"Shepard?"
"MIA. Presumed KIA."
"The Normandy's crew?"
"Presently MIA. After the Crucible fired, they attempted mass relay transit. Their current whereabouts are unknown."
"Any of Shepard previous crew?"
"They are all unreachable."
"So I guess I'm the last one left, correct?"
"That you are, Lyran. That you are. . ."
Lyran looked down from his CO to his feet for a moment, thinking about the news he had just received. Shepard, the hero of the Alliance and savior of the galaxy, is presumed dead. Normandy is lost. Shepard's old Cerberus team is unreachable. All this hit Lyran like an Elcor.
When the new information began to sink in, he lifted his head so his CO could address him.
"We need you to deal with some issues we have at the moment. Presently, we have the Batarian Crisis to deal with. We need you to go in and try to establish a connection with Base Camp in the Batarian DMZ. With your help, we can be rid of those Batarian menaces once and for all."
Lyran ignored his CO's racism, as he was a veteran in the First Contact War, and still suffered night terrors about it. He didn't express the psychological harm, but it was evident after long conversations. Lyran was puzzled, though.
"Sir, with all due respect, how am I to combat the Batarians in any way? My ship has just enough crew to maintain it, along with my first mate pro tempore Lieutenant Riddick and our pilot Jamison."
"I understand, Lyran." Lyran's CO placed a few dossiers on his desk in between the two of them. "Here are some dossiers on a few people of interest. You help them, they'll help you. And one of them has an Alliance debt that needs to be paid off. Use it to your advantage. A quarian tech-nut, vorcha berserker, a drell biotic, and Krogan warlord. These folks will help with your mission. Don't fail us, Lyran."
Lyran nodded and saluted his CO. His CO returned the salute, dismissing Lyran. As Lyran left, he fingered his way through the dossier, scanning the documents. 'Great,' he thought, 'I get to travel all across the gorram universe just to get a single job done. Why can't they just hand me a platoon and let me have fun with it?' He grumbled his way to the Alliance docks, where the SSV Serenity waited for him.
The SSV Serenity, put into service just after the First Contact War, served Lyran and his shipmates well. She hardly broke down, and her stealth drives were efficient enough. Its design was not as sleek as a present-day SR2, but she got the job done. Her pilot, Jamison, kept her breathing through good times and bad. He was a top scorer at flight school, and was asked if he wanted to fly dreadnaughts, but he declined the generous offer as he preferred more maneuverable spacecraft.
As Lyran entered the ship, Lieutenant Riddick approached him quickly. He had been waiting a good ten minutes, which was nine minutes more than he was used to waiting.
"So, where to, sir?"
Lyran showed Riddick the dossiers and let him read them. "Anywhere but here, apparently."
Riddick scanned the dossiers and handed them back to Lyran. "Well shit. Guess we're in for a road trip. Better tell Jamison."
Riddick walked to the ship intercom and selected Cockpit. "Oi! Jamison! Guess where we're heading? Perseus Veil! Full speed ahead!"
Before Riddick clicked the intercom off, you could hear unintelligible swears coming in from the cockpit intercom.
"He sounds delighted. . ."
"So do you, sir."