"It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves." - William Shakespeare
Of the few feelings Lieutenant Commander Krystal Bishop could experience, she hated this feeling the most.
The anxiousness, the confinement. She couldn't shake it. She paced from one end of her quarters to the other, her boots clicking softly on the floor. The rhythmic sound was mesmerizing, filling the room to the point it seemed louder than it actually was. One, two, three, four, stop. Turn and repeat. Back and forth she went, a large porthole window taking turns between passing her left and right. Glimpses of distant passing planets and stars rushed by, along with the occasional blue streak of star dust. She paused in front of the full length mirror on the opposite wall, stared only for a moment, cringed and resumed pacing.
Krystal hated this feeling, so much so she wished it was just like all the rest. Non-existent. This level of confinement would be staggering to a lesser Marine. She couldn't breathe. Her arms felt as though they were tied off at her sides, shackled by thick dark blue wool. What if a rogue Krogan came crashing through the door? How could she kill it while she was so damn uncomfortable?
One, two, stop. She paused in front of the mirror again, this time for a bit longer. Her eyes scanned herself from the bottom to the top: boots polished to a mirror shine, freshly pressed pants, a perfectly fitted coat with lieutenant commander insignia on each shoulder. Jesus, how she hated wearing her dress blues. The only thing not tended to was her dark brown hair, still hanging loosely just past her chin. There wasn't much to be done with it really. That's why she'd saved it for last.
Krystal felt a subtle change as the SSV Orleans slowed, the stars and planets outside the porthole replaced by the familiar blue and green of Earth. She removed a brush from the table drawer next to the mirror and the short but arduous process of making her hair look presentable began when a chime sounded overhead.
"Krys?" a soft British female voice came through the speaker.
"Yes Flight Lieutenant?"
"We've arrived at Earth and we're beginning our decent. I also thought you'd like to know Commander Quinn has been waiting at the airlock for the last twenty minutes."
"Well I'm sure he won't mind waiting for another five."
"Normally I'd agree but...you know that thing he does when he gets impatient and he crosses his arms, looks at the ceiling and starts tapping his foot rapidly on the floor?"
Krystal looked up, "Yes?"
"Well he's doing it now and if I didn't know any better I'd say he was trying to kick his way down to engineering."
Krystal placed the brush back into the drawer, "Tell him I'm on my way."
"See you in a moment, Krys."
Lieutenant Commander Bishop carefully examined her hair. It was cut military regulation length, just passed her chin, parted on the right side. It was smooth, flawless, tucked behind her ears. She gave herself a last look and surprised herself by noting that she looked...acceptable. Krystal left her quarters, located on the port side of the Orleans and made her way straight to the elevator. She passed the corridor leading to the mess hall. Random chatter and laughter could be heard from some of the crew enjoying downtime. The scent of roasted peppers and onions filled the air and burned her eyes. Lance Corporal Alvarez must have been on kitchen duty again. Krystal's eyes watered as she approached the lift, the sensors detecting her presence and summoning the elevator automatically. A moment later the doors slid open and Krystal's heart skipped a beat. Lieutenant Dean Morgan was leaning on the wall inside the elevator, his finger flicking across the screen of a transparent datapad. He looked up with his dark hazel colored eyes and straightened up upon seeing Krys.
"Ma'am." he said, giving a friendly smile.
Krys entered the elevator, "As you were, Lieutenant. Deck 2, ANII."
"Yes, Lieutenant Commander," ANII's metallic voice answered her. The doors closed and the short journey to reach a floor up began. The smell of peppers was replaced by the faint scent of the soap Dean used in the showers. He always smelled like that, clean and welcoming, like vanilla and lavender...
"You look lovely today, LTC. If you don't mind me saying." Dean barely managed to pipe up, not taking his eyes off his datapad.
"I don't." she replied flatly. As much as she tried not to, she couldn't help but answer the compliment with anything more than a simple statement. Like he had entered the correct password into his omni-tool and it gave a small beep as a response. He had done the right thing to get in, but was only given business as usual. A moment of awkward silence passed before the elevator reached the second deck and the doors opened. Dean gestured politely for Krys to disembark first, which she did, giving the slightest of nods in return. Again, she wanted so badly to give something more, even a smile. But she couldn't. And it killed her. They walked in silence together a few more yards until Dean silently peeled off to speak with one of the many communications specialists he oversaw, handing her the datapad. Krys felt him give one last quick glance but she didn't look back.
She continued on, around the galaxy map and down the long corridor leading to the cockpit and airlock, garnering a few salutes from some of the navigation and communications crews that saw her walk through. In stride, she returned the ones that were given, eventually reaching the airlock but Commander Quinn was nowhere in sight.
"In here, Krys."
The door to the cockpit was wide open, as Flight Lieutenant Maya Araceli liked it to be. In the co-pilot's seat to the left sat Commander Patrick Quinn. Krys stepped into the dimly lit cockpit and snapped to attention, giving Rick a crisp salute. He stood and gave one in return.
"You don't have to do that every time you see me." Rick said, annoyed.
Krys turned her attention to the pilot. "That's three times today you've been informal with me, Lieutenant." she said, moving her shoulders uncomfortably in the constricting fabric of her dress blues.
The pilot's chair whirled around and a petite blonde woman playfully frowned, crossing one leg over the other, "I'm sorry. 'In here, Lieutenant Commander'", she repeated in her North London accent, "It's just such a hassle to say that every time I have to speak to you. I mean, you call me Cricket all the time anyway. Can't I come up with a nickname? I'll call you 'LTC' like Deanie does. You don't get mad when he does that."
"I've...never noticed he does that." Krys said dryly.
"I've noticed." Rick said in his raspy quiet voice, plopping back down.
"See? Even the usually wooden Commander has noticed. One thing's for sure, you're lying is still rubbish. ANII, have we heard from the Alliance yet about our landing clearance?" Maya turned her attention back to her console, ignoring Krys' grimace.
"I'm sorry, Flight Lieutenant, but there appears to be some confusion about which shuttles are to land next and where exactly they are supposed to land. The last ETA given was estimated to be twenty minutes." ANII responded.
"You've got to be kidding me."
"Fix it, ANII. I want to get out of this outfit." Rick snapped.
"Of course, Commander."
Maya rolled her eyes, "All the technology the Protheans left for us to find on Mars and there wasn't a single bit about being better air traffic controllers."
"Give them a break, Cricket. They're still rebuilding down there. Everyone is." Rick said.
"I know they are. It'll be nice to see it when it's all done."
"If it's ever done in our lifetime." Krys said flatly.
Maya nodded, "That's true. You know, when the rebuilding started, first we worked on the hospitals, then the schools. But those were Alliance projects. England started rebuilding the football stadiums. We Brits sure have our priorities straight, don't we?"
"Flight Lieutenant?" ANII said.
"ANII, how many times have I told you, you can call me Maya."
"Understood. Rewritting information...We've received our landing clearance. It was apparently expedited by Admiral Shepard."
"Well...we must be on something special if Shepard is already involved." Rick muttered.
The pilot looked at Krys and shrugged "Alright, whatever works. Take us in, ANII. You don't mind do you?"
"Of course not...Maya."
Under ANII's control, the SSV Orleans glided over the northwestern United States and into Canada, descending into Vancouver. It broke through the clouds, the dark blue Pacific Ocean sprawling to the west. As the Orleans came closer, three distinct landscapes could be seen: The majority of the city that had been rebuilt, the few blocks that hadn't taken much damage from the Reapers and the buildings that had yet to be rebuilt. After the Reaper war, the task of rebuilding was shared among all galactic races, accelerating the rebuilding process and lightening the load on the Alliance. Since then, a mostly peaceful rebuilding of the galaxy took place. But even nearly three decades later, some rebuilding was slow going. Materials always seemed to be hard to come by, even with Alliance help.
The Alliance Headquarters in Vancouver had been one of the first structures to be resurrected. Everything from the offices and conference halls to the plaza with its numerous shops, restaurants and fountains, and docks had been replicated, back to its once pristine glory . Some improvements had even been made, such as the entertainment wing off the plaza and Hall of Heroes. The Orleans located its dock and slowed to a hover, large magnetic clamps carefully attaching on each side of the silver and green trimmed hull. ANII powered down systems to standby mode.
"Have fun you crazy kids." Maya teased from the rear of the airlock.
"We won't be too long." Rick said.
Krys gave him a quizzical look, "How can you be so sure?"
He shrugged, "I've done this a few times before." He smoothed down the left temple of his graying black hair as the airlock closed behind him and the doors ahead slid open.
"The commanding officer is ashore. XO Lamarca as the deck."
The two ranking officers of the Orleans walked out of the ship and headed down the ramp to the check out platform. The docks buzzed around them, small rectangular shuttles whizzed by, the metallic clanging of tools and the sizzling of panels being welded onto ships filled the air. To the left, a small crew began to refuel the Orleans. Krys and Rick made their way through the small groups of Alliance workers populating the docks. The ones who didn't have their hands full stopped to salute.
Rick led the way and soon they were out of the docks and onto an elevated terrace that overlooked the main plaza of Alliance headquarters. He should have known this walk by heart by now; of the three promotions he had turned down, two of them had been refused here. Although he had to note, this was the first time he'd seen the plaza in its finished form. Sculpted hedges and greenery filled the plaza, numerous fountains and grassy areas with benches littered the spaces in between. Off-duty officers and their families were using the grassy areas for picnics, they walked in pairs, talking and laughing. For the first time in a long time, Rick witnessed something he hadn't in Vancouver for a very long time: People were happy. Almost as though for a few moments they had forgotten the horrors that happened here. Sure, it had been almost three decades since the Reaper War, but everything was still so fresh in everyone's minds.
Rick could remember the morning it happened. Just a few months after turning 18, he remembered being awoken by screeching alarms and flashing lights, his parents barely kissing him goodbye as they disappeared to fight the Reapers. Soon after he enlisted. He watched on the news every night, hoping there would be some sign of them. He remembered Commander Shepard giving updates on Battlespace. The images of huge bug-shaped machines descending on every planet. Refugees of all races gathering together, searching for their families and friends. No power, no clean water or food. And even back then, he thought it was sad it took something like that to bring the galaxy together.
"This way." Rick said over his shoulder. Krys stayed on his heels as they continued around the terrace. The main courtyard leading to Alliance headquarters was also known as the Hall of Heroes, each side of it lined with large bronze statues dedicated to the heroes who perished during the Reaper War. Those who had survived the War but had passed away since were also honored with statues posthumously. Colorful flowers and small gifts were placed at the foot of each statue, some older, others brand new. Candles in glass jars held down sealed envelopes containing letters and colorful messages made by kids and adults alike, thanking them for their service and sacrifice. There were even empty platforms waiting to enshrine those heroes who were still living. In between the rows of statues was a large slender pewter torch, dedicated to the missing Normandy SVR-2 and its crew. It was lit a few days after the ship was lost and hadn't stopped burning since. Despite it only having a skeleton crew on board, few people had given up hope it would be found some day.
Rick gave passing glances at the statues as he walked by. Admiral David Anderson, portrayed in his dress blues. The Salarian Mordin Solus, his fingers lightly folded together. Lieutenant Kaiden Alenko in his battle armor. A rather voluptuous figure representing the original EDI. The Geth known as Legion. The assassin Thane Krios, a thoughtful look emblazoned on his face, a book of scripture in his hand.
The newest statues were towards the middle of the courtyard. Dr. Karin Chakwas, who had passed away in her sleep almost a decade ago. Jacob Taylor, who was killed in an ambush by the Cerberus Remnant. And Admiral Steven Hackett, who helped lead the galaxy to victory against the Reapers. Rick paused a moment at Hackett's statue, admiring his confident demeanor, as well as the detailed scar and goatee that had been etched into the bronze. Rick remembered how famously gray it was, running a hand through his own graying hair. Maybe he should grow a beard?
"Commander Quinn!" a voice said behind him. Rick turned to see his former captain, the newly promoted Admiral Hamid Al-Hassan, a man with dark olive skin and a thin gray beard. He smiled and spared a salute, instead extending his hand, which Rick shook heartily. "How are you? How is your family? Your children?"
"They're doing well. Connor just started ROTC." Rick said.
"Following in the footsteps of his father. He'll make a fine soldier." Al-Hassan smiles, noticing Krystal walking up. "Lieutenant Commander! Good to see you as well!"
"Admiral." She snapped to attention. Rick tried not to roll his eyes. This girl needs to lighten up.
Al-Hassan shook her hand as well, nodding his head as a gesture to start walking. "If you'll both follow me we haven't much time. Hopefully we'll arrive before Admiral Shepard."
"If I may ask, sir. Why the rush to see the board?" Krys asked.
The admiral didn't stop walking, "These are strange times we're living in. The galaxy is in relative peace, the most peaceful and cooperative it has been since the end of the Reaper War. Yet every time we appear to be slipping into the darkness of chaos once more, something happens that brings us together again."
Rick scowled, "They think my promotion will save the galaxy? Will all due respect, that's a bunch of -"
"Is something else happening?" Krys interrupted.
"Yes and no. It's difficult to explain," Al-Hassan said, a touch of frustration in his voice. He led them down a wide staircase to the main chamber where the meeting would take place. Small groups of officers and the like were waiting around the doors of the chamber, awaiting their turn to enter, quiet voices echoing off the high ceilings. "You should be third on the docket. It shouldn't take long, if things go according to plan." The admiral gave Rick a knowing look.
"Does anything ever go according to plan?" Rick shrugged. Krys stared at him coldly.
Sometimes they did, sure, Rick thought. But whatever plans anyone had today wouldn't exactly happen the way they wanted. He had no intention of accepting this or any other promotion, no matter what it was they dangled in front of him. Saying 'no' again probably meant some crap detail or whatever punishment the new captain could think of. Which was fine with him. The new captain, he thought. Rick gave Krys a sideways glance and a little smile. She continued her long, cold glare.