DISCLAIMER: Bioware owns Mass Effect. I take no credit or part in such except for this story. Inspiration of this story goes to theorangeguy's 'Saren's Effect'. Jennifer Hale is a real life person. Same goes for Mark Meer. These are merely fictional representations, and do not reflect the actual opinions and personalities of said persons.
Chapter 1: Hale, Office Of Naval Personnel
Arcturus Station, Arcturus Stream, March 19, 2183, 1034 Arcturus
Major Jennifer Hale (SAMC) stood at parade rest in her Dress Blues, standing in formation with seven other Marines and Sailors in the simple conference room populated by a large metal table, chairs, and twenty-three people. Each of Marines and Sailors standing at parade rest were in either their Dress Whites or Dress Blues, standing alongside Major Hale, each of them looking forward as they looked upon a panel of five military men and two civilians at the metal table; three Admirals, one General, and the Fleet Master himself, High Admiral Jon Grissom. The other two on the panel, the non-voting members that sat on the outsides of the table, were the civilians. Hale recognized one of them as the Minister of Defense, Charles Schwartz, the right hand man of the President, POSA Adam Holstein. The other she didn't recognize immediately, but she knew she had seen him on the vids and extranet before, and knew that he was a part of the human embassy at the Citadel. Behind the line of Marines and Sailors in Dress Whites were more Marines and Sailors in chairs, higher ranking than the ones standing. These were sponsors; the Commanding Officers of the men and women in front of the panel. Some were Captains, some were Colonels, and there was an Admiral of the Navy and a General of the Marines as well. For the seven in their Dress Whites and Blues, this was a Board; records and personnel files notwithstanding, they were being judged for who they were, and the answers they would give. The five military members had datapads and paper records, each emblazoned 'SECRET - CLASSIFIED' in red; red frames for the datapads, and the old fashioned stamp for the papers. The papers and files were spread out, and the datapads looked at, their Haptic screens on and projecting any who wished them read. The remaining two weren't even human, Turian males that stood at opposite corners, the lights dimmed for them for an added veil of secrecy and disguise. That had Hale both surprised and thoughtful; Counsel minders? It couldn't be anything else, since the Counsel let the various militaries of the Counsel species to run as they wish without any serious oversight.
"Commander Daniel Madison."
The man in question took one full step forward, identified and ready as he stood at attention, and offering a quick snap of a salute to the Board, dropping it a few seconds later. Commander Daniel Madison, a decorated war hero known for his actions against pirates and smugglers on the edges of the frontier of Citadel Space and the Attican Traverse. The Board asked him short, simple questions, and Commander Madison gave short, simple answers. Nothing was surprising or alarming about it, Major Hale thought to herself as she kept her eyes forward, generally looking above the heads of the seated members of the Board. The benign questions about his service record and some insight of some of his actions were expected, and Madison answered like a pro, if lackluster. When the questions were done about five minutes later, the Fleet Master concluded that they were done, and Commander Madison saluted once more before taking a step back into line.
"Lieutenant Commander Thuy Nguyen."
Hale knew the name, and almost smiled; the Shadow herself was here. Commander Nguyen was a computer programmer and systems analyst, fancy talk for a hacker. What N7's did with guns and battlefields, Commander Nguyen did with viruses and security. Like with Madison, Nguyen was asked a series of question more pertained to her area of expertise, her answers short and perfunctory. The five minutes were up, and Lieutenant Commander Nguyen stepped back into line, and though Jennifer didn't look at the Vietnamese woman, she could tell that Thuy was satisfied how things went.
"Lieutenant Colonel Mikael Dravonich."
That name had Hale almost grimace as a man of obvious Russian heritage stepped forward, giving off his own salute. Dravonich the Destroyer, one of the ground commanders of the Skyllian Blitz, had hunted down some of the surviving pirates who had escaped and retreated from Elysium to LV-224, to lick their wounds in their bases. Then Marine Captain Mikael Dravonich laid siege to several of those bases, killing everyone inside, never asking for surrender, prisoners, or quarter. He would have had as sordid a reputation as hers save that the raids occurred mere days after Elysium, when everyone was reeling from the news of the attack. Dravonich had walked away as a hero instead of a mass murderer, though it seemed that his heavy-handed tactics were starting to get noticed after so many years. The questions the Board asked Dravonich were as benign as Madisons', though they seemed to have intentionally missed asking anything about the Great Pirate Hunt. When they were finished with him, Dravonich saluted and returned to the line.
"Lieutenant Colonel Sara Carter."
Sara Carter was not nearly notorious as some of the others, yet Colonel Carter was no less a force in her own right. A biotic powerhouse, Carter was sent to places that the fighting was guaranteed to be fierce and bloody. Dubbed 'Samson' by the rank-and-file Marines that she served and led, she was always at the front of a fight with her larger-than-humanly-possible, stronger-than-normal barriers shielding them, and her shockwaves thinning out the opposition. Hale approved of Sara Carter; she was a Marine that led from the front, cared for her men, and was fierce in battle. Her line of questioning was rather favorable, and of all the people in the line, the only thing Sara Carter lacked was notoriety.
"Lieutenant Commander Paulo Fonzarelli."
Paulo Fonzarelli, a.k.a. the Italian Stallion. He was well-known for going after pirate and smuggler transports, and had a nearly unblemished record as a Naval Commander of an Alliance Corvette. The Major had served in several ships with him either as the XO or the Commanding Officer, and she was well-acquainted with his views of of pirates and slavers. If she were into men, she didn't doubt that she would have found herself in a relationship with the man, their point of views being quite similar.
"Lieutenant Commander John Forsythe."
That was a name that Jennifer Hale hadn't expected to hear in such company. She had seen him when she had entered the Boardroom, she had been surprised to see him, the man she had first met in OCS. He was a good man who had unfortunately had a bad past; the Benning Incident. A colony revolt gone horribly wrong, John Forsythe had been in charge of pacifying the locals, which from what Hale understood, he had took to mean in a peaceful manner. Unfortunately, the man in charge of the battle group, Commander William Barlow, had given him the orders to shoot the revolting colonists. Forsythe had won himself a nice accommodation for not only not following orders, but for negotiating with the rebel leadership, and convincing them to stand down without any bloodshed. Barlow had been sacked, and Forsythe earned himself a nice 15-minute fame of being the 'nice guy' of the Alliance. Unfortunately, Alliance Brass had to swallow some crow for that incident; they didn't like someone who buck orders, even if it were the right thing to do. But because the situation ended in the best scenario possible, they were forced to promote him both in the publics' eyes, and in rank as well.
"Lieutenant Commander Mark Meer."
That asshat.
Major Hale did her best not to let any emotion show, suppressing a grunt and a sigh as a towering man took a step forward, his position of attention and salute picture perfect, his tan beret perfect on his shaved head. Commander Meer, the Hero of Akuze, poster child of the Alliance, and the only human known to have fought a Thresher Maw on foot and survived. It wasn't hard for one to see his face staring out from a recruiting poster or a promotional video, that famous smile of his smattered all over the place. The N7 hated the man for years; they had been in OCS, and had even gone to Rio de Janeiro together, unfortunately. The man was an egotistical, chauvinistic xenophobe whose only mission was himself, first, last, and forever. So when Commander Meer stood in front of the Board, his Dress Whites flawless, his stance perfect, the Major had to work really hard to maintain her composure, as oppose to walking two steps and giving the man a swift cockkick from behind. That image made her mentally smile. Unfortunately, the five minutes of questioning had gone the way Major Hale thought it would with the toolbag; an endless parade on how Mark Meer thought himself the most glorious human being in existence. The gall of the man! If his answers were of any indication, then his Marines and Sailors did nothing while he completed the mission, single-handedly.
Fucking toolbag.
Each person was called, questions were asked, and answers given. All in all, pretty benign stuff, normal for a Board. A Board of this caliber, headed by none other than Jon Grissom himself? Probably not. Hale didn't know what the Board was about; supposedly, the Admiralty Board was to select from a small composition of Sailors and Marines for something big. A Task Force, unless the Major missed her guess, probably some big public push that would make the Alliance look good. That's all she needed, to be a part of some political postulating to make the Prime Minister or the President look like they were doing something. Last time that happened, she had found herself the ground commander at Torfan. Meer, saluted after his round of questioning, and she knew it was her turn. This was going to be fun.
"Major Jennifer Hale."
The N7 Marine let off a silent breath of preparation as she took a step forward, unconsciously aware of her sponsor, Captain Hannah Shepard, XO of the SSV Kilimanjaro. Hale stood in perfect attention, and executed a picture-perfect salute, the blade of her fingertips going to the band of her green beret, her hand tilted at the correct angle. She saluted the Old Man himself, and Jon Grissom gave off a rare warm smile, returning the salute from his seat as the Major dropped her hand to her side, remaining in the position of attention. Hale was conscious of everything; the eyes at her back of the sponsors and the Marines and Sailors she stood beside, the General and Admirals in front of her, the two civilians at the sides of the table, the two Turians in their corners, and the ribbon around her neck, the medal of the Order of Luna heavy around her neck. Her Dress Blues, immaculately cleaned and pressed, with her heavy salad bar on her left showing off every award and accommodation she had ever earned eclipsed by the heavy silver medallion that dangled from its deep blue ribbon, the second highest award a human could earn. This all occurred in a second, yet Jen was nervous, and time seemed to slow to a crawl.
"It's good to see you again, Major." Fleet Master Jon Grissom announced, looking at the Major with appraising eyes, that rare smile of his still on his face. "It's been… four years?"
"Yes, sir. While I was recuperating from the mission on Torfan." Jen answered, her answer pure military, no familiarization in her tone or words whatsoever. Admiral Grissom could talk to anybody he wanted in any damn tone he pleased, but little Major Jennifer Hale of the Systems Alliance Marine Corps didn't have such luxuries.
"Still doing your best to wipe slavery off the face of the galaxy?" The old man's tone was amused, his cool, blue eyes sparkling as he directed the question at her. What was he driving at? The others had questions that pertained to their jobs and accomplishments, but she was being… chatted to.
"I'll give the Batarians credit, sir; they are both persistent and stubborn." That had more than a few people in the room chuckle, and Hale could hear one of the Turian laughing, his duel-toned voice announcing itself to human ears from its strangeness. There were few humans who could stand Blinks and Slugs, and the Major doubted anyone in the room didn't know her stance on the Hegemony.
"I heard you just came back from a successful raid, Major. That you captured quite a number of Batarians and rescued quite a few slaves." Admiral Grissom brought up, and Hale felt a little bit better. This was territory more appropriate for the Board.
"That is correct, sir. I captured one hundred and thirty-two raiders, thirty-seven overseers, two hundred and fifty-nine guards, and five hundred and nineteen handlers. Nine hundred and forty-seven in all." The Major answered confidently, knowing the numbers exactly. "I rescued over five thousand slaves off of Tovosk. Five thousand and eighty-nine, to be exact. Sixty percent were human, while there were about ten percent Asari, Salarian, Elcor, and Turian. Unfortunately, all the Batarian slaves were completely complacent to their masters, and chewed out their own tongues or cut open their throats with sharp rocks before being rescued by the 'Butcher'." That had Hale pause, remembering seeing the bodies. "There were over three thousand Batarian slaves. Three thousand, four hundred and sixty-four, all dead by their own hand. Ordered to do so, unless I miss my guess."
"Jesus Christ." That came from somewhere in the back of the room, where one of the sponsors had accidentally spoken out. Not that anyone blamed the man. Mass suicide among the Batarian slaves was a new thing to that humanity had to consider, something that Hale learned to her regret.
"I am genuinely sorry to hear that. I know what rescuing slaves means to you, Major." Fleet Master Jon Grissom said, his voice thick. "Were… were any from Mindoir? Any more names crossed from your list?"
"Thirty-two confirmed dead, and one still alive, sir. Marian Mollette." The N7 replied, and that had everyone that wasn't being reviewed by the Board looking at one another, the room absolutely dead silent. A rescued slave of… thirteen years? "She… she was my high school teacher, sir." Major Jennifer Hale added unnecessarily, frowning at herself. She was suppose to be better than this, but it was her life. "We are still collecting information on her, any intelligence we can glean about Khar'shan. Slaver posts. Drop-off points. News. Others she might remember. She is… fragile, as to be expected. A ghost of the woman I once knew. But rescuing her? Freeing her?" The Marine took a deep breath and closed her eyes, remembering when she pulled the woman out of the cage herself, having recognized her. Marian Mollette hadn't recognized Jen by sight, but she had responded to the Majors' name, and had probably cried her first tears of joy in over thirteen years. A familiar name. A familiar face. Being held by a survivor of a slave raid that had rescued a slave that hadn't been as lucky. It had been an emotional moment for the both of them, but it was more than worth it. "One hundred and fourteen names left, sir. Six hundred and eighty-four confirmed dead… and thirty-nine rescued. Out of eight hundred and thirty-seven."
"You're never going to stop, are you?" This came from one of the civilians at the table to the left of Grissom, and earned himself a dirty look from the Fleet Master and both of the Marine Generals. Hale didn't answer with words. Instead, she pulled out of her left back pocket an old-fashioned wallet, made out of honest-to-God cow leather. Opening up the bill fold, she pulled out three sheets of paper, each of them filled with names in small, fine, precise print. The papers went on the table, many of the names crossed out, while several stood unmarked and mute, and a very few were circled. The seven men at the table looked at the papers, and only Jon Grissom picked them up, seeing how frayed they were, their edges dogged-eared and having been folded many times over. To the Major's surprise, the Fleet Master looked at each page, flipping it front to back, and then moving to the next. When he reached the last name, his eyes focused upon the wallet that she held in her hands.
"That's a man's wallet. Your father's?" The old man asked, and had it been anyone else in the galaxy, Hale probably wouldn't have answered. But Grissom understood. He always had.
"He made it for my brother's eighteenth birthday present from one of our cows, sir." Hale found that her voice failed her for a moment, and she had to clear her throat. "Stretched, cleaned, tanned, and dyed it himself, and then made it and wrapped it up. Robert… never got a chance to open it, to see it, to hold it in his hands. He died trying to save me, following my father's dying wish." The Major cleared her throat again, her voice having grown husky from the thoughts of the past. "I'm never going to stop until every damn name on that list has been either crossed out as a confirmation of their death, or circled because they were rescued. Batarians aren't going to stop enslaving them, or go easier on them, or give them an off day."
"I noticed a new name at the bottom, recently added." Admiral Grissom pointed out, not bother to show it off. The others hadn't bothered to trying to look at them before, and the Fleet Master wasn't about to share now. "You're still looking for her, after all this time? The Alliance has declared her…"
"I don't care." Jennifer's anger and temper got the best of her, rudely interrupting the highest-ranking and most decorated man in the Systems Alliance. The Admirals and Generals at the table exchanged looks amongst themselves, but Grissom's eyes stayed on her, his face never changing. "You want to think she's dead without seeing her body? That's your prerogative. I will find her one day, probably disguised as a Terminus Warlord drinking beer out of the skull of a Krogan she just killed with her bare hands. And you'll know if she were killed, probably on top of a mountain of corpses of slavers, mercs and pirates, with half the planet on fire. She isn't dead. There probably isn't a dozen people in the entire galaxy good enough to kill her. Too many people know how good she is to think that she might die and some planet isn't having a fuck-crazy orgy in celebration that you couldn't see off from the Core. There would be rumor and talk. There hasn't been one single word, Admiral; not even from a friend of a bondmate who hired an Asari prostitute buying from someone who was hooked up with Red Sand and licking the back of a Salarian." That had the same civilian who had questioned her want of stopping slavery make a bit of a choking noise, his eyes slightly bulging out of his head from indignation. Someone didn't like potty language, Jen thought to herself as one of the Marine Generals took a look at said civilian and fired off a dirty scowl in his direction. "Jannie's alive, sir. Only because nobody's parading around with her severed head. Until that day? I'm looking for my sister."
The room was silent. That probably wasn't a good thing, Hale groaned mentally. She stuck her boot in her mouth. Again.
"I have a question." The came from the civilian she didn't know, the one who had questioned her before, clearing his throat to indicate that he was about to talk. "Your records indicate that you've been active in all of Alliance Space, as well as a significant portion of Outer Counsel Space, and most notably in areas bordering Hegemony Space and the Attican Traverse. You've interacted with quite an impressive number of people from many walks of life, been in a considerable amount of situations, and deal with scenarios that most do not deal with in their entire lives. As Admiral Grissom has made clear your stance on slavery, not to mention your own reputation, do you believe that your actions and your beliefs are in the benefit of humanity, or merely your own personal… vendettas?"
Major Jennifer Hale looked upon the man who had asked her that question, one that hadn't been asked any of the others. She wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. It seemed like a pretty decent question, she guessed, especially considering her past. What they wanted to know was if she was going to be an embarrassment to the Alliance or whatever they had in mind. Probably some alien co-op bullshit where humans and whoever else would work side-by-side to accomplish some goal to please whoever was the current saber-rattler of the day. Knowing of the two Turians in the corners, as well as their race's predilections towards martial thoughts and actions, it wasn't hard for her to put two-and-two together and get 'Human-Turian Task Force'. Twenty-six years after the First Contact War, and the Counsel, the Hierarchy, and the Alliance had been making tiny footsteps towards some real reconciliation over their differences. Considering it had been the human diplomat from the Citadel who had asked the question, Jen could only guess that whatever they had in mind would probably involve Turians. Probably some Asari, too.
"Sir, despite what you call my 'personal vendettas'," the Major began, trying to keep the dry tone from her words, "I have done nothing to embarrass myself, the Alliance military, or humanity. Sure, the news media gives me flak for Torfan, but they sure do like to miss the opportunity to tell their viewer that I have rescued almost one hundred thousand slaves and kidnapped persons of various races in total. And because I am a member of the Alliance Military, I do not get to collect the cash bounty for saving a slave from any of the persons' respective governments, which means that with the exception of what the Alliance gives me as a paycheck, I do not receive a nickel from the Republic when I save a Maiden, or the Union for a Salarian, or the Primacy for a Drell or a Hanar. News doesn't cover that, do they?" Hale looked at the civilian, seeing his older, lined face and premature balding spot looking somewhat sour as she put him in the spotlight.
"No, they like to cover the fact that I'm the Butcher of Torfan, that I wiped out over twenty thousand Batarian pirates and slavers in one of the largest slaver hubs outside of Hegemony space." Hale pointed out, not bothering to disguise her disgust. "What the news doesn't tell you is that for a period of nineteen months, not one colony or ship were hit by slavers. Before? The monthly average was somewhere near a thousand slaves. I reduced it to zero for almost two years, if you don't count the random snatch-and-grab of a person or two out in the Attican or the Terminus. The Alliance handpicked me to lead the ground team on Torfan for a reason, sir. Why do you think I was awarded the Order of Luna for it?" That question was answered with silence, Hale noted wiry.
"Because despite the fact that they used slaves as human shields, despite the fact that they had land mines and booby traps, despite the fact that their buildings and compounds were wired with explosives, and despite the fact that a majority of the Batarians were rigged with suicide vests containing several grenades with high explosive mods, that I was able to accomplish my mission with a force of less than two thousand men. I had eight percent of their forces, and yet we were the ones to walk away, while they resorted to surrendering with the intent of blowing up my men when we captured them. The news likes to call me the Butcher because I lost fifteen hundred men that day, and I didn't take one prisoner. None of them explain that I lost so many men because the Batarians were surrendering in droves, mixing themselves with slaves they had freed as a smokescreen, and detonating themselves among us. None of them explain how we couldn't trust the ones that had surrendered, how their buildings were turned into bombs as well. None of them explain that I also pulled out of there thirty thousand slaves. None of them explain that the eighteen hundred and forty-two men that I led into Torfan volunteered for the mission, and knew before they volunteered that it was going to be bloody. They died ensuring the freedom of others; Humans, Salarians, Asari, Turian, Hanar, Drell, Elcor, Quarian, and Batarian slaves. So I ask you this, sir; do you think my actions and beliefs are in the benefit of humanity, or do you think I'm on a personal vendetta?"
The civilian cleared his throat, looking embarrassed, glancing to Grissom and the other Admirals and Generals for a rescue. The diplomat received none, which Jen expected. The news media and upper-crust civilian flunkies might whine and cry about her being the Butcher, but most colonists and military folk thought of her as a hero. Humans from Sol, the Prime colonies, and the Citadel could afford to act all butt-hurt because they'd never been raided, never had the fear of a slaver ship darkening their sky, and never having to rely on whatever piss-poor militia to save their asses.
"I think that covers it." Admiral Grissom finally replied wiry, looking to either side of him. Jen knew that they had gone over their time limit for her, which surprised her none at all. She saluted the Board, and took her obligatory step back, returning to the line of other sailors and Marines. Despite the fact that she wanted to let out a sigh of relief now that the hard part was over, Hale stood in perfect attention, her face completely blank. "Attendees and sponsors? Please wait in the next room while we discuss our findings."
Major Jennifer Hale stood in what happened to be the waiting room, a plain room with unadorned walls and nowhere to sit with a simple view port to outside space. She stood with her sponsor, Captain Hannah Shepard, who stood it a fairly relaxed position, while Jen leaned against a bulkhead, arms crossed underneath her breasts as she silently fumed. At herself, at the Board, at the whole thing in general. She had in her mouth an Arcturus Blend Gold Label cigar, and though it was unlit, she chewed on it all the same. She didn't doubt that lighting it up would give her grief from the various people in the waiting room, cigarettes having fallen from popularity until Turians and Batarians had discovered the pleasures of nicotine. Cigars and Scotch were her vices of choice, and she never passed upon an opportunity to enjoy at least one of the two when the situation would allow her. Unfortunately, this was not one of those times, and the Major had to settle on chewing on her cigar, admonishing herself.
"If you chew that any more, it'll end up a candy bar." Captain Hannah Shepard told Hale, the XO of the SSV Kilimanjaro said with some mirth, looking upon the woman she sponsored with a smile. "And who'll want to smoke a soggy stogie, anyhow?"
"Gee. Thanks, Mom." Jen replied sarcastically while rolling her eyes, pulling the cigar out of her mouth, and looking at its' ruined end. It was true, the cigar probably wasn't fit to smoke anymore, but chewing on it gave her something to do besides stewing. God, she could use a drink. The whole Board thing was a fracas of the umpteenth degree, with disaster written all over it. She had seen a few, came with with being an 'N', but she had never seen one quite like the one she had just attended. While a few had been 'N's', all were the best in their fields, even the asshat. Yet seeing the two Turians as well as the Citadel type didn't seem to bode well. Was the Alliance getting hauled into some sort of diplomatic agreement with the Hierarchy? There had been training programs and co-op exercises before. Most had done well when Hierarchy forces and Alliance military didn't have to mingle too much, keeping everything at a friendly arms' distance away. Memories of the FCW ran too deep, and the generation of men and women who had fought for humanity's survival were now Captains, Colonels, Generals and Admirals in the Alliance. Now with the second generation more than old enough to join into the ranks, the sons and daughters of those who had and had not survived, the healing process between the two races was both slow and short. Still, at least they weren't at each others' throats or shooting at one another. That was progress.
"You need to talk, kiddo?" The older woman asked, sweeping her greying red hair back, obviously going into a well-known sore subject. "I'm just glad that it was Grissom in charge of that Board, and not another inquisition or witch hunt. Some need to be reminded that our position is a little too precarious to be putting personal matters up front. We humans can't afford to play games with politics when the wolves are at the doors. Seems like Brass has got their priorities backwards. As usual." Hannah, bless her heart, knew what she was talking about. A warrior of the FCW herself, she had been serving the Alliance for thirty years, and had seen more than Jen ever would. It was times like these that she was glad she had Captain Shepard by her side, someone to look out for her.
Hale didn't have anyone else.
"I looked again a few weeks ago, Hannah. For Jannie." Jen finally said, pulling the stogie out of her mouth and crossing her arms underneath her breasts, holding the cigar just above one of her well-toned biceps, looking to the older woman, Hannah's cool green eyes looking into Hale's brown ones. "I know I messaged you that I was on some mission under Admiral Michalovich's orders, but what I really did was barhop in a few places; Korrman, the Vegius Sector, Omega, and the Briars." The names had the older Shepard woman's eyes go wider, names of places generally considered the worst of the worst, the roughest of the rough, the dirty, dingy backwaters of the galaxy. Each of them were known for its lawlessness and spitting out anything strong and chewing up the weak. Pirates holes, slaver rings, merc playgrounds, rife with some of the worst scum of the universe, the underworld brought to light and traded openly. Hale had spent a week in each of the places. The second moon of the gas giant Xiphos known as Korrman, a series of compounds and shanty towns that was a well-used haven for slave trading as well as arms deals and the trafficking of narcotics. A series of He3 fueling stations in orbit of the planet Vegia known as the Vegius Sector, ran by a series of Terminus Warlords that would fill up your ship while extorting, racketeering, smuggling, and trafficking whatever they might find on your ship not actively bolted down, a pirate's dream. Omega, an astroid-based station that was the center of trading in the Terminus Systems, its ill-lit corridors housing the destitute and the deranged, ruled by a ruthless Asari whose two main concerns were her power base and the percentage she would get from the misery and maliciousness of others. The radar-scattering Briars, a small nebula that contained a few outposts that was heavily trafficked by mercs, bounty hunters, scalpers, and head hunters, and probably the closest thing known to 'proper' civilization in the Terminus as long as one followed its rule of 'don't fuck with us and we don't fuck with you'. Jen knew what Hannah would say to her efforts, having heard the older woman's concerns before.
"Jen…" The Captain sighed, looking at Hale with concerned eyes, shaking her head sadly. "I know what you are doing, and it touches me. From the bottom of my heart, I am grateful that I am not the only one who think's Jane is still alive, that my daughter…" Hannah had to pause, fighting back her own emotions as the Major could see the older Shepard woman force her eyes to close to fight off the threatening tears. "It's like you said in the Board; she isn't dead until someone's parading around with her corpse. That I believe." Hannah's eyes opened again, the cool green orbs in control of themselves again. "But don't let the search of one daughter cost me the life of the other. I don't want to lose you, too."
"I know." Hale replied glumly; not a new conversation. "But I have to know, Mom. I need to know." The Major explained, and again, it wasn't a new conversation. "I went just to listen. A rumor. A boast. A claim. A sighting. A drunken slip of the tongue. Something. Anything. Ultimately… nothing." Jen sighed and put the cigar back into her mouth, and softly chewed on it. "They still talk about her out there in the black, you know? I was in the Vegius Sector and some scumbag pirate parasite of an Asari was smacking around some Batarian, telling him to be grateful that Jannie had been missing for four years, how it had been so much worse when the Lion was around." That had Hale smiling around her cigar, and even Captain Shepard joined in on the sad remembrance. "I guess I'm not the only one who hasn't forgotten about her, who hasn't written her off as dead. That was one of the things that I was looking for, Mom; gaps. Slavers mysteriously missing members, pirates that left and somehow never came back, mercs who had to look for new meat, seeing if any others were on the prowl. Korrman still has a rather ridiculous bounty on her head, and they still talk about her, looking for rumors and sightings, too. They hadn't forgiven Jannie for cleaning house with a shotgun back in '77. They still really, really want her dead. That's why that was my first stop." The Marine Major merely shook her head sadly. "I didn't find anything on her. Even paid a few info brokers for any news they might have heard just to cover my bases. Nada, Mom. Not one Goddamn word."
"You're trying. That counts." Jennifer's adopted mother said softly, placing a gentle hand on one of Hale's shoulders. "I know that I would feel better if you weren't risking yourself looking for her, but I'm not mad at you for trying. Not in the least. Just… please be careful, honey. If you go missing or dead… you're the only family I've got left, too."
"I know, and you're right." Hale sighed, pulling cigar from her mouth and leaning her head onto Hannah's hand, as much affection as she had ever shone the woman who had adopted her on the SSV Einstein years before. It wasn't that they didn't love one another, but both women knew that the relationship between adopted mother-and-daughter had hinged upon one other as the glue, and she was gone, missing for four years. The cement that had once been joy was now grief, yet they said that misery loved company, and that was still one of the main reasons why the two women stood by each others' side after so long, even if nether one truly expected to ever see the one that had made them family ever again. Hale knew that even if Jannie really and truly was dead, she and Hannah would still stick by each other, if only so they wouldn't be alone. It was better than nothing.
Mindoir taught her that.
A/N: A lot of this chapter is in credit to LogicalPremise's 'Of Sheep And Battle Chicken', Chapter 1: Prologue, as well as an actual Army Selection Board, though I based it off of the NCO Evaluation Board, which is seated by NCO's, and not Officers. Props to LP for having a fantastic first chapter and a very scary Sara Ying Shepard.