AN: Inspired by the fact that completely accidentally I named one of my male Shepards "Martin" and made him borderline ginger. The fact he's also a commander only cemented the idea.
Basically Mass Effect with Martin Crieff as the saviour of the galaxy, with the rest of the Cabin Pressure main characters lending a hand.
Will also feature quite a bunch of other/minor ME characters, but a full list of them would probably be longer than the fic itself.
Also, since I'm a quite irregular person, the fic will probably be updated in a quite irregular fashion. Sorry in advance.
ALSO, my keyboard is dying one key at a time, and while I try to fix all the typos, there may still be some left. Sorry for that as well.
What the heck am I doing.
"What about Crieff? Earthborn, the first Alliance soldier in his family—"
"Got his N7 rank at seventh try."
"This does not sound like a recommendation."
"Right, Admiral. Let's move on to a more appropriate candidate—"
"Not so fast, Udina."
"Anderson, you can't be serious. Crieff is not an option. We are talking about seven tries here. Seven."
"But he still got that rank, that's what counts. Not everyone makes it that far. If anything, this proved he doesn't give up easily."
"Unlike the people who granted him the rank because they pitied him. Or were just tired of seeing him almost die on his every attempt."
"Or impressed by his persistence."
"Unlikely, if you ask me. Anyway, even if his results were not exactly abysmal, they were certainly the worst in the history of the N7 program."
"But not the worst in the history of ICT. He surely can learn and—"
"Is that the kind of person we want protecting the galaxy?"
"…Okay, now that's a good question…"
The Normandy was probably the most amazing spaceship Martin Crieff had ever seen. No, not probably—absolutely. She was beautiful, elegant, sleek, modern, dangerous—he could not find enough positive adjectives to do her justice—and, best of all, he was now aboard her. If his five-years-old self could have seen her, he would've probably decided that this was just the kind of spaceship he wanted to be, while his six-and-beyond-years-old self would be overjoyed to just be a part of the crew—especially the influential part.
"Commander?"
"Y-yes?"
Roused up from yet another moment of being enamoured with the ship to the point of not paying attention to anyone who might be onboard, Martin blinked and looked down. Right. He was supposed to socialize with the rest of the crew—at this very moment, he was standing on the bridge and trying to talk to the people there.
"I was just asking what do you think about Nihlus being here, Commander," said the man in the pilot seat, Jeff Moreau, whom almost everyone onboard simply called 'Joker'—a well-deserved nickname, considering that none of the few brief conversations Martin had had with the man so far ended on a serious note.
"Ah—Nihlus." Martin cleared his throat. "Well, Nihlus is, uh… Where is he?" He looked around. When he had come, there were three people on the bridge. Now, after Martin had snapped out of his spaceship fanboy trance, only two of them were left, Joker and the other one, Kaidan Alenko, occupying the seat on Joker's right. Martin hadn't really talked to Kaidan after their introduction; all he knew about him was that Kaidan was an Alliance soldier and apparently a talented biotic. But the third person, a tall turian Spectre named Nihlus, bearing an air of confidence and superiority, was gone.
"Anyway," Martin continued before anyone could answer his question, "Nihlus seems… to be a… very capable man?" He finished sheepishly. He couldn't really have much of an opinion on yet another person he hadn't interacted much.
"Well, yeah." Joker rolled his eyes. "But that wasn't really what I was asking about. I mean, him being here? It's not a good sign. This mission is soon going to hell, along with us, I tell you."
To his right, Kaidan groaned. "You're only saying that because you feel he didn't compliment you enough."
"Hey, I don't let my personal feelings influence my other personal feelings about having Spectres onboard."
"I'm pretty sure we'll be fine," Martin said. "Nihlus is here only to oversee things. The Council's money helped to pay for this ship, after all."
"Yeah, I just said that a minute ago." Kaidan glanced at him. "Seems like your mind was somewhere else longer than we thought, Commander."
"Well, um, sorry about that. I was deep in thought about… our mission. To be prepared. Because we should be prepared."
"Just don't do it once you hit the surface. It can be kind of deadly in some circumstances," Joker quipped. Kaidan chuckled at that, Martin only winced.
"I know that," he said quite sharply, but decided not to tell them he knew that from experience. That cruiser on Elysium had been just a bit too awesome not to look at it, even under heavy batarian fire. He was about to ramble on about the mission—although everything he'd been told about it could be summarised in "go to Eden Prime"—responsibility and safety, maybe get to know more about Joker and Kaidan's credentials along the way, but then Captain Anderson's voice came over the comm, demanding a status report. While Anderson and Joker exchanged technicalities, Martin silently waited for them to stop so he could get back to trying to salvage his attempt at socialising, but that apparently would have to wait for a little longer.
"Tell Commander Crieff to meet me in the comm room for a debriefing," Anderson said just before logging out.
At any other time, Martin would sigh in frustration at a sudden change of plans—especially his plans, his carefully laid out plans, even if they concerned simply talking to people—but now he actually smiled at Anderson's order.
"I'm coming, sir!" Martin announced and turned on his heel, making his way to the comm room. A debriefing! Finally! At last he would get some details. As simple as their mission would seem, he really wanted to know a little more than their destination. Even during a shakedown run everything could happen, and Martin wanted to be prepared for that everything. Still, he preferred for things to stay relatively simple. A nice mission with low chances of messing up would be just what he needed after a series of less-than-stellar accomplishments.
He straightened up and headed for the comm room, leaving the bridge and passing the CIC—but then something else caught his attention.
"I want to take pictures, but they don't want me to take a camera with me. This is unfair. I've never been to Eden Prime. I'd like to have some souvenir from my first visit!"
"Then take a rock. Eden Prime has plenty of rocks just lying there wand waiting for someone to pick them up."
"But an Eden Prime rock looks just like… like a regular rock! From Earth! Or another planet! If I take a rock from Eden Prime and keep it, how will I later know it's an Eden Prime rock and not an Earth rock? Or a Terra Nova rock?"
"You can always tag it."
"But then I'd be defacing the rock! It would diminish its value!"
"Arthur, are you planning to sell that rock?"
"Of course not! It's supposed to be my souvenir! And it can't be my souvenir if I sell it!"
"Then maybe just pick that rock, tag it, and be content with your brand new tagged Eden Prime rock."
"But—"
"Oh, then just pick something and we'll think of it later, when you get back."
"But we can't think of my Eden Prime souvenir after I leave Eden Prime—oh, hi, Commander!"
"Ah—hello," Martin replied as a young marine standing by the door to the comm room gave him a wide smile and something between a salute and a wave. A short elderly woman wearing a medical outfit and standing by the man's side, rolled her eyes and briefly hid her face in her hand.
"Arthur, dear," she groaned, glaring at her companion, "you shouldn't really 'hi' a commander."
"What? A commander too?" Arthur complained. "The list is getting longer and longer…"
"Yes, yes, maybe it would be easier for you to simply remember not to 'hi' anyone whose rank is higher than yours… which would mean almost everyone in the military."
"You're a private?" Martin raised his brows. Normally he wouldn't be surprised, but given that the ship seemed to be filled with well-trained soldiers and some high-ranking individuals, the private's presence stood out.
"At the moment, yes." Arthur grinned. "But I'm hoping for a promotion."
"Arthur is a biotic, you see," the woman said. "Apparently he's shown a lot of potential… but not much of self-control. I'm Carolyn Knapp-Shappey, by the way, the doctor assigned to this ship." She offered Martin a hand.
"Martin Crieff. Commander Martin Crieff. Nice to meet you." Martin shook Carolyn's hand, to her apparent disappointment; it belatedly crossed Martin's mind that it wasn't exactly what she'd offered her hand for.
"Well…" She coughed. "And this promising young soldier is my son, Arthur Shappey—Arthur, you really shouldn't!"
But Arthur was already vigorously shaking Martin's hand. "It's going to be great, working with you, Commander!"
"R-really?" Martin felt his cheeks warm up and hoped he wasn't blushing. He wasn't used to hearing compliments. Most people weren't too enthusiastic at the prospect of working alongside him. Not with the guy who failed to receive the N7 rank six times before finally succeeding. "I'm… glad to hear that, Private."
"Say, you're an N7 graduate, right? It says so on your armour." His eyes glistening with excitement, Arthur pointed at the symbol on Martin's chest.
"Well, it is as you said." The warmth moved from his cheeks to his chest, morphing into pride. A quiet voice in his head told Martin he should get going and talk to Anderson, but surely he could spare a minute for someone who came closer to admiring him than anyone ever had?
"You see, I have a question and so far nobody could answer that, but surely you can, being an N7 commando and all."
"And what's the question?"
"What does the 'N' in 'N7' stand for?"
It took Martin a second to realise what he was just asked. "The—what?"
"The 'N.' In 'N7.' And other 'N-insert-number-here' designations. Really, no one seems to know, and I asked a lot of people about it. But I bet you do." Arthur sounded as if he could bet his own life on it. "You've got the N7 rank, and it's the highest, and you probably wouldn't have got it if you hadn't known, so… what does it stand for?"
Martin had expected many possible questions—about his training, about possible tips he could have for a potential commando, about some meaningful experiences and so on—but not that one. His mind went momentarily brain, as if his brain needed rebooting, and he simply stared at Arthur with his mouth open before muttering, "I think I should go, the captain is waiting for me."
He didn't wait for a response and quickly walked away, not sure what had just happened. Maybe it was some kind of joke. Not funny at all. A waste of his precious time. He shouldn't have stopped and listened to that conversation at all. Hopefully Captain Anderson wouldn't be too mad at him for that little delay.
But as Martin entered the comm room, he did not see Anderson there. Instead, the only person waiting inside was Nihlus, standing in front of the comm terminal. As soon as the door closed behind Martin, the turian turned around.
"I hoped for a chance for a private conversation, Commander Crieff," he said. His stare gave Martin chills, although he could say that about pretty much all turians who had ever looked at him. Maybe they would seem a little bit less menacing if he could at least read their emotions, but with their facial structure—reminding him of something between a cat and a dinosaur with some extra parts at the sides—Martin could never be sure if they were smiling or glowering or about to cry. He suspected the turians felt the same about humans.
"Uh, I'm… honoured," Martin mumbled. "I think. And what do you—what do you want to talk about?"
"About our destination. Eden Prime. It's quite a symbolic place for you humans, is it not?"
"I suppose so." Martin tried to sound confident. "I mean, it's my first visit there, but I think I know quite a lot about it. I've read about the history of human colonization of space and I can say that the cultural significance of the colony on Eden Prime, one of our first extraterrestrial settlements—"
"Yes, yes." Nihlus raised his hand. "Thank you, Commander, but I didn't want a history lesson. I know how important Eden Prime is to your people. But I'm not sure how safe it is."
Martin's brow twitched. "How safe…?" Is it a test? Martin tried to recall everything he knew about Eden Prime. "It's been very peaceful so far, the people living there are mostly farmers, there have been no raids or armed conflict despite the colony being located close to the Terminus Systems, and then there's the matter of the mass relay connection, which allows—"
"But you have said it yourself, Commander Crieff: so far," Nihlus cut in. "There are many dangers in the galaxy—is humanity ready to face them? To fight them off?"
Oh goodness. It's definitely a test, Martin thought, digging deeper into the knowledge he had stored in his head, but before he could come with a potentially satisfying and complex enough answer, the door to the comm room opened again and Captain Anderson walked in.
"Commander, it's time you learnt more about our mission," he announced, walking up to the other two.
"Huh?" Martin glanced first at Anderson, then back at Nihlus, his mind still preoccupied with the data on Eden Prime, unsure if he could let go of it already.
"Right." Nihlus nodded. "This is not just a shakedown run. We have another objective, one that calls for the use of a ship with advanced stealth systems. Like the Normandy."
"Oh. And… what is that objective?" Martin asked, still holding onto the data, just in case.
"A team of archaeologists found a Prothean beacon on Eden Prime," Anderson said. "We need to pick it up and bring it to the Citadel for study."
"A Prothean beacon!" Martin exclaimed with awe, but quickly stilled himself, hoping his outburst wasn't too unprofessional. But a Prothean beacon… A fifty-thousand-years-old piece of technology, a relic of immense value, a potentially groundbreaking discovery on a galactic scale—like most discoveries of Prothean artefacts—and he was among those deemed worthy enough to take care of it. "It's—it's amazing news, Captain. And I must say it's an honour to aid you in such an important task."
"Then you're up for another honour, Commander." Nihlus stepped a little closer. "Overseeing the extraction and transport of the beacon is only a part of my job today. The other part is evaluating your performance."
Martin stiffened at the words. I knew it! I knew it's a test! "Evaluating my—what do you mean?"
"He means he wants to see if you're worthy of becoming a Spectre," Anderson explained.
If Martin had been holding anything in that moment, he would've dropped it. Since his hands were currently empty, the only thing that dropped was Martin's jaw.
A Spectre. The position Martin had coveted since he had realised people can't really become spaceships and had to re-evaluate his life goals—although he suspected him becoming a Spectre was only marginally more likely than becoming a spaceship. Even with his N7 designation, his reputation was so bad he had basically given up on ever achieving that goal—his only dream he had given up on so far. Well, that and the becoming-a-spaceship thing.
And yet there it was: a real, legitimate opportunity. Unless it was a joke. Except that it was the matter was unlikely one for Anderson and Nihlus to joke about. Especially Nihlus. Martin barely knew him, but the turian seemed like the kind of person who wouldn't joke about anything at all.
It took Martin a minute to shake off the initial shock and close his mouth, only to open it again, trying to come up with a response. When he finally did, he only managed to state the obvious.
"I—I—I—I'm speechless!"
"Yes, we can see that," Anderson said with a small smile. "Now, of course, this is just a start, a nomination, and you are not the only Alliance soldier to receive it, but the nomination alone is a huge privilege only a few proved worthy of."
"Actually, if I may ask…" Martin glanced sideways. He clasped his hands behind his back and took a deep breath, hoping the coming question wouldn't undermine his chances. "Why have I been chosen for the nomination? I mean… I'm aware of some the prevailing opinions about me… and some of my… well, of my flaws. I tend to mess things up sometimes. Or maybe often. I'm sure you are aware of all of that too. I'm—I'm not the best N7 graduate—far from it, probably. Of course, I'm still grateful and I—I am really glad my name's been put forward, but… what makes me worthy of this nomination?"
Anderson and Nihlus regarded him silently for a moment, until Anderson nodded and spoke up, his face serious. "Indeed, your nomination was among the most… controversial ones. I think it's only fair for you to know that until the very end it was uncertain whether you should be considered or not, but, luckily for you, your candidature was approved."
"Yes, but why—" Martin started, but Nihlus cut him short.
"The draft of the list of potential candidates was forwarded to the Council and several Spectres for final approval," the turian explained. "When it came to you, two things in particular caught our attention and worked in your favour. The first was your determination."
"Which was also what I kept pointing out while considering your candidature," Anderson added, again giving Crieff a smile.
"I've heard of your human special forces training," Nihlus continued, "how much hard work it takes to complete just one rank. That you managed to get to the rank you have now… It's very impressive. Yes, I know how many times you tried," he said, seeing that Martin wanted to speak again. "But you succeeded—against, all odds, one might say. Despite your previous failures, you pushed forwards—and it paid off. Such commitment is hard to come by."
"Oh—thank you," Martin uttered, bowing his head slightly. Another compliment. He managed to surpass his average monthly quota in one day.
"You're welcome, Commander. The other thing may seem a bit surprising… It was your unwillingness to go against official regulations."
"What?"Martin blurted out before he could stop himself. What Nihlus said wasn't merely surprising—it seemed quite ludicrous. One of the reasons Spectres were created was so that they wouldn't be bound by various laws, rules, and red tape that might prevent them from doing their job properly—said job being guarding the peace in the galaxy. Choosing someone on the basis of their conventionality seemed to Martin at last counterintuitive.
"Yes, to be honest, I am slightly sceptical about this one too," Nihlus admitted, rubbing his chin. "I'm not a by-the-book man myself. But the argument the Council put forward was that it would practically ensure you would not go too overboard with your actions. As Councillor Tevos said, you are quite a 'safe' choice for a Spectre."
"Ah. Well. I understand."
"So do I, although we'll see how it goes. As I mentioned before, I'm going to observe you during this and several other future missions, and report back to the Council. Until then—"
"Captain Anderson, there's a problem!" Joker's voice suddenly said over the comm, alarmed. "We got a transmission from Eden Prime. You should see it."
The screen behind the comm terminal flickered to life, and what it showed immediately erased every trace of good mood from the room. Martin's joy quickly shifted into horror as he watched the shaky footage of what was obviously a heavy fight. The Alliance soldiers on screen were running about amongst explosions, exchanging gunfire with an enemy Martin could not recognise; one of the marines got closer to the camera and started to describe the situation only to be killed mid-sentence. Immediately afterwards the fighting stopped briefly as the soldiers looked up at something in awe and fear—only to resume shooting seconds later.
The transmission ended abruptly and the screen filled with static.
"And that's it," Joker said. "There's nothing more. We can't establish a new connection."
"Reverse and hold at 38.5," Anderson commanded, brows furrowing, and a still appeared on the screen.
"What is that?" Martin said in a hushed voice, looking at the thing before his eyes, an enormous black shape reminiscent slightly of a hand trying to grasp those beneath it, surrounded by what seemed like red lightning. After a minute it occurred to him it could be a kind of ship, although one he'd never seen before—and it was what had captured the attention of those soldiers in the transmission. Even now, although the image was immobile and the vessel appeared definitely smaller than it must've really been, Martin found the sight deeply unsettling and all of the sudden he felt very, very tiny.
And it only got worse when he realised that the mission just got a lot more difficult.