Eight Strangers
Waterloo Seemed Like a Good Idea, Too
Misty Morning Shepard shifted her duffle on her shoulder and stared at the ship she would be calling home for the next six months.
Why am I doing this again? She wondered. Oh, yeah, because Anderson told me it was the only way Mikhalovich wouldn't bust my ass back to crewman, N7 or not.
She entered the port side airlock and waited for the decon cycle to finish, scowling as she caught sight of the unobtrusive camera mounts in each corner of the airlock.
They're effing serious about this, she thought glumly. I'm not going to have a moment's privacy for the next six months. Her scowl darkened. They just better not have cameras in the showers and head, that's all I'm sayin'.
The decon cycle ended, and the door in front of her opened with a whoosh.
Shepard was not expecting what was waiting for her on the other side.
She squinted sharply as the hovering autocam's lights washed over her. "Argh!" she snarled. "Get that thing out of my face!"
"Sorry!" piped a female voice from somewhere to the camera's left. Shepard couldn't make out a face through the glare, but the speaker at least sounded contrite. The spots dimmed to a more manageable level, and Shepard was left blinking while her pupils tried to get their shit together.
She grumbled and strode past the camera, making her way down a long catwalk to what was obviously the ship's CIC, where she stopped and stared, jaw hanging slackly.
Okay, so first of all, who puts the commander aft of the bridge crew? Her mind wondered. And who the hell paints the interior of a working frigate like this?
Besides the Alliance, obviously.
I mean, seriously.
"I have a very bad feeling about this…"
Liara T'soni rubbed one arm nervously. This was it. This was where she left whatever credibility she had as a scientist behind. The things one had to do for research money these days… it was disgusting.
She examined the exterior of the ship closely. It's design was definitely not asari, leaning more to the angular lines that both the turians and humans seemed to favor. Not surprising, given that the thing was the product of a cooperative military engineering project between the two species, and rumored to be the most expensive ship ever produced, narrowly beating out the Destiny Ascension for top honors.
Liara imagined that was one of the reasons she was here. The Alliance needed some way to recoup their budgetary losses.
Still, it wasn't a bad-looking ship. Sleek and deadly, that's what it was. Not that it made her feel any better about things.
A military frigate. Goddess, what were you thinking?
The petite asari inhaled a deep breath and tried to calm her fluttering nerves. She tried to square her shoulders with determination, and took a firm grim on the tow handle of her luggage. She would make this work.
Somehow.
Kaidan Alenko had spent the last ten years of his life trying to put his past behind him, trying to prove that he wasn't a dangerously loose cannon, that he could be an asset to the Alliance military, if only they'd let him.
And now this.
His father had complained bitterly. "It's because you're a biotic, isn't it? That's why they're doing this to you."
Privately, Kaidan had to agree. His service record was spotless. More than spotless. It glowed, rather like he himself did when utilizing the eezo nodules scattered throughout his body.
Service commendations. Personal commendations.
And yet he was here.
His previous CO had tried to put a positive spin on it, claiming that the Alliance brass had gone through thousands of dossiers during the selection process, but Kaidan didn't buy that for a minute. Or rather, he did, but not for the same reasons. This was not an assignment for an officer with a bright future. He may as well admit it.
The ship itself, though…
Kaidan whistled under his breath, taking in every inch of the new frigate. It was stunning, is what it was. He couldn't wait to get inside, to start picking apart the technical specifications of this beauty.
With a ship like that to distract him, maybe he'd make it through this assignment after all. Work hard, keep it clean and professional, and bury himself in the ship's technical affairs.
Yeah.
Jeff Moreau let his fingers drift over the helm console lovingly. When he'd first heard he'd pulled the Normandy, he'd sulked for days. I mean, sure, the stealth frigate was supposed to be some amazing new prototype, but the assignment itself was bullshit, plain and simple. He was sure his placement was to provide "human interest" for the viewers back home. Watch the cripple as he struggles to "overcomes his limitations" in order to fly the Alliance's gazillion credit baby as well as an "able-bodied" pilot.
Bullshit. That's what it was, all right. Bullshit.
Well, he knew what he'd do about that. He'd show every last one of those asshole that he'd earned his wings. His top marks in flight school? He'd earned those. Every honor, every award? Earned. He'd show them that Jeff "Joker" Moreau was the best damn pilot in the whole Alliance, if not the galaxy.
His anger had lasted right up until he'd first laid eyes on her. His heart had lurched painfully in his chest, thundering against his ribs so hard he was sure the fragile bones would shatter.
In that moment, all of his plans went out the window.
Joker was in love.
Tali'Zorah nar Rayya frowned behind her helmet's tinted faceplate. Keelah, she wished she hadn't agreed to this. She was the daughter of Rael'Zorah, a member of the Admiralty board and a highly respected man in the flotilla. This was… this was going to be terrible.
She wished, oh, how she wished, she could take back those angry two hours when she'd stomped away from the vid call with her father and up to the recruiting desk, demanding an interview with the selection committee.
Really, that was as far as she'd planned to take it. A sort of empty gesture of defiance toward her father and his relentless expectations of her. She hadn't planned on being chosen, hadn't planned on actually signing on. She'd been about to decline the offer when they'd waved the signing bonus in front of her.
That was a dirty trick. Tali knew that now. But at the time, all she could think was, Keelah, they're going to pay me what?
Forget exile, her father was going to kill her for this.
Garrus Vakarian was not a good turian.
Deep in his heart he knew it. All his life he'd struggled to do what was expected of him, by his father, by the Hierarchy, by the whole damn galaxy, but deep down Garrus knew he was living a lie.
Eventually, it was going to catch up with him.
He kind of thought that maybe it just had.
He'd listened carefully while Pallin explained that he, Executor Venari Pallin, had been tasked by the Turian Hierarchy to select a candidate for special assignment. He'd continued listening as Pallin had told him that he, Officer Garrus Vakarian, a cop with an astounding number of demerits and offical warnings in his personnel file, had been that selection.
He was to report to one of the Alliance docking bays adjacent to the C-Sec Academy, and an Alliance ship called the Normandy. He would be briefed further upon arrival. The assignment was for six months. And maybe, if he didn't manage to screw it up, Pallin might just overlook that "Saleon incident" earlier this cycle.
And Garrus had nodded, like a good turian, and spent the rest of the day cleaning up and re-distributing his cases per Pallin's orders, like a good turian, and then he'd gone back to his apartment and packed his travel locker, like a good turian, and finally he'd made his way to the docking bay, like a good turian.
And five minutes later, he was standing mandibles-to-mandibles with the Hierarchy official waiting to brief him, threatening to severely damage the latter's ability to father offspring.
No, Garrus Vakarian was not a good turian.
Ashley Williams was a blockhead.
She'd often admitted it. It took a special kind of thick-headedness to march into a job where your family was blacklisted. But she had, and no matter what crap postings Alliance brass had given her, she'd given each and every one of them 110%.
This one would be no different.
Sometimes Ash thought that the brass was setting her up to fail. She'd been lucky so far, and managed to turn every challenge into a success. She'd even made Gunnery Chief, although all that had netted her was a remote posting on a hick agricultural colony. Now it seemed like the Alliance was playing out the rope again…
The Normandy. For God's sake, everything about the ship had become a damn media circus, and the thing hadn't even left drydock yet. Some advanced prototype. It seemed everyone knew everything about the Normandy.
And scuttlebutt said that half the detail on the ship was alien! Turians, asari, even a krogan on board.
It made her livid, it really did.
Well, if the Alliance thought this would be the end of the Williams' tradition of service, they had another think coming. Ash set her generous mouth in a grim line.
Forward, the Light Brigade!
Was there a man dismay'd?
Not tho' the soldier knew
Someone had blunder'd:
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do or die:
Into the valley of death
Rode the six hundred.
Whatever, thought Urdnot Wrex. I'm getting paid for this shit.