Coral system, Horsehead Nebula

Planet SA2168-5 – Tau Volantis

The iced over surface of a small, dead planet was not usually where a Systems Alliance SpySat would be pointed. SA2168-5 was, by all rights and counts, a barren planet, unfit for living beings in all but the fact that its atmosphere was remarkably Earth-like. Regardless of oxygen though, the planet had a standard temperature of -19 Degrees Celsius, thus making any actual settlement cost-ineffective at best.

Catastrophic at worst.

Nevertheless, this was where an Alliance SpySat, located in an unnamed pocket of the Horsehead Nebula was looking. The machine itself was little more than a huge telescope, measuring twenty meters over the axis. The apparatus was driven by solar energy from its nearby star, and protected from radiation and debris by kinetic barriers and radiation-shields. This machine was currently carrying out a directive sent through its programming by the Executive Officer of Alliance Intelligence, Nadir Boruah. Boruah, again, reported directly to the Alliance Arcturus Military Command, and thus to his Superior Officer, Admiral Cologne Fisher.

This directive, while technically not 'illegal', was highly classified, and thus kept from unwanted eyes by a ten-base rotatory code-system, resetting itself with each attempt at breaking its cipher. The directive itself, however, would to most appear rather mundane. The SpySat was currently monitoring organic activity on t surface of the planet dubbed 'Tau Volantis', by the organization owning it.

Said organic activity referred to the human-centric organization known as 'the Church'.

Delta, Demon and Eve

August 4th

Arcturus station, Arcturus Stream

Apartment owned by Ashley M. Williams and Thomas V. Fisher.

06:00

When the clock finally ticked to the fatal number of oh-six-hundred in the morning, Thomas was woken from his sleep by the vibrations on his wrist. The alarm had been wired to a silent alarm so as to not wake up Ashley.

Best the same, really. Pregnancy had made her kinda cranky in the mornings. Nothing serious – thank the gods! – but she did not approve of early mornings.

"Right, right…got it…" he muttered, crawling out of bed.

When he stood, Thomas couldn't keep himself from looking down, despite having seen the same sight so many times before. And yet, it was one he could never tire off, mainly because he was looking at the two most important people in his life.

Ashley hadn't woken up when he did, and was thus still asleep on the bed, covered by the blankets up to her shoulders, where just the black string revealed her to be somewhat dressed underneath. Once, this sight alone would have been something Thomas wouldn't have even dared hoping to ever experience, yet here he was, looking at the sleeping goddess that was his wife-to-be.

And his child, living inside her.

Ashley's family was considerably conservative when it came to childbirths and its methods. It was a good thing he'd never brought up the idea of genetic tampering – something that was almost disturbingly common these days – as Lucia would likely have used that as an excuse to slit his throat.

She liked him, that much he at least knew, but he also knew her priorities were on her daughter and expected grandchild, then on the prospective son-in-law.

Still, old-fashioned as they might be viewed, Ashley had insisted on an obstetric scan, something he hadn't even known what was until she'd sat him down – she did a lot of that lately, most of it on her own because apparently being pregnant was heavy – and explained to him where babies came from. At least, that was the overtly simplified way to put it.

So apparently he was expecting a daughter.

Damn

Sometimes he honestly wasn't sure who was the more terrified at that prospect. Him or Ashley, though he knew she had more right to it, seeing as he wasn't the one supposed to give birth. It was probably still a really painful thing, especially if the Williams' way of doing things was to be suspected.

That wasn't to say he wasn't thrilled beyond belief at the prospect, however. Because he was. When Ashley had declared the results of the scans, it had been the biggest heart-tugger since she'd revealed her pregnancy. Just, with less tears this time around.

With the covers concealing her expanding belly, it really was hard to believe that Ashley was pregnant, just by looking at her. She looked peacefully asleep, muttering small nothings into the pillow that also served as her collector of sleeping-drool. That last one had initially thrown him a new one a bit, mainly because he in all his youthful cluelessness about women, hadn't realized sleep-drooling was a unisex thing.

I really am a lucky bastard.

Once, Roku would have offered his two-cents on this, but now, ever since their separation, Thomas' thoughts were his own. As such, he could only nod to himself and realize that he really, truly was. He would be spending the rest of his life with this sleeping beauty – in the mornings that was probably more a subjective thing –, he was going to be a dad, Ashley's family didn't despise him, he had friends and colleagues he trusted with his life and he had family of his own, in Anna.

The fact that his sister would probably see to it that he spent that rest of his life working his ass off for the Alliance, was just a minor irritation. He was a soldier of the Systems Alliance, a progenitor of the Chi-Soldier program and a member of a special operations taskforce.

Vacations weren't even on the schedule.

And now he had to go and meet up, plunging himself yet again into the madness that was fighting whatever the galaxy threw at them.

Strapping on his uniform, socks and boots, his last action before closing the door was to kiss his fiancée on the forehead. Then, leaving her to a morning in, he evacuated the apartment and made his way for the Assembly Room.

Arcturus Station, Arcturus Stream.

Corridors, Military section.

06:41

Thomas had more than once – in the months he'd been under the command of Jane Shepard and subsequently Anna Fisher – been in the situation of looking around the current room, and realize just how surreal it actually was to have a War Room dedicated to a single team.

It had been more than a month since the near-catastrophe on Alchera. The team had survived intact, but Command had somehow still decided that this proved just how fallible a tactic it was to send the entirety of the taskforce out in a single group.

In a way, he supposed he couldn't really blame them. If it hadn't been for Tequila's abilities, it was highly unlikely anyone would have been able to withstand the shockwave from when the Collector ship crashed into the surface. The Service Chief had somehow ended up in a relationship with Thomas's long-time friend, and neither seemed to be able to actually explain how it had happened.

Teresa Aquila had seen a promotion of sorts, when Command had decided that the taskforce was to be split into segments instead of a single, massed group of soldiers. This too, he could understand. Aquila had been made team-leader of one of three teams now making up the unit, while Boss had been granted the other post. Jane retained her position as commanding officer of the overall group, but trusted her colleagues and subordinates to act professionally under their new CO's. The taskforce itself had also seen some work, after Admiral Fisher's label 'Aspect of Fire' had been forcefully remade by the Office of Alliance Naval Intelligence.

As such, the taskforce itself was now Taskforce Aspect, while the three individual teams were labelled:

'Aurora' – Cpt. Jane Shepard's team. It consisted of Captain Shepard, Corporal Adrian Dwaine, John-117.

'Delta' – Lt. Boss' team. It consisted of Sergeant Boss Delta-38, Corporal Hillary Pennyloafer, Gunnery Chief Ashley Madeline Williams and Service Chief Thomas Fisher.

'Metal' – S. Chief Teresa Aquila's team. It consisted of Service Chief Teresa 'Tequila' Aquila, Corporal Nicolai Tengberg and Special Operations Initiate Ahsoka Tano.

Thomas honestly could not bring himself to complain, considering he was on team with his fiancée. However, just because they were on different teams did not exclude operations where two or more would carry out joint operations. It usually came down to the specializations of the teams, or even the individuals of the teams.

In the same way, however, it was also not an impossibility that a team would operate without one or more members present. Currently, this was the case with Delta, as Ashley was entering her fifth month of pregnancy. Exhilarated by this as Thomas was, it also meant that it had become impossible to safely put her inside a piece of armor. Her belly was starting to grow big now, and this meant she was effectively off duty.

It meant he wouldn't get to be with her when on missions, but it also meant she was safely on Arcturus, so it was a tradeoff he could live with – even if it meant Ashley sometimes got a little…cranky, at being cooped up away from the action.

It did, however, also allow her the luxury of sleeping in, like now, where he was forced to drag himself silently out of bed to report for duty. He'd left the apartment while his fiancée had still been snuggling into the covers, likely – he liked to pretend – dreaming it was him.

Now, he was walking down the final corridors to the War Room, dressed in his navy uniform, neatly polished shoes clacking against the metallic surface of the floor. With Ashley still stuck as Gunnery Chief, Boss was team leader, and as such it had been the clone who'd called him in for duty.

When he entered the War Room, formerly known as the 'Assembly Room' – though it had seen some serious refurnishing since the creation of the taskforce – he was met with the sight of Boss in loose-fitting, dark casuals, as well as Hillary in hers. Boss was standing in the middle of the room, hands clasped behind his back as his sidearm was holstered on his hip. Hillary, true to tradition, was slouched in three adjourning chairs, head rested on hands behind her head. She really never does change, does she?

Thomas snapped to a salute, a motion that had almost become second nature by now. Life in the military, even a career as short as his had been, and in a unit as…unorthodox as this, had still taught him lessons life as a civilian – his old life – never could have.

Boss simply nodded in return, then waited for Hillary to roll and jump to her feet. The young woman was frisky and aware as usual, seemingly utterly unperturbed by the early hours.

"Fisher." The clone lieutenant said; "At ease, Service Chief."

"Sir." He replied, clasping hands behind his back.

"Delta has a new mission, ideal for a three-man operation like ours." Boss started, activating the central table's integrated projectors.

A planet covered in ice, came into view, though this one…Thomas blinked when he looked at the readings. The planet, whatever scans had done this, seemed to be…covered in organic life, yet it was clearly an ice ball;

"Tau Volantis, Coral System-"

"In the Horsehead Nebula, right?" Hillary asked without giving Boss even a second to continue. The Lieutenant directed an irritated glare at the woman, though several months of service with her had obviously taught him that no amount of authority or discipline could change her attitude. And because she was so damn good at what she did, no one ever even bothered anymore. Reluctantly, Boss simply nodded;

"Correct." He paused to bring up a closer image of the planet, highlighting one of several clearly artificial shapes or constructs on the surface; "It is a planet with little worth in minerals, location or even scientific interest. In short, no one wants it. At least, that is until about six years ago, when a certain company purchased the entire planet."

"Why do I already have a bad vibe from this?" Hillary grumbled.

"The Company itself is legal, but deeper investigation by Jormungand has revealed it to be a front-company, a cash-maker for the real organization behind it." Thomas couldn't help the slight scowl spreading on his face. Front companies. That was how he remembered Miranda had once described Cerberus' legal appearance in public. Fucking bitch.

"Cerberus, Sir?" he asked, both dreading and hoping he was right. If he was, it would just be another clear sign that the organization he had once hoped to befriend was actually far more rotten than anyone had thought possible.

"No." Boss simply stated, causing a frown to appear on Thomas' expression; "Intelligence puts the company as a front for the religious organization known as the Church of Uniotology."

Well. Fuck.

"Those cocks again?" Hillary growled, punching her own palm; "This means we're going down there to kill 'em all, right?"

"For the moment, our objectives are to infiltrate the surface and discover the reason for the purchase of an entire planet." Boss said with a short shake of his head; "We're hitching a ride on a Spacelane ship into the system, whereafter a stealth-shuttle will take us to the surface, roughly three clicks from the target. As this mission is wet-work, we will operate with no insignias, no dog-tags and no traceable ties to the Alliance whatsoever."

"Wet-work? Yessssss!" the chipper blonde grinned, pumping the air. Boss merely raised a weary brow, too used to her behavior to bother trying. She knew how to behave in a fight, and really, that was all he needed; "Do we get stealth-armor? Suppressed weaponry?"

"Specialized equipment has been prepared for our mission, yes." The commando nodded, then turned to Thomas; "Given the recent discoveries on the MSV Ishimura, we have reasons to suspect the Church to have ties to the Reapers, which is why we are doing this, not Metal and not Aurora. You have the most experience and knowledge of the Reapers, Fisher, which is your main task should this prove the case on Volantis."

"…Awesome." He sighed, offering his superior a nod. Really, he didn't need more Reaper-shit going on now, of all times, and if the Church was involved again…all those people, Kaidan…just…gone…

He still remembered watching Kaidan disappear into the hole in the wall, ripped away by a grotesque tentacle of dead flesh. It was something no amount of science should make possible, yet the Church had somehow done it, made something that wasn't supposed to exist. Or, maybe it was because they were with the Reapers.

With Nazara's ilk.

"When do we leave, Boss-man?"

"Now, as a matter of fact." The Lieutenant replied, looking at them both. When he did this, no matter the lighting in the room, the intensity in his eyes always betrayed the shredded soul beneath. Bred to be a soldier or not, Boss had only started being treated like a human being in the Alliance, and it showed; "Head for the armory, get your gear and meet in the hangar. I'll go ahead and greet our ride."

When Boss had left the room, Hillary sighed loudly and popped her shoulders. Thomas, having known the childish woman for almost a year, no longer found her behavior weird. He had simply come to the point of accepting it as Hillary being Hillary.

"Does this mean we're not riding with a whole fleet, for once?" she asked, allowing him to exit the room first. He was taller than her, so his strides were longer than hers. As a result, she did skips as she trailed along, halfway jogging to keep up.

"I guess. I don't know how wet-work works, that's why it's called wet-work, I assume." What else was he supposed to say?

"I hope it's a yacht." She said distantly, almost dreamily. Thomas cocked a brow at her.

"A yacht?"

"You know, one of those mobster yachts with concealed turrets and torpedo-launchers…Never just rode one, you know?" with Hillary's personality, it was often hard to remember that her training extended far beyond that of a regular marine. Thomas actually did not even doubt she had participated in at least one raid like that, though he wasn't awake enough to care about details; "Spa and a minibar, pool-table and buffet…compartments with guns and…Wait, do you think we'll ever get the kind of guns Boss runs around with?"

"Dunno…Seemed like it was big news with the new designs, but so far I haven't seen anything at all. Weird, considering Anna's supposed to be in charge of development…Still, I'd rather get a gun that's proven to work than something that could blow off my hands…well, the one I still have." he muttered offhandedly, glancing at his right hand. Hillary just hummed a tune, walking next to him.

It had been news – surprisingly not very big news – when Anna had revealed the latest in military technology for the parliament. Maybe that was because disappointedly few people ever watched the news these days. It had only taken a few months for people to put the Reaper threat at the back of their minds, just like the Council had done. Still, it was exhilarating to realize that he had been a part of maybe ensuring humanity's survival through this decade; "We get the tech when we do, and hell, it's probably going to be limited to maybe one new gun per team."

"…that sucks."

"It does, I agree." And he did. If a single good thing had come out of the hellish misadventure to the Ishimura, it would have to be the technology they had discovered onboard. Kinetic modules, plasma-based weaponry and even Eezo-less weapons like the hovering saw-blade, were all in their own way unique and several steps ahead of what the Alliance possessed; "Don't you still have that chainsaw-thing from the Ishimura, though?"

"No. It broke." It was all she said, in her grumbling tone, and as such he decided to simply let the matter drop. Instead, she broached a new one; "Has Ashley talked to you about the wedding yet?"

"…I'm kinda the one who proposed. Remember?" he realized almost instantly that Hillary required a direct response; "Yes, we talk about it whenever we have a moment to spare. Her mother wants in on the planning, and frankly, that'd a decision I'm perfectly willing to let Ash rule on."

"I meant on the whole ceremony-thing." The blonde corporal pressed as she waved around a pair of marines coming down the corridor. One of the men whistled after her, to which he simply received a bored middle-finger, while Hillary's attention was still on Thomas; "Like, where'd you planned on hosting it, how many people are crashing it, who makes the cake, that kind of shit."

"Probably on Earth, if we can get the leave for it…" he replied with a sigh, dreading what would happen if something came up in the middle of preparation on that fateful day, and everything was ruined because pirates or Collectors or Reapers decided to attack somewhere; "…as for how big a crowd…I have no idea."

"Leaving it to the future mother-in-law, are you?" she asked with that cheeky grin of hers that signified satisfaction in watching her point made. Or, it could simply be because she found something funny; "Because that's totally a great idea."

"…maybe. For now at least, we're still just planning." He replied, and a smile started spreading on his lips when a certain image entered his mind; "We've still got four months before Ashley can't be squeezed into a dress."

In a way, he enjoyed these conversations with Hillary. Yes, she was sassy and annoying as hell on a daily basis, but she was also one of the first people to have welcomed him on Eden Prime, and survive Sovereign's attack.

Her promotion to corporal had come relatively soon after the reports from Ishimura had gone through ANI's databases, though it hadn't been until the middle of April before the actual news came around. There was still a lot he didn't actually know about her, except for the rather disturbing fact that she had apparently grown up in a bad way in Chicago, after her dad had taken her away from her first home on Tiptree. What was not just surprising, but also a little sad, was that she was Joker's half-sister, and the pilot had seemed keen on ignoring her for the entirety of her relatively short stay on the Normandy. Thomas wasn't sure what exactly had happened between the two of them, but he knew Joker wasn't supposed to be the kind of person to neglect or ignore people out of spite.

There was something he'd missed, he just didn't know what.

It didn't help matters that no one had seen Joker in almost two months. It was no secret that he was devastated over the loss of the Normandy, and to a large degree blamed himself for Jon's death. Thomas felt his headache pop up whenever he tried to remember what had happened between standing at the cockpit, and waking up on a Blue Suns ship.

Jane had tried finding the pilot when Anderson had suggested getting the available members of the crew back together. Liara had never replied, though Scorch had actually sent a message to the Captain, detailing some clearly made-up story about office-work on Illium.

Tali hadn't replied. Somehow, Thomas was relieved she hadn't. He wasn't sure what he would have said to her, knowing he had somehow failed in saving Jon. He just hoped she still kept in contact with Jennifer.

Wrex had replied, and had actually sent some chuckles around the crew. Apparently he was busy kicking ass and taking clans on Tuchanka. And, he'd done so without killing his brother, something the Krogan "Ground-pounder" hadn't failed to mention.

But Joker…Jeff had disappeared without a trace. Jane had in the end given up when the trail had ended at a used shuttle-vendor. Now, Thomas just hoped the pilot hadn't repeated his actions from the original timeline – Skjadi's tits, it felt like a lifetime ago when that had been relevant last time – and joined Cerberus.

The armory they now stopped at was the same they always used. It was not, officially, dedicated to their taskforce, but they were the only people using it, and there seemed to be some sort of unspoken rule for others to never venture inside. Thomas was the higher ranking of the two, so he was the one subjecting himself to a retinal scan of his right, organic eye, as well as placing his right, organic hand on the display. The procedure gave off a little warmth as it identified him. When the lock had cycled open, the doors hissed and slid to the sides, allowing the pair entrance.

The armory itself was roughly the size of the mess hall back on the Normandy. It was a little loftier, but the floor took up the same amount of space. Rows upon rows of weapons lined the walls. Assault rifles, shotguns and everything in-between in small arms. Rows of stands with white-based suits of P-steel armor of both the Phase-II, Bulwark and even a few Paladin suits were on display. The latter was some sort of new, experimental hardsuit of a different material as well as the recognized P-steel. Thomas wasn't sure what to make of it, only that the suit was big, looked extremely heavy, and reminded him a lot of something you could expect to see in a medieval-enthusiasts meeting. Maybe it was something new meant for the Spartan?

Honestly, he preferred to stick with his Phase-II suit, even if it wasn't the most advanced piece of tech on the market anymore. Heh…imagine that…

"Do you think this is the 'specialized' equipment Boss mentioned?" Hillary sauntered up to two separate stands with white-patterned sets of armor hanging at the ready. Thomas stepped up next to her and scratched his chin, freshly shaven. Ashley liked to feel his cheeks when they were cozying it up, though she had actually asked him to keep the haircut. Who'd have thought she had a thing for mohawks?

The suit seemed based on the Phase-II design, though with some radical changes to the appearance. Mainly it was the helmet, which seemed like a distant memory of the Clone Trooper winter armor. The difference was the visor, which was not a pair of dark eyes, but instead the same old T-visor, only a matte grey instead of stark black. The entire piece was white, but seemed more dull than sharp in its color. Like…snow, really. I think this is what Boss meant.

"Winter gear." He said, more of a musing than a reply to the woman, and his eyes wandered to a pair of crates at the feet of each suit. Wordlessly, he knelt down and lifted the lid from the one in front of his suit. He knew it was his, because Hillary's had space for…well, a woman; "Check your crate."

"…Nice!" Hillary was the first to speak, practically the instant she saw the contents of crate. Thomas, however, was focused on his own. The crate was roughly the size of a standard foot-locker, and held a wide assortment of equipment, primarily weapons. Thomas lifted the first one up, holding it in both hands as it unfolded.

It seemed to be a newer version of the Mattock, with a smoother design and a shorter barrel, as well as what seemed to be a suppression-module. It was slightly lighter, and lacked the same kind of stock, but otherwise it was a clear match. It was all in white, with dots of smoky greyish white along the weapon. As he rotated the weapon, Thomas saw stenciled letters on the stock, where it would be pressed into his shoulder: M-37 CAR. It was not a weapon he was familiar with, but clearly Boss believed the weapon well-suited for the mission at hand.

"Why does my gun say 'Car'?" he asked without looking at his colleague. Hillary puffed a breath, humming like an excited child.

"It means 'Compact Assault Rifle' dumbass." She giggled, as if he had said something silly; "It's not usually issued to regulars though, but you'd better believe they're hot material on the market."

"…the market?" he had to look at her for that, if only to convey his confused look.

"…The Black Market?" she sounded like she wanted to add a 'duh', but refrained; "It's medium-to-short range, fires in bursts of five rounds and can be carried around in your average laptop-compartment. It's sturdy, and I think some versions can even be modded to fire rounds made from ice, dirt and…well, everything you could possibly compact to sufficient integrity, really…Damn, I got a Mk. 5 Dragunov! I thought only the Spetsnaz got these things!"

He put the weapon to the side, ignoring Hillary's drooling over what was clearly a long-range rifle. The next thing he lifted from the crate was a small, inconspicuously looking pistol. At this point, however, Thomas was beyond taking things at face value. He'd been in the force long enough that he suspected anything even remotely tied to his sister for being more than it seemed. The first thing that was obvious, however, was the suppression-module similar to that on the M-37, if only a little smaller. The pistol was in a matte grey, just light enough that it wouldn't be easily spotted against a white background. Some sort of word was stenciled into the handle, and Thomas narrowed his left eye to read it. A benefit to bionic bodyparts was that they often surpassed the originals, in this case the eye came with a slightly enhanced zoom. 'Charge' was written in neat little letters on the side, just below what actually turned out to be a tiny switch above the trigger. Better not mess with that now, though…

The last piece of equipment in the crate was a knife. At first, he thought it was just that: a regular knife. Then he noticed a small switch on the handle. It was then he noticed how the knife felt heavier than it was supposed to, like it was something other than steel. Titanium maybe?

When he flipped the switch, his expectations were both satisfied and blown away. The knife started humming, of all things. Resisting the urge to throw the thing like it was a grenade about to blow, he instead held onto it, feeling how the vibrations started moving away from the handle, and visibly into the blade itself. Slowly, the edge of the blade started glowing, like its surface had been in a forge.

"What…in the Hel?" he muttered, touching the edge against the side of the crate. Instead of resting on the material as he had somewhat expected, the knife sank through like the crate had been made of butter. He promptly withdrew the blade and flipped the switch off again; "Okay…What?"

"Dude, that's a vibro-knife!" Hillary exclaimed, then promptly dug through her own crate until she found a similar model, and activated it; "Oh fuck yeah I haven't used one of these since Lunar Base Camp!"

"What…?"

"It's kinda like those Omniblade programs, but a fuck-ton handier." She explained, tapping a finger on the integrated Omnitool in her armor's bracer; "They're meant to be locked into the same compartment as a regular combat knife, you know?"

"…right." At least he knew where that was. Otherwise, he very much doubted Hillary would ever have let him live it down.

Arcturus Station, Arcturus Stream

Military Hangar D-5, Military Section

07:12

Walking around in winter-gear inside the station definitely earned the two of them some looks. The armor at least was thermos-insulated, not over-padded, and as such it at least didn't cause him to suffer a heat-attack. It did have soft-material lining though, preventing light from being thrown too much off, and allowing snow and ice to gather on it. The "soft-material" was actually Kevlar lined with Velcro, something he'd never even considered in a military suit.

Still, it was damn genius, really.

Wearing the helmets also meant that he felt a bit more anonymous behind the visor, enabling him to shrug off the weird looks.

"Feels a bit more heavy, you know?" Hillary asked outside the comms. As such, her voice came out slightly distorted, though her amusement was easily discernable; "I wonder if Boss plans on using his regular armor, or if he's packing something similar."

"Mm." Thomas nodded, uncertain of really what to reply with. When the clone had given them the brief briefing, he'd been in casuals, so he wasn't really sure if something had gone over his head. His, not Boss', that was.

As it turned out, Boss had changed his appearance. He was still in his usual suit of armor, but with the clear difference that he seemed to have undergone a paintjob while no one had been looking. He was snow-white, with faint stripes of grey over shoulders, legs and torso, and his helmet had been dulled from the blue tinted lights to a simple grey, as well as a binocular-addition similar to what Ashley's helmet sported.

"…cheater." Hillary muttered, even as she copied Thomas' salute. The Service Chief shook his head, but inwardly failed to suppress the grin behind his visor.

"I assume you collected the issued weapons?"

"Yes, sir." Thomas replied, tapping his curious sidearm. The Harrier was locked onto his back with magnetic clamps, and the heat blade sat secured in its shoulder-fastener. He glanced to Hillary, seeing the woman with a bit more weaponry than him, locked into place as well. A shotgun, handgun similar to his as well as an SMG bearing a stark similarity to the Locust, but with a longer body, and the barrel almost vanishing into it. Finally, there also was the peculiar rifle taking up most of her back-space. It was a sniper, that much was clear, but the design and model was new to him.

"Good." He replied, then looked to the left at the sound of approaching foot-steps. Thomas and Hillary both followed his eyes, and saw a man striding confidently towards them. He was dark-haired, slightly pale and seemed to be dressed in the dark clothes of a ship-bound serviceman, yet was definitely not in the regular military; "'Service Chief, Corporal, why don't you say hello to Captain Jonathan Luthor, of the Destroyer 'SPV Concord'?"

"Captain." Thomas nodded, trying to figure out what the 'SPV' stood for. Hillary repeated his greeting, a mere second later, and Boss beat him to it with the explanation, as well as gesturing for them to begin walking;

"The Spacelane Patrol Vessels" so that was what it meant "have recently begun carrying out routine check-ups on colonies and human-owned worlds on the rims of Alliance space. Their latest assignment has been changed to the Coral system, to check up on the planet Tau Volantis. It's official business through and through, and nobody's going to even raise a brow at the presence of the ship."

"Just the one ship, Sir?" Thomas asked, slightly surprised that a single destroyer was deemed sufficient to patrol the system. Surprisingly, it was Captain Luthor who responded, and with no small amount of pride in his words too;

"Since the Citadel battle with Sovereign, the vast majority of the Alliance Naval Forces have been hauled in for refitting and overhauls in any available dry-dock and station currently in Alliance." Luthor explained as they walked. Thomas noticed that the man seemed to use his right leg more than the left, and wondered if there was some sort of injury to blame for it; "…As such, the Spacelane Patrol has taken on the responsibility of overseeing the outlying colonies, leaving the regular Alliance forces sufficient manpower to monitor the inner systems, as well as maintain their Relay fleets. In the event that pirates or slavers attack a colony, the Patrol can handle them well enough."

"So, what if the bugs hit you guys. What then?" Hillary skipped to walk next to the Captain, leaving Boss in the curious position of last man trailing. Luthor seemed to darken at her words.

"In that case, we call in as many warships as we can. Preferably Alliance vessels, since our weapons don't seem to possess enough firepower to breach the Collectors' shields." He said, and Thomas nearly missed a step. If it hadn't been for the things Anna had revealed in her Parliament-session, he would have wanted to know how the Captain knew about the Collectors. As it was now, however, he simply glanced at the man from behind his visor; "We're bound for retrofittings ourselves, but not before the Alliance is done with your own ships."

"Why don't you have the firepower to match the Collectors, though?" Hillary mused, sounding more curious than concerned, really; "Shouldn't take much more than a few shots with the spinals to get through their shields, and then just blow them apart?"

"The Hyperion-treaty was only just lifted." Luthor replied dryly, likely unamused by her insinuation that the Spacelane Patrol couldn't do its job; "None of the vessels under Heth's command have been given spinal weapons yet, meaning we as a policing force depend on turrets, torpedoes and missiles. We just can't dish out the same damage as even a light Alliance cruiser."

"Ah, right. I forgot about that part…" she muttered, sounding more than a little sheepish at his reprisal; "So, does that mean you're gonna get spinals after the Alliance is done?"

"Sometime in '85, I assume, yes…" the Captain replied, then seemed ready to change the subject; "As it is, the SPV Concord and her crew, myself included, stand at your disposal, Lieutenant. We are ready to ship out whenever you are."

"Roger that." Boss replied, keying something in on his Omnitool. Thomas couldn't tell what it was, and decided that if it was important, the Lieutenant would let them know about it; "Chief, Corporal?"

"Ready and waiting, Sir."

"Same here. Boss. Good to go."

Boss then simply offered Jonathan Luthor a nod of confirmation, and the Captain led them to the waiting shuttle. It was a Kodiak, but with a deep, grey color-scheme instead of the Alliance Blue-and-white that Thomas had become so accustomed to.

Its interior was far less official, and far more practical, than that of a standard Kodiak shuttle, and Thomas found that each end of the shuttle's cabin was ringed, not with seats, but with a single bench, allowing for the maximum amount of passengers. On the other hand, it meant seated passengers wouldn't have a safety-harness in case of a catastrophically bad crash.

Beneath the bench was a single compartment for anything not weapons-related, such as miscellaneous equipment, whereas weapons unsuited for the wearers' back could be stored on racks in the opposing cabin-wall. The Spacelane Kodiak was not meant for insertions of mass-deployment, and as such it really only needed one opening, leaving the other fit for non-foldable weapons.

Boss remained outside the shuttle for a few moments more than Thomas and Hillary, meeting the shuttle's pilot. The man was dressed almost exactly as Luthor, with the exception of lacking rank-stripes, and a set of headgear specifically meant for piloting a spacecraft. When the clone finally entered, he sat himself down in the seat across from where Thomas and Hillary had planted themselves, and instead of conversing, he immediately opened his 'tool and began going through files. Again, Thomas simply decided to trust the man – he'd proven himself reliable and loyal since Feros, after all, and Sev and Fixers' deaths hadn't stopped him from being that.

Luthor joined the pilot at the front of the shuttle – contrary to Alliance shuttles, this one did not have a pressurized cockpit to allow for extra-atmospheric emergence, but instead a simple wall of fiber-alloy. It was similar to what had been in the Cerberus shuttle Thomas himself had flown from Pragia – and the vessel's thrusters kicked off, lifting it into the air with less roughness than its military equivalents would have.

Civilian sector by design. Where had he heard that one again? The memory was there, but it seemed…fuzzy.

While the memory of Pragia itself would likely never cease to haunt him, he took comfort in knowing that Jennifer was safely home in Sweden, with her parents. He could not remember their names, not at this moment, but he would never forget the mother's expression when she saw her supposedly dead daughter before her. That was, he realized, the reason he took pride in his life as a soldier: Protecting, serving and comforting those who did not have the benefit of guns, armor and training.

They were probably under surveillance by MET at this point, so really, Cerberus couldn't touch her.

This mission might not be against Cerberus, not directly, anyway. However, that did not mean Cerberus had nothing to do with it. Jack Harper was known to be a human supremacist, and the implants Thomas had confirmed were indeed in his eyes were likely originating from Reaper technology. As such, any affiliations between Cerberus and the Church would not surprise him all that much. It would be a further disappointment, yes, but not a shock.

Surprisingly, Hillary did not attempt to make banter while they flew from the hangar to the designated docking-ramps. Her face was concealed behind the helmet, and the resistant weave hanging like a scarf from just underneath the visor, gave her an almost ghost-like appearance. Then again, they both wore the same, so he likely looked no better. Or worse, depending on who you asked.

"Coming in on the 'Concord' from eastern vector." The pilot said over what seemed to be speakers in the cabin – disregarding the fact that he could have just turned in his seat and called the same thing – prompting the lieutenant to look ahead;

"Roger that, ETA?" Boss replied without missing a beat.

"Two mikes and counting." The pilot replied; "We'll be putting in a screen from the exterior cams."

Boss did not reply, and instead turned slightly to regard the screen slowly popping into existence on the wall between them, just above the equipment-racks. Thomas, at first, was uncertain as to just what he was looking at.

"Is that a submarine…in space?" he knew it sounded dumb, but he had to ask. Hillary, true to form, reached over and backhanded his helmet with just enough force that he could feel it.

"That, dumbass-who's-marrying-the-Chief, is a Corax-class Destroyer." She sounded somewhere between irritated and amused. Thomas merely turned to give her a flat stare, no doubt it was lost between two sets of visors, though; "It's a design dating back to the First Contact War, before spinals were really all that used on ships below battleship-class ships."

"…Okay, but why does it look like a sub, then?" this time, he simply asked because it was a little funny. He would never admit it, but secretly he actually quite enjoyed the verbal spars with her. He managed to dodge her the second time her hand went for his helmet, resulting in her flickering a gauntleted finger on its forehead instead. Bummer.

"Alliance vessels share traits with some of the very first space-faring vessels of the Old Republic." Boss of all people explained. Thomas raised both brows and looked at the man, as did Hillary, surprisingly enough; "They still bear some characteristics from water-faring ships, which can be seen by prows and hulls being sleeker than what you would see from the Turians or the Asari, species that have less or no history of building warships meant to travel on water."

"Is that why the Venator-class ships don't really look like ships at all?" Thomas mused, intrigued by Boss' rare moment of wanting to share his culture's history. It helped that the Service Chief knew some of it, giving him some context to ask from. Boss cocked his head slightly, in what Thomas had come to realize meant he was pondering something, or maybe was simply mulling it over; "Same with the Separatists?"

"Yeah, that's the gist of it." He nodded, puzzling the younger soldier – though Thomas was actually older with at least a decade. It was funny how that worked, with Boss being something around ten or eleven years old – though the helmet kept his expression from showing it; "Chief, just how deep is your knowledge of the Galactic Republic? I have attempted to ask Aquila, however she refuses to give me more than a short sentence whenever I do."

"That's…" Thomas paused, frowning underneath his helmet. He had told himself that he would reveal nothing of what could happen with the Republic, seeing how Kasumi might just make that crucial difference that lead to Palpatine's fall. He did not want to make Boss or Ahsoka worry, unable to do anything, and then suddenly find out that they'd never needed worry in the first place.

It was a mind-wracker, and a conscious-breaker for sure, but so was so much else in his life.

"…Not a whole lot, really…I know about the Jedi Order and some of its members, I know who's sitting chancellor, and I know the basic details about the ongoing war and the clone army…" he paused, adjusting his position on the bench; "That's…pretty much it."

"I see." He had worried the clone would inquire further, but Boss simply crossed his arms and nodded. Thomas exhaled a small sigh of relief, and looked at the screen where the 'Concord' was growing in size. They were clearly coming in underneath the stern, which meant the vessel shared that design with most Alliance warships. The Normandy had been different, in that her hangar had been frontal – it had sometimes reminded him of the mouth on a predator – likely due to the Turian parts of the design; "When we board the ship, it is imperative that we do not mingle with her crew. The Captain knows about our mission, and he should remain the only one to do so."

"Fearing a spy, Sir?" Thomas asked, but decided to do so over the team's comms.

"Considering how deeply infiltrated the Ishimura was, there is a definite risk of Church-members being onboard the destroyer as well." Boss replied back over the same channel, followed by a soft ping that revealed Hillary to have joined the channel. The clone offered her a short, almost invisible nod; "Just to be safe, I have taken the liberty of bringing provisions along for the trip, as well as the mission itself."

"That way, we won't have to sneak into the Concord's cantina, right?" Hillary asked, again answered by a mere tip of Boss' helmet; "Good, 'cause I don't mind stealth and all, but I'd prefer not having to stalk around just to get my dinner."

"Agreed, though you might change your mind when you taste the provisions." If Boss was capable of malicious chuckles – Thomas knew clones were, after having met Sev – there was definitely one in his voice at that point; "Some months back, I gave Alliance Logistics the recipe-"

"Lady and gentlemen, we are entering the Concord's hangar. We ask that you keep your hands to yourselves around valuable equipment, and hope your flight was enjoyable." The pilot broke off Boss' words; "Please leave the flight-socks, they're Spacelane property"

"Isn't he just a cheery fella?" Hillary dead-panned, getting to her feet as the shuttle settled down on a surface, likely the floor of the hangar.

"Remember…" Boss stopped at the shuttle's still-closed door; "Low profile. We're private security-forces bound for Noveria to investigate the recent activity. We are not in any way affiliated with the Alliance Military, and we do not like anyone else."

"Damn, that's a bit of a batman-attitude, isn't it?" Hillary mused, patting her sidearm. Thomas did likewise, just to make sure it was still there. Boss merely sent the woman a stare so flat, both could see it through his visor, which was actually quite the accomplishment.

Thomas just sighed, knowing that this was not going to be the same kind of 'luxury' he'd gotten used to from hitching rides on regular Alliance Vessels.

Codex Entry: Vibro Blades

A weapon once deemed outdated by military standards when barriers were introduced on a personal-protection level, the Friction-Heated Personal Close Quarters Assault Striker or as it is more commonly known the "Vibro Blade", was first deployed with military personnel in the Shanxi Conflict, where Alliance Soldiers found themselves engaged with the superior kinetic shielding of the Hierarchy Invaders. While the weapons of the time were less efficient and devastating than what the Turians could deploy, Alliance troops soon found that objects moving at a slower speed than a bullet could pass through the kinetic barriers, though regular bladed weapons had issues penetrating both the armor and plated skin of the alien soldiers.

As such, the Vibro Blade was introduced as an alternative to the standard issue combat-knife, and to great effect. Given a few seconds to warm up, the blade could cut through even the heaviest personal armor carried by Turian soldiers at the time, and was unhindered by kinetic shields, thus earning an infamous reputation from the Turians who survived an encounter with the weapon.

Issues started appearing, however, when Turian Cabals displayed biotic barriers, something that at the time had been an unknown concept to Humanity. Biotic barriers proved themselves more than a match for the blades, and when the choice was to either pour money into developing means to circumvent biotic barriers with the blades, or turning the focus onto harder-hitting rifles, the Vibro Blades were abandoned and faded somewhat into the background.

These days, the blades are usually only seen wielded by biotic soldiers, possessing the inborn skill to effectively demolish opposing barriers without weaponry.

Heeeeeeeeey...

So yeah, I'm not dead, and neither is the story, in case you were wondering. *mumbles- though the fanbase seems to be mumblemulmble*

So, I recently decided to not take the easy way out, and really do make this into the two-year interlude. Doesn't mean there won't be timeskips, but we'll see Taskforce Aurora all the way to 2184-85, depending on a lot of things. In case there are things you may not recognize, such as the elements of Asatru, I'd strongly suggest going back to read the "remastered" chapters, which I'll be working on for the foreseeable future.

And, as you might have recognized, this "book" is heavily influenced with elements from Dead Space. Why? Because the two genres are so suited for each other, with the same overlapping genres of impending doom.

This might sound a little odd, though I suspect most of you know the feeling, but currently my life is sleep, eat and work on this. I'm literally working my fingers to the nubs, which I'm actually quite fine with. It means I'm doing better than the first time I started writing, particularly with the first story.

All I ask in return are your thoughts on my work.

Roku over and out :)