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His quarters aboard the Everest were a far cry from either those of UNSC ships he'd crewed on or his own back home on the Normandy. Those had been cramped, utilitarian and rugged, with only as much space as could be found. He'd never cared, really. Always too focused on the wars in either case to pay much attention to where he was told to sleep.
And besides, he didn't tend to really spend a lot of time sleeping in those quarters. Instead finding comfortable enough places on various battlefields to rest his head like the rest of the men and women with him did. Not the best places to sleep, to be sure, but they sufficed well enough. All part of a Trooper's way of life, he supposed.
ODSTs weren't meant or made for comfortable beds and hot meals, they were meant for the heavy lifting along a combat zone's front.
His quarters on the Everest, though, were different. Private and spacious in an obviously special way, though admittedly still one room. In one corner was a bed too soft for him to be comfortable on yet, set into a metal shape made for it and attached to the bulkhead for obvious safety reasons. Beside that was a set of simple drawers he knew held spare uniforms. Uniforms that, when he took them off at night, went down a chute in the corner on the other side of the drawer set that otherwise filled out that wall.
His name stitched onto his uniform apparently told those who handled the chore of pressing it for him who and where he was to return it.
The last piece of furniture was a simplistic metal desk, with a coffee pot in one corner and a lamp built into the structure on the other. The pot, and the aromatic brew boiling inside it, were gifts from Hackett. His way of offering an olive branch, he was sure. A small gesture. An appreciated one, though, while he made another three weeks now worth of reports of him doing nothing at all. Simply cataloging his gym time, his requisitions as few as they were, and a daily journal for 'his thoughts'. 'A formality' apparently, and one he couldn't avoid since Hackett hadn't given him any duties for the entire trip to Omega while he was on active duty.
A formality, but one that was annoying as hell for him.
Still, the up-side was that according to projections, it was a three and a half week trip at most to Omega. And they'd not run into any Reapers, so that projection held true. Which meant that soon enough, he'd be back to work, and rested ahead of it to boot. A fact which he felt relatively sure was the point of his lack of assignments and duties up until now.
Not that he much enjoyed the 'rest and relaxation' he'd been involuntarily forced into all that much, personally.
A knock at his door interrupted him in his reports and musings and he blinked at who he saw when he stood to press the door release. "Admiral?"
"Lieutenant Commander Doe." The man nodded his greeting and stepped to the side, gesturing down the quiet cool of the crew hallway. Taking the cue, the 'Trooper stepped into the hall, and the quiet of on-duty hours when few to none were in the quarters compartment of the warship, and walked beside the Admiral. "Good to see you well, Doe. From what I hear, though, you're getting a bit stir crazy down here with nothing to do."
"What you hear, Sir?" He hadn't complained to anyone, so he wasn't sure who'd have heard anything from him.
"I do read your reports, Lieutenant Commander." The Admiral answered with a small, roguish smile and a raised brow. "And I notice when you spend a lot of your wages on weapon upgrades to tinker with. Or when you clock a lot of gym time."
"Ah." That… Made sense, he supposed, given his rather unique assignment. In answer, though, he spoke quietly, "Sorry, Admiral. I… I don't do well without something to work on. Too much in my head to just sit around, Sir."
"Mhm. You have my sympathy for what you're dealing with, son, if not my envy." The man nodded respectfully and John quietly returned it, the duo silently agreeing to put the matter out of mind. "Regardless, I'm glad to be able to help you with the problem. Aria T'Loak and her mercenaries are waiting for us nearby. The Coalition flotilla will be combining with theirs shortly, and you and I will be meeting her in my office for a proper briefing."
"Good." He smiled, "It will be good to finally get to work, Sir."
"Indeed it will, son. Indeed it will." The man came to a stop at a four-way juncture and turned to him, offering a small nod and a crisp order, "We're rendezvousing at the Relay and. Once we jump, it will be straight into combat. As such, I want you armed and armored for this briefing."
"For the mission or for Aria?"
"Both, Lieutenant Commander Doe. I don't much trust mercenaries at the best of times. Or I didn't before the Coalition formed, at least. Regardless, these are under Aria's control, and I don't trust her. Or them, for that matter." The Admiral answered simply, earning a small nod from the younger soldier. "I want you armored and there to make your best impression."
"Understood, Sir." He grunted, offering a Krogan salute as always and adding a curt, "I'll be there right away."
"Good man, good man. I will see you at the meeting, then." The Admiral nodded, turning and walking away without further comment once he returned the gesture.
Out of respect, he waited until the man rounded the nearby corner before himself turning to take his own leave.
Unlike the Normandy, the Everest was a true ship of the line, with ten times as many decks and an almost maze-like expanse of hallways to match. Each was numbered in large white letters based on the deck and which end you were at, of course, but the gist still remained the same. Without a point of reference to translate those numbers, or a guide or someone to offer directions, he was sure that someone could easily get lost in the bowels of the ship.
Luckily he was more than used to navigating such ships and had easily memorized the winding hallways that led to his typical destinations. The cafeteria, the gym, the medical decks - thanks to Chakwas, he was certain - and of course, the armory and workshop. Two places he spent enough time in to agitate the master of arms for the ship.
"Lieutenant Commander Doe." The positive brick of a woman grunted when he stepped through the door into the cool, even more strictly climate-controlled air of the armory. "Here to gear up for a mission or just to micromanage me doin' my job?"
Taller than him and broader as well, with coils of muscle and a cleanly shaved, scarred head, the woman fit to a tee the stereotype of an armory sergeant. And she was right at home behind her desk in the sterile office area of the armory. A door to her side glowed a dull, locked red, but beyond it he knew were rows of sealed lockers for weapons and armor storage. One of a couple dozen of such rooms scattered along the ship, he knew, but where his were stored under the ship's master at arms directly.
Another 'perk' of his station, he'd been told.
"No, Master-at-Arms. I'm not." He grunted in answer, approaching the desk and taking the slip she handed him to fill out his taking his gear out of storage. He didn't bother pointing out that his armor was foreign and thus he wanted to insure it remained well-maintained, of course, knowing how well that would go over. "I've been ordered to get into my armor to meet with a VIP ahead of a combat mission."
"A combat mission or the combat mission?" The woman asked quietly, eyes narrowing when he gave her a look. "Where we're heading is no secret, LC. And how long it takes to get there, for that matter. Details are sketch, sure, but we know the gist. We about to head in?"
He considered for a moment whether it was his place to answer such a question or not. Technically speaking, doing so would be illegal. But on the other hand, it wouldn't really matter. And he doubted Hackett would actually bring charges against him. The political impact would be one he wouldn't enjoy, not to mention stripping him from active duty while he was tried.
That wouldn't fly in any respects, he suspected.
"I'm to head out for briefing while we traverse and, soon, we're going to it the Relay. After that…" He shrugged noncommittally and finished filling out the form while the woman watched on, her lips pursed anxiously. But also resignedly. "I don't know the full plan, though."
"Yeah, hence the briefing." The woman grunted, "I get it. Just another in the slog though, yeah?"
"Mhm." He nodded, sliding the paper across to her and straightening. She took it and stood and, for no real reason aside from the same formalities, he grunted, "My requisition form. Extra ammunition as well, please."
"Expecting trouble?" She asked as she punched in the armory's access code, giving him a look with a raised, scarred brow.
"I'm always expecting trouble, Ma'am." His training had instilled that deeply in him and done so on purpose. If you were always prepared for trouble, then you could make your chances of dealing with it when it did come double. "The Admiral doesn't trust mercenaries working for anyone that isn't him and so I don't either. If they try anything at all, I want to be ready for them. All just part of me doing my job."
"Fair enough." The woman grunted, letting the door hiss open and gesturing him through it. Returning to her seat she added a final, dismissive, "Get your gear and whatever else you'll need. I'll process the paperwork."
"Mhm." He nodded his thanks and did as instructed, stepping into the long room and walking along the red-lit lockers.
Each of the lockers was as big as a man, with enough space for any and all armor and weaponry a soldier might have. Finding his was easy enough, his name written on the front in bright white letters. Cracking it open he sighed and pulled his uniform off, tugging the undersuit out to get ready properly. Once he was dressed and had the comfortable weight of his armor and weapons weighing down on him once again he returned to the front room.
"Here you go, LC." The woman grunted when she saw him, setting a small box onto the counter. Helmet on, he gave it a look and then her in a clear, if silent, question. "Oh joy, the 'strong silent type', how fun and unique… It's some Omni-Grenades for you. Key 'em into your Omni-Tool and you can set 'em off at will. About ten of 'em. Should help you out if shit goes down, here, there or anywhere else."
"Ah. Thank you, then." He murmured, picking up the small box and locking it onto the back of his waist. A little hatch he saw on one side could open to dispense the little explosives into his hand. Satisfied, he gave the other soldier a last nod, "See you later."
"Hopefully." The woman grunted with a small chuckle, "If you don't, I'm probably dead, so yeah. Hopefully."
"Not allowed to die. If you do, the Everest is probably dead, too. And it's my ride, so that's not allowed." He shrugged and she returned it with an added wave towards the door, silently telling him to leave. Turning, he gave her a grateful nod and added a parting, "Good luck in the mess, armory master."
"Yep."
And with that, he was alone again, walking the hallways. This time they were less silent,, the heavy footfalls of his armor carrying around him with each step. He could have walked more softly, rolled his feet with each step, to keep the sound down. He'd been trained to know how to do that, after all. A true necessity in his line of work, to say the very damn least. But he chose not to, enjoying the sound as he traveled the empty decks towards the noises just barely audible far ahead of him. Familiar sounds but with that same strange alienness to them that he'd grown so used to.
As contradictory as that idea was it was still true. But his armor's familiar clunks and thunks as he walked offered some small comfort for it.
Rounding a corner he finally left the crew and storage compartments and came into the working ones. Rooms with their doors held open - if they had them, he often couldn't discern between those that did and didn't - passed by on either side, full of armored and uniformed soldiers going about their tasks. Some paid him nods and, in two or three cases, paused to offer salutes he nodded to in turn. Others, and most in fact much to his comfort, ignored him and stayed glued to their terminals, carrying out all the tasks a modern ship of war needed to run and do its job.
"The Admiral and the contacts are waiting inside, Sir." A soldier reported as he reached the end of the hall and stopped just ahead of the command deck. Armored in dark blue and black, he recognized the special forces bodyguards the Admiral surrounded himself with. The young woman gestured with a hand at the door and the red lock turned blue, and she finished, "Go on in, Sir. They're waiting on you."
"Thanks." He grunted, offering a farewell nod to the woman and her counterpart on the other side of the door and then reaching for the control panel himself.
Inside, the room was a modest, typically military affair. The same clean, off-blue walls as elsewhere stretched around the room, this time broken by a window that looked out on the massive Relay they were steadily approaching. Along with the debris of listless and drifting, very dead Reapers and ruined ships surrounding it. Even now, he could discern a small fleet of little tug-ships latching onto the ships and hauling them away. The formerly allied ships were hauled away towards them, but he saw the Reaper remains being dragged even further on, towards the system's star and gas giants.
There, he assumed, they'd be hurled into the sun to burn or the gas giant to be crushed into nothing.
Inside the room the only furnishings were a few chairs, most fit for those more human sized to use, and a wide, round and simple table. On one side he saw the Admiral, sitting in a simple chair with his hands folded on the table. His uniform, like the ODST's armor, had been thoroughly cleaned and prepared to look it's absolute best. With smooth, pressed folds, bright and cultured colors very unlike the faded blue of other uniforms he'd seen on the ship and his resplendent medals gleaming, the man looked like someone out of a history book. Every bit the old, famed general who commanded absolute authority and respect from all those beneath him.
A stark contrast to the two across from him.
The first was an old and haggard looking Krogan with red and orange skin, his eyes meeting the young Human's when he looked at him and echoing respect. The great, scarred head bowed slightly in greeting and he returned it. It was a show of mutual respect for his clan's insignia and his name, as well as the deed behind them.
"About time. I almost thought you'd decided to skip." The Asari sitting beside the great Krogan, though, offered no such respect. Propping her feet up on the table and crossing her arms, she gave him a once over and asked, "So you are the infamous 'Sand Swimmer' eh?"
"I am." He nodded.
"Gotta say, I'm… Kind of disappointed, actually." She grinned and cocked her head to the side, her eyes narrow and appraising, and then shrugged tiredly. "From the Patriarch's glowing recommendation, I thought you'd be… A bit more."
"Hm." She was baiting him, he could tell. Testing him to see what he'd do in response, while who he presumed was the Patriarch glowered for it. Electing to give her the gravest of Krogan insults he could, he ignored her completely and turned to the Admiral instead, "I'm here, Sir. As ordered."
"Take a seat, John." The man ordered quietly, waiting until he sat beside the man to make proper introductions. "This is Aria T'Loak, the monarch of Omega. Beside her is her advisor, the Patriarch."
"Patriarch." He nodded respectfully, turning to give the smirking Asari a similar, if more shallow, nod. Affecting as quiet a tone as possible, he grunted, "Your majesty."
"Oh, I think I might just like you after all." She snorted in amusement, seemingly taking his feigned respect as real and appreciating. Or, more likely from the crinkling of her eyes and the ferality of her smile, amused at him insulting her at all. Giving the Patriarch a look she gave him a nod and, sounding pleased, crowed, "It seems you have your uses after all! Color me impressed, old man. Very impressed indeed."
"Krogan don't offer our respect easily, Aria." The Krogan growled in answer, voice full of as much gravitas as age could grant an old Krogan warrior. "And Hackett has it as well. One of the few alive that Krogan, as a rule, offer our respect to. The reasons why bring us here, in fact, and I would encourage we get to the matter at hand."
"Why the rush?"
"Retaking your throne shouldn't be anything we wait to do." The Patriarch rumbled in answer, earning a small, grim-faced nod from the woman. Taking it and her silence as permission to continue, the Krogan nodded and went on. "Our fleet has been pulling back for the last few weeks, Admiral. We used them to clear the avenues for your approach to speed you along when you finished up on Rannoch."
"That answers why our sailing was so smooth, then." The Admiral sounded amused as he answered, leaning back in his seat and chuckling. "Thank you both for the assistance, then. No one wants to delay any longer than is necessary, it seems."
"Indeed. We are eager to retake our home and status, as well as end this great war we have found ourselves embroiled in." The Krogan answered, giving the woman at his side a look. She only huffed and waved for him to speak, though, eliciting a small sigh from the old man. "We suffered some casualties out there, I won't lie. But we kept our heavy assault craft back, to take part in the battle for Omega."
"I bet that went over well." Hackett murmured, voice low and full of sympathy. At the Krogan's hum of questioning, he went on, "I know the same protocols were hard to enact in the Coalition, before the Rachni volunteered to take the bulk of that sort of work."
"Mercenaries do as they're ordered to, old man. Or they don't get paid. Way of the world out here." Aria shrugged dismissively and the 'old man' sighed, aggravated at the flippant dismissal of casualties no doubt. Either ignorant or ignoring it, she moved on, "How about we get to the fun part and decide how we're taking back Omega?"
"A special tactical insertion via insertion pods of shock troopers, the 'Trooper here with them, to secure docking zones while we smash through the Cerberus fleet. The Everest and the heaviest ships we have will punch a hole in their defenses and offload an invasion force." Hackett answered simply, gesturing at the armored man as he did. John nodded at being addressed and the man went on, "Once aboard, N7 specialists and those like them will proceed to sabotage Cerberus entrenchments, leadership, etcetera."
"Once enough damage has been done, the people of Omega will rise up. No doubt they will praise the queen that ousts the xenophobic Cebrberus." The Patriarch grunted at his queen's side, giving her a look when she grimaced and speaking to her instead. "If you take part in the attack, you can spin it as your rightful return and a liberation. Whatever the dogs are doing, I doubt it is kind to those non-Humans aboard the station."
"The Humans will get no better." John offered as an addition, crossing his arms as he went on, "Cerberus forcibly augments civilians to serve as their soldiers. It's likely they'll be either preparing to, or possibly already doing it, that on Omega."
"Our secondary objectives will be information collection. Base locations, numbers of troops, goals, etcetera. Anything they can find to point us to more Cerberus targets of value in the theater." Hackett went on, offering a grateful nod to the ODST at his side. The younger man returned it and the Admiral went on, "With our forces combined, we should have little issue dealing with the Cerberus defenses at the station. I'm more worried with hunting down leftovers in the system."
"My scouts sent reports on what we've already found." Aria offered in as helpful a tone as she was likely capable of, which was to say filled with snark and self importance, "If you don't mind, I would very much enjoy getting to deal with a few of them myself. Call me petulant, or whatever, but I would enjoy a bit of payback."
"I am more than aware of your temperament and your reports, Aria." Hackett responded smiling snidely at the slight barb in his words, And it was a slight barb, to be sure, but the ODST was pretty sure that was the best he'd ever try when it came to making digs at dignitaries. The man turned to nod at the window and the three others followed his gaze, watching Coalition ships take up positions and begin Relaying through. "We have teams designated to hit the most vital of these facilities already, some of which are already under way."
"A forward assaulting party." The Patriarch grunted, drumming massive, meaty fingers on the table as he did. "To protect the more valuable of your ships… Rachni, aren't they? You said they take the bulk of those sorts of jobs."
"And in my own words to boot. Those are Rachni crewed ships, mostly, yes." The Admiral chuckled quietly, shaking his head before growing more serious. "Among them are non-Rachni, however. Assault and scout teams, to hit the targets we need gone before we launch our full assault."
"Hm. Well, I suppose you have it all planned out, then." Something about the situation bugged the woman, he could tell, but he wasn't sure what specifically. Whether it was leaning so heavily on the Coalition, or her lack of true input, he couldn't be sure. "Then let's get this going, shall we?"
"You both have pods set out on Deck Nineteen, ready for you to launch once we come though the Relay and align targeting systems." Hackett answered as he rose and the trio mirrored his action, the man finishing on a simple, "Good luck to us all. The success of Operation Hades will set the stage for Operation Phoenix, and the end of this war."
And if the operation failed, John didn't say, then it would set the stage regardless. But not for them to return to their homeworlds and retake their galaxy. Instead, it would set the stage for their annihilation, and the continuance of the cycle of Reaper devastation.
"No pressure, though…" He thought to himself as he left the room and began to prepare for another drop.
This time, his pod didn't need his handiwork to match what he'd want. Instead, his clan's orange insignia had been emblazoned on either flank. And done so in clean, clear lines he never could have hoped to achieve himself.
"I, uh, heard you modified yours, Lieutenant Commander." A technician said in a quiet, richly french sort of voice as she came up, shoulders sloped anxiously and skin pale from too much time spent inside a starship and not on a planet. He gave her a look and the young brunette flinched as though struck, face down. "S-Sorry, do you not like it? If you don't, I have time to-"
"It's fine." He grunted before the poor little woman could panic more. Turning to look at it once again, he added, "You did better than I would have, at least. Thank you. Miss…?"
"O-Oh, um, my name is Eclaire Beau." The woman smiled, still nervous but more relaxed now she knew he wasn't agitated. Why he would have been, and why she would fear him for it, he wasn't able to guess. "I'm a deck assistant, with the drop specialists. I keep the pods maintained, repair ones that can be recovered, and make sure the specialists are satisfied with… Whatever they want me to do, I-I guess."
"Hm." It made sense, he supposed. "Thank you for the paint-job, Miss Beau."
"O-Of course." She nodded, taking a step closer and holding out her hands. He looked to them and then to her and she explained quietly, "I-I can load in your weapons, if you want me to. In case you want to do something else, I mean."
"No, thank you." He grunted, turning and starting his climb up the ladder and into the pod he'd been assigned to. Inside his pod, he slotted his weapons into the brackets built into the structure. And then, finally, he turned and settled into the seat to get comfortable.
Around him, he felt the ship shudder as they began to Relay, and his pod began to shift into launch position.
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I suck at writing for Aria.
That is all.
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Dr Killinger :
Yep! A terrible plan. Wonder how it will go here, though~