn't break the cold calculation of his eyes as they swept across the room.

"Er, apologies, Mr. Cong," the prosecuting attorney said, his arrogance evaporating under Cong's scrutiny. "Will you please have a seat? We are anxious to hear your testimony."

"Of course. That's why I'm here." With an elegant grace, Cong strode to the table that had been prepared to the right of the court-martial panel and settled in the chair.

The testimony began with parts of the story that they had already heard. Cong described Shepard coming to him on orders from her doctor to search out people from her past, and how he had given her a job outside of Alliance space. He declined to answer any questions about how they had originally met. His accounting of the Moorehead incident and the decimation of the notorious gang the Sangre Carnal meshed fairly well with hers; perfection didn't matter since it was hearsay in his case. It was the end of the story that they really wanted Cong to fill in.

The prosecuting attorney paced in front of the table where Cong was seated. "So you're saying that it was the fact that the head of the Sangre Carnal was testing the tainted drugs on enslaved children that drove her to commit this gruesome act?"

"Indeed. Though I wouldn't call it gruesome."

The prosecuting attorney ran a finger over his thin moustache to cover a smile. "I'm sure you don't, Mr. Cong, but we hold to a different morality."

Cong leaned forward, addressing the man directly. "You misunderstand me, sir. I'm not discounting the nature of her act; it was indeed a terribly brutal one. But necessary.

"I had employed Raul Duarte for a number of years as a distributor. Though I had heard of some unseemly deeds on his part, it wasn't unusual enough in my line of business at the time for me to heed it. But Shepard's act brought it home for me in a very personal way. My late wife had spoken to me often about the link between the drug trade and slavery. I hadn't wanted to see it; I never bought or transported a slave, you see. The practice is repugnant and indefensible."

"You weren't aware that your employees were engaged in the slave trade?" the prosecuting attorney asked.

"I wasn't, though I'm not sure whether I would have tried to stop him at the time. Not until Shepard 'cleaned house', as it were. When I had to step in to take over that side of the operation again, I was astounded at the depth of the connections I discovered between the slave route in that sector and the drug trade. I put some of my best people on outlining the problem. It didn't take long to see that Celie had been right."

"I see." The prosecutor looked amused. "No doubt you rushed to liquidate all your holdings." He turned to share an amused chuckle with the court-martial panel.

Cong smiled unkindly. "That's precisely what I did. I have a longer view than most investors, you see. By the time I managed to disentangle my finances with any shred of the slave trade, my business had changed considerably. I had far less actual property, but an enormous reserve of capital. It wasn't long before a project came along that seemed a much more worthwhile investment."

"And what was that?" the prosecutor asked.

"Ironically enough, it was proposed by my enemy, Cerberus. A little project called Lazarus."

Shepard's gasp sounded in the room, making heads turn.

The opposing attorney looked slightly dazed himself as he spoke to the panel. "My team and I will need time to consider the implications of this evidence," he said.

The woman at the head of the court-martial panel nodded. "Granted. Admiral?"

"We've been unable to get a reliable Cerberus witness about Lazarus," Anderson said, rising. "If the prosecution is finished, I'd like to ask a few questions."

The panel assented and the admiral walked to the center of the room, facing Cong in his chair. "What was the purpose of the Lazarus Project?," he asked bluntly. "It was mentioned many times in the Commander's deposition."

"The purpose of Lazarus was to bring Commander Shepard back to life so that she could fight the reapers," Cong said without preamble.

As always, the mention of the reapers caused a stir in the room, but coming from someone like Cong, for the first time it seemed to be received with legitimacy.

"And - pardon this question, Commander - why was Shepard chosen as the subject?" Anderson asked.

Cong lifted his chin, his voice scornful as he answered. "The Illusive Man saw only what she could do. He saw her killsheet, mission specs, her strength and beauty. For him that was enough. He wanted the best of humanity to lead the fight to our most powerful enemy. But me, I knew better.

"I knew that Shepard is so moral, so protective of the innocent, and so pure in motives that she would never be tempted by the Illusive Man's dogma of human supremacy. Deep down, she feels responsible for every child in existence, of every species. And there is nothing so fierce as a protective mother. She was the only choice, in my eyes."

Cong smiled around at the rapt audience and sat back in his chair. "To save humanity is the smartest investment I've ever made, even though it did consume more than sixty percent on my fortune. In the long term, it will pay off."

Anderson questioned him for a few more minutes, than thanked him. When Cong rose from his seat, Shepard also came to her feet. In the sudden hush of the room, she bowed deeply to the older gentleman. He bowed back, not quite as deeply, and left.

The session broke for lunch. Shepard ate hers in a nearby conference room, as she usually did. She was very quiet. When James and his team were called to accompany her back an hour later, they were told that the panel was prepared to issue a partial sentence.

"Already?" Shepard asked. "With only an hour's deliberation?"

"I guess so," James replied. "But I thought they wanted to prolong the trial as long as possible."

They exchanged a worried look as James opened the door to the courtroom. He moved to stand beside the door like usual while she took her seat in front of the court-martial panel, but she kept casting her eyes back at him. He felt she wanted him to come stand next to her.

The head of the panel announced, "During the break, the panel watched the relevant footage from Moorehead provided by the Commander's datacube. In light of what we witnessed, plus her association with Mr. Cong and other notables such as the Illusive Man and Zaeed Massani-"

Shepard moved to rise, her face angry, but Anderson's pressed her back into her seat with one hand.

"-we have ruled that at the very least, in response to the callous way in which she disposed of the lives on Moorehead, she the defendant should be stripped of her rank, her commission, and her command. The Normandy has been impounded for some time in an Alliance dock. She will now become part of the Alliance fleet under someone else's command."

"You can't do that!" Shepard shouted, shoving Anderson off. "The SR-2 doesn't belong to the Alliance. She's my payment for going through the Omega 4 Relay. The Normandy is mine!"

"Then you admit that it was a trade for waging war outside of your commission as an officer of the Alliance Navy," the officer on the left of the panel responded drily. "That's mercenary activity, pure and simple, and strictly against Alliance regs. You may skirt that issue with Moorehead, but you can't deny this."

"I was legally dead, not even on Alliance rosters," she retorted. "And a Spectre besides!"

"Shepard, sit down," Anderson was saying, pulling on her arm. But she wasn't finished.

"And I won't hear a word against Zaeed Massani or anyone else of the Normandy crew. Every one of them are heroes that put their lives on the line to save all of you unappreciative assholes!"

James would have smiled at her impassioned response if he hadn't been hit again with a powerful pang of jealousy at the mention of Massani's name. He looked away from her, staring out the enormous window behind the panel that looked out over the city, trying not to let his anger show. Outside, the usual thick flow of traffic was almost totally absent, abnormal for this time of day.

The door beside him burst open. A young officer ran in and carried a message to the head table.

"How can this be?" the officer who had accused Shepard moments before gasped as he read the message. "We had no warning."

He stood up and turned on the nearby vidcomm. The screen flickered to life, showing newsfeeds from all over the world. They all depicted enormous ships descending from the sky and laying waste to the unprepared human cities. The reporter shouted his frantic commentary over the screams of panicking civilians.

"No warning?" Shepard asked incredulously. "I've been screaming my head off about this for the last five years. The reapers are here, people, time to get your head out of your asses!"

"How did they get past our defenses?" the woman in the center of the panel asked, staring at screen as a building in Paris was reduced to rubble in seconds with a single blast from a reaper's main cannon.

"Indoctrination. They always have people on the inside. Have you not heard anything I've said?" Shepard exclaimed.

"What can we do?" someone in the audience asked, and they began pushing their way toward Shepard, each of them determined to get an answer. James saw her head crane above the crowd, looking for him, when the window darkened.

A half mile away, an insect-like juggernaut gracefully lowered from the sky. The panels on its front slid aside, revealing a bright red hole. The glow brightened as the cannon prepared to fire.

"Get down!" Shepard shouted.

The blast struck the floor beneath them, blowing the glass into the room and knocking everyone back against the wall. A second blast hit the ceiling and the supports fell inward. The entire building rocked and huge chunks of the building fell through the ceiling, filling the air with choking dust.

James came to a minute later, reeling from the concussive blast. He could hear groaning in the room all around him. Stumbling, he made his way to the last place he'd seen Shepard, but she wasn't there. He found her pinned behind a column on the nearby wall, her face ashen with pain.

"Hang tight, Lola," he said. "I'll get you out of there."

"Get the others," she croaked, but he ignored her. Grunting with exertion, he used all of his strength to push the column out of the way. She collapsed to the floor. In the background, he could hear the reapers continue to wreak havoc on Vancouver, like they were all over the world.

Nicky was just outside with the rest of the team helping survivors, but they came running when James appeared with Shepard in his arms. He set her down gently. "She's okay, but she needs medi-gel. I'm going back to help the others."

James was glad to discover that Admiral Anderson was among the survivors. Anderson immediately sought out Shepard for counsel.

"There's nothing we can do except fight to the last person," she answered grimly. "I fought with the best ship, the best equipment, and with surprise on my side, and I barely made it back alive from Omega. The Collectors... they were building something."

"What was it?" Anderson asked.

She grimaced at the memory. "Something horrible. I'm not quite sure how to explain it. It was - it looked human, but it was enormous. Like a reaper. It had organic material running through its veins, liquidated from all of those human colonists. That's why the Collectors were cleaning our human colonies. They were looking for raw material to procreate."

"It looked human?" Anderson asked with revulsion. She nodded.

"What were they planning to do with it?" James asked.

Before she could answer, another blast ripped through the building. The floor trembled and tilted. "We have to get out of here!" Anderson shouted. "This way!"

The admiral was shouting for pickup before they reached the gaping hole in the side of the building. "The Normandy is going to meet us at the docks," he shouted over the cacophony. "She won't stand a chance against that reaper."

"Let's go, then," Shepard said, seeming to come back to life at the mention of her ship. "Someone give me a sidearm. We have reapers to kill!"

The ground was swarming with the reapers' minions; husks, marauders, and other genetic monstrosities seeking to kill humans with no remorse. Everyone fell in line behind Anderson, but Shepard was always the first to react when an enemy came into view. Even the admiral looked to her for guidance during the many firefights they encountered while on their way to the rendezvous point.

When they finally reached the dock the Normandy swooped in, the cargo bay doors open to catch them like a bird reaching out to pluck some very desperate worms from the ground. But as they were jumping on board, Anderson stepped back.

"You go ahead. I have to go back and help them organize the defense. Good luck, Commander Shepard." He tossed her a set of dog tags and added, "You're reinstated."

Before she could object, the Normandy veered away and closed the ramp. Breathing heavily, James watched her, not sure what was supposed to happen now.

"Commander," a voice came tinny through the overhead speaker, "there's a comm coming in for you. I've sent it down to the terminal."

Walking over to the lift, she keyed in a sequence and began talking to whoever was on the other end. "Miranda, are you seriously saying that you have something that could help?" she asked incredulously.

James listened with half an ear as he checked his team for wounds, his mind whirling with this new information. Miranda had refused to testify on Shepard's behalf, and now she was offering a secret weapon? He couldn't hear what was being said on the other end of the comm, but he immediately distrusted anything coming from Cerberus.

"We're on our way," Shepard said. "Joker, put in a course for London. Use the coordinates Miranda sent."

"You got it, Commander. It's good to have you back on board."

"Wish it were under better circumstances," she muttered, then turned when she heard James approach.

"We have to turn back. We need to get to Command and join the fleet," James said.

Her face hardened. "This is my ship and I'll goddamn take it where I want."

"That's it?" he asked as she turned away. "All these months, and that's all you have to say to me?"

Anderson coughed and moved away conspicuously, waving the nearby crew toward the wounded on the other end of the cargo bay.

"We need to stay and fight. We can't go running off to a Cerberus compound," James said.

"Miranda isn't in Cerberus anymore. Haven't you heard about the civil war?"

He leaned away from her. "No, I've been too preoccupied with what's been happening on Earth to keep up with Cerberus Daily News. And I'm not sure how you heard about it, either."

She began rooting through the armory and setting items off to the side. "People talk. I listened."

"So you're just running off to Cerberus again?" he asked, disgusted.

"I'm not joining them," she said as she holstered a new sidearm and tucked a rifle under her arm. "Miranda knows better than most what the reapers are capable of."

"That's a bullshit excuse. They're terrorists, Lola. I don't know how you can work with them."

"Commander, we're en route to London, but it'll take a few hours. We have to fly close to the water or we're too visible."

"Roger that, Joker," Shepard said. She gave James one more regretful look before boarding the lift. "We can discuss this after the mission. Hopefully you'll have a larger perspective by then."

The lift doors shut on his face. He stared the door, grimly remembering the way she'd acted in the elevator in Vancouver that morning.

"Well, if it isn't Lieutenant Vega," a voice said from behind him. James' head swiveled, his expression brightening when he saw a familiar face.

"Esteban!" James exclaimed. "I haven't seen you since you left Fehl just before the invasion. Where do they keep the tequila on this scow? I need a fucking drink like nobody's business."

"Don't ask me, I only come on board during working hours to refit the ground transports." Steve Cortez nodded toward the tank-like Mako on the other side of the cargo bay.

James frowned, glancing back toward the lift. "So they were already refitting it when they took her command away? That's messed up."

"Apparently the Alliance has their own agenda. But we have bigger problems, don't we? They had me wondering about this reaper business myself, but I guess we all know now. We have a better chance now that the Commander is back on board. I haven't personally served with her until now, of course, but the others who have talk plenty. It's hard not to believe what they have to say."

"Yeah. Whatever people say about Shepard tends to be true." He jutted his chin out, glancing back toward the lift.

Cortez let out a slow whistle. "What happened to get you so bitter? I've never seen you like this before."

"I dunno. Things have been shit ever since Fehl."

"I heard about that. I'm sorry I wasn't there," Cortez said sympathetically.

"I'm not. For the most part only the people in my shuttle survived. You would have been on the ground with the rest of the support personnel."

Nicky began guiding the team members to the lift. He nodded at James. "Don't worry, I'll take care of them, sir."

Cortez smiled. "He's a good kid. I'm glad to see he made it off Fehl too."

"Yeah. I don't know what I'd do without people I trust at my back. Shepard's really burning me up right now."

Cortez's eyebrows shot up. "Are you serious? Haven't you known her forever?"

"That's part of the problem. Hearing the testimony all these months, too... she had the right motivations, but she went way too far." He pressed his lips together, remembering the way she'd spoken to him just a moment before.

His friend snorted. "That's why she's so good. She gets results."

"But now she's taking us to a Cerberus base. They were behind the Fehl invasion, you know. It makes me sick to my stomach to get dragged into this, knowing who's waiting for us now."

"Maybe she knows more than you."

"Well, yeah, she definitely does. About Cerberus anyway." James rubbed the back of his neck, frustrated with his inability to convince his friend.

"Sounds like you've already made up your mind. Don't piss off the boss though, okay? She needs to focus right now. If we live through this, you can always ask her later."

"I guess so." Still frustrated, James went to the nearby worktable and began checking over the team's weapons. There was sure to be heavy fighting wherever they landed, and they had to be ready for anything where Shepard was taking them.

Shepard
Deck One

Her quarters looked different, devoid of the personal touches she had given them. Even her collection of ship miniatures had disappeared. The Alliance refit team had been busy.

But she didn't explore the room as she might have done in another situation. Instead, she tossed the weapons she's procured from the armory on the bed and dropped onto the sofa to think. She rubbed her face, distressed at the thought of all the civilians who were trying to seek shelter right now. Little did they know that there was nowhere to hide.

Still, it was nice not to have anyone watching her every movement.

"Commander, I wanted to say that it's a pleasure to have you back on board."

She smiled ironically. So much for privacy. "Thanks, EDI. It's good to hear your voice. Though I don't understand why it has to always be like this for me. It's like I'm always jumping from the frying pan into the fire."

"Garrus Vakarian once said that the people on this ship are always at the crest of the wave, and are the first to crash on the rocks."

Her gaze became unfocused as she listened to this. "Poetic. Sounds like him. When did he say that?"

"He was talking privately with Tali'Zorah nar Rayya on the vidcomm just before Omega 4."

"Then you shouldn't be telling me about it, EDI," she said with a bemused look on her face.

"Perhaps not, but he often spent time talking with her just before a particularly dangerous mission. It seemed to comfort him."

This made Shepard thoughtful. She wished she had time to go brave James' temper again. In the end she decided it was a bad idea, since he had already planted a worm of suspicion in her head about Miranda. The Illusive Man could have done something to her since they had last seen each other, like implanting a control chip.

As it was, she had plenty of work to fill the time; intel reports to examine, an examination of the landing site and reaper positions, and a briefing for everyone who was combat-ready. She'd take as many with them as she could, even though it left the Normandy vulnerable. This was more important.

"Miranda had better deliver," she said aloud.

"Agreed," EDI responded.

The conference room on the command deck looked nothing like the lab that Mordin had once occupied here. Cables and crates with tools still littered the space as the twenty-three crew members gathered in the small room. It pained Shepard to see the Normandy's beauty be stripped bare of everything it had represented in her mind.

There weren't nearly enough senior officers on board. Shepard was acutely aware that her present crew had the wrong specializations for what they were about to do. The crew received her briefing with understandable anxiety.

Her security detail from Earth stood next to James, far more confident than the others. She was heartened by their presence, at least; especially one in particular.

She paced with wide steps in front of the strategic map projected on the wall. "I know this isn't what you thought you'd be doing today but remember that none of you are responsible for stopping the reapers. Just do the task you've been assigned. Don't try to be a hero. We need as many humans alive as possible when this is over. So no stupid risks. Understand?"

Exchanging nervous looks, many of the crew nodded.

"I'm sorry, I can't hear your head rattle. What do you say when a superior officer gives an order?"

"Yes, ma'am!" They shouted as one.

"That's better. You have your team assignments. I've chosen specific tasks for each of you that I know for a fact are within your capabilities. No matter what happens out there, I know that each and every one of you will give your all to complete your objectives. You'll keep your wits about you and follow the plan, but you'll think quick if the plan goes to shit. And the plan always goes to shit, so nobody come crying to me about not having the intel."

She pointed to the map of London behind her. "The base where we're headed is under this warehouse district on the south end. It's not an easy entry, but since people know we're coming we'll have some help. The reapers are mostly centered on their original landing zone, by the river here-" she tapped the wall, "-and here. They're moving in a steady line counter-clockwise from their original landing point."

One of the men raised his hand. "What does it look like out there?"

"Most places haven't been touched, but there's widespread panic. In areas where the reapers have been, nothing is left. They raze everything to the ground."

"I can't believe this," a woman still holding her toolkit said. "It happened so fast."

Shepard replied grimly. "It didn't happen fast. It's been happening for a long, long time."

James stepped forward like he had something to say. He opened his mouth, then glanced at the crew. He glanced back at her. She held a finger up.

"Dismissed." Shepard watched the crew file out, trying to catch their eyes, but most were too intimidated to look back.

James stayed behind. "These people aren't going to survive for ten minutes on foot through that." He gestured at the ground schematics that were up on the wall.

"Do you think I don't know that? Only your team has taken advanced combat training. But they're all I've got."

"It doesn't have to be like this. We need to rejoin the fleet!"

Shepard laughed. "The same fleet that patrolled Citadel space while I fought off two front waves of reapers with just one ship? The same ones who made the entire galaxy distrust me right when they needed to listen?"

"Working with Cerberus did that."

"It was coming back that did it. The way I viewed everything changed. Suddenly it wasn't about saving innocents, though of course I wanted that too. I had to make it count, so I threw myself wholeheartedly into something that I thought would make a real difference. Something that I could point to and know that this second life was worth the price so many people paid. After every mission on this ship, it was always a wonder to me that I made it out alive. I have always been at peace with my own mortality. It's the only blessing to life that I've ever seen."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Sorry, I forget you haven't had as long to stew on this as I have. Raises a lot of scary questions. It's goddamn complex." When she said this, she smiled slightly.

His head flinched back. "What are you smiling at?"

"Nothing, just something Massani said to me once."

"Fuck this," James said, turning away.

With quick strides, she circled the table to stand in front of him. "Look, I did not make a choice to work for Cerberus. It makes me sick to think that my body lay on a fucking lab table for almost a year while they rebuilt me." She spat the word in disgust. "You have no idea what plagues my dreams."

"Actually, I have a pretty good idea. I've watched over you for six months, so I know a lot more than you think. You've always been the poster child for the Alliance Marines, and all of a sudden you're talking like you hate the Alliance more than Cerberus does. I can't comprehend how you're doing this." He pointed at the map on the wall.

"I don't hate the people I serve with, but I hate what the Alliance has become. It's the same old story. Corruption, scandal, politics. Like every human government in history. Sometimes I can't help but wonder if humanity has hit its peak. Maybe it's for the best."

He stared at her in increasing dismay. "What are you saying? That we should just let them come and kill us all? I don't buy that. You're cynical."

"Cynical?" She let out a short laugh. "Coming from you, that's something else."

"You want to know why I'm so bitter? It was Cerberus that called the Collectors to Fehl so they could study the way they took a colony in a matter of hours."

"I didn't know that." She wet her lips, taking a step back from him.

"Why should you? You were dead at the time. And then Anderson pulled me out of a long-term undercover assignment so I could guard you while you were charged with colluding with the people I hate the most." He swept his hands expressively as he spoke, the movements jerky with anger.

"But they were the only ones willing to give me what I needed to stop the Collectors! I'm not going to run to the Alliance fleet. We both know for a fact they don't have any sort of plan in place, and Miranda built a weapon that can even the odds. I'll do whatever I have to do to save Earth, and if you don't like it then you can walk back to the Alliance."

"I know, I know." His tone was apologetic. "I know you have the right motivations."

"Then why are you so determined to keep punishing me?"

"How am I punishing you?"

He looked so comically confused that her smile returned. "By keeping your distance. It's been so hard to be near you all this time and not..." She couldn't finish.

"You're my commanding officer now. What exactly do you expect to happen?" He scrubbed his hands over his flushed face.

"Anderson didn't ask me if I wanted it. I didn't. My love affair with the Alliance is over."

"So you're not reenlisting?"

"No. I want to do something besides fight. If we win this battle, I think I've earned some time off."

He regarded her in thoughtful silence as he absorbed this, then smiled. "Are you going to want some company?" He approached her and took one of her hands, placing it in his palm and stroking her lifeline as he spoke.

She smiled crookedly up at him. "Definitely."

He tugged her closer, a smile teasing at the corner of his mouth. "Okay, Commander. I trust you. Whatever we find in London, I'll be right beside you."

She put her arms around his neck. "Of course you will. It's where you belong."

"I'll have to figure out some way to get rid of that cynicism too." He bent his head to hers.

As he kissed her, Shepard was reminded there is beauty in the ugliness of war, pleasure underneath pain, and fear of her own undoing every time she made herself vulnerable by opening her heart to someone else. But she also knew that when two people who sit at the spearpoint of events that affect an entire world share one of these profound moments, their love can become a symbol of hope for all of the beings who count on them.

Besides, she rationalized as the kiss deepened, she deserved a little happiness. She'd paid her dues a hundred times over.

Final Episode... Coming Soon!