Mass Effect: Cultivation
**A/N**-WARNING! Since this chapter will focus a lot more around military personnel, in general, you will find many derogatory terms towards women and various other types of groups. If you are the type of person to become offended by those pejoratives, I would suggest that you not continue on any further. These are marines who are talking; they are not necessarily known to have the cleanest mouths or be politically correct. I have not rated this an M because I don't graphically go into detail about violence or sexuality, but if need be, I will change it. You have been warned. Happy reading!
Chapter One
Alliance Veteran Affairs Hospital
Elysium, Vetus cluster, Petra Nebula, October 10, 2178, 1722h
"That's another strike out for Kenshin Takeda," the vid screen's announcer droned. "Yes, sir, the Red Sox have really made that rookie pitcher from Japan soar to fame. Looks like the Rays might not win this one after all. They had a solid lead from the start, but as we now head into the bottom of the eighth inning, I don't know…"
A month after the raid, Shepard's ears were still ringing from the gunfire on Torfan. He watched the game with a few fellow marines in the hospital's rec room but winced when the baseball game went to a commercial. I don't care what anybody says. Those damned networks DO turn up the volume for the advertisements, he thought and stuck his fingers into his ears to try and cut out the pain. A fellow soldier that was sitting next to him on the couch had control over the remote; noticing his plight, he proceeded to relieve Shepard of it by muting the audio.
"Thanks," Shepard said and removed his fingers from his ears.
"No problem," the veteran nodded.
"What're you in for?"
"Took a bullet to the kneecap. Nobody could get to me with medi-gel in time, so," the soldier drew Shepard's attention to his truncated leg.
"Damned Batarians; sorry to hear that."
"That's okay. Docs say that at least I'll be able to walk again with a prosthetic limb. Who knows, after some physical therapy, maybe I'll be able to run and catch my son again in a game of tag in a few months? Shit, my problems are nothing compared to the marines in the past. Back in the 20th century, there's no way in hell that it'd be possible for me to do anything more but hop around on a pair of crutches. No medi-gel. All they had was alcohol, soap, or disinfectant. Then they had to bandage every single open wound."
"Yeah, medical science is pretty miraculous these days," Shepard noted with a nod.
"Hey, I think I've seen your face around. Aren't you the Butcher of Torfan?"
"That he is," said a deep voice from behind the couch. Both marines whirled around to observe a black man of medium height in Alliance regulation dress blues heading for them. He removed his hat and reached a hand towards Shepard. "And the Alliance is damned proud of your service, Lieutenant."
"Captain Anderson, sir, to what do I owe this honor?" Shepard arose and gave him a salute.
David Anderson gave a short chuckle, returned the salute, and extended his hand out to the junior officer again. "Please, Shepard, have a seat. Can I have a moment of your time, son?"
"Is this an official visit, sir?" Shepard inquired and finally shook Anderson's hand. He glanced at the wounded vet next to him, who turned the sound back on but turned the level way down.
"Well, let's just say that I came to see what all the fuss was about with the only N7 graduate to ever beat my time on the Norton course at the ATA in Lowell City," Anderson gave him a smile. "And your record has yet to be beaten. Major Lloyd still speaks very highly of you."
"It's only because I won a bet that he had some cash on. And the odds weren't in my favor, I guess," Shepard shrugged. "So lining your superior officer's pockets tends to brighten his or her day long enough to remember your name with a smile. And after that day, he still called me a fuck chop."
"Lieutenant, I'd like to speak with you off of the record." Anderson placed his hat onto a coffee table in front of them and sat in a reclining chair beside the couch.
"Sir, if it's possible, would you mind if I kept an eye on the game?" Shepard's gaze flickered over to the entertainment in front of him, then back over to the captain.
"Not at all, Shepard. Like I said, this isn't an official visit. I'd just like a few minutes of your time."
"It's your nickel, sir."
"I read over what happened to your unit on Torfan, Shepard. You sacrificed your squad mates' lives to get into that bunker full of Batarians. But what you did saved a helluva lot more, and you got the job done."
"Yeah, I have to thank those bastards for the tinnitus that I've now got as a result of those actions, as well as a bunch of fresh graves that I've now got to visit and deliver these." Shepard dug into his pocket to pull out nine dog tags and casually tossed them onto the coffee table next to Anderson's hat. "You still wanna call those heroic actions, sir?"
Anderson leaned back in the chair and crossed one leg on top of the other. "I can see that you're hurting, son, and that's normal. But quitting the Alliance isn't the answer to your problems." He picked a small pin off of the many medals that decorated his dress uniform and gave it to Shepard so that he could look at it.
Shepard raised the decoration up to the light to study the five pointed star and the gold oak leaves that surrounded it. "What was this piece of chest candy for, Captain?"
"A little reconnaissance mission that I did back in the First Contact War. That scouting trip went TARFU, in other words, from bad to worse." He collected the pin back from Shepard and pocketed it. "My partner and I, Sam, who was my best mate from boot camp were sent to scout out a Turian supply line just before dawn. We had to make our way through a nasty hot and humid swamp full of dangerous creatures that neither of us had ever seen before. The stench of that place reminds me of about a gross of rotten eggs that I found in a closet once when I had KP during bootcamp."
"Sounds nice compared to crawling over twenty dead and rotting Batarians." Shepard relaxed his posture into the couch and sat back with one arm crossing over the back of it. "Or burning human flesh. So what went wrong, sir?"
"Some kind of creature that looked like a snake but had legs like a centipede and antennae spat out some poison from its fangs at us. It hit Sam right in the eyes, blinding him right then and there. I was able to cover my own, so it only nailed me on my hand, but it still hurt like a sonuvabitch. I had two anti-venom kits on my belt, administered one to myself, and gave the other to Sam, not that it did much for him."
"You couldn't call for help," Shepard agreed. "Turians were that close to your position?"
"Hmm, right down our necks, and dawn was coming quickly. I had to leave Sam behind right then and there to complete the assignment. When I got back to him, there was nothing I could do. He'd already bought the farm."
"What about the intel?" Shepard asked and shifted himself onto the cushion.
"I got it, all right, and it paid off. But I'd rather be able to talk to Sam today than wear this little thing on my chest next to the fruit salad instead." Anderson pulled out the decoration and then reinstalled it next to the several other commendations just above his left breast pocket. "Was there anyone in your unit you got along with?"
Shepard shrugged. "Ragtag bunch. My CO, Major Kyle put four FNGs in my squad."
"Four FNGs?" Anderson raised an eyebrow. "For a mission like that? Were they at least at the top of their class?"
"Hell if I know. They followed me into that bunker anyhow." Shepard uncrossed his legs and stuck a booted leg onto the coffee table. "Not sure if my CO was intentionally putting me into a cluster fuck or what, but it happened, regardless. I never had a problem with him."
"Were any of them N7s like yourself?"
"Nope, just me." Shepard's leg twitched, and it caused him to accidentally kick Anderson's hat off of the table. "Shit, sorry, sir." He sprang up from the couch, but Anderson pushed him back, got up, and picked up the hat himself. "Won't happen again."
"It's all right, son." He patted Shepard on the back and put the cap back on. "Let me ask you something, Shepard. What was on your mind when you finally got into that bunker?"
"Something like why the hell am I the only one here? And who the fuck's got my six? I can't remember much more, sorry, sir," Shepard said and scratched the back of his neck.
"That's what I thought."
"Sir?"
"You weren't thinking 'what the fuck do I do now'? Or I'm not gonna make it. You went on, Lieutenant. You went on even though everyone else went down."
"And now I'm hearing that my CO's gone AWOL."
"N7s are the best, Lieutenant. We accept nothing less, you know that. But just because someone you once looked up to is gone doesn't give you the right to quit." Shepard remained taciturn and turned his head back to the ballgame.
"The Alliance still needs soldiers of action like you, Shepard. We care about you, son; we want to help you through this." After about another thirty seconds, Shepard finally turned his head back towards Anderson. "Sleep on it, Lieutenant."
"I haven't been sleeping; that's why I'm doing this," Shepard spat. "Sir."
"Then understand that one day, it'll get better if we work it out and talk."
"I'll think about it, Captain, sir." The younger marine arose from the couch. Anderson couldn't read his facial expression; the soldier wore a true poker face. "Wanna join me for some chow? It's not too bad here."
Anderson smiled. "I have a better idea, if you're up for it. My car's outside in the parking lot. Pick a place you wanna grab some grub, and I'll pick up the tab. Or rather," he chortled, "the Alliance will."
Shepard returned his grin and held up two fingers about an inch apart. "In that case, sir, I'll go anywhere that's got porterhouse twelve ounce steaks this thick."
"I know a place that'll hit the spot. Come on."
Shepard collected the dog tags from the coffee table, shoved them into his fatigue pockets, and followed Anderson out the hospital's front door.
Orbit of Theshaca, Hong cluster, Armstrong Nebula System
SSV Hong Kong, Crew Mess, November 20, 2178, 0729h
After a few more encouraging visits with Anderson at the VA hospital on Elysium, Shepard did indeed reconsider his resignation from the Alliance. In fact, Anderson liked the younger soldier so much that he had requested Shepard to be assigned to the current vessel under his command, the SSV Hong Kong. When Shepard first stepped onboard the Hong Kong, there were very few fellow marines who would approach him. His reputation had already become a legend in the Alliance apparently. As soon as he stepped into a heavily populated area with his colleagues, the conversations would cease or immediately lower in volume.
If there were any women in the area, several heads would turn or give him more than a once over. Shepard was an extremely comely man. His eyes were a light brown milk chocolate, his hair was a much darker saturation, and his jaw was perfect. His upper teeth had a slight overbite, but it was not visible unless he smiled deeply. When he did smile or perhaps even smirk, there was always a playful hint that followed through with his eyes. The first woman that he had ever made love to told him that she could lose herself in them for hours.
The muscles underneath his Alliance fatigues suggested that he was well-built but not overly beefy like some marines. He worked out when it was necessary to keep himself in shape, but he was not so vain as to spend so much time in the gym. Shepard preferred to socialize with his colleagues over a drink or perhaps watch a sport game.
He actually had to initiate conversations himself most of the time with them, but eventually, he found some camaraderie with one soldier named Albert Beckett. Beckett was a first-class serviceman or a corporal who was quiet unlike most of his colleagues. He preferred to read or listen to classical music by himself when he wasn't working out or on duty, but he made Shepard swear not to tell anyone else that. Doing either of those two things still would ostracize you from your comrades in the marines. Beckett encouraged his superior officer to do so; he found that having an intelligent conversation with a woman can actually score more points than just having stripes, showing off scars, or telling another hometown hero story. At the time that Beckett first mentioned it, Shepard rolled his eyes and waived him off.
But recently after some shore leave, Shepard watched Beckett in action with a woman. It was all too true. Shepard was indeed better looking than Beckett. After the three of them had met, Shepard excused himself to give them a chance to be alone. However, he kept a very tight eye upon the two of them from a distance. She was so attuned to Beckett that she stared at nothing but him the entire time.
As Shepard waited for his turn to be served in the lineup, he hugged an empty tray to his side and studied the words upon his data pad with complete interest. He was currently reading the novel "The Romance of the Three Kingdoms" by Luo Guanzhong, a 14th century Chinese author from Earth. Although the novel was a three part volume that was several thousands of pages long, it was actually based upon the tumultuous history that occurred during the Han dynasty period. The vocabulary in it went a little over his head, but thankfully, he also had a dictionary on that data pad as well. And it was completely fascinating.
China was always a powerful country, and in the 21st century, its might soared even higher as it went through an industrial revolution. Some historians even argued that its economy rivaled the United States of America. It quickly became the leader of the Asian Union and contributed heavily to the Systems Alliance several years later.
"Hey, Fuck Stick, move it or lose it," said a rather impatient voice behind Shepard.
Only one other marine on the Hong Kong was not intimidated by Shepard in the least; that was Staff Lieutenant W.F. Sanders. W.F. was senior to Shepard by two ranks and was hinted to have a relation to the infamous Admiral Jon Grissom, but no one dared to publicly discuss how he moved up the chain of command. He was known to have an extremely short fuse, and he loved to pick on his underlings.
Shepard tore his eyes away from the data pad, trudged forward towards the mess sergeant, and bravely raised his tray up to the man. "Sorry, sir. I didn't realize that you were that anxious to try whatever new science experiment Simpson's been growing here," he quipped with a smile.
"Keep moving along, wise ass," Simpson barked after he served Shepard.
"Turning into quite the book worm, aren't ya?" Sanders shot back. "Trying to score with the bum chums?" He shoved his tray under Simpson's ladle.
"Why? You looking for any tips, sir?" Shepard smirked.
Before Sanders could shoot off another insult, Anderson's voice came in over the ship's P.A. "The briefing for our up and coming mission will be in fifteen minutes, marines. All hands on duty are required to attend."
Fifteen minutes later, all marines filed into the briefing room that was located upon the navigation deck of the Hong Kong. There was no need for the superior officers to remind their juniors as to who would sit in a chair. It was an unspoken rule.
Anderson was dressed in his fatigues and removed his hat as soon as everyone had sat down or taken a knee. All conversations dwindled down into a whisper, and then eventually nothing as they realized that their captain was about to address them. "Yesterday, I know that I had said that we were going to send out a recon team this morning down to that moon, Arkham. But that will no longer be necessary."
A great majority of the marines all looked at one another with puzzled expressions; no one seemed to know anything about this. So they all returned their attention to their commander.
"The situation has changed for the better, though, marines, don't worry," Anderson announced proudly with a beam. He activated an omni-tool to show his crew some holographic images upon a vid screen to prove his point. "These come from inside the base of the pirates we were planning to strike. As you can see, we've got lots of tight corners and places to get blind-sided. There's no doubt that they'll all have modded ammo, so remember that when you're going through prep. We're still going to strike them, but, ha ha, now we've got an advantage."
"Permission to speak freely, sir?" W.F. Sanders asked and lifted a hand while Anderson had paused in his speech.
"What is it, Sanders?"
"How much can we trust this whistle blower?"
"That information is on a need-to-know basis, Staff Lieutenant. You'll be addressed of the situation when necessary," Anderson shook his head 'no' with a curt reply. "Now the assault will occur later this afternoon. Since we now have some more time on our hands, I want everyone to double and triple check their equipment before heading down to outfitting for any new gear. Budgets for this conflict with the Batarians and these marauders might get chopped if we don't chalk up some more wins soon. The Brass is breathing down everyone's necks now, and I don't know about you, men, but I'd still like to get my boot shine polish for free," Anderson joked. The rest of the marines all broke out into laughter for a few moments. It quelled when he lifted up his hands. "The Makos will be deployed at about 1500 hours, so that means everyone but a spec op team that I've already selected will need to report down to the shuttle bay half an hour before that. Any other questions?"
"Did the informant have any intel regarding the enemy's resistance, sir?" Corporal Beckett spoke up.
"Those numbers can change upon the minute, Corporal, especially with a bunch of scum like those pirates. So no, nothing solid."
After encountering some more silence, Anderson deactivated his omni-tool. "All crew is dismissed except for Sanders, Shepard, and Beckett," he stated.
When the rest of the marines had cleared out, Anderson signaled the men to come closer, and they all obeyed. "All right, men, now I can be more straight-forward with you. You three will make up that spec op team that I just mentioned."
No shit Sherlock, Shepard thought. He crossed one leg on top of the other.
"Our inside man is actually an Asari who contacted the Alliance brass because she was sick of seeing how merciless the rest of her crew members have become. They've turned into slavers as well. Not only do they traffic red sand but also smuggle spoiled eezo in and out of the Terminus systems and the Attican Traverse. She claims that she went into this career to just make money and travel, but now she can see that these guys are bad news. They're now terrorists," Anderson explained.
"What's her name?" Sanders inquired.
"There's more to the story, Sanders. You wanted to know if this whistle blower can be trusted, so I'm informing you of that matter now."
"Apologies for the interruption, Captain. It won't happen again."
"Good. Now, these pirates have made some kind of deal with a human organization to detonate a ship with this eezo on it over a heavily populated human colony. Unfortunately, we don't know where that is, but we intend to stop them even before that grisly mission can even take place. This human organization promised to pay the scumbags heavily in return."
"Trying to make more human biotics, huh? That doesn't sound suspicious at all," Shepard huffed. "Goddamned bastards."
"Shut your pie hole, Lieutenant," Sanders growled. "We don't need the commentary."
"Easy, there, Sanders. You don't need to jump down Shepard's throat," Anderson gently rebuked his subordinate and leaned onto the back of a chair with his hands. "Now, the three of you will penetrate a section of the facility that our little helper has yet to disclose. Her name is Celeste T'Simoni, by the way. I'm expecting to hear from her in about two hours from now; she is setting the plans in motion as we speak. Questions?"
"What kind of plans does she have in the works, sir?" Shepard asked.
"Some type of non-violent distraction. She says that she'd rather leave the heavy lifting for us. The Asari are well known for their expert tactics of sabotage and infiltration."
"Not to mention the finest bodies for a man to look at," Sanders commented with a sly smile. "Shit, I don't think that there's one that I haven't met that isn't hot."
"They also value intelligent conversation," Beckett whispered to Shepard and gave him a wink.
"What was that, Corporal?" Anderson demanded.
"Nothing related to the mission, sir. Apologies," the corporal quickly returned.
"Anything more, men?" They all shook their heads, and Anderson retrieved his hat from where he had previously set it. "Dismissed."
Beckett and Sanders exited the briefing room, but Shepard stayed behind. He arose and approached Anderson. "Sir, can I ask you a question off of the record?"
"I keep an open door policy, Lieutenant. Shoot."
"Would it be disrespectful of me to ask a little about Staff Lieutenant Sanders' service record? Or his background? I've been hearing some scuttlebutt around the showers, and well…before we head out…-" Shepard ran a hand over the back of his neck.
"You want to know what kind of a man he really is, not just who he says he is, Shepard, I get it," Anderson replied with a nod. "Trust me when I say that he's earned his rank, just like you. He isn't an N7 like either of us, of course, but, well, some of that scuttlebutt you've been hearing is right. He is related to Admiral Grissom, but like I said, his title is well deserved for his service to the Alliance thus far."
"Okay, sir. I just wasn't sure that…I mean, I know what I have to do and what's expected of me, Captain, but-"
"You don't like being blind. Then think of Sanders as an extension of my hand leading you around that battlefield, Shepard. I'm not Major Kyle, but I'll do my best to measure up to him."
"No, sir, you're not. You're better."
Anderson gave him a large smile and raised an eyebrow at him. "So, Lieutenant, have you ever met an Asari before?"
"No sir. First time for me," Shepard answered him and shook his head.
The black man gave a soft chuckle. "You're in for a pleasant surprise, then, Shepard. Don't let it become a distraction, and let me tell you, the temptation will be extremely difficult to resist."
"I won't, Captain." Shepard came to attention, gave him a final salute, and left.
**A/N** If the military slang is too difficult to follow, I will revise this chapter again and change it. Please let me know what you think. In later chapters that I've already drafted, I've toned it down quite a bit more. But if this is still too difficult to follow, please by all means, let me know. Feedback is much appreciated. The appearance of Miranda is not until later, but I'm sure it will be pretty obvious when I post the next chapter how she will fit into the story