There are no desperate measures. Only measures best fit for desperate times. – Agent Ti, HIGHCOM Commanding Soldier of Assault Squad Four
…
The very shade of the air seemed to darken as the airlock closed, leaving the Horizon crew with an odd sense of relief and guilt. It seemed strange to feel guilty for a mission that they had successfully completed, yet here it was, the unshakable feeling of emptiness, as if there was something missing from the torso. Perhaps it was the ghastly face of the boy as he exited his rescue ship, or perhaps it was the shadowed souls that hung behind him. Whatever it was, it had haunted the occupants of both extraction ships, who now hung back silently at the edge of the doorway, their exoskeletons unmoving yet dominant. They had yet to remove their helmets – out of respect, rather than orders.
Without a word, the small crowd of idle crew quickly dispersed, returning to their rest, trying to forget the unease. Ali slowly turned on his heel, facing the length of the ship down to the staircases. Horizon was graceful as always, his eyes following her smooth curves. The gentle white light illuminated the polished metal of the walls, creating intricate patterns of shadows that danced with the crews' movements. He rolled his eyes lazily across the scene. Many lights flashed, strewn throughout the room, each with their own meaning, a message. A junior rushed up to one of the lights, with fear, perhaps, and soon turned away with a relieved sigh.
Not many officers were on duty right now. It was, according to the arbitrary clock on the walls, night time. Not that many slept during this time; but many used this time to rest. On the chairs, leaning on the extrusions, standing in a group, gathered around the small table. After all, the designer of the Horizon decided that this room was to be a social hub, and so furnished it with an assortment of comforts. There was little privacy here, but nobody seemed to mind that. There was always some to be found in their rooms, if they desired. Ali still didn't understand this design, and was always embarrassed at its seeming failure to meet the professionalism required.
There were other things about this ship that didn't quite seem usual. The aliens that he would bump into (so comfortable amongst other aliens) was one of the few aspects that always startled Ali. Every now and then, an alien would come and ask him a question, breaking the illusion of the "human ship". Except for the Batarian, they seemed friendly enough, but each one peeved him in their own little way. The Turian, for example, made him feel like a dwarf, standing at seven feet tall. Both of the Quarians were too passive, hiding cautiously underneath their mask. The new Salarian – he forgot the name – was very private, but not passive, which only made him harder to read. Thea the Asari often stood too close for comfort. Kisana was relatively comfortable, but the fact that she was fraternizing with the Captain did not please him at all.
Ali could not remember what he had first expected from this new position. He remember the excitement in a vague cloud. It was the first ship that he was stationed to which was guaranteed to see some action, unlike the past five ships which simply patrolled Sol. His childish desires of adventure, ones that he cherished through all his years, was finally going to be fulfilled. Clearly, things didn't turn out the way he wanted.
The reality was that he was a reject, an object of hate on the Horizon. Nothing more, nothing less. Unless…
"Room check-ups in ten!" Ali announced, and listened in sadistic delight as the crew groaned in unison. A flurry of activity quickly followed.
…
Rallel had been standing next to the airlock for almost twenty minutes, right next to the Captain's empty exoskeleton. Why she had not moved was a mystery to herself and others around her. Since there were no orders given, she would normally have had already locked herself back inside her room, going about "business as usual" (a.k.a. reading). The pristine order of the other soldiers may have been the primary reason as to why she had not done that yet.
She brooded on the brief mission; it was boring, as expected. A simple fly-in with cargo, drop off the weapon, load up more cargo (body bags, as it turned out), and fly back out. Drop off the cargo, then reassemble at the designated spot (she internally scoffed during the fuss with the exoskeletons and was delighted to be proven right – they were indeed useless). Her job was easy and casual – normal, almost. But it was far from normal.
The fear of death had never been more real. Even her time with Blue Suns, she had mostly stayed out of the action, rigging up explosions and staring at her own fire from a safe distance. Screams and horrors had never been a part of her life.
She felt no remorse for the boy; that boy was just weak. Loneliness or terror should not overcome oneself so completely. But was she, too, weak? Had she been scared to remain placidly for orders?
Room check-ups were well underway, and she knew that her room would definitely fail the inspection. She was dully worried at the inevitable punishment – more PT, no doubt.
The airlock door opened. No light reflected off Captain's armour as he stepped out from the overlighted airlock, his figure casting a long, faint shadow into the room. His helmet was off, wedged in the crook of his left arm, but the face was just as lifeless as the helmet that once covered it. The mechanical precision that has now come to define the Captain was a little off, unmatched. His expression did not change as he scanned the small array of exoskeleton soldiers.
"Mission closed. You are dismissed."
Rallel frowned as she joined others on their way to the armoury. The Captain joined the procession, lifting his exoskeleton with his biotics. Something wasn't quite right about the Captain – he would normally have said the simplistic, "Dismissed", and everyone would have understood. There was a certain desire to explain inside him – Rallel could see that.
…
John knocked on the door, ignoring the doorbell to his left. His hands and feet were cold from fear, his heart beating at an uncomfortable speed. There was a little sound of rustling behind the door, but no reply came.
"You good, Jackson?"
More rustles, and a soft thud. Jackson must have been standing upside down again.
"Depends on what you mean by good." Answered a voice.
John smiled – Jackson was okay. That was a relief.
After seeing Jacksons' expression after the Tinvik mission, John had been worried about Jackson's psyche once more – he had seen that expression before, when Jackson lost someone under his command. John knew for a fact that Jackson would mental breakdown after wearing such expression. In the past, Jackson would usually disappear for three days, secluding himself from others. No-one had known where he went, except for the fact that he would travel to Earth. John had once managed to follow him to a forest in Canada, but lost trail in the woods. The next day however, he managed to catch Jackson destroying the vegetation in the forest clearing. With biotic bursts far more destructive than any weapon he had seen, Jackson would calmly pulverize the ground around him. There were clear signs that Jackson had done this many times before, as splintered wood and dead stumps, some perhaps a decade old, lay rotting in the clearing. Perhaps the clearing itself was made by Jackson – who knew.
Jackson discovered his hideout very quickly, even though John had been very careful about not revealing his position (he knew how to stay in the shadows – they drilled it into you during the N-training).
"How did you find me…? Never mind. Don't tell anyone." Jackson had told him.
That was now seven years ago.
The cabin door slid open. Jackson stood casually behind, his Alliance uniform neat and clean (though John observed some creases around the knee). He held a data pad on his right hand, and was reaching for his new eezo bottle with his left. A small red wisp arose from his lower left leg, and Jackson's face was red.
"Don't worry John. I am not me from the past. You know, being a Captain forces you to change." Jackson said, taking a swig from his bottle. John wondered what liquid eezo tasted like, but didn't bother to ask.
"Glad to hear it. You have yourself under control, then."
"Again, depend on what you mean by control."
John smiled. Jackson took another quick swig, then closed his data pad. He threw both the bottle and the data pad onto his otherwise neat bed.
"That said, are you ready to control a gun?"
"A mission?"
"Yes. There is a place of interest in the Far Rim. I'll explain later to the whole crew. I need you and Jason to be on the gun."
"Finally! Something to shoot! I need to see if my rusty reflexes are still as sharp as they used to be!"
"I'm sure they are still great."
"Not as good as yours."
"Give me a non-modified body that wasn't trained from birth, then we'll talk."
…
From: LoneWolf247
To: SSV Horizon Group
To Horizon Crew! We have a new mission, and here is a brief run-down. None of the details are finalized yet, so I'll only give you the basic facts. I'll tell you more on this when we actually enter the system. You don't have to read this email if you are busy, but this is for those who are curious.
Location: E-Star D56, Ami Pi System, Far Rim
Location Type: Place of Interest
Location Notes: Within Geth Space – Active Geth patrols
Mission Type: Recon – May lead to Destroy
Mission Time: 6 days transport in total, 4 hours actual mission time
Known Enemy Faction: Cerberus
Potential Enemy Faction: Geth
Description: There is a certain place of interest with Cerberus designation on this planet. I don't know what exactly. We will be conducting a speedy recon mission – so only I and Lt Keniev will be on the surface. But I want all personnel to expect combat. As much as I trust Horizon's stealth systems, it will only last us for 4 hours, and Geth may have a workaround that I do not wish to find out about. If there is enough evidence, we may launch a strike against the location, which will guarantee a Geth involvement. Regardless, I need you all alert and vigilent. I will update you once we reach Far Rim.
…
Jason gripped onto the handle bar, then swung himself cautiously into his seat. The grey cushions that padded the chair did little to blunt the landing. The wiggled himself into the familiarly comfortable position – arms on the armrest, back slightly curved, his neck barely touching the headrest. Although this position gave him a sore neck after a while, it helped him to concentrate better. He reached up and pulled down a set of headphones, automatically activating the array of screens in front of him. A small control panel positioned itself gently above his thighs, and two control sticks popped up from the armrests. He always loved this part of his job – he felt like some kind of a hero taking control over a high-tech weapon. Indeed, he was taking control over a high-tech weapon, one that can punch a hole through an unshielded ship, regardless of its size.
"Gunner two, taking control. Weapons are live." He reported into the microphone. He felt a tiny pool of sweat already forming on the rubber headphones.
"Gunner one, taking control. Weapons are live. Pre-warming cycle initiated." Lt Lock reported through the comms.
"Pre-warming to forty three percent main gun, fifty six port, fifty six starboard. Missile pods one to five are loaded and ready to fire. GUARDIAN system online and on standby."
"Negative Corporal. Pre-warm limit to thirty nine percent main gun." Neil's rather dull voice was definitely less pleasant than Davies'. However, Davies didn't quite have the professionalism required for a serious situation such as this.
"Order acknowledged. Main gun limit to thirty nine percent." Lt Lock replied for him. Although Jason had questioned his position as a gunner at the start, he now saw that having two high-ranked soldiers as gunners made the execution of orders streamlined and efficient. For a combat ship like Horizon, such efficiency was mandatory.
"We will be entering the system in forty five seconds, then floating dead for a minute. Be ready."
"As we are always."