Chapter Text
An outside observer would have witnessed a soldier in her bunk, tossing and turning from what was clearly a hell of a nightmare. One moment she was under the blankets. The next she was up against the wall, pawing at her sweat pants or the back of her night shirt for an array of weapons that weren't there.
A frantic search of the room followed and she set hands on her pistol out of her footlocker. The feel of the grip in her hand was enough to settle the immediate sense of danger somewhat and she looked around. The lights had brightened, having detected her motion, and the room itself had her somewhat at a loss. She didn't recognize it beyond the incredulous realization that it was Alliance military, all utility and little to no charm.
Where the hell was she?
At that moment the VI initiated with what was supposed to be a cheerful chime (if it hadn't been so heavily associated with having to wake up).
“Good morning, Commander Shepard,” it said. “According to GTM it is six AM in the morning, though by Mars standard, it is 3:39 AM. With the low temperatures, the wind speed has slowed down some, but as the sun makes its appearance there will be high winds and possible thunder storms as the planet nears noon in this time zone. I should remind you that today is your last full day on shore leave. Enjoy your day!”
Mars?
Shepard checked her omni-tool.
Mars.
Where were the Reapers? This facility had been depressurized...
A note of panic rushed through her. She wasn't wearing her hardsuit, but she forced herself to set that aside. There was clearly breathable air in the room.
She took a moment to seek out any facility wide alerts on her tool and only found a minor one about maintenance on an exterior hallway that usually took the brunt of the pounding when the storms rolled through. It was the date attached that threw her for another loop. 2183. The year she went on that mission to Eden Prime.
She stared at it uncomprehendingly, blinking a few times in case the numbers would correct themselves. They didn't.
Was this a dream? One last hallucination before she died? Did it matter? Or maybe the Reaper invasion was the dream...
A thrill shot through her. Wait. If she'd seen the future that awaited them...
Thane. Mordin. Legion. Admiral Kahoku. Kaidan. Nihlus. Hell, even Jenkins. And Ashley.
Ashley.
Maybe they didn't have to die.
The VI spoke up again startling her. “I am detecting a sharp climb in your heart rate, Commander,” it said. “Might I suggest some chamomile tea?”
Of course, none of that mattered if she didn't have proof. If the reapers didn't exist... then neither would the blueprints to the crucible... which were here on Mars.
“I need to find the crucible,” Shepard muttered, and started for the clothes in her footlocker which she found scattered across the floor in her haste for a weapon. Wait. Right. She didn't even know what she was doing here. This was before the Normandy, even.
“VI,” she said. Ugh. What was this thing's name again? “...Oppy! Oppy, what was my purpose at this base?”
“You are on temporary leave between transfers,” Oppy informed her. “Your next posting will be aboard the Normandy SR-1, the first mission being the retrieval of an artifact. Further details have not been released to me.”
There was a reason they'd sent her to Mars. Why had they-. Right. Anderson had made some veiled suggestions about familiarizing herself with Prothean artifacts. She'd thought it was a passing whim of his at the time. Mars had a few scarce ruins left and even a bit of technology. There were also the archives that had truly launched humanity's FTL capabilities, but they were something she'd dismissed as old news at the time. It all tied into going after the beacon on Eden Prime, not that she was supposed to know about that...
That dream, vision, alternate life? Whatever it was had felt so real, so vivid. It felt more real than her current situation, but if this was real and she didn't act on it... The booming battle cry of the Reapers as they descended on earth echoed in her mind and she shuddered. If that future was indeed what awaited them, there was proof and she had just enough clearance on the base to get herself in trouble. If the Crucible plans were there...
She threw on a set of clothes, stuffing the rest with uncharacteristic haste back into her locker.
The facility was quiet enough to raise the hair on the back of her neck and arms. It had been about this quiet after the Eva Core bot swept though and gunned down all the helpless civilians, and after certain areas of the facility were depressurized.
Shepard pulled her mind sharply away from thoughts of choking on vacuum.
Other than the horrible memories of finding corpses laying in puddles of blood, the place was about as homey as ever with the metal grid walkways and sterile safety rails. The window shutters were open at the moment and there was some wind, but not enough psi behind it to even stir the surface dust yet. The sun hadn't risen, but the glow of dawn was growing on the west horizon, casting a red light on the red planet, bathing the surface and the facility in what looked like emergency lighting, which only added to the-.
Shepard hadn't seen a single body so far, dead or otherwise. She kept moving.
One of the lead scientists was in the lab when she arrived. The Commander stopped in the doorway to breathe a silent sigh of relief at finding anyone alive. It also helped that the air was filled with the warm scent of fresh coffee. The red light of predawn was replaced by the eerie green glow from the Prothean obelisks that dominated the center of the room. The low hum of their quiet function had her rubbing at her jaw.
The man sitting hunched at his terminal had a steaming mug sitting in the danger zone of his right elbow.
“You might want to move that,” Shepard said.
The man turned, clearly startled, hit the mug with his elbow and sent coffee all over the floor of the lab.
“Ah dammit,” the man said and began edging away from the mess, clearly to begin dealing with it in some manner. “Commander, you startled me.” His name tag said Delmore.
Shepard shrugged. “Sorry,” she said.
Dr. Delmore grinned. The skin around his blue eyes crinkling with mirth behind thick rimmed glasses. “You tried to warn me,” he said somewhat philosophically. He leaned in toward her a bit conspiratorially. “This last shipment of coffee was shit anyway. Don't suppose you could put in a good word for us so they'll send us the good stuff next time, will you?”
Shepard couldn't help smiling at him. “I'll see what I can do,” she promised.
He clapped her arm. “I knew I liked you,” he said. “For being a jar head anyway.”
“Geek,” she retaliated earning a laugh from him on his way out.
Shepard turned toward the obelisks, her smile dying. She stepped over to the interface. She'd had Liara's assistance with this last time. Would she even know what she was looking for? And, if none of her memories about the last three years actually happened, then would she even still have the cipher? Only one way to find out...
The interface proved to be decently intuitive, so she was still digging when Dr. Delmore returned. At first he was intent on mopping up the spill, but her activities drew his attention. He came to stand at her elbow.
“I thought you said you didn't know much about the Protheans,” Delmore said, clearly distracted by her search.
“I wasn't lying when I said that,” Shepard said. Not that she remembered that conversation...
“You sure seem to be navigating these files like a pro,” he countered. “Do you know how much of this stuff we still haven't even categorized? You're skipping though years and years of study and labor.”
“I'm looking for something,” she said.
A particular file jumped out at her. Was this it? She opened it.
The crucible diagram, broken up in it's various pieces jumped out at her, glowing white and slightly green.
Shepard stepped back, staring up at it in dread. “There it is,” she breathed.
“What is it?” Delmore asked, clearly awed at the obvious complexity and breadth of the device.
“The last best hope of the entire galaxy,” Shepard said grimly.
If the crucible designs were here, then the Reapers really were out there.
She turned to the doctor. “Turn all your attention and resources to this thing,” she said. “This needs to be our top priority. I'll get you authorization from Admiral Hackett. And Delmore, vet your personnel carefully. Cerberus can't get wind of this.” She began to walk away. There was a lot to do and very little time to do it.
“But, what is it?” Delmore asked, tracking her as she walked.
Shepard turned back toward him briefly. “Hopefully? An off switch to the Reapers.”
A few hours and a heavily edited story later.
Admiral Hackett sighed heavily. “You seem serious about this, Commander, but I'm not going to lie to you,” he said. “This seems extremely far fetched and out of the blue.”
Shepard internally held back a wince. She'd gotten entirely sick of hearing that sentiment and getting it from Hackett felt like a slap to the face. “I have proof sir,” she said. “Firstly, the dig on Eden Prime will eventually turn up a living Prothean survivor, but in the meanwhile, there is a Reaper corpse hanging suspended in the Klendagon Rift. Don't board it. They have an energy field that interferes with brain activity.”
“That's uncomfortably close to the Terminus systems, Commander,” Hackett said. “And the galactic core for that matter.”
“Probably why it's still there,” Shepard said. “Send a ship just to confirm it's there. If it isn't you can give me a big I told you so. But if it is there...”
“It would lend you some credibility,” the Admiral admitted somewhat grudgingly. “I already have confirmation that the blueprints you sent us are the real deal. If it turns out I believe you in the end, will you tell me how you know about all this?”
“We'll need hours and you'll owe me three beers,” Shepard said then frowned. “Make it five.”
“Five,” Hackett said, nodding appreciatively. “This is either nothing or a hell of a doozy, Commander. Regardless, I still want you on that mission for Eden Prime.”
“Right,” Shepard said. “Gotta go get evaluated for spectre-hood.”
The shock was plain on Hackett's face. “How did you-?” he began then cut himself off. “Five beers, Commander. If that Reaper is there.”
Shepard nodded. “It will be,” she said.
“I hope for the sake of the galaxy that it isn't,” the admiral said. “Hackett, out.”