Aboard the SSV Seattle, Orbiting the Planet Elysium.
Year: 2185.
-/\/7-
Ward Thompson and Jason Pitcairn were requested to the Fore Observation deck. The request was issued by the ship's captain which in and of itself was not strange. That the request was deemed classified was also not strange. N7 marines were frequently given orders that bore no context until well after the mission was complete and debriefing issued. Oftentimes there was no explanation at a debriefing, simply a rehashing of the events that transpired during the mission. Kill counts, items recovered, collateral damage (if any), casualties (if any), equipment damaged (always) and other miscellaneous details.
No, what Ward thought was strange about this particular request was the manner in which it was delivered. Typically the ship's crew knew about the N7's missions. Shuttle Pilots, Engineers, Navigators, the Helmsman, the Quartermaster, Requisitions Officer, Master at Arms, the Ship's Surgeon, and the chattier marines all caught bits and pieces of the latest missions the elite marines were sent on: Flight trajectories, weapon and item order forms, post mission injuries, overheard bits of gossip, unencrypted non classified transmissions.
Following the missions of the N7's onboard the Seattle was akin to watching a thrilling holo or getting cable over the extranet terminals in the Ship's lounge. Their missions were dangerous, filled with unsavory and experienced killers, criminals and organizations. Their locations were varied, from tropical jungles to barren moons; Arctic ocean planets and enemy space stations. Their equipment was bleeding edge and exotic; their exploits (those that they were allowed to speak of) were almost fictional in their detail.
If the N7's were going to be briefed on a mission, the crew would be gossiping about it. News of an upcoming operation would reach the N7's before the official order did.
What Ward found strange was the nondescript data pad requesting an urgent meeting with the Captain that was delivered to him in a blasé manner by a typically chatty communications officer.
Ward's burly partner in crime, Jason, was present when the message arrived. He seemed just as surprised at the news as Ward did. Jason was an individual of even intelligence with terrible social perception. In combat the man could hit a moving target from half a click away; On board the ship it took him a week to work out that the Helmsman and the Ship's doctor were married, despite overt flirtations over the intercom and wedding rings present on both individuals bearing the same insignia: a white enamel bird centered on a red enamel medical cross.
There were very few situations that merited a full encryption that passed between the N7's and their respective handlers. It meant that the comm officers were the only individuals that saw the relayed message from Alliance command, albeit FYEO and impossible to read. There would be no order forms, new shipments sent by supply frigate, no indication movement to indicate an upcoming mission.
Ward and Jason both stood up from their table, meals unfinished and moved straight towards the central elevator linking the 6 levels of the ship to each other. Both marines walked with purpose towards the elevator and called it down. Ward and Jason stayed calm as they waited for the elevator. N7's were the epitome of the Alliance soldiers, and an inability to remain calm under fire was a trait that not even an N4 would be qualified for.
Jason tapped his foot as the elevator descended to their floor. Once in they only had to ascend two floors to get to the fore observation deck, located right above the bridge on the third floor. The elevator arrived and the Marines strolled in, remaining as inconspicuous as possible. As the doors shut Jason turned to Ward.
"There are about six or seven things that this could be, and all of them are pretty fucking crazy."
Ward nodded. Most N7 operations were shielded to prevent enemy spies from analyzing data, but the actual missions were very typical: A high visibility crime ring remained uncaptured for too long or a minor crime lord grew too ambitious for the Alliance's liking. The most sensitive missions were preemptive strikes on Batarian Slavers, affiliated or unaffiliated with the Hegemony.
If a communication came as subtle as this one had, it was often overlooked by the comm staff who were always getting encrypted communications. They trained themselves to look for the red flags of assignment based messages. Truly important messages were put under a minimal encryption backed up by a "cloaked" sextuple bypass lock. Ward recalled a code breaker referring to it as a "tin door concealing a bank vault." Once decrypted, these messages were plain and simple. But what was different about this message was not just the urgency in the message, but also its apprehension: "Aft Observation, ASAP. –K. Mifune" Mifune was a hard hitting, no nonsense veteran who didn't speak in codes or riddles.
That was what was eating at Ward Thompson and Jason Pitcairn: The ambiguity of what could be described as a Defcon 9 situation. Jason pressed the button for the second floor and watched as the doors smoothly closed.
Lieutenant-Colonel Kora Mifune was the CO of the SSV Seattle, and one of over two hundred "handlers" attached to the N7 Marine program. Within a decade of Humanity's inception into the Galactic Community, The Systems Alliance had already begun establishing the blueprints for the N-Special Forces divisions, even though they wouldn't come to approval until later. By the time suitable instructors and recruits were approached, establishments built, and logistics set in place, more than a decade had passed and war had already arrived on the doorstep of humanity.
The Batarian Hegemony, the highly paranoid and antagonistic governing body of the maligned Batarian race, had been dealt a proverbial backhand when the Galactic Council refused to declare the Skyllian Verge an area of Batarian economic and colonial interest. The decision sparked uproar within the Hegemony, ending with the withdrawal of Batarians from the Galactic Community.
Furious at the upstart antics of the politically green Systems Alliance, The Hegemony backed several large Pirate and Slaver rings in the Terminus systems to initiate attacks on human colonies. The Alliance, caught off guard by the brutality and blitzkrieg tactics (for which the military engagement derives its name from) lost several colonies in the initial attacks.
While the Alliance mobilized their fleets to air their colonies they cried out to the Council for aid in protecting their assets.
The Turians, Peacekeepers of the Galaxy and the Military arm of the Galactic Community, still embittered by the events of the Relay 314 incident (Known to all of humanity as the First Contact War) dragged their heels as they mobilized forces. The Hierarchy would arrive when it arrived, was the curt message received by Alliance Naval Command.
The Asari, Diplomats and mediators of the Galactic Community, debated amongst themselves what the best course of action was. As the various Republics argued, handfuls of communities sent support primarily in the form of medical supplies and other non-combat aid. The city of Serrice was unanimous in its unilateral support of the Systems Alliance, sending Asari Commandos and a small fleet to aid the Alliance.
The Salarians, Scientists and Intelligence gatherers of the Galactic Community, experienced internal struggle from within. The Race's Matriarchal Union of Feudal houses remained opposed to direct aid in what would be labeled a "Provencial struggle not fit for the full weight of Galactic aid." While government support was vehemently denied, the Salarian Military known as the Special Tasks Group (STG) sent support in the form of intelligence and enemy fleet movements to the Alliance.
The Client races of the Galactic Community sent far greater aid than that of the three Council races combined: Elcor from Dekuuna sent all form of aid to the colonies in the Skyllian Verge and to the Alliance Navy; The Hanar of Kahje actively decried the actions of the Hegemony, voicing their opinions vehemently on the Citadel and applying pressure to the otherwise noncommittal Galactic Council.
The Volus of Irune, the client race of the Turian Hierarchy, poured millions of credits into the hands of the Alliance to aid them in fighting off the Terminus Horde and for later, when the fighting was finished and reconstruction was necessary.
The aid from the Galactic Community was paltry in contrast to the fighting itself: Over thirty human colonies burned while thousands of Alien Mercenaries, Pirates and Slavers ravaged the Verge. Officially the Hegemony decried the actions of the Horde. It was a lie only they believed.
While the Alliance Military was by no means weak it had been dealt several severe blows over the last twenty years: The first was The First Contact War, culminating in the destruction of two human fleets consisting of 27 Human ships: primarily frigates and cruisers, with the sole exception of a Dreadnaught. The war took over 15,000 human lives, both Civilian and Military and cost the Systems Alliance nearly a billion credits in damages. The next blow would be the Treaty of Farixen, a military treaty that limited the construction of Dreadnaughts to 1 human Dreadnaught per every five Turian Dreadnaughts.
Humanity would then fall into several more blunders: The Tuchankan Resurgence; The Terra Firma riots, and the Global Recession of '62.
With so much damage to its infrastructure, so little money to spend repairing the fleets and a "Return to Sol" movement that left Colonies depopulated it was little wonder a small army of hardened Mercenaries and Criminals were able to put the Alliance into a stalemate. Guerilla Tactics, Scorched Earth and Total Warfare allowed the Terminus Horde to evade the Alliance forces for months, all the while dealing shameful defeats to Alliance forces at nearly every turn.
It was during the siege of Elysium that things came to a head: The primary fleet of the Horde orbited Elysium, preventing emergency comm signals from summoning reinforcements. As they finished the blockade, a swarm of shuttles and drop ships descended into the lower atmosphere of Elysia.
Kora remembered them. 'Like the falling of hard rain', they descended upon the city's outer limits: The mostly Batarian forces crushed Police forces under heel and fought all resistance members closer and closer to the center of the city.
Gunships spewed heated death upon masses of innocent people; Troop carriers unloaded dozens of slavers and insurgents through the streets, where they firebombed houses and gunned down fleeing citizens in their wake.
Kora remembered holding her ground in Dumas Square. Before the Blitz it had been a tranquil park not unlike the ones found in many Earthen Metropolises; During the Blitz it had been fortified as a supply depot; during the siege it became the northern most trenches to hold against the Horde.
Kora remembered timing her shots, just like they had taught her at basic: Sight an enemy, take your time, fire. She and her peers fought, slowly losing men as the horde progressed on their position. What felt like hours were merely minutes, crawling by as the face of death moved ever closer to her barricade.
Kora remembered praying to her gods, for forgiveness and for vengeance. She remembered her kinetic barriers failing and the SMG fire that riddled her side.
She swore as she tried to apply the Medigel to her side, wincing as the attacks drew closer.
What happened next was an event Kora would always remember, an event so profound that she could never have anticipated it: Her prayers were answered.
The firing died down, bit by bit, shot by shot. Gunships began to retreat. None of it made sense at the time, but Kora speculated it might have something to do with the sky. Bright crimson fires dotted the sapphire skyline of Elysia. Small dots of Gray erupted into blooms of orange and red before disappearing all together.
The last thing Kora remembered were figures approaching her. As she weakly tried to lift her rifle, she heard murmuring in a language somewhere between Russian and Arabic, a lilting sound that was so foreign to her it had to be alien.
-/\/7-
When she awoke it was in a small makeshift infirmary within the city limits. The monitors hummed quietly as she attempted to sit up on the bed. She had winced at the pain in her side, reactively moving her hand over the gauze that no doubt sealed in military grade Medigel.
An army medic moved over to her and asked her to lie down and rest, that the fighting was over. Kora was unconvinced, at the time she has demanded to see proof. She recalled the Medic grinning at the request, pulling up a video feed on his Omni-Tool.
Dated nearly a day ago, Kora watched a fleet of ragged ships stationed above Elysium. Within the next thirty seconds a brace of warships entered the system, followed by dozens more ships of all sizes and calibers. Kora could only gasp as this large, ragtag fleet salvoed hundreds of rounds at the blockade, using Mass Accelerator guns, GARDIAN lasers, and even what Kora thought were Javelin Missiles. That kind of tech wasn't cheap, and Kora was well briefed in Alien Navies during her first few weeks of enlisted Officer training. Asari Ships were graceful and otherworldly, defying conventional design and logic; Turian had very utilitarian designs, with pointed bows and sharp angles; Salarian ships tended to curve at certain angles. These ships were neither military grade or recent, some of them looking ancient.
Several design themes became apparent, with some ships consisting of what appeared to be a wheel with the remainder of the ship thrusting forward at a ninety-degree angle. Large globular ships followed in the rear of the ragtag fleet, firing up obscenely powerful guns that downed Horde cruisers.
It was as if she were watching a dream: Questions darted throughout her mind 'Who are these people? How did they get here? Why were they helping us?'
As if reading her thoughts, the Medic smiled and answered her questions with a single statement: "The Migrant Fleet came to our aid."
Indeed, the Migrant Fleet had traveled from the edges of the Attican Traverse to answer the calls of the Systems Alliance. The Quarians, a race exiled from the Galactic Community centuries prior to Humanity's first contact for creating a race of hostile AI's, had taken their gigantic fleet to the Verge, where they engaged the Terminus Horde and annihilated their largest contingent. When asked why they had chosen to involve themselves in the fighting, the Quarians were succinct and biting in their answer: "For our lost."
For years following their exile, the Migrant Fleet had been the prey of Hegemony backed Slavers. Hundreds were lost over the centuries to Slavers, who often forced Quarians to work dredge work as technicians or engineers, threatening them with all manner of Quarian unfriendly threats to specifically keep them in line. As an exiled race, the Quarians had no aid from the Galactic Community.
Now, seeing humanity plagued by the same dangers at a much larger scale, the Quarians moved to aid prospective allies. Even when the politics and subtle manipulations of their actions were set aside, one could easily see the Quarians fury at the events: A group practically abandoned by the Galactic Community struggling on its own to fight the same monsters who had harried the Quarian people for countless years was the closest the Quarians could get at a practical chance to strike back at the Hegemony for its actions.
The salvation of Elysia was the turning point of the war: What should have ended in the destruction of Humanity's last major stronghold ended up as a decisive victory against the Horde. Citizens, galvanized by the aid of the Quarians, joined militias and Alliance reserves in droves. Human aid poured out of Earth towards both the Migrant Fleet and the colonies of the Verge.
With the Migrant Fleet putting its entire civilization on the line for humanity's best interests, the Systems Alliance was spurred into action: No longer were evacuation efforts and cat-mouse chases the primary efforts of the Human fleets.
The Quarian Patrol fleet ordered a fraction of its ships to hunt for Horde Corsairs and scout planets where Horde forces were hiding. Alliance fleets positioned half of their forces above human colony planets while transporting thousands of soldiers planet by planet, crushing enemy bases and rooting out Horde battalions.
Within three months, the Horde were cornered on the Moon of Torfan, wherein fifty thousand Alliance soldiers descended upon the moon, destroyed over three dozen bases and executed the majority of the Horde leadership right then and there.
It was there that Lieutenant Kora Mifune, in her heroic actions, managed singlehandedly to save a trapped division of marines while taking down not one but two whole Horde defense forces. With a whimper, the Horde forces were annihilated, the survivors fleeing out into the rotted depths of the Terminus.
The end of the war marked a new era of Quarian-Human relations, and left many humans questioning their decision to join a Community that was, at best, apathetic to its members.
Ward and Jason stepped out of the elevator twelve minutes after entering it. A power delay forced the two to scramble out of the elevator and towards the Aft Observation deck.
Most surprisingly, Ward and Jason were greeted by two burly marines who bore colors of the Alliance Fifth Fleet. The two N7's looked to each other before the guards stepped aside; allowing the two thoroughly befuddled young men to look to each other before heading inside the moderately expansive room.
The observation port doubled as something of a quiet lounge, reserved for Officers who were looking to use their downtime reading or generally relaxing from the often stressful workloads they were given to keep a London class Cruiser running at 101% efficiency. Lieutenant-Colonel Mifune was a back breaking taskmistress who expected nothing but the utmost perfection from her crew, and while she was regarded as both a legend and an unholy terror to some of the crew she was reknown for her empathy towards crewmen's needs. R&R was a necessity on a high performance vessel such as the Seattle, and Mifune made sure every single crewman was given their share of a proper break.
The Observation deck overlooked the planet of Elysium, a blue and green marble not so different from Earth. Mifune was looking out at the panoramic window at the planet when the two men entered, wheeling around rapidly to assess them.
"First Lieutenant Thompson, Second Lieutenant Pitcairn."
The two had been holding a salute since she had begun to turn. "At ease"
The two N7's lowered their hands, stone faced at their commanding officer. Mifune began to pace parallel to the room's window, which gave Ward a moment to look around. Besides Mifune, four other figures were in the room. Ward spotted Second Lieutenant Abigail Lyons first. The third N7 was giving Ward a hesitant look, which was not uncommon for her. She signaled for him to look towards his right. Ward turned and saw three figures, two sitting, and one standing around a table on the right-hand side of the room.
The first was an older woman, probably in her mid-fifties. Her hair was tied in a curt bun about her head, and she was dressed in a matronly green gown that was unflattering but no doubt official. Her posture was stiff and uncomfortable. On her right sleeve was an embroidered sigil, possibly a cross. Ward couldn't make it out from his present angle, but he could tell that the woman wasn't military.
The second individual was a relaxed man who sat with one leg crossed over the other, as if he were enjoying a nice chat in his home, as opposed to whatever severe briefing this signified. He was in dress blues, with the unmistakable N7 badge on his chest. He couldn't have been more than early forties, with his clean shaven face and sandy brown hair cropped tight. He smiled as Ward's eyes crossed over him to the third figure, who was standing…
Ward's eyes widened and he immediately raised his right hand in a salute.
"Admiral Hackett, sir!"
Jason caught it seconds after Ward did.
The most decorated Admiral in the Systems Alliance Navy saluted the N7's back.
"At ease men. Please, come take a seat and let's get this briefing under way."
It was at this point in time that Ward knew that this mission was going to be anything but routine.
What he did not know was how this mission would begin a chain of events that would reshape the Galaxy and its inhabitants forever.
Thanks for reading! Please review and tell me what worked, or what didn't work. This has slightly revised canon, and more will become clear as the chapters progress, but for now enjoy the story in it's full Mass Effect atmosphere and let me worry about revealing the details to you, piece by piece :D
Blue-Jaye, out. ;)
