One
Systems Alliance Marine HQ, Earth
"The turians call them cabals," the Alliance captain informed the officers seated around the conference room table.
At mere mention of the word turians, the older officers, generals who'd fought against the aliens during the First Contact War muttered to each other. "Damn turians," Major General St Clare said, banging his fist on the polished mahogany table for emphasis. The rest nodded.
The officer making the presentation fought his own private war, barely keeping an eye roll in check. Geez, he thought to himself, the war was thirty years ago. Build a bridge, buddy! Aloud he said. "Indeed, sir. But as you yourself know, the turian military does nothing without a very good reason."
The generals couldn't figure out if the younger officer was yanking their chain or not but he did have a point. If wiser heads – and the asari – hadn't prevailed, Earth would likely be under turian rule.
The speaker, Captain Connors, tapped a control on his wrist-mounted omni-tool and combat footage of biotic soldiers from the Systems Alliance Marine Corps flickered on the boardroom wall.
In the footage, the soldiers were in the midst of a fire-fight with batarian slavers.
"Observe how the soldier on the right employs a singularity to sweep these three hostiles into the air." On screen, the three aliens flew upwards, limbs flailing wildly and became entangled with each other.
The officer paused the footage.
"Now, the marine on the left unloads a warp field into the singularity and...well watch."
The captain resumed playback. For a brief instant the screen flared blue-white as the biotic fields intersected and clashed. Then the batarians were nothing more than a few scattered body parts and a great deal of blood.
"Good lord," one of the generals breathed.
"They're freaks!" St Clare said, again banging the desk for emphasis. Connors assumed he was referring to the biotic soldiers, not the four-eyed batarians.
"Perhaps, general," he replied. "But they're our freaks. And that was just two of them. Imagine an entire unit of biotic soldiers working together. That's why the turians deploy them in such units."
"And to keep tabs on them as well?" Another general ventured. The rest nodded.
St Clare stood, signalling an end to the presentation. "Thank you for your input, Captain. We'll discuss the implications and get back to you within the week."
Of course, the Systems Alliance being a bloated bureaucracy, within the week became three months later.
PFC Johnny Bravo swaggered down the hallway of Marine HQ in the United States, smiling to himself. Standing at over six feet four inches and possessing an incredibly honed physique, he believed himself to be catnip to the female of every species in Council Space and conducted himself accordingly.
"Hey sweetheart," he greeted the young woman sitting at the reception desk at HQ's Biotics Division building. "What's shaking?"
The receptionist gave Johnny a withering stare. "Excuse me?" she replied icily. The temperature on a digital readout behind her dropped by two degrees as she spoke.
Unfazed, Johnny came to attention and said, "Private Bravo reporting! I'm here to meet Captain Connors."
The receptionist flicked a glance at the captain's calendar open on her monitor. This jar-head was a biotic? She inclined her head in the direction of the seats in the waiting area. "Take a seat. The captain will be a few minutes."
Corporal Mary-Beth Sinclair wasn't enjoying a good start to her day. Her unit's chief medical officer had prescribed a sleeping pill to deal with chronic insomnia and of course, today of all days, instead of snapping to full wakefulness at oh dark thirty as she usually did, she'd overslept and had to rush from her quarters lacking either breakfast or a shower.
Nicely done, Mary-Beth the snide internal voice she'd been fighting for years to eradicate spoke up. The CMO was of the opinion that a large part of Mary-Beth's problems stemmed from the fact she was an over achiever and highly strung. Privately the medical officer believed the young woman was overdue for a nervous breakdown.
As she double-timed down the hallway, snapping off salutes to every superior officer in passing, Mary-Beth attempted to at least straighten her regulation length dark hair and smooth out the wrinkles in her uniform. Way to make a first impression the voice in her head observed. Out-standing.
"Shut up," she muttered to herself as she reached Captain Connors' office. "Just shut up!" This last was delivered at a louder volume than intended and both Johnny Bravo and the receptionist looked up as she entered the room. Mary-Beth felt herself blush. Out-standing.
Johnny looked the newcomer up and down as she hustled to the receptionist. Fairly tall, not bad looking, looked like she'd just rolled out of bed. He could relate. Cute nose. If he had to guess, he'd say her blood pressure was currently approaching the levels at which one might stroke out.
A small part of Johnny hoped the girl would collapse – he might be able to impress the receptionist if he successfully performed CPR on a fellow marine.
Instead the young woman, the chevrons on the sleeve of her uniform blouse denoting the rank of corporal, visibly collected herself and stood at attention. "Corporal Sinclair to see Captain Connors."
The receptionist nodded in the direction of the chairs in the outer office.
Johnny smiled and nodded as Corporal Sinclair sat beside him. He noticed her fingernails were non-existent beyond her fingertips; she began gnawing on her lower lip.
"Kinda feels like being called up to the principal's office, huh?" Johnny said.
The corporal looked at him blankly and went back to gnawing her lip. Johnny sighed. What was with women today?
Connors sat behind the desk inside his office. He hoped the brass weren't thinking of rearranging the office spaces again; the desk, a relic from the Second World War had barely fit through the doorway.
Stacked neatly to one side of the desk were a dozen data pads, each storing the full career history of a biotic company candidate. One of the candidates, Kimberley Carter had recently graduated from Officer Candidate School and wore lieutenants' bars on her uniform blouse.
The file spoke highly of her leadership abilities and Connors was surprised Carter hadn't already been promoted to lead her own platoon. It was a trend he was noticing – Alliance Command weren't sure quite what to do with biotic soldiers and usually assigned them make-work assignments.
To Connors, it made no sense. A common soldier represented months of basic training, then yet more training depending on what specialist roles they were best suited to. Biotics took even longer to train, each one costing the Alliance hundreds of thousands of credits by the time they were ready for active duty.
And here a perfectly capable young woman sat before him, a platoon leader without a platoon and all because she had an interface for a biotic amplifier implanted in the base of her skull.
Connors had already decided to offer her the position as his second in command and team leader when his troops were planet-side. "Lieutenant Carter, it is my great pleasure to welcome you to what I can only hope is the Alliance Marine Corps' first Biotic Company."
Kimberley stood and snapped to quivering attention. "It's an honour and privilege, sir!"
Connors smiled, returning her salute. "At ease, Carter. While I like your enthusiasm, I like to ease up on the formalities. So long as everybody performs their duties, we'll all get along fine." He paused. "I ought to make that the boilerplate speech for the rest of the unit."
Kimberley nodded and resumed her seat. "What's first, sir?"
Connors passed her half the stack of files. "Start going through these. You're heading Alpha Squad. I need two more squad leaders out of that pile."
"Roger that."
Johnny Bravo had never intended to join the military. Possessed of the body of a Greek god and the smarts of the average fifth grader, Johnny was the darling of his high school football team. Also the soccer, baseball and basketball teams. By the time he was thinking of applying for college, he was fielding offers from several major league teams and a scholarship from a prestigious sporting academy. Then he met Amber Scott. Amber was tall, drop-dead gorgeous and scored highly enough on standardised tests to qualify for Mensa. Her only flaw was a weakness for Johnny's movie-star good looks and chiselled abs.
The pair began dating casually during their final year at high school and while she was aware Johnny was sleeping around with half the football team's cheer squad, she was sure he'd eventually realise she was the best thing he had going for him and settle down with her permanently.
Borderline genius or no, Amber didn't realise how averse to settling a boy like Johnny was and, upon telling him she loved him, he panicked and, possessing all the emotional intelligence of a brick, ran screaming for the nearest Alliance recruiting station.
The sergeant at the front desk looked up at the tall young man. "Why do you want to enlist, son?"
It was a standard question. Over the years, the recruiters had heard most every answer. The most common were, in no particular order, "I got a girl pregnant" "My pappy and his pappy done served and now it's my turn." and "The judge gave me a choice, a prison term or the Marines."
Johnny cast a nervous look over his shoulder, afraid Amber was still chasing him. For a girl, she was damn fast. "A girl told me she loved me," Johnny said.
The sergeant nodded. "That'll do it."
Mary-Beth came from a long line of over-achievers. Her mother was head of a multinational conglomerate with offices in thirty countries on Earth and was branching out into Council space. Her father was a surgeon who'd pioneered new ways of treating cancers that didn't involve heavy duty chemotherapy drugs and one's hair falling out.
Her grandparents from both sides of the family were also successful business owners as were sundry other aunts, uncles and cousins. As the oldest of three children, there was an unspoken expectation that Mary-Beth too would form her own company before she was eighteen and be a multi-millionaire by the time she was twenty-one.
Unfortunately a lifetime spent attempting to live up to family expectations turned Mary-Beth into a twitchy bundle of neuroses and instead, she joined the Marines. Her parents lost their minds. Literally in the case of her father who spent several months in an institution. Her younger siblings were delighted – the fact their older sister had so embarrassed the family meant they could get away with murder.
Upon recovering most of his marbles, her father begged her to consider a career in medicine. Eventually, they came to a compromise: after enlistment and the completion of basic training, she trained in battlefield surgery.
Mostly, this involved spraying copious amounts of medigel on gunshot wounds and hoping the patient would survive the medevac. On balance, Mary-Beth saved more lives than she lost.
Sitting in the wating room, Johnny again tried engaging the corporal in conversation. She ignored him, hunched forward in her seat, muttering just breathe over and over to herself. At some point she'd stopped gnawing her lip and started in on a much-abused thumb nail.
Both soldiers looked up as the captain's office door slid open and a woman wearing lieutenant's bars walked out. Both Marines shot to their feet and saluted. "At ease," she replied.
She glanced at a datapad held in one hand then nodded at Johnny. "The captain will see you now."
The receptionist scowled at the officer. "That's my line," she muttered as Johnny filed past.
Connors shook heads with Johnny across the expanse of his desk, quietly marvelling at the fact the private was even alive. The Alliance had trained him in close-assault tactics, using a biotic charge to launch himself at distant opponents, disabling them and leaving them open to devastating shotgun attacks.
That was the theory. In practice, such tactics pulled a Marine away from the support of his squad mates and often left him exposed, surrounded and caught in a crossfire from multiple angles. Many 'vanguards' as they were nicknamed opted to retrain in the use of tech armour, bolstering their defences. The rest usually died in combat.
Through some combination of tactical finesse and dumb luck, Johnny was still alive. Connors decided to pair him with Corporal Sinclair, hoping the latter's experience as a combat medic would keep the former alive long enough to draw a pension.
Connors quickly outlined the situation. "The brass have authorised on a trial basis the formation of a unit composed entirely of biotic soldiers."
"No kidding?"
Connors nodded. "No kidding."
"Huh. Well I was getting bored standing guard over the office supplies cabinet all day."
By the time Connors called Mary-Beth into his office, she was quietly freaking out and half-convinced she as about to receive a dishonourable discharge, court martial for some unknown infraction or both.
When the captain told her about the new biotic unit, the dial on her emotional thermostat clicked over to 'paranoia.'
Mary-Beth sat in the visitor's chair, arms folded across her chest. "This is one of those Alliance black ops units, isn't it? The kind where, if we're caught behind enemy lines, they disavow any knowledge of us?"
Connors blinked. "No. This is strictly above-board."
Mary-Beth snorted in disbelief. "So, you want us to believe that after years of assigning us crap assignments, the brass have finally realised biotics are actually useful?"
"In a nutshell, yes."
Mary-Beth gnawed her lip, listened to chatter inside her head. If the Alliance docs knew about the internal voices, she'd receive a medical discharge on the spot. It wasn't like the voices urged her to kill or commit random acts of violence. Usually it was, "I have a bad feeling about this" and "That guy's looking at you funny."
This time it was, "Accept the offer. You could use the combat pay."
After an intense two days of interviews, Captain Connors had his three squads finalised. He sat back in his chair and looked over the order of battle:
Alpha Squad
Lt. Kimberley "Kimmers" Carter, Squad leader
Cpl. Mary-Beth "Twitch" Sinclair
PFC Johnny "Casanova" Bravo
Pvt. Barry "Bazza" Macalister
Bravo Squad
Cpl Takeshi "Sensei" Omura, Squad leader
PFC Ludwig von Strudel
Pvt Samantha "Everything is Awesome!" O'Hare
Pvt Padraig "Paddy" O'Malley
Charlie Squad
Cpl Steven "No Relation" Connors, Squad leader.
PFC Raoul "El Diablo" Sanchez
Pvt Ingvar "Swedish Chef" Olafsson
Pvt James "Insert Nickname Here" Roberts.
Connors rose from his desk and keyed his comm, hitting up the unit's general frequency.
"All squads report to the courtyard in five."
The three newly formed squads assembled in a leafy courtyard shared by the Biotics Division building and a garage for the repairs of combat vehicles. Connors had to shout to make himself heard over the sound of power tools and pneumatic torque wrenches.
"First, I want to extend my congratulations to you all as a whole. You represent the best humanity has to offer." He flinched as something heavy and expensive crashed to the concrete floor inside the garage. An apologetic voice called, "My bad!"
Connors decided to leave the rest of his speech until they were on board the Shanghai, the cruiser the unit was assigned to. "In closing, you are at liberty until 0600 tomorrow morning when you will report at the spaceport. Dismissed."
"Does anybody know a good place to get pissed?" Bazza Macalister asked.
Private O'Hare answered, "There's this awesome multi-species bar down town."
"How multi-species is it?" Kimmers enquired.
"The short-order cook's a krogan."
"This I gotta see," put in Johnny Bravo.
Jerry's Diner sat beneath a busy flight path. The windows rattled at fifteen minute intervals as transport shuttles departed Earth for the Charon relay. Despite all the noise, the diner was popular due to its unique menu. Varren steaks along with pyjak skewers were hot favourites, prepared using ancient krogan culinary secrets. If asked, the krogan cook would say, "The secret ingredient is love."
Jerry himself sat in his office in back, counting out the monthly protection money. It wasn't like it used to be, he thought morosely. Used to be, a bunch of wiseguys in cheap suits with suspect Italian accents came around to collect.
Then, a volus merchant rolled into town, bought up entire neighbourhoods and had the wiseguys whacked. Now, it was krogan with cheap suits coming to collect. They didn't even bother with the crap accents. Broke his heart.
A salarian doorman lounged by the front entrance as a group of humans in Alliance uniforms approached. The female at the front of the group wore officer's bars. The rest chattered back and forth with all the excitement of children hopped up on too much sugar. Problematic.
The salarian straightened as they neared him. To the officer he said, "Welcome to Jerry's where the food is hot and the waitresses are hotter. Don't cause any trouble, else Grax will tear you apart."
"Who's Grax?" Kimmers asked.
"The cook. He's totally awesome!" O'Hare replied enthusiastically.
Inside, a volus stood on a stepladder, lining up a shot at the pool table. An asari danced provocatively on a tabletop littered with spent shot glasses and pools of spilled liquor, doing nothing to improve the galaxy's opinion that all asari were dancing hussies.
The troops filed into the diner, making for the bar. Sanchez slapped a hand on the polished wood. "Tequila!"
Johnny Bravo shook his head, "Way to reinforce those stereotypes, dude."
"Que?"
Takeshi Omura joined Sanchez at the bar. He signalled the man polishing glasses. "Sake."
"Really?" replied Johnny.
O'Malley: "Guinness!"
Johnny rolled his eyes. "I give up."
Macalister pushed in between Omura and Sanchez. "Got any Fourex?"
A busty young woman with a too-tight T-shirt stretched taut across her chest crossed to the kitchen pass-through. "Two varren steaks, three pyjak skewers and two orders of curly fries, stat!"
From the kitchen, a deep voice called out, "Quit busting my hump, woman!"
"Hello, gorgeous," Johnny said as every man's head in the place swivelled to track the young woman's progress across the floor. Lieutenant Carter traded glances with Corporal Sinclair. "Men," they said simultaneously. Mary-Beth eyed the waitress. She looked familiar.
Kimmers and Mary-Beth took seats near the pool table. The volus balanced precariously as the last ball dropped into the corner pocket. "And they said it couldn't be done," he said to nobody in particular.
The busty waitress sashayed to the table, shoulders back, chest out. Her name badge read Mary-Kate. Mary-Beth looked from her chest to her face and back. "Say, you wouldn't be the same Mary-Kate who went to St. Stevens?"
Mary-Kate looked at her. "Mary-Beth? Ohmigod, what are you doing here?" The two women embraced like long-lost sisters.
"Oh to be the fabric of those shirts right now," Johnny Bravo said.
"We're on leave. Shipping out tomorrow," Mary-Beth explained as she sat back down.
"You enlisted?" Mary-Kate asked, eyes round.
"Yep."
"Bet your family was thrilled."
"Yep."
"You guys ready to order?"
"Yep."
With that, the tearful reunion was over.
Kimmers eyed Mary-Kate as she took down their orders and headed to the kitchen. At the bar, the men ordered more drinks and devoured the bowls of complimentary peanuts. She turned back to Mary-Beth.
Mary-Beth caught the look. "Before you ask, no she and I were not girlfriends. She was always the biggest flirt at school."
Kimmers raised an eyebrow. "I was actually wondering what the odds were that you'd both have double-barrelled hyphenated names."
"Oh." Mary-Beth exhaled. "Around the time I was conceived, this craze went around all the expectant mothers. Kinda like the way herpes goes around."
Kimmers blinked. "Uh huh."
"This one woman, real posh-totty type announced she was naming her latest bundle of joy Mary-Anne. Being the alpha-female of her social group, to which anybody who was anybody was just desperate to be part of, this announcement influenced the baby-naming decisions for an entire generation of kids." She paused to take a drink of water. "I went to school with a Billy-Bob, Billy-Joe, Tommy-Lee, Mary-Anne, Mary-Jane, Mary-Kate, Sarah-Jane, Sarah-Lee, Sarah-Marie" A pause. Then, "They were triplets. And Sue-Ellen, Rose-Ellen and Ellen-Ellen."
"Ellen-Ellen? Seriously?"
"Seriously. Last I heard, she was still in therapy."
Mary-Kate arrived at their table bearing plates of food in time to hear this last. "Oh, you didn't know?"
"Know what?" Mary-Beth asked.
"Ellen-Ellen went nuts and tried to strangle Mary-Anne's mother. Said it was her fault she had to go through life with such a stupid name."
"Damn."
"Yeah. Anyway, here are your orders." As she laid the plates on the tables, she pointedly pressed her breasts firmly into each woman's back.
Kimmers looked up at her. "Does that actually get you tips?"
Mary-Kate winked at her. "Like you wouldn't believe, sweetheart."
They looked around as every man in the diner flocked around Mary-Kate, waving credits at her. "See?"