"Sam? Sammy, are you all right? We—we heard… Are you—is Earth—?"
"I'm fine, Dad."
Earth… is not. But Samantha couldn't bring herself to say that. She'd been practicing for almost a half hour before punching in the familiar IP address for Horizon. The four disconnections before finally reaching the colony had dissolved what little courage Sam had built up, however. As had the tense 32 hour journey at FTL speed, mostly spent staring blankly at the ANN alert about the full scale retreat from Earth.
The Normandy crew was quietly separate and grieving. Everyone felt lost. Conversations with her fellow crew members were either clipped or hysterical. Before, they would gather in the mess at lunch to joke and laugh. Lucas, Xian and Sam would bore the others to tears with chatter about new leaps in QEC tech. The boys in the guidance system, Hertzfeld and Douglas, loved comparing Alliance, turian, asari, and salarian ships like they would baseball teams back on Earth. Cortez would make brief appearances when Lieutenant Vega would stop by, but theirs was a tightly-knit brotherhood in the Shuttle Bay otherwise. Engineer Pierce usually bickered with his wife via Omni-tool while Rashad had her nose in a datapad about her favorite topics of the week. Just yesterday, Rashad was regaling Samantha and company about a conspiracy theory that salarians landed on ancient Earth and deposited dinosaurs there.
And now?
Specialist Seth Lucas brooded quietly in the war room while fiddling with cables. By comparison, Samantha asked for one update from specialist Chen Xian who promptly demanded to know what the plan was and what was taking so long. Engineers Morena Rashad and Victor Pierce just worked until they collapsed from exhaustion. No reading or bickering anymore. Cortez was keeping to himself in the Shuttle Bay more so than usual. Mourning a planet, and a husband lost only a few months ago, made the pilot more despondent than usual. Full of bravado, specialists Xander Hertzfeld and Ian Douglas craved an epic battle for the Normandy to test out her new weapons. It was just as well.
Their camaraderie had been a known, temporary thing. Once the Normandy was declared ready for active duty, this gang of repairmen and women was supposed to scatter to the stars once more.
Once they'd landed at the Citadel, most of the crew rushed straight for the Alliance embassy to figure out their roles in all this insanity. Only Sam had stayed back. She just… wasn't ready yet. Together, Samantha and EDI tried to solve for the sudden influx of comm traffic over the QEC network. The distraction had been welcome, plus Sam also had a call of her own to make.
Remind me to give that VI a raise, though how her processes ran a whole bloody ship for two relay jumps is just… incredible. Odd, suspicious and impossible, but incredible.
…I'll worry about that later. After a long overdue diagnostic of the server core.
First priority was trying to explain to Geoffrey Traynor what his little girl had been through. What everyone is going through. Everywhere.
"I was on the Normandy when it—when it happened. The attack. We just—they're real, Dad," Sam finished awkwardly. She still had trouble believing it… That giant dreadnoughts had come in the night and were invading the galaxy. Reapers.
Geoffrey shook his head. "…I know, princess. We got news reports from the ANN while it started happening. That Emily Wong woman that you like so much, she was there. Reporting on… everything. Madrid, Sydney, Beijing… London…" Her father trailed off, choked up about what was happening millions of miles away in his hometown.
"Where's mum?"
He leaned back as though he heard something, but then Geoffrey turned back to the vid camera. "She was called in for an after-hours emergency at the clinic just after we got the first reports. She's on her way back, and I keep thinking I hear the door. I talked to her a little while ago. She's worried sick about you."
"I'm all right. We're docked at the Citadel to figure out what to do," Sam sighed. If we even can figure out what to do.
"Can you—can you tell me anything about what the Alliance's response is? I've seen M-080s rolling around, but other than crap about 'curfew' and 'vigilance,' they've been silent. They don't wear Alliance blue, either. Some sort of independent security force with roots in Horizon. I dunno."
"I haven't heard anything, Dad. I haven't even received orders yet about where they're supposed to put me. But they—the Alliance had to retreat from our system. There were too many Reapers."
Geoffrey swallowed deeply. "They canceled all my classes at the University this week. So I just get the privilege of sitting around watching the news and hoping it doesn't get worse." He closed his eyes and pinched his fingers to the bridge of his nose. "At least you're up there doing something about it. Us colony civilians just get to hunker down and pray we aren't next."
"So you—you haven't… there aren't…" Sam was afraid if she said it out loud, it would jinx it.
Her father managed a feeble smile. "No Reapers on Horizon, kid. And there's even talk of a super bunker on the south east end of the planet that was some abandoned military testing area. Sanctuary, they're calling it. A lot of the people here want to pack up and go there already.
"Me," he added with a wink, "I'm holding out for the Fifth Fleet to nuke all the Reapers from orbit. With Commander Shepard riding a bomb down to the mothership like a cowboy."
Well, if Dad is hoping for a Dr. Strangelove scenario, he must be in good spirits. Sam didn't have the same affection for two centuries-old American movies that her father did. "Once a classic, always a classic," he used to say.
"Speaking of which, you can tell mum not to worry. Commander Shepard is aboard the Normandy, and I think she's taking over for good. Tell mum her little girl is in capable hands." Until that little girl gets reassigned to God knows where else.
Geoffrey Traynor asked incredulously, "Shepard's back?"
"Shepard's back." Samantha repeated, though she didn't share her father's awe. The Commander had returned to the Normandy several hours ago and retired to the captain's cabin in the loft. Without so much as an order or pep talk for the crew. Liara (not Laria) T'Soni and James Vega had remained in the medical bay examining the robot chassis from Mars. Upon docking at the Citadel, both followed the medical team in escorting Ashley Williams' gurney to the hospital ward. Samantha vaguely recalled hearing EDI announce, "Logged: CO Shepard, XO Williams, Lt Vega and Dr. T'Soni are ashore."
Needless to say, Sam wasn't impressed yet with the first human SpecTRe's leadership capabilities.
Feeling that hopeless vulnerability starting to creep back in, Sam suddenly didn't want to be talking to her father anymore. Knowing he was safe was a relief, but the last 36 hours had left her raw and frustrated with herself. She had been perpetually hanging on the edge of bursting into tears every other moment, and losing it via vid-call with her daddy just made Samantha feel like more of a child.
"Sammy. I know that look," Geoffrey announced quietly. "I'll let you go to work out whatever it is you think you need to do. I won't have anyone thinking the Traynors are a soppy bunch. Especially the daughters on galaxy-saving warships."
He always understood me, Sam swallowed gratefully. The hot tears sitting on her eyelashes managed to retreat some. "I—thanks, Dad. It's not that I don't—I mean… You know I love you guys, right? I just—things are…"
"Don't worry about us. Your mum and I are troopers. Just call us to let us know you're okay, all right? Fulfill the least of your daughterly responsibilities, alpha and omega sprog." Geoffrey pressed Sam for a timeframe for her next call, but didn't prod her about how she was feeling or what was happening in that head of hers. I'm sure mum will do that next time.
Sighing deeply, Sam stood up and stretched. She wasn't used to working in the bow hallway, and though the chairs lining the neck of the Normandy were more comfortable, Samantha felt more exposed with her back to the airlock than she did near the elevator.
"Watch it, human," a gravelly voice grunted from behind Sam. She spun around to face a tall drell with cables slung over his shoulders. Despite his heavy haul through the airlock, he hadn't made a sound.
Squeaking but then quickly clearing her throat, Sam tried to sound demanding. "What are you—are you allowed to be here?"
"Liara sent me. Said she was setting up base. Where do you want this stuff?"
"I—you—"
"Specialist Traynor, Liara T'Soni has been granted clearance by Admiral Hackett to establish an independent intelligence station aboard the Normandy in order to assist with the Crucible Project. I believe the office formerly occupied by Operative Lawson on the Crew Deck would be suitable for Dr. T'Soni's needs," EDI purred over the intercom.
The drell didn't even wait for a response as he shouldered past Samantha to the elevator. A glowing white info drone followed behind the drell, chattering incessantly about turian and salarian reports.
Irritated, Samantha turned back and reactivated her console. "EDI, what's all this then?" She found the clearance request dated only a few moments ago in the Normandy log, as well as updates regarding the initiation of a top secret project called the Crucible. Damn, that asari moves fast. Eyeing the stacks of servers and tech waiting outside the open door, Samantha amended that thought. Damn, that asari moves really fast. Where did she even get all this stuff?
"I apologize for not informing you sooner, Specialist Traynor. I was only contacted by Dr. T'Soni a short while ago about her need for space to house her intelligence brokerage network. It would appear her previous …accommodations… are no longer available, and she requested to remain close to Commander Shepard to better coordinate her tasks."
Samantha felt an odd, displaced loyalty. Part of her just wanted to leave the ship and let the drell do his business and let the Commander sort it out later. Another part felt a protective obsessive-compulsive desire to keep an eye on the drell and make sure her (is it yours, Sam?) ship was safe.
And the rest of Sam was just nosy.
Look at those servers! I figured an asari would just have Armali tech, but Liara is sporting a full suite of Ayndroid Group scanners. Ariake Tech amplifiers! Synthetic Insights hardware! She could run a government-grade command center for an entire colony with this stuff!
Information broker, my arse.
Operative Feron sidestepped Sam's probing questions, but allowed her to follow him up and down the elevator to deposit loads of hardware into the empty quarters opposite the medical bay. The formerly pristine room now had haphazard cables and consoles strung every which way, with an imposing tower of vid screens lining the starboard wall. The drell was only too happy to leave the chattering drone to its work at the consoles, and left without another word to Sam.
Friendly guy. We should get together for afternoon tea sometime. I bet he's a riot.
"Logged: CO Shepard is aboard," EDI announced above a few moments later.
How long have I been loitering in the Normandy like a latchkey kid? Tired of waiting for the world, the war, to come to her, she decided to take the fight to Shepard. Well, the metaphorical fight. The rest of the crew had marched right up to Alliance HQ and demanded active duty papers. Samantha wanted to march to the source.
Do you want to hide on the Citadel and wait for the Reapers to come? Or run to Horizon with mum and dad and hide in a bunker? You're a military officer, Traynor. A lieutenant, even. A leader. You can cry in the CIC all day long but that doesn't help anyone, least of all you. This ship was designed to be the best damn command center in the Alliance fleet. And you know every damn inch of it. The Normandy needs you. And you need the Normandy. Oo-rah!
Her short-lived gusto faded some at the hit of the elevator button. And how does this conversation go down, hmm? "I rebuilt this ship's comms system, dammit! You can't even send an email without my help!"
Extortion. Brilliant.
What else.
Samantha spied a datapad on the Starboard Observation Deck couch down the hall. A slideshow of the retrofits drifted by on the screen, no doubt left by Engineer Rashad during a brief nap. A debriefing packet.
Brilliant!
Darting down the hall to snag the datapad, Sam marched triumphantly back to the elevator. Her ticket to being useful for a change. Hopefully the first of many useful demonstrations, to put that scared little specialist in the Shuttle Bay behind her.
She thumbed through the image gallery for a refresher, then straightened her casual uniform. Samantha used the reflection on the wall to tame some flyaway hairs on her bob of black hair. When the doors opened, she peeked around the corner and saw the Commander leaning against the outside of her cabin. Perfect!
"Commander Shepard? I'm Specialist—oh." Sam's well-rehearsed opener hit a snag when she saw the asari next to Shepard glaring daggers at her. How did she get up here so quickly? The temperature in the cabin dropped a few degrees, leaving Samantha stuttering for her next words. "Oh—um—I—beg your pardon. I thought you were alone."
Shepard's green eyes twinkled slightly at this, though Liara's deep blue ones narrowed further. Bloody hell, was it something I said?
But just like that, the brief awkwardness was already broken. Liara backed away and sidled past Sam with a swish of a white lab coat, murmuring airily that she was just leaving. Saluting her commanding officer uneasily, Sam attempted to salvage what remained of her professionalism.
Might as well just start over. "Commander Shepard? I'm Comms Specialist Samantha Traynor with Alliance R&D." The left hand behind Sam had begun to sweat, so she shifted the datapad she was carrying to her right. "I was part of the team retrofitting the Normandy after you turned it over to the Alliance."
Chancing a few steps forward, Sam admitted, "There weren't many of us aboard when the Reapers hit." Her tone was equal parts apologetic and sheepish, for she wasn't sure if now was the time to say how sorry she was for her terrible aim in the Shuttle Bay.
The Commander was kindly dismissive, throwing up her hands in reassurance. "Slow down, Specialist Traynor. You're doing fine." Shepard then gestured for Sam to continue, her face absent of emotion.
"Th—thank you. I worked in a lab. I never thought I'd be serving on a ship." And I never wanted to, Sam finished inwardly. It's all so chaotic and messy. Bunking in tight quarters. Never a moment to yourself. Your commanding officer busting your arse for every little thing. Just dreadful.
Red hair bobbed as Shepard nodded toward her cabin's open door, beckoning for Sam to follow. "Why don't you tell me about the retrofits?"
Sam inhaled deeply before exhaling, glad to focus on a subject of which she was intimately familiar and proud. "The ship's in line with Alliance regs now. And it has new, top of the line quantum entanglement communicators. In fact, Admiral Anderson had intended to use the Normandy as his mobile command center." The spaciousness of the captain's cabin was distracting, for Sam realized she'd never actually been in this room. The intercom worked, so there was no need for a comms specialist here.
A skylight? And look at that aquarium! And that desk! What a gorgeous workspace!
Shepard crossed her arms and sternly corrected Sam. "That's no longer an option."
"Yes... I—heard he chose to stay and fight," Samantha amended, picking up on the dangerous tone in the SpecTRe's voice. Focus, Sam. "In any event: I'm honored to serve under you, Commander." Straightening respectfully, Sam resisted the urge to salute again. …wait, did I just say "serve under you"? That is grammatically correct, right? It just sounds like sexual innuendo. …right?
A chasm of thoughtful silence followed. Which Sam hated. She never knew what to do, so she usually ended up talking. She rushed to fill the space, especially to distract from that whole "serve under you" bit. "...for as long as you need me, that is! They only sent me here to oversee the retrofits."
Nice job, Sam. Looking for a way out of responsibility already when the galaxy is at war. Your hide is looking a mighty fine shade of yellow this evening. Try committing to bravery for longer than thirty seconds.
Before Shepard could answer, a tinny female voice sounded over the intercom above. "Shepard, some of our systems require further testing. And Specialist Traynor has been extremely effective during installation. I would prefer that she remain."
Finally reacting, the Commander nodded in agreement. "Got it, EDI."
Did EDI just come to my rescue? Since when do VIs do that? Or even...
"Wait, since when does a virtual intelligence make requests?"
"EDI's an AI. Fully self-aware," Shepard stated simply.
That lying son of a bi— "Oh! I knew it! I knew Joker was lying!" Sam had to stop herself from pacing in agitation. All the warning signs were there. Far too helpful and insightful for a simple VI. All that processing power. …can you even be betrayed by a robot? Do they stop being things when they know how to think?
EDI chimed in, a trace of regret in her (rather human-sounding, now that I think about it) voice. "Jeff requested that I pretend to be a simple VI to protect myself. I apologize for the deception."
It—she can't help being an AI. She's part of the ship. And she saved us all from the Reapers on Earth. And, if I can believe what Joker says, helped the Commander through a bloody suicide mission to the galactic core. The Normandy needs her. I need her.
"...thanks, EDI. And I apologize for all those times I talked about how—umm—attractive your voice was." Sam cleared her throat in minor embarrassment, but EDI did not react. Do AIs know how to accept apologies? Bloody hell, Traynor, deal with the existential debate of intelligence later. The tour, remember? Datapad? Commanding officer standing there?
"Anyway, shall I give you a tour? I think you'll be impressed by the new upgrades." Samantha beckoned Shepard over to the datapad, which had a few preprogrammed slides to walk through. She had to resist the urge to start channeling her father, a physics professor at Kastanie Drescher University on Horizon. The man loved to talk.
It wasn't until about halfway through her otherwise practiced speech about the CIC's capabilities did Traynor realize how much Shepard was humoring her right now. Of course. Of course she knows what the bloody galaxy map does. Switch to something the past and present commanding officer of the Normandy doesn't know, you dolt.
Tapping the datapad's edge, the comms specialist shifted the image to a circular room with a large cylinder at the center projecting schematics and holograms. "The War Room houses a strategic command center for mission-specific intel and war analysis." Shepard made an impressed grunting sound.
She tapped the datapad to show a familiar (embarrassing) sight: a large room with lockers, stacks of crates, and a short row of consoles set against a UT-47A Kodiak in the background.
"The Shuttle Bay contains an armory where you can modify your equipment between missions, in addition to the armor locker already in your cabin." Glancing around the room again, Samantha wasn't sure where exactly that was located. But Shepard nodded to proceed.
"And finally, Liara has set up a lot of hardware in your old XO's office on Deck 3. I think she's claimed that room," Sam added dryly. That asari may have gotten permission from Admiral Hackett to sign on as a research specialist for the Alliance war effort. But Sam knew that the Crucible Project was being handled through the War Room's servers, while Dr. T'Soni's equipment ran off independent servers.
With incredibly sophisticated hardware. What the hell is she doing in there that's so secret? Isn't she an archaeologist?
"And there you are. Still the same ship as before. It just flies Alliance colors now." The datapad chirped and a small pop-up forwarded a comm update, which Sam read aloud. "…Speaking of which, I believe Admiral Hackett would like to speak with you at the vid comm."
Shepard grunted gratitude, but did not follow Sam to the elevator. Sam felt relief as she turned to leave. The flutter in her chest over public speaking started to die down, and she felt a slight glow of self-satisfaction.
That went well, I think!
Except…
Did Shepard say I could stay? I mean the VI… AI… EDI… vouched for me. But Shepard just said "Got it." What does "got it" even mean? Taking it under advisement? Rolling out the welcome mat?
Shit.
"Specialist Traynor!"
Hearing Sam's name shouted from down the hall made her realize she never pushed the elevator button to return to the CIC. Jumping with a start, Samantha peeked her head uncertainly around the corner. Shepard was leaning out her own door, a thoughtful expression on her face. Red tresses drifted over her forehead, casting a shadow over those green eyes.
"Commander?"
The eyes crinkled slightly with a smile, but Shepard's lips were still a straight line. She looked like she wanted to say something else, but instead opted for:
"…I hope you're ready for this."
Ren's Note:
Sorry for the delay. Crazy holidays, plus moving shenanigans, and then a busy work cherry on top. Also I'm sick. Just a cavalcade of delights up in here.
I like the dreary, self-doubting Traynor as a reflection of the opening ME3 mood, but it's time to buck up.