June 9th, 2189

"Major, the Admiral's office is attempting to make contact once again. Would you like to take it in the Comms Room?"

"No. Kill the line, I just… I don't have time yet."

There was a cloud of tension that hung so thickly over the CIC that it could've been cut with a blade. They were drifting through space, near where the Phoenix Massing relay once had been, with the IES stealth active. Major Jessica Shepard stood on the captain's podium, the light of her situation map washing a haunting blue light across her face. In front of her the holographic display detailed in real time as her current operation soured.

Two blinking red indicators told her that some of her marines had been injured, and to the side she could see their health indicators showing that they were only somewhat stable. The mission had been a simple observation and reconnaissance mission, one that in theory should have seen no combat. Instead, Shepard waited tersely aboard the Normandy as her marines scrambled for an evacuation point. She could step in now, try to extract them, but the planet had a defense fleet that she had little data on. Instead she had chosen to send another Kodiak shuttle to extract the downed team. That shuttle was roughly four minutes from discovery, and the wounded team was pinned down.

"Ma'am, tight beam transmission from the shuttle team. Their scanners are picking up a mercenary patrol inbound, forty-five seconds to likely discovery."

She'd had four minutes, now she had forty-five seconds. Angrily Shepard pounded her palm against the crone railing of her podium. "Joker, you hear me?"

"Aye ma'am."

"You and Vega begin plotting a course to the planet. Push us as close as you can with IES on, but if shit hits the fan or we start cooking, drop the cloak and put our shields up."

"Copy ma'am… accelerating now."

"Ma'am… There's another incoming line." The nervous voice of her communications officer, Senior Chief Petty Officer Katy Hacker, the replacement for Samantha Traynor. "It's the Admiral… again."

Shepard inhaled a long breath through her nose, pinching her eyes shut for a moment of peace before turning her head to face Hacker. "Petty Officer, if you see a call from the Admiral you can do one of two things. You can kill the line, or you can answer and tell the Admiral yourself that I don't have the fucking time right now."

This stunt would strain things for her and Hackett, in a time when things were already strained between the two of them. "Lola, internal temps are reaching the upper end of acceptably healthy." The drawling voice was that of Commander James Vega, her Executive Officer and fellow N7.

"You make the call James. Work with Joker and cut it as late as possible."

"Aye ma'am… I'll make the right call."

It was times like this that Shepard missed having Ashley aboard, and the time she'd had during the war with Ashley as her XO. Vega was a competent officer, and a capable marine, but he wasn't Ashley—she had a way of knowing what was on Shepard's mind when Shepard needed her to. She straightened her posture to ward off the incoming wave of sadness that accompanied her thoughts of Ashley, eyes narrowing at the display.

They were still a decent distance from the planet, but already Shepard could feel sweat building beneath her uniform, leaving patches of it damp and uncomfortable. Nervously she dug her fingernails into her palm, eyes gripping closed again to try and clear the uncomfortable jitters form her mind. Shepard didn't have a problem with the leadership, or competence, required of being an officer—but the need to stay behind and oversee the strategic execution of the mission ate away at her. She was a boots on the ground marine, a gun in hand raider, and to watch as her marines took bullets on her missions—without her beside them—set a fire inside her.

The building heat amidst the CIC only worked to worsen Shepard's discomfort, but moments later she heard a low-dull clicking sound as the IES was shut off. James Vega's unsophisticated and cocky voice came suddenly through the 1MC, distorted by the tinny sound of its speakers. "Sorry for the sweat bath ladies and gentlemen, the Major wanted to put the Normandy on its toes. We're approaching Titchihara, though unless your boarding pass says Tactical Unit 1, you can't disembark. Thank you for flying Air Normandy."

"Putting Vega and Joker in the cockpit together, and letting them call it work, was a terrible decision ma'am." This from Sergeant Major Emmie Brakefield, the Normandy's buffer and chief Masters-at-Arms.

"I'm beginning to agree with you." Shepard mused, though Vega's interruption had kept her from breaking from the CIC and joining Tac1 on their deployment.

"Sixty-seconds to drop, Tac1. 1-6, do you have a greenlight?" There was a pause as the Squad Leader, Worbaar, replied to Vega directly, and then Vega was back on the 1MC. "Affirmative, 1-6 gave me the green. We're locked in approach, standby."

The sixty seconds waiting for Tactical Unit 1 to deploy were some of the longest that Shepard had suffered in a while. With the war over, and her Raider Vessel relegated to mainly patrols, there had been little action—and little fright—in her life. Finally, the screen in front of her lit up, while Vega's voice cut back in to announce that Tac1 was away. "Here we go."


"When I call, you have your goddamn communications officer patch me through, and you take the call. Do you understand Major?"

"Yes sir." Her jaw was set, giving her face a taught appearance, but the holograms aboard the Normandy's communications suite weren't sensitive enough to pick that up.

"Get authorization from me the next time you want to deviate from the operational area and recce an enemy installation. Your report says you almost lost one down there, how do I explain that to the PM—that one of my Majors deviated from plan without my signature, and now I'm sending home a pine box."

"Understood." Below the cutoff for the camera, Shepard cut her hand through the air like a knife, signaling Hacker to cut the feed. "Fucking prick." Admiral Mikhailovich, head of the 63rd Scout Flotilla, was technically her direct superior now. Though she and Admiral Hackett typically worked directly together, he was the head of the entire Fifth Fleet, as well as the military, and direct coordination with him was rarer. The Normandy had been routed into Mikhailovich's 63rd to curtail the border skirmishes raging between the edges of Alliance Traverse space, and Terminus.

She ducked out of the Normandy's comm room and wove her way through the War Room towards the CIC. "Joker, set a course back towards Ursae Station, we need to get our wounded to medical treatment, and regroup with the rest of the 63rd."

"Aye ma'am… we're enroute now. Fifteen minutes to relay."

The rest of her walk through the CIC was a quiet one. They'd broken away from active combat over two hours ago now, with all the marines still alive, and most of the stations' shifts had changed. The CIC hummed only with the sound of clicking keys, creaking chairs, and the soft beeping feedback of duty station computers.

She passed through the CIC and into the central elevator without a word spoken, and luckily without a soul inside the lift itself. Shepard wasn't in a bad mood, she was just in a tired mood. She was exhausted from the failed operation and exhausted from being cooped up in recon and scouting jobs without any active operations ongoing.

She carried a stack of paper reports that'd been printed off for her review and signature, as well as a bundle of datapads she needed to look over as far as the medical reports and gear reports form the operation went. The lift opened with a soft whooshing, and Shepard was thankful that she could count on her cabin guards to know when not to try and chat it up with her.

She slipped inside her cabin and finally got to collapse at her desk and let the stack of reports and paperwork pile on the diskspace in front of her. As she scanned the first of them, she caught sight of a framed picture of Ashley on her desk, the dark-haired woman's soft eyes catching Shepard's gaze even through a photograph. Shepard smiled slightly at the picture, and then reached out to set it face down, to stave off some of the oncoming anxiety.


"Back it up for me, Lola, are we on the clock right now or not?"

James Vega was a pace behind Shepard and on her right, and he was staring at her with a confused look. The N7 was dressed in his SAMC T-Shirt, and a pair of drab green cargo pants, his quick choice of 'civilian clothes'. Shepard kept walking without turning to face him, "A little bit of both. I got a message from Mikhailovich's assistant with some directions, and that's what we're working on now."

"Extraordinarily, that only barely answers my question." Ursae station was a far sight from the magnitude of the New Arcturus, or even the original Arcturus, and the Citadel. Ursae was largely a military installation, with a small civilian district with cramped housing and commercial sectors, most of which housed services suited to marines. Presently, dressed in a black tank-top and a pair of white shorts that went a third of the way down her thigh, Shepard was leading Vega through one of the dingy walkways in the civilian area. She might have looked like a civilian, albeit a utilitarian one, were it not for the multitude of scars and burns present on her upper arms, shoulders, and legs that were exposed by her outfit. "Care to explain some of the cloak and dagger bullshit?"

Shepard was pushing open the door to a value clothing store, Vega still in tow behind her, when the Commander posed his question. "I'm just following the instructions." To her amusement Shepard could hear muffled cursing from Vega as he pretended to be interested in some of the women's clothing in front of him. "You don't have to pretend like you're shopping for leggings, Vega, we're not doing spy shit. We're just having an unofficial meeting and I needed a new sports bra." He just cut her a dark look with his eyes as he stepped back from the clothes rack and settled in to wait Shepard out.

Only three or four minutes after their interaction, Shepard caught sight of a late-twenties-year-old woman dressed in a professional business attire step into the room. It wasn't the woman's presence that caught Shepard's attention, she was well within the shop's typical clientele, but instead her familiarity—Mikhailovich's assistant. Dorika Pallas, a thin brunette woman with a perpetually worried expression, was now headed straight towards her, a data-pad in hand. "Major," She nodded cordially, "I have to say your choice in meeting place is… interesting. The others have just come into meet at the Admiral's office."

"You've gotta be shitting me, instructions my ass." Vega cut in, his highly annoyed expression aimed directly at Shepard.

In response, the Major just gave a half smile and shrugged playfully, "What? I told you I needed some clothes from this place, and I didn't want to go alone."

During this short intermission the Admiral's assistant looked increasingly uncomfortable, until she cut back in. "Right… anyways, the Admiral didn't want to send this over standard communication channels so there isn't a paper trail—he's holding a briefing in conference room 1-3a tomorrow afternoon at 1500. I can't discuss much more, but he'll fill you in tomorrow." The woman gave her another skeptical look, likely as a result of being drug across Ursae Station to a value clothes store, just to inform Shepard about an upcoming meeting.

Once the assistant was away Vega began shaking his head, muttering more complaints aloud, "Isn't this what Williams is for? So she can do all this sports bra bullshit with you?"

Once again facing away from Vega, looking at different sports bras and holding them up to her inquisitively, Shepard turned her head slightly to catch sight of Vega with one eye and smirked. "Ashley prefers them off."

Vega just wrinkled his face, shaking his head to discourage continuing, "I'm both disgusted and aroused… and disgusted with myself for both of those. You're disgusting."

Despite Shepard's grating prank on Vega, he spent the rest of the afternoon with her as she shopped for various small things she'd needed aboard the Normandy. After another hour or so of milling shops in the civilian district of Ursae, some of which evoked similar grumblings of disgust from Vega as earlier, the pair headed back for the ship. It was a quiet night for both officers, neither with anything pressing to pursue while the frigate was docked and its their injured marines seeking medical attention. Before long the two were together again, this time dressed in uniform and lockstep inbound towards Conference room 1-3a in the Naval Compound where Mikhailovich's field office was located.

The conference room they stepped into was utilitarian, and barren of any decoration or cosmetics. It was a stark gray room with a dated faux wooden table at the center, and a dozen or so chairs circled around. All but two of the chairs were filled by other attendees, all of whom looked military of some sort. Shepard recognized maybe half of them and realized quickly that they all had something in common—they were all N7s. She pieced together the nature of their meeting quickly, glancing at herself and then Vega, this was a special operations brief.

A moment later, as if to confirm her suspicions, two more men walked in—one of whom she recognized as Admiral Mikhailovich. The other was dressed similarly, likewise wearing the blue dress uniform of a Systems Alliance Officer, with the three stars of a Vice Admiral on his shoulders. His name tag introduced him as Vice Admiral Leonore Gafford, a name Shepard might've heard before but didn't initially recognize.

"Alright ladies and gentlemen let's get down to business. This is Vice Admiral Gafford," he motioned to the latter, "he's in need of our top-grade special operatives, and you all happen to be the finest the to leave the Villa and still be in the service. I'll hand it over to him for briefing."

The hawkish Admiral stepped back some, and allowed Gafford, a softer and more shapely man to step up to attention. "Thank you all for coming out," he began, his voice softer than Mikhailovich's. "I've been trying to put this operation together for some time, but AIA has cockblocked every effort I've made to send in in a patrol or request an operative, all in the name of OpSec."

The Vice Admiral stepped forward and set a palm-sized disk-shaped holographic projector down on the table. It displayed a projection of what it labeled as the Typhon system, specifically the planet Aite. The earth-like world was surrounded by several massive rings, and on the side of the projection scrolled relevant information. "This is the planet Aite, in the Phoenix Massing Nebula. It's not too far from where, Major Shepard, you were running operations recently. I'm sure you're all aware of the recent terror and raiding campaigns that have taken place along the Traverse' border, as it's the reason for our increased presence in the area. I have reason to believe that a lot of that activity is being routed through Aite, for one reason or another. That is where you come in, I want to send the twelve of you as a squad in to Aite to handle it. If we make a major naval advance on Aite, we risk looking like we're claiming part of the Terminus for ourselves, violating agreements made by the PM, and if we don't act, we're risking losing more lives from whatever this organized campaign is. Those of you that are ship captains, your ships will remain at Ursae, or with the 63rd under the orders of your XO, or other next in command."

Shepard glanced in the direction of Mikhailovich to gather the other man's opinion on what had been said, to ensure it was what he thought would be said, but the man seemed in lock step agreement with Gafford. They were being assembled for a one-time special operations squad. Gafford had moved on to detailing the equipment they would have on hand, their ship, and other details. Half a minute after it'd been stated, the details for their ship sunk in for Shepard and she realized they planned to use a standard frigate for approach and exfil.

Vigorously the Major shook her head, interrupting Gaffords with a slightly raised hand. "With all due respect Admiral, the Normandy would be better suited for this operation. The IES would let us get in and out, and it has the firepower to handle itself if we ended up in combat. Plus I'm it's CO, I already have a relationship with the officers aboard."

Gafford, a much softer Officer than she was used to handling, was already nodding his head in favorable consideration. "Alright, you'll arrive via Normandy, under Major Shepard's command. Once you reach Aite, Colonel Coats," the Admiral motioned to one of the familiar Officers nearby, "you'll take over for the operation. This Operation needs to go smoothly, if things go awry, we may not be able to get someone there in time to rescue you. First gather intel on the target and assess how the operation works. Once you comfortably understand what it is you're up against, move in and neutralize it if you're able." The briefing lasted only a little longer, and then the Special Operatives were released to a last night aboard Ursae before they embarked on their operation.

Shepard and Vega exited the Naval Complex onto one of Ursae's walkways, and reflexively Shepard shivered from the temperature. She tucked her hands into her pockets, and the words it's that time of year flashed across her mind for a brief second. Silently she laughed at the irony of referring to the artificial temperature of the space station as if it were a season.

Her attention was drawn downward towards her omni-tool, where she was met by the warm eyes and familiar brown hair of Ashley Williams, the woman's still image beside an indicator for a missed call—another missed call. I'll call back later, it was just a bad time, she must've called while the briefing was ending. Shepard comforted herself with the silent words, and there was something refreshing about the call coming when Shepard was actually busy.

Vega seemed to notice her momentary odd behavior, and looked over to catch sight of the missed call indicator. Politely he widened the distance between them and drew silent for her to make the return call, but soon realized she didn't intend to make a return call. That drew the marine closer than before, his eyebrow quirked in interest, "Relationship issues?"

Shepard gave him a sharp side eye, her lip twisting in agitation. "No, everything's fine. Just gonna wait till we get back aboard the Normandy to call back." The answer didn't seem to make sense to him, and Shepard thought quick on her feet to settle the matter and move on, "It's more comfortable to cyber sex in private." She added, her voice and face deadpan.

"Again, disgusted and aroused."


Hell was an understatement for the amount of complaint and distress Joker was preparing to raise. He already wasn't liking this mission at all, ever since the Spec Ops spooks had arrived onboard a lot of the information that he was used to having available was 'need to know'. He was in the bridge now, where he'd been for hours already. This Colonel Coats had spelled out a series of waypoints for Joker to fly to, though he never knew his destination was a simple way point until he'd already arrived. Finally, after arriving to the fifth point, Coats announced it was their jump location.

Presently it was just Joker and Shepard in the bridge, the Major still maintaining command over the ship despite Coats' role as team lead. "I don't know how you dealt with him back in London."

Shepard looked over to the helmsman, her face showing signs of confusion, "Coats?"

"Yeah! The dude is a total prick, the number of need to know ops that I've flown and still I have to be left in the dark like that? I could've made the trip, stops included, faster had I known what the situation was. I lost so much sleep from his spy games bullshit."

"I'm sure you'll be fine." She mused, her eyes still focused, notably, anywhere but out of the viewport.

"Hey! I need my sleep, I'm already a cripple!" His complaint drew a slight smile from her, but otherwise the Major was silent; her eyes still finding anywhere to fall that wasn't the void of space. The pair sat in that silence for several more moments to come before Joker finally looked back at her, "Does it still scare you? The fall I mean… back on the SR-1."

She swallowed a little harder than she probably meant to and leaned forward against the co-pilot's seat. "Some days. I'm mostly fine with it, and I still like some of my old familiar sights… but it's space I don't know." Her fingers gripped at the seat's back a little tighter, some of her knuckles turning white form the force. That revelation marked her departure from the bridge, and with a silent nod she stepped away.

Left alone with the bridge, Joker ran a few last-minute calculations and tests on the jump he was preparing to make. Confident that all his routes were right, he fished the 1MC mic out of the dashboard and switched it on, "Making the jump to Aite now, brace yourselves." Just as the 1MC switched off the ship shuddered, and the Normandy was away in FTL.