Authors notes: Work has suddenly surged back in… and then back out… and then back in… Gah! So weirdly distracted. We've been in and out of lockdown so many times and work is wildly in flux. So I'm trying to not let that effect my writing too much, but I know that it is.
I hate writing a section and then being forced to stop halfway in and then fumbling to pick the train of thought back up… That happened a few times in this chapter. I just hope it isn't too noticeable.
My brain was really bleeeh these last two'ish weeks. I'm running off 4-5 hours sleep between day work and night work.
As always, I don't edit… So… Ya'know, please be kind.
If anyone wants to edit for me… I'd welcome it. I wasn't entirely keen on finding a Beta reader previously just because I wasn't sure how patient I'd be between finishing a chapter and uploading it. But now that I'm taking a little longer, what does an extra day or two matter?
I hate editing my own work… But I am good at learning from editing and implementing those changes, so having a Beta could only help me improve.
I think my distractions toward reading so much analysis based info in recent months has been a bit of a creative writing impediment too.
I think I'm happy with how the Normandy section gets balanced in this chapter. It's a lot less meaty, but a lot more intimate. Short, pushes their particular part of the plot forward and sets them up toward the new paradigm.
FIRST VOTE: I'm taking a vote to change the name of Caucasus! Currently the other name I have in mind is Praetoria. As in the Praetorian guard, the royal Roman guard to ancient Rome. It seems like a fitting theme, and I feel matches the sort of latin doctrines I've included fleetingly.
But add your own suggestion if you please.
SECOND VOTE: Chapter size… Would you guys prefer that I break these up into 10k'ish word sized chapters? Or just keep them as they are? So I'd upload two or three chapters in one go instead of the one super large chapter?
xXXx
Review replies: As always, I only reply to the more substantial reviews. So don't feel neglected if I haven't replied to you, I appreciate every single positive note and you all help inspire me to continue with fresh purpose and ideas. Batman9117:
Starfall Shadow:
Like I've said, there were a kind of purpose to that. I didn't want things in canon from Shep's perspective to change without the reader being aware of it. I wanted to show how or why something had changed rather than say it in retrospect.
Obviously, I didn't want to put anyone off with the super different pacing in Sheppies sections, but they did feel necessary. You'll find in this chapter that the Normandy sections are going to be setting forth on an entirely different tone to what you've already read and included with less meat but more intimacy.
JanathanO'Riley:
It isn't the end of their POV, just an overhaul in the manner that it's put up. This chapter still has a Normandy POV which continues threads and set them on course for how their plot direction will grow.
But the plot of the story was never meant to revolve around Shepard. From the get go, it was John's and Miranda's story. Shepard and the Normandy stuff was to show and not tell what else was changing.
Obviously what someone enjoys is entirely subjective, but I don't see the need for any main character from canon to exist in a fanfic for that fic to still be set in that universe. Not that I'm writing that kind of fic, but just thought I should pose my thoughts on the matter.
Gerhman Remington:
Shepard and Chief meeting is cresting the horizon.
I don't want it to come out of the blue (for the reader). I'm tossing up between two different places of meeting… I'll see where the story takes me on that front.
This chapter might surprise you with what I've done with Hackett. He's dissatisfied with Alliance leadership, so this new footing has a place.
I thought the VI thing was in keeping with the kind of stuff we see from the established races in the canon… Plus I didn't want it to be a loose end that would prove burdensome later on.
Janny092:
I don't think I'll be using the Geth in at all the same way as most people expect.
I always found the pros of the Geth to be… Lacking. Given the story of their origin. So I've given them a position that I think suits their origin, includes them, gives them purpose and safety, and deals with the AI=BAD BS from ME.
philmeyering:
Your dreaming might just happen to be in line with my thinking… *Hint Hint.
Nitroman98:
Nooooooo. *Said thoughtfully and slowly*
Just because I feel like it would ruin the current flow of things.
Killer of geths:
Now, now. Folks can disagree. I don't agree with those readers about their opinion on the Geth (And I do agree with yours – mostly), but that's okay. I've even gotten weird hate messages for killing off the Geth like that, haha but that isn't going to make me change what I'm writing.
Hang in there and I hope you enjoy the ride
cdsabogal196:
Full disclosure: I haven't read any Mass Effect novels.
I tried to read two, but they just didn't grab me.
I probably could have done more research into that on the wiki, but too late now. Regardless, looks like my handling was done with the right tone to those points you stated.
Kryn Womble:
You'll find this chapter gratifying, I think.
There's a sudden paradigm shift late in the chapter regarding John and Miranda and their importance to the galaxy at large.
Next couple of chapters will speed up some pacing with some mini timeskips.
LegionCenturionMaster:
All I'll say… That twist you like is twisting into a fucking zinga!
TSW:
You make an interesting point.
I think I consider it a casual sci-fi wanting to be more, but not quite with enough OOMF!
Halo's game storyline included enough tidbits to imply a lot more without going there, and the novels that did go there went there quite well.
One of the points I wanted to get into in this fic was exploring the different societies wherever practical to the story based on a mix of implied points from the games or just from pure creative speculation. (Making up jazz because it seems glittery and like it will work there)
Tevos just out there being a 100% undiluted Tevos. She doesn't get a section in this chapter. But she will soon.
Geth(Not yet Legion) meets Chief in this chapter, but it's short and sweet at the end. I'll be expanding on that in coming chapters because this one was starting to cross the 26k word mark.
The OC's were necessary, though. Original characters wouldn't have worked where I put the OC's… I could have included more Kandros, but I don't think she'd have worked where I put Omega's secretary of defence, Tutela Proelium. Most of the original story scientists are really generic either devilishly evil or totally blank background good people.
So Cathryn Hales was added as an analogue of Catherine Halsey, and Flo was just for cultural exploration, but she'd staying just because she works there.
There are plenty of characters from Omega who coooouuuuld have worked in the recruits, but most of them were kind of blank faces, so a fresh slate didn't seem to be an issue.
I feel like preserving specific OC's in their specific kinds of roles works well around adding new characters who bounce off them in ways that canon doesn't present.
Feanor: StrikFreeGundm:
I will go there… but not in this chapter.
Van Dal2:
I don't want to add tooooooo much detail to the training. Skipping through some important parts does the job best, I think. If my main character was a recruit it would be a different story haha.
Aria's a petty power hungry bitch! But so are the Matriarchs, so it's a match made in Asari heaven.
There are new threads opening in this chapter though D: Hahaha sorry! A lot of them will get suddenly wrapped up at the start of the war. I think you'll see in this chapter exactly why I'm forming all of these societal collapses.
Hahahah! That's a funny typo :P Oopsy.
XXX1994:
They've got the tech edge, but not the numbers edge. Sacrifices will be plentiful.
paxio:
I didn't actually know that! Refer to my reply above to cdsabogal196
I think I covered that the haulier is being armoured.
I'm exploring changing the name to Praetoria… Like the Praetorian guard from ancient Rome. It's a fitting theme.
I always thought the depiction of female characters in Mass Effect was kinda sexist. I'm correcting (in my mind) how Miranda should have been. She'll behave in ways that match her capability and strength, not needing a man to shelter her, but needing a strong comrade to stand by her.
I don't think I'm going to go too deeply into weapon variants, because I think a lot of readers will lose the mental image of which gun is which and so forth. This chapter includes the BR85N though, I'll see where I go from there.
Legion's role in this chapter is really brief, just because I was writing looooaaads and needed to stop somewhere. It will get a part to play soon, I still need to wake up the Protheans!
When I finally get the Normandy to Caucasus, characters like Kasumi will suddenly become a lot more important.
And don't worry, lots of sacrificial characters are lined up for the future. Mwahahaha.
StLawrenceRv:
Thank you!
I'd read so many that all fit into one of two or three repeated tropes.
I figured if I was going to write something for this fandom, that it had to break the mould.
TommyPigeon:
I was going to make a big deal out of it… But then I figured that John wouldn't… He'd just get on with it. And him just doing that doesn't give Miranda an opportunity to make a deal out of it either, so the armour removal and following moments is understated.
Gman012:
Some folks have asked/mentioned that.
I'm not against it… Not exactly. But I'm not for it exactly either. I could retcon it and say that the only reason John and Cortana crossed realities was because the size of the portal generated? Or something like that… I don't think I'll touch that topic for a while.
websplorer:
There's a little bit of a jump in their relationship in this chapter. In their own mental concepts only, though… Nothing is actioned. I want to write it in a way that makes John start to think more about relationships, so when it happens it doesn't seem forced.
You know… I think I will include Halo species, but true to my typical inclusion of canon things, not in the way you'll expect. You'll have to be patient with that thought though.
Axza95:
Legions part in this chapter is small, just because I didn't want to serve up a whole friggen novella with one update. Haha Its' time is coming.
Chapter Seventeen
:: Paradigm Shift ::
"This is going to be the standard-issue weapon, recruits," John announced, turning the freshly manufactured BR85N battle rifle in his gauntleted hands.
He stood at the front of the classroom of fifty recruits. Recruit Forti, the first he'd selected to become a Lieutenant in training, stood at stiff attention to his left near the closed double doors, partially facing him and somewhat facing the rest of the class. Her jaw was set, and her eyes narrowed in thoughtful interest, and John caught her pupils quickly travelling back and forward between surveying the class and keening on his every syllable.
She had been the correct choice for the higher-ranked position, and with the other nine, had stepped up in the extra early drill and briefing sessions to be more able to train the other recruits.
The recruits in the classroom were seated at ten-seater desks five rows deep. A camera mounted in the ceiling captured John's motions and voice and amplified them onto the wall behind him, and further into the other ten classrooms so that the other four hundred and fifty recruits could receive the same lesson.
There were no murmurs to his declaration, but all eyes sharpened in interest, and several faces turned marginally left and right to give their comrades a look of anticipation.
"This is the BR85N battle rifle," He continued, holding the stock with his right hand and the barrel with his left, and lifting it slightly higher so that the camera got a clear view of its side profile. His left hand left the barrel and moved along its cowling, stopping at several points along the weapon's body.
"The muzzle flash suppressor, cowling latch, top rail, ejection port, trigger," He stated at each paused point and looked over the enraptured faces. The screen behind him morphed, as designed, and instead of showing what the camera was capturing, it showed an enlarged view of the weapon that he and Miranda had prepared the night before.
Each point that he had indicated flashed with an arrow. Then John rotated the rifle, and indicated several more points, the screen behind him following suit thanks to the intelligent VI in the system tracking him.
"Firing mode; safety, semi and full automatic firing modes," He halted on that point, clenching his brow together to give the recruits a pointed look about that part. Seeing no sense of dissent he continued, "HUD and reticule modes," He pointed at next, "If you are wearing an uplinked helmet, the HUD mode will work. Next; magazine release."
He thumbed the small release button, and the magazine dropped from the stock into his waiting hand. He lifted the rifle to show the empty slot and then slapped the magazine back in, "Charging handle," John continued, pulling the handle on the top of the rifle above the grip.
It clicked metallically, a sound that John couldn't help but find reassuring, and then the ammo counter flashed a disappointing red.
He spun the weapon so that the camera could see the display, and the smart VI translated his motions into the display graphic of the gun to show the other classes.
"Ammo counter and internal compass system, the magazine holds thirty-six nine-point-five millimetre high-powered semi-armour-piercing rounds, these dish out more stopping power than what you'll have used before, recruits."
He looked across the room again, surveying his army in training, and his eyes softened in a level of pride. John imagined that Mendez must have felt something akin to this when he had first held the absolute attention of his class.
"Lieutenant Forti!" He barked suddenly.
If the small Asari could stiffen anymore, she certainly tried. Her shoulders drew back and squared further, her chin elevated, and her face hardened, "Sir!"
"Retrieve and give out the weapons, please."
"Sir!" She shouted in strict assent and spun neatly on the spot to face the double door. She took a step toward it and sensing her presence, the left-hand door slid open, revealing a simple flatbed dolly stacked with five long grey composite boxes. Forti strode swiftly out the door and rounded the dolly and started to push it back into the room, and John noticed that he couldn't hear any more doors opening through the exposed exit from the other classes.
A tiny smirk crossed his lips, and pride grew stronger in him as he realised that his other Lieutenants in training likely hadn't budged from where they stood near the doors in the other classes without his express order.
"Lieutenants, retrieve and give one rifle to each row in your class." He amended from his oversight of his recruits establishing discipline.
On cue, he heard the faint sound through the open door over the gently squeaking wheels on Forti's dolly of the other doorways into classrooms opening. The sound of distant footsteps and creaking metal told him that the dolly's were being acquired and pushed into their intended rooms.
Forti stopped at the first row of desks, collected the top composite box between both hands, and set it down before moving on and doing the same on each bench.
PT and drill typically started at five AM local time. Still, John had gathered up his Lieutenants in training at four to give them all a more personal lesson with the same weapons that they were now handing out and the recruits who had more rough terrain experience and were assigned guard duty.
The fabrication plant had currently only produced sixty of John's UNSC weapon of choice, and he had issued himself and Miranda one each for permanent use, and given one each to the base guards who would hand them off to whoever took their shift.
Forti returned to the front of the room and pushed the dolly back through the door. Leaving it where she'd taken it from, she stepped back into the room and resumed her state of standing attention. The recruits eyes shifted back and forward between looking at the closest weapons boxes and at him, and how he held his own rifle slung so comfortably in a relaxed grasp.
"The recruits closest to the weapons box will open them, and you will inspect the weapon in pairs before handing it on, understood."
"Sir!" They all called at once, the pitch hitting John in a way that made him suppress the thought that this was like some strange mash-up of UNSC culture and Covenant diversity as voices distinct to multiple species overlapped.
The squeaky and high Salarian voices, deep and rumbling Krogan voices, and somewhat raspy Batarian voices, standing out the most amongst the crowd. The unique warbling tone to the Turian voices melted in amongst the Human and Asari whose expressions came out bordering on identical.
Five sets of hands along the desks reached for the weapons boxes and slid them closer, and then a series of clicks sounded from the hands opening and unveiling their educationally issued battle rifles.
John's left brow rose several millimetres in surprise; four of the five recruits who'd opened the boxes looked to him for further permission before actually touching the weapon within. The fifth, a lime-green Salarian, was already eagerly turning the rifle around in his hands at the back row.
John simply nodded, and the four seeking his permission likewise retrieved the rifles and ghosted their hands over the weapons, replicated how John had handled it on display for them. As the first of the recruits grew familiar with their rifles, they turned slightly in their seats to show them to the next closest recruits.
"I want each of you to release the magazine, reload it, and charge it."
"Yes, Sir!" A series of cries answered, followed by the clicks of the magazine releases. All of the magazines clattered to the tabletops, with the novice handlers not catching the released cartridge.
More clattering followed as they quickly reacquired the magazines and slapped them back in, identically to how John had shown them, and then the distinct clicks of the charging handle being pulled sounded.
"Now, I want you to make sure that the safety is switched on, and familiarise yourselves with the grip and how to shift firing modes."
"Yes, Sir!"
The recruits did as told. They handled their rifles loaded with empty magazines with decreasingly tentativeness and increasing confidence. Another two minutes passed, and John nodded, "Hand them along now."
"Yes, Sir!" They repeated, and the weapons changed hands.
"Assist your squadmates in familiarising themselves." He ordered simply.
Another cry of assent sounded, and John was silently pleased to see the first to have handled the weapons beginning to silently talk to their nearest squad member. John suspected that much of the chatter was less about the weapon's actual operation and more about how exciting their day was setting out to be.
Of course, they were of the idea at this point that they would be performing weapons training drills, rather than parade drill. 'They're going to be disappointed,' John thought with a latent smirk.
Miranda currently had the other half of the battalion constructing the planned obstacle and weapons training courses, rather than performing work on setting up farming plots.
The course was John's own design; inspired by the late CPO Mendez and evolved to suit the different physiological states of John's recruits.
When One-PM struck, they would return to base, go to the mess halls for lunch, and then sit through this same class. While the recruits who were currently here on less arduous duty would pick up where the first had left off and would spend the rest of the day labouring in the afternoon heat.
Of course, the bulldozer did the vast amount of the earthworks, such as constructing the bank of earth that the shooting range would face, and digging and reshaping parts of the obstacle course for a more challenging and undulating environment. But there were many pits and channels needing digging that were too small for the large machine.
And logs needed chopping and moving and working into ideal hurdles, a task also not entirely suited to the machinery. John knew the job would be almost as punishing to the recruits as using the course when it was completed.
If they had thought that their time here these past three weeks had been arduous, then today would double their experience of physical labour. John fought a tiny smile at the thought and caught the twinkle of anxious amusement in Forti's eyes as she regarded him with a twitching expression of interest.
She straightened more stiffly and elevated her chin, but her eyes stayed on him being caught looking at him. John raised his brow slightly and gestured for her to come over to him with a nod of his head. She spun a perfect parade turn and marched the several paces to him, stopping as he'd taught her to on the tarmac.
A part of John - the part that hadn't been in standard fatigues or parade dress for years - wanted to tell the Asari turned Caucasus national that she could relax in situations such as these.
With the youth of the Caucasus armed forces and colony, she would become one of the highest-ranking individuals on the planet.
But he kept his desire for a more comfortable discussion at bay, noting that concreting her discipline should and would come before showing her the correct times to not be at such strict attention.
"Sir?" She asked.
The anxiety that had strobed her voice when John had first called her out from by the river was not present, but her eyes flickered, a telling sign that she was mildly concerned about why she had been called over quietly.
"When we're halfway through this class, I want you to go get five of the other lieutenants and take them off to the course. There are perks to rank, but you need your soldiers to see that just because you're higher rank that you're not going to work with them. So you'll work with the current labour detail until you come back with them, and then the other half will go."
"Understood, Sir," She answered, her lips pinching into a thin pale line, and her eyes holding onto his.
John met and held her gaze for a silent moment between them, measuring her, until he declined his head in a slight nod. "Which of your other lieutenants in training have the worst traction with the recruits?"
She cocked her head slightly, her brow rising marginally, and her eyes tightening in question, "Sir…?" She added with less certainty than her reaction moments before.
"I trust your insight with the recruits, Forti, give it to me straight. The recruits need to see that their superiors deserve their position," John explained without shifting his posture. He glanced up quickly to check on the class, and finding them all still enraptured by the battle rifles that were nearing the other end of the desks, he looked back down.
"Solus, Weyrlock, Palak, and Urdnot, Sir," She answered after a beat.
John nodded in understanding. The fact that she hadn't needed more than a second to draw those names meant that it was an issue that was already on the front of her mind.
"Urdnot and Weyrlock; because they're competing?"
Forti nodded once, and John's lips quirked into a tiny scowl. The Krogan were proving to be the most difficult to straighten, with their issues amongst one another being based on their historical clan ties, despite the fact that they all seemed more than happy to leave their Krogan origins behind to become permanent members of Caucasus.
He didn't want to resort to any tribal ways of dealing with them if it set a less than civilised precedent for an armed force in its youth that needed to become sharp and strict. 'But the Krogan are tribal by upbringing… Like the Jirralhanea,' He thought mildly, scowling slightly to himself, 'How did the Prophets keep them in line? Executions? Examples?'
He shook his head to push the thoughts aside; neither of those solutions would work here. Although the different species in his army would almost definitely eventually specialise down paths more relevant to their physical makeup, he wanted to ensure that they could all generalise and work together like a well-oiled machine in any required environment.
Species divisions and cultural competitions would not do in his ranks. 'Urdnot Groden is the more mature or the two Krogan…' John added mentally, deciding that he would need to have an aside word with the lumbering creature to work out the best way to dissolve the cultural trappings that the Krogan on Caucasus still carried.
"Why Palak?" John queered, clearing his thoughts on the Krogan to move on to the next issue.
"He's a Batarian…"
John's brow clenched in surprise, as far as he was concerned, that didn't make a whole lot of sense. Omega's chancellor was a Batarian, and he had won over seventy per cent of the popular vote to get in.
Forti seemed to read his hardly shown lack of understanding. She cleared her throat quietly, "Fifty per cent of all crime on Omega was committed by Batarians, Sir."
"But he's not a criminal? Or a former Merc?" John asked, already knowing the answer.
During the exodus of Merc's from Omega, most small-timers had jumped aboard to keep with their illicit career paths and those that hadn't had been rounded up by Kandros's Talon forces and put on public trial and execution.
"Sir… You know that the recruits all listen to you…" Forti answered, likewise recognising that the Spartan knew the truth. "So if you tell them to listen to a Batarian, they will… But they probably won't like him. I think some of the Humans and Salarians like him…"
John clenched his jaw. He wasn't in the business of making a utopia, and for all intents and purposes, as per Forti's explanation, that was an ideal result, given the recent history of Omega. But Caucasus wasn't going to be Omega, and John wanted to make sure that he could head off any issues before they ever evolved into something that he couldn't yet perceive in the future.
"Then we'll have to perform gruelling training to break down those barriers."
Forti paled, but clenched her jaw and nodded. After a beat, she licked her lips and went on, "Solus, because apparently, he had wealth, some of the recruits don't really respect him, they just trust his intellect."
John snorted, despite himself, and nodded, "That means nothing here, they'll all learn that soon enough."
"Sir," Forti said, nodding again.
John eyed her keenly and pressed his lips into a thin line, and she held his gaze while keeping her neck arched. He nodded again, the small Asari's stature was clearly no impediment to her backbone, and he saw that she was likely going to work twice as hard as anyone else to earn her position.
"When you head out, bring Urdnot Groden into this class, I need a word with him."
"Sir," She answered.
John looked up and away from her and surveyed the class. A full half were looking at him expectantly while the other half who were closest to the rifles were still interested in the device of death. An edge of humour pulled the corner of his mouth a millimetre.
"You will not be performing weapons training today."
They're eyes widened in silent disappointment, and John lifted his left wrist, his omni-tool activating around his armoured gauntlet, and he interacted with it to switch on all of the rooms' holographic projectors.
"However," He continued and slightly hefted his rifle upward to indicate it, "For this exercise, you'll want to make note that the effective range of the BR85 is nine-hundred and fifty meters and you'll be carrying no more than five or six magazines."
John spoke with Miranda late into most evenings. Many of those discussions inevitably became conferences including Tutela, Musa, and Hales either in person or via uplink, planning for a ground war with the Reapers.
Hales and Musa both had the same experience with war; applying systems that they had built being rolled out for mass usage. Most of the discussions they were involved in, they remained relatively silent and just added their thoughts wherever seemingly prudent.
On the other hand, Tutela had been a Commander in the Asari republic for a time and had been involved in quelling multiple pirate rebellions. But even the staunch Asari assented that her experience toward the kind of warfare they were anticipating was negligible.
On the other hand, John had experience fighting against a world-destroying enemy who performed planetary invasions and orbital warfare regularly. If his analysis with the others was anything to go by, the Reapers military might likely didn't stack up to what the Covenants' had been.
So working with Miranda's experience with and intelligence on the Reapers, they had been constructing war simulations of what Reaper landings might be like, just as much to prepare themselves as to train their recruits.
The thought briefly brought Miranda back to John's occipital lobe, and he flinched recalling seeing her face just three hours earlier with dark lines from her eyes down her cheeks and stress wrinkles around her mouth. She was working extreme overtime for a Human not modified in the same way he was.
He knew that she was relying on uppers to stay focused when drawing closer to the precipice of collapse to fatigue.
His nose wrinkled; overlooking Miranda's growing exhaustion because of his growing reliance on her as a commander, comrade, and friend was an oversight that he couldn't allow to become an issue.
"Forti." He grunted harshly under his breath, not intending to sound angry, but his own dissatisfaction with himself colouring his tone.
"Sir?" She asked, suddenly more concerned, and she stepped closer, sensing his desire to keep whatever this was between them.
"After your work detail is done tonight, come to my command module. You'll be sitting in on our strategy and briefing sessions from now on."
"Sir," She assented curiously. Sensing that was it, she smiled lightly and took a single step back, and John once again regarded his class, now obscured through the holographic projection that occupied the space in front of him and between the rows of benches.
He tapped at his omni-tool again, and the white cityscape grew smaller and smaller until the skyscrapers that had submerged the class in photons sat as a palm-sized cluster as John's chest height. Three red Reaper holograms blinked into existence near the ceiling, at a scale that suggested they were in a low orbital approach position, and John spoke.
"This is what we expect a Reaper ground invasion to look like, and the city is a city on Earth called New Mombasa."
A Turian hand shot up three rows back.
"Yes, Recruit?"
"Sir, I thought that we were developing ships for orbital warfare?" The unconcerned Turian voice asked quizzically.
"We are," John nodded. "And you are all taking tests to decide which of you will be the first selected to crew the ships. But right now, we need to assume that there will be landings, and how we'll contest them."
The raised hand lowered, and the Turian didn't speak further, and many heads nodded. After a beat, John continued, and the holographic red Reapers hurtled down. The city's holographic representation grew and grew until the mechanical cephalopods fired their main armaments into their points of impact before hitting the ground in plumes of debris and smoke.
"The Reapers primary objective is to harvest biomatter," John explained. He paused the simulated landing and stepping around it to the side so that the class could see him pointing at the machines that rivalled the skyscrapers of New Mombasa, a city that he'd selected both for the nostalgia and for the knowledge of its cascading population.
"They likely expect that military opposition will be minimal, compared to their weapons and armour. The battle of the Citadel showed how many standard ships of the line are needed to take down a single Reaper, so they will more than likely ignore military targets and land in the cities."
The hologram drew back, and a wash of red dots started to spread out from the landed Reapers, down the streets and into buildings.
"We also know that they carry both aerial fighter drones and converted ground units, at this stage, we only know about the Human husks and the Collector insectoids, there might be more. Their main goal is likely going to be to collect the population and to take out Alliance military ground targets trying to stop them."
John tapped his omni-tool again, and lines of green triangles appeared in streets, and green craft zipped over the rooftops.
"According to our analysts," John said, halting and raising a brow at how easily he'd identified the scientific and commanding members of Caucasus as belonging to the colony. He smirked slightly and continued, "The Alliance, and any other military faction, are likely to deploy the way that they always do with a standard barricade and blocking manoeuvres."
Another hand shot up, this one was projected through the back wall of the room, from someone in a different class, "Recruit?" John acknowledged.
"Sir," The deep rumbling voice of a Krogan travelled through the interconnected comms. "There's a rumour that you fought… Errrr zoombies? They were worse than Husks?"
John had mentioned the flood only a handful of times since being on Caucasus. Going by how word usually travelled back in UNSC bases, he wasn't surprised to hear that a discussion with Cathryn Hales had leaked from the labs to the recruit population.
The Flood's mistaken naming to an attempt at saying zombies didn't bring John any of the mirth that it gave to the range of recruits who snickered quietly at the mispronunciation.
"The Flood," John corrected grimly and nodded. "They assimilated biomatter as well, but through a different process to the Reapers. The Alliance are likely to treat this invasion like they would a typical pathogen by blocking it, but that won't work with this kind of enemy."
"We won't set up defensive lines?" Another recruit asked from a different room without raising a hand.
John drew the hologram back and set it into simulated motion at quarter speed. The swarm of red overwhelmed the rows of green blocks bit by bit until none remained, and more red spread and the view started to focus onto a large highway drawing away from the city.
Finally, at the city limits, the view stopped, and a mass of blue dots appeared with several larger blue squares behind them.
"We will land at the outskirts of a city," John explained. "With our limited numbers, we can't risk an all-out assault, and using highways, we can funnel civilians away from the cities toward more defensible military bases where they might be able to get evac. We need to assume that we won't be able to destroy Reaper targets from the ground unless we board them and that their ground units will offer the greatest resistance up close. So our initial objectives will be to get as many civilians as possible out on the highways."
John cast his eyes from the holographic display that showed the towering Reapers lumbering through the forest of glass and metal towers. Alliance green battled Reaper red distant to where Caucasus blue was on a central highway corralling civilian white dots away from the invasion.
He compressed a button, and a spike of red suddenly splashed down the streets from the city centre toward the highway to cut off the Civilian evacuation.
The Spartan caught a range of scowls at the simulation, and then explained, "Odds are, it won't take long for the Reapers to catch on and send an attack at our operations…" He slowed and looked across the class, and they looked away from the display to him with many faces contorted and biting lips. "Your lesson for the next three-hours is to plot what our tactics will be on the ground, and for everything that you do with our units, the simulation will respond. At the end of the class, I will show you what the command team has already designed, are we clear, Recruits?"
"Sir!" The warriors in training bleated enthusiastically. The holographic projector in the ceiling cut off, only for the benches' micro ones to light up and project miniature versions over the desks that the recruits could interact with.
The students of war all started muttering quietly amongst one another and poking at the displays. Various cries of disagreement started to sound, and before John could speak up, Forti mustered all of her experience running an industrial scale kitchen and bellowed.
"YOU WILL DISCUSS YOUR PLANS CIVILLY!" She glared hotly at the recruits, daring any to disagree. Finding that none did, she cooled her expression and nodded, "If you disagree on something, then you defer to your squad leader, and they will choose."
John watched the small Asari and his eyes creased in satisfaction. She was already parroting the command style that he had used to teach her and the other Lieutenants in training down the ladder to increase the command efficiency.
The room's quiet faded a moment later, and chatter resumed, but this time without any raised voices of dissent.
The class continued in the same vein of motion for another few hours, John remaining silent and walking up and down the rows of connected desks to look over the plotted plans. He found the chatter, and the resulting plans from the discussion, to be the most interesting part of their strategy session.
Forti excused herself midway through, going about John's ordering of gathering half of the Lieutenants and heading off for their labour detail to exercise servant leadership with those bellow them. He almost didn't notice when Urdnot Groden entered and took a silent at ease position by the doorway.
A majority of the plans met failure in the face of the simulated Reaper counterattacks. Regardless of the failures, John was pleased to see almost all of the recruits making a notable attempt to incorporate as much imagination into their strategies as possible.
When One-PM announced itself with a chime, John hit a control on his omni-tool, and all of the simulations on the desks froze and autosaved to the squad working on it.
"You'll go over these this evening with the entire battalion, Recruits. Assembled in your squads on the parade ground and prepare for the daily work detail. Get a drink, pack some rations."
"Yes Sir!," They all called, and in an orderly fashion, they rose and marched row by row out of their isles, starting with the first row, and out of the classroom. John watched them go with the still silent Krogan standing patiently by the door, and when the last one exited, John followed and stopped outside the door on the tarmac.
The five hundred recruits were jogging in an orderly non-rushed fashion across the tarmac, toward the several story high rectangular fabrication structure in the middle of the base, where they veered right around it to head toward the mess and commons area.
The motley-grey camo uniforms that they all now wore overrode the fact that they were all of such different builds, and they moved like a united force under the rays of Epsilon Eridani that conspired to wear them down.
The sound of boots behind the Spartan brought John around. Urdnot Groden was waiting just outside the doorway, looking into the near distance with his chin raised. His rust-red cranial crest glinted in the sun, and his cream-coloured scales glinted dully.
"Sir, you requested me," He grunted through lumbering jaws.
John regarded the Krogan in interest for a moment. The finer scales around his eyes were twitching, and John noted the musky scent that the alien was exuding, 'Aggression pheromones…' He thought without expressing any reaction.
"Krogan don't take naturally to orders," John said flatly.
Groden blinked in surprise at the blunt statement, and his eyes drew from the near distance and looked into John's pale-skinned face being punished by the sun and quickly turning a light pink.
"I've read Krogan history…" He continued, narrowing his eyes. "Krogan used to be organised, used to be less tribal. If the Krogan here don't all conform to this training, then you go. Understood?"
Groden's blinking at the unexpected berating came faster, and his brow drooped and the scaled skin across his face crinkled.
"We're here for the future you offer!" The Krogan ground hotly.
John raised a single brow, and Groden clenched his fists by his sides. "Sir," He forced out, and then clenched his jaw and briefly screwed up his face. "The Krogan aren't just a bunch of Pyjacks! The galaxy needs to see that!"
"Then why not go back to Tuchanka? Clan Urdnot has already unified your homeworld."
Groden scowled deeply, and a rumbling sound came from deep within his chest, but he contained himself, hissing instead of roaring, "Just more of the same, once the Reapers are gone, they'll just go back to killing each other. The Krogan need a better future."
"And that's here?" John contested.
"YES!" Grodan growled loudly and then winced while flexing his fists open and closed, "Sir… It is," He added more quietly, meeting John's bright blue eyes with his own blood-red irises.
John nodded slowly and slightly raised a brow.
"Did you know that so far, ninety-per cent of Recruits complaints have been about the behaviour of Krogan, and because I put you and Fraker in Lieutenant positions, they expect you to be the ones to do something about it."
Groden growled deep in his chest, and he shook his head, "Sir… You come from people more civilised than the Krogan… You can't make them civilised just by treating them that way."
John's lips pinched together momentarily. This was precisely what he had expected, but hoped not to hear. "Tell me how to bring them all into line."
"You can't," Grodan lamented in a growling hiss. "Not with that," He completed with a nod with his head.
John frowned, noting that the Krogan had nodded at him, and then his brow clenched, "My armour?"
Groden nodded, "It's power armour, isn't it? Everyone thinks so."
"It is," John agreed.
"They follow you because you're strong, and you represent something different… But," Groden halted, snarling as he did and shaking his head, "They all think the armour makes you artificial, and they can't contest you because of it, but they can't believe you're as strong as they hope because of it either."
John nodded slowly and briefly looked over his shoulder after the last squad of recruits disappearing around the fabrication building. He looked back, finding Groden glaring hotly at the ground in an expression that John thought could be shame.
"So I need to let them challenge me without my armour on?"
Groden looked up sharply, "Sir!" He hissed in surprise and anger, "You'll… They'll…" He shook his head and gritted his teeth. "You're Human, Sir!"
John remained impassive.
"Sir… You'll get killed!"
John remained impassive for another minute until the heat left Groden's gaze and was replaced by a mixture of flinches, anger, and concern. "This behaviour isn't acceptable, so this will be a one-time event to iron it out." He explained coolly.
Groden's eyes widened again, and he shook his head.
John continued unabated, "After your duties, this evening, gather all of the Krogan, and only the Krogan, assembled outside my module."
"Sir… You're…" Gorden shook his head, and then snorted a throaty laugh, and he smiled wryly at his superior with a nod, "You've got a quad, Sir… Consider it done."
John nodded simply and then rotated and jutted his chin in the direction of the common rooms on the opposite side of the base hidden by the fabrication plant. "Go get your lunch, you'll be in my class watching over the next half of the recruits doing the same lesson."
"Yes, Sir," Groden said without any ire in his tone. He stepped around John's bulk and took off at a jog across the tarmac.
X
"Dammit…" Miranda hissed under her breath, wincing as she did. She lifted her leg for another stride, hissing again, but continuing ahead of the column of recruits. She forced herself to move without any sign that she was in pain, and all the better if the recruits knew that was the case.
The obstacle course was complete, and she had done as John had described would be best to help forge these Omega bred recruits into diligent and loyal soldiers. She had split her time between dishing out instructions and orders and performing labour alongside every squad.
She chuckled through a wince, making her aching lungs briefly freeze. The chuckle drove the ache back to the forefront of her mind and contested the muscular pain down her hamstrings and calves from bending and lifting large logs with the physically smallest squad to step up and show that a leader should step in and be active and help.
Her father had summoned himself to her mind throughout the day – or at least, Miranda's tyrannical subconscious had, and he returned again. She ignored the various aches and pains in her body and let her ironic laugh come out again.
'Seriously… What would the high and mighty Henry Lawson think of me now?' She thought with the mirthless laugh and wince. She was dressed in what had become her norm; black cargo pants that were fitted tight around her ankles, black boots, grey sweat-soaked singlet, and a peaked fabric cap to shade her face with her hair tied into a ponytail whipping across her back.
Her stature was broadening and strengthening. The femme fatale element that her father had so admired in his creation had been shed to revealing the true potential of the genetic tailoring process for perfection.
Gone was Miranda's thin but curving form, replaced with functional and athletic muscularity which still gave her a feminine shape and curvature, but made it clear that she was ready to work hard and endure in any environment.
Miranda knew that she was looking more and more like a born commando, and despite her ideas to the contrary of the image hardly a year ago, she found herself admiring what she was becoming more and more.
She took every chance to inspect herself in the mirror when she wasn't too exhausted to care, and she felt freer and freer from the being that her father had always desired.
Oddly, or perhaps, not oddly, despite losing a majority of the little body fat that she had, she hadn't lost a gram of tissue off her breasts. She hadn't quite known what to feel about the visual note of that, other than at first feeling happy about that, for the fact that her breasts had always made up a large part of her completed visual symphony, and they felt like an emotionally important element of herself.
But it made another single fact uncomfortably clear; an element of her genetics was working to ensure that her breast tissue remained unchanged, which resulted from her father's work. It had made Miranda's skin shiver to think that her father had gone to such an effort to ensure his daughters' breasts were a particular way.
The thought was incestuous and frightening and only added fuel to the resentment that Henry Lawson was in the middle of in Miranda's heart.
But she knew, as much as she had taken, physically and mentally, to this new version of herself, and this new lifestyle, she was pushing herself too far. It had only taken two weeks for the recruits who already revered John for his actions on Omega to come to hold her in a grasp of unanimous respect.
She committed herself to learn everything that John said about idyllic military leadership and applied it at every opportunity. If anyone was ever going to commit themselves to be perfect at something, it was her.
She glanced over her shoulder at her recruits. They were moving much the same as herself, dragging their feet but forcing themselves to appear as unfazed as possible. Their heads were almost all down and sweat-soaked through their grey camouflaged uniforms, but no audible complaints or cries were issuing from the group of five-hundred.
The ones at the front, mostly Turian, noticed Miranda looking back at them, and they immediately made an effort to straighten and move as though they were fresh out of bed. Each of them winced but forced themselves to stick at it, and Miranda smiled thinly at their effort and waved a dismissive hand at them before looking straight again.
The base loomed ahead, and Miranda silently yearned for the rest that it promised, whilst also dreading the difficulty that she knew would come with it. John wasn't a man who liked to slow down, take breaks, or ease up when momentum was in his grasp.
Miranda couldn't blame him for that approach either, so long as he didn't push it too far. She had witnessed how that constant momentum helped propel the recruits forward – it was just her own obsessive need for perfection that was driving her too far.
She led the column along the final stretch of road before turning right and marched passed John's command module and quarters, and she stopped just in front of the doorway and faced the fabrication plant across the tarmac in the middle of the base.
She waited for several minutes for the recruits to move by her and to begin to form up before coughing to clear her throat, licking her lips, and then calling just lough enough for them all to hear her in the gentle breeze that swept along the late-afternoon lit valley.
"B-Company, form up!"
She waited for them to do as ordered, knowing that they would do so diligently as they had since John's drilling had sunk in. She took a moment to look skyward as the blue in the atmosphere started to shift a dark purple, and the dock structures in low orbit high above started to become more visible.
The air was damp with evening moisture rising from the valley, giving the sky a hazy look that slightly obscured the view. Animal calls that had initially given Miranda cause for concern, but now made her think of the lumbering native herbivors with interest echoed from down the valley, well beyond the limits of their work areas.
She distantly heard the sound of John's gravelly and collected voice through one of the classroom doors to B-Company's flank, and despite not being able to make out a word of what he'd said, her lips pulled into a small smile.
Miranda's brow creased as she realised the expression that had come unexpectedly, and she felt a wave of indignation that a part of her subconscious had caused her to react without analysing whatever it was that had caused it.
On cue, and as always, perfectly timed, all of the classroom doors opened, and the other five-hundred recruits filled out neatly. A-Company marched across the tarmac and formed up next to be B-Company, and John moved in their wake.
She fought the small smile and settled for a smirk as he rounded the formation and came to a stop beside her. He looked across the formation, hands clasped together on the small of his back with his helmet dangling from one, and nodded at the group, "Looks like you worked them hard."
Miranda arched a brow and hardly shifted her posture to look at him out of the corner of her eye.
He looked down at her in a similar manner, and the left side of his face creased into momentary amusement before turning to a contained look of concern, "Looks like you worked yourself hard, Miranda."
Her brow arched again, and a flutter passed through her heart. Was he noticing her wellbeing? 'Dammit, Miranda… Stop idealising him like that,' She mentally lamented at the thought of him extending his character that little bit further.
His social progress was halting, and unusual by any standards to which she was accustomed. It made Miranda see him increasingly as a man whose life was turned into what it had to be turned into, but at the cost of him never learning to be the man that the birth mother he had once speculated about would have wished for him to be.
That other man was emerging, breath by breath, Miranda decided again; to explain the flutter that his concern for her made her feel.
"I need a break, I know," She agreed, rolling her shoulders and looking more the image of a military commander for it. "After tomorrow-"
"-You'll be assisted by Lieutenant in training Forti, she'll be coming into our briefings so you can have a break."
Miranda's brow rose in surprise, and she craned her neck to look at him thoroughly at his interruption. He looked down at her after a moment, and his eyes shone in the late afternoon dimness, and Miranda pressed a thin smile, "Thank you, John… I'll- Ahh- I guess try to get more than three hours sleep a night."
John smiled wryly and nodded, "I'll assign Flo to watch you in the labs and making sure you don't access any data, if I have to."
Miranda rolled her eyes and smirked, but then looked back to him to find a mixture of genuine concern and curiosity dancing in his gaze, and she realised he was partially serious. The element of cheek mixed in, as small and subtle as it was, warmed her, and she licked her lips and nodded, not breaking their gaze.
"I'll take a week off studying the schematics and reading extranet reports… I- Ahh- I'm worried about what's going on out there… Things are getting strange, and I'm worried about Oriana."
John bobbed his head, "Another two weeks, Miranda. We'll get her then, keep her and her family safe here."
Another flutter went through Miranda's chest, and the thin smile she wore grew softer, and her eyes arched with it. 'Dammit… Miranda… Stop it!' She chided herself mentally, but instead said, "Thank you, John. I trust you."
Her heart fluttered again as she spoke the latter part, and the opposing side of her inner voice seemed to smile at the one that was telling her to not feel anything. He let a relaxed smile - small as it was - claim his lips and just reach his eyes before he took a single step forward and looked across the assembled battalion.
'He saved your sister… Got rid of your fucking devil-born father, offered to give you a place, a new way of life, a new you, and to keep your sister safe… What's so wrong with being at least a little bit interested?' She asked herself, watching as he clenched his jaw and moved away from her to walk up and down the grid of assembled recruits.
A full half of them looked absolutely exhausted, just having come off the work shift, and the other half looked marginally less exhausted, but they all stood straight and at attention.
'Maybe it's that he doesn't seem to get what relationships would be? Hmm?' She asked back to the voice in her head, and then pressed a thin smile as the image of Cortana came to mind and the moment where John's fists had clenched and his body had vibrated in silent shaking.
The faraway look of loss that he wore when he spoke of his Spartans, or even his real mother, or that childhood friend with whom he'd watched the stars, came to mind next.
'He does… He's just… Abstracted from it,' Miranda answered herself, and finally, John came to a halt ahead of her again, facing the recruits.
"Good job today," He called loudly, and their faces all relaxed at the acknowledgement of their efforts. "Lieutenants in training Forti and Urdnot, step forward."
Like the rest of their rank, the two John called for were already at the front of the formation, and they took a single step forward.
"The rest of you, go wash up and have a meal, I expect you all back out on the parade ground in three hours to complete the strategy lesson in the class today! Dismissed!"
Miranda smiled tightly. Every face that she could see didn't seem daunted; they seemed pleased, excited even, to complete their studies, and she wondered if John realised just the level of hope and opportunity that he had made available to the once Omega residents.
Squad by squad, the battalion fell out of formation and marched in neat, if slightly relaxed, rows toward the mess halls and common rooms, until only John, Miranda, and the two Lieutenants in training remained.
"Groden," John called the Krogan forward, and Miranda raised a brow at the Krogans requested presence.
She knew that the Spartan didn't per se favour any particular recruit. Still, Forti was consistently proving herself to be the better and more mentally and socially capable people person and leader. So for the Krogan, the most moderate Krogan on the base, no less, to be present, meant that John was dealing with a Krogan issue.
"Yes, Sir?" Groden rumbled throatily.
"After the Krogan have had a meal, gather them and meet back here."
'Definitely a Krogan issue…' Miranda thought, and Groden threw a sharp salute, which still managed to surprise Miranda. The Krogan spun on the spot and marched away, and Forti stiffened in anticipation of it being her turn to be addressed.
"Forti, you're with us. Relax a little too; you don't need to be so strict in this setting, and think of Miranda as your mentor here."
Miranda blinked in surprise and raised her brows at John, and she found him with the edge of his lips tilted into a tiny smirk, creasing his skin. She rolled her eyes at his strategy to give her a little more relaxation time and looked to the Asari, who was a full head shorter than herself.
"Captain!" Forti threw a strict salute as Miranda looked upon her, and Miranda smiled softly.
"No need for that now, Parvel," Miranda eased out the Asari's first name.
Parvel blinked in surprise and looked uncertainly at John. The Spartan waved the broken discipline away, and the Asari nodded slowly, "Sir- Ahem," She cleared her throat, "Miranda…" She continued, smiling nervously, "You're the best- Second best… Commander I've ever served."
"Hah, aren't I only the second Commander you've ever served?" Miranda snorted a laugh, and Parvel scowled and laughed too.
"I worked for an Elcor for a while…"
"Right," Miranda smiled wanly and crossed her arms over her chest with a nod, "I hear they're hard to work for…"
Parvel nodded enthusiastically while still standing at attention despite her expressions having softened. "I'll put it differently Cap- Miranda… You're a really good Commander, a lot of the women here look up to you."
Miranda's brow ridged in surprise under the cap that was keeping her hair neat, and Parvel hurriedly added more.
"Solus told us about your time on the Normandy… That you were Cerberus… And now, you're this!"
Miranda's lips tightened, and her eyes narrowed. That damned Salarian doctor had naturally spoken to distant family about her. Likely everyone else on the ship as well, to some extent, and now even that had followed her here.
"Don't feel bad about it, Cap!" Parvel asserted quickly at the expression Miranda wore. "Solus said that you weren't some racist or anything… But we just find you impressive, becoming what you have, doing what you do, fighting the Collectors, turning on Cerberus. Haven't you noticed we work harder when you're in command?"
Miranda arched a brow at that and glanced to John. He seemed to be a mixture of amused and concerned, but he remained silent, and Miranda knew precisely what he was thinking. "I think that the recruits should work just as hard regardless of who's in command."
Parvel blinked and then blushed, and smiled apologetically at John, "Chief! Ahhh… We all work hard for you too-"
John waved a gloved hand dismissively, and pressed a mock scowl, "As long as you apply yourself, I'm happy to hear Miranda inspires you."
Both women briefly frowned in surprise, but Parvel smiled anxiously and nodded, "Thank you, Sir."
"Come on, Parvel, step in," Miranda said with a directional wave toward John's command module, and then stepped in that direction herself.
John shadowed her to the building, and they entered through the only door on the end with Parvel hanging back anxiously. The door admitted them, and they found two occupants already waiting around a rectangular table that sat in the middle of the situation room.
Tutela raised her brow at the entrance and then wrinkled her nose, "Lawson, you reek, why haven't you washed up yet?"
Parvel's face was struck with abject horror at the insulting sounding observation, and Miranda just chuckled while John snorted, and Miles Musa chuckled throatily.
"I will soon, just wanted to check in on the progress."
Musa and Tutela shared a glance, "Data logs show that you check the feed every twenty minutes, Lawson…" Musa snorted, "You're probably more up to date than I am."
Miranda rolled her eyes, but John beat her to the punch. "I'll need her help in a moment, but she's not allowed access to the scientific journals or extranet data feeds for the next week."
"Really?" Tutela asked, raising a brow and crossing her muscular forearms over her firm chest expectantly.
Miranda's lips quirked into a glum-looking smile, and she shrugged nonchalantly, "Chief thinks I need a break-"
"-Pfft, 'bout bloody time," Musa snorted, shaking his head. "Have you seen yourself, Lawson?"
Tutela nodded, "I agree." She immediately raised her omni-tool, tapped a control, and then spoke into it, "Doctor Hales, you are to immediately restrict Miranda Lawson's access to all data feeds except her emails for the next week. She is on forced R&R."
The overly curious Doctor's voice started to reply, but Tutela cut it off by waving off the device and smirking. Her eyes shone with amusement and care, and Miranda decided to just sigh around a tired smile.
A brief silence filled the room, Tutela and Musa sharing another subtle glance and looking to the out of place Lieutenant in training before looking to John. Miranda headed to the back of the room, right of the table that sat near the externally reflective glass wall that looked across the base toward the fabrication plant.
She stopped at the bench there and flicked on the tap. She collected a cupped handful of water, splashed her face twice then flicked the water free, and retrieved a glass to fill. She turned back just as John cleared his throat and started speaking while stopping at the opposite side of the table from the other two occupants who'd been waiting.
"The recruits training is still progressing on schedule." He nodded sideways at the uncertain looking small Asari. "Forti is here to step up her responsibilities, she's ready for that."
"And the Krogan issue?" Tutela mused, nodding at the glass wall with a raised brow, "We overheard your order to Groden."
"I'm resorting to a tribal Krogan behaviour, just once," John grunted, his voice mildly aggravated. "But no other recruits will be allowed access to it. They will be free to be prejudiced and behave as they see fit within sensible laws when their term of service is over, but while they're here, I need to find ways to iron out their issues."
"Good-bloody-luck with tha'," Musa grumbled with a derisive snort.
"You're going to fight them, hand to hand?" Tutela deducted with narrowed eyes. Then her brow clenched, "But they wouldn't do that if you're in that armour…"
John nodded, and Miranda watched Parvel's face morph into surprise. She withheld her breath of laughter, likewise finding it hard to imagine the soldier without his armour. The recruits had all met him without a helmet on. Miranda, on the other hand, had known him for longer with the helmet than without, and it wasn't until he'd taken it off that she'd truly humanised him in her minds eye.
"Hope you're just as strong under that armour…" Tutela grunted a mirthless laugh, but then scowled, "Seriously… Goddess… What if you get hurt? I'm ex-military, but I'm no trainer, not like you."
"I'll be fine," He shrugged, predictably, and the corners of Miranda's lips pulled her dimples deeper.
Had it been Shepard saying that she'd have been highly doubtful, certain even, that he would get hurt. Hell, when he'd awoken Grunt without any backup or supervision, Shepard had been hurt. Thankfully for the Spectre, all of the bruising had been under his clothing, so h'd been saved the embarrassment of admitting to his crew that he had acted impulsively.
But all the same, she'd have voiced concern about him taking such an action. Not with John, though. Fine and hurt meant entirely different things, and hurt, for him, she could tell was something else monumentally different to the average sentient, and she knew that he would be fine. The confidence of the statement made Miranda feel emboldened.
"Any word on that Geth?" She chimed in, then pressed her glass to her lips and gulped the water down.
Tutela nodded, pinching her lips thoughtfully and sharing a pessimistic look with Musa. "It's holding station a hundred thousand klicks out from the docks, as ordered."
"Ish has been… Hmm, communicating with it," Musa added, likewise pinching his lips and furrowing his brow thoughtfully. "It's been spilling the proverbial beans," He said with a shrug. "Somehow the damn thing worked out that Chief has a history with AI, it wants an alliance with us."
"An alliance…" Miranda echoed.
"-There's a Geth in orbit?" Parvel whispered in horror.
Miranda nodded toward the Asari who no one else had regarded yet, and with a nod of her head gestured for Parvel to approach. The Asari did with an element of uncertainty and then spoke more loudly. "They're monsters…"
"It says that the ones that fought with Saren Arterious were heretics- or… separatists," Musa shrugged.
"And I don't think they really know how to lie," Tutela mused. "And it isn't the last of its kind. Apparently, there are more heretics out there. It wants them to be repurposed back to their original code."
"We'll see by tomorrow, there are six target locks on it right now, and it can't attack or escape. I think it's telling the truth," John shrugged and then tapped at the domed device in the middle of the table. A hologram of the fabrication plant filled the tabletop with ten rectangle shapes above it.
He pointed at the blips, "The ore mining drones are keeping up the required resources for the auto-forges to keep working?"
Musa nodded, "There won't be a shortage of resources here for another thousand years, Chief. Nuffin' to worry abou'. Fab-plant is working like a dream. Two of your dropships are a couple of weeks away, they'll be finished in time to mount one onto the haulier when it's ready. The order for a rifle for each recruit should be completed in a week, and the Doctor says she's almost finished designing armour for non-Human builds to fit your UNSC's standard alloys. There was even a little bit of Eezo left from the supplies on one of the docks to make one of your dropships mass-free."
John and Miranda both nodded along with the report on the various construction projects taking place. Miranda drummed her fingers thoughtfully on her opposing forearm, "And progress is still keeping up on the destroyer?"
Musa's pearly whites answered the affirmative, "A couple'o tiny hiccups, but nuffin' that slowed us down. These ships are designed to take a goddam beatin'!"
Miranda nodded in understanding – not being an engineer or ship designer, her knowledge was limited. Still, if John and his armour was anything to go by, then she wouldn't be surprised if one of his destroyers could take on a whole battlegroup singularly.
"And Omega?" Miranda continued her more politicised line of questioning.
"Things are… Unusual, in the galaxy," Tutela grunted haltingly, her deep voice softening at her thoughtfulness. "Domestically, it's all systems go. The defence force is going as well as you'd expect. More like a militia than an army, but better than nothing."
"Hmm."
All eyes turned to the monolith in the room at his thoughtful grunt.
"Yes?" Miranda asked for the group.
"Secretary, make sure that the next recruiting run for Caucasus gets fresh recruits."
All of the faces frowned in brief confusion until Tutela nodded slowly as understanding dawned in her squinted eyes. "I can do that… Easier to train fresh recruits who haven't been trained wrong?"
John nodded, and a beat later, so did all of the other heads in the room except Parvel's, "But.. They probably joined hoping to get the first chance to come here?"
John cocked his head slightly at the Lieutenant in training, and she gulped, "Sir!" She added quickly and straightened back to parade stiffness.
"Forti, go on," John commanded, and then narrowed his eyes at Miranda's pointed look directed at him. "And relax," he added, finally taking the meaning of what his base commander was saying with her expression.
Parvel quickly looked at Miranda for reassurance, and then slightly relaxed again and nodded slowly, fixing her eyes into the near distance under the gaze of the four rulers of the planet. "When the recruitment call went out, I heard that there were- ahh- like, thirty-thousand applications."
Tutela nodded, "There were thirty-seven thousand," She confirmed to the room.
"So everyone who didn't get into the first training group probably joined the ODF, they probably thought that meant that they'd get to come here sooner."
"You're saying that if we ignore those recruits, that loyalty and morale might suffer?" John requested, and Parvel nodded once quickly.
"Take half ODF and half untrained?" Miranda added to the discussion, arms still crossed and fingers drumming.
"No need," Tutela shrugged, "Most of them would have gone straight into the training reserves. Omega doesn't have the capacity to train more than a few hundred at a time, it won't be an issue, Chief."
The room quietened momentarily. John typically broke what Miranda was sure the others found to be a pensive silence that he likely just saw as an unnecessary waste of time with the next topic.
"You were saying, Defence Secretary?"
Confusion clouded Tutela's face for a second. Then she coughed and nodded, "The Omega Navy is growing, they've been contesting Asari ships passing through the system, and there's a new Eezo trade deal with the Systems Alliance. Might call it a bit of a coup, but there are apparently a few admirals starting to do whatever they like against what their politicians are telling them."
"Don't forget about Bahak," Musa grunted, and then cringed, giving Miranda and John both a tense look, "It's gone, word is tha' Shepard destroyed the Relay there. The Normandy is holding station in Omega docked with an Alliance dreadnought and its entire damn fleet."
"What?" Miranda blinked, frowned, and then blinked again, "Bloody what?"
Musa shrugged, "That's all we know. Bahak was there, now it ain't… Then there's the goddam Asari civil war."
"Bloody what?" Miranda repeated again, looking to John for an explanation that she knew wouldn't come. "How do you know it was Shepard?"
"A little investigative journalism, it's already out on the extranet," Tutela explained. "The last ship to leave a Relay connected to Bahak was the Normandy, then Bahak gets destroyed within minutes of the Normandy departing one of those relays, confirmed by multiple telescopes, drones and comms buoys, ten guesses at who did it."
"There must have been a reason," Miranda shook her head, scowling momentarily at the floor. "Bloody Jacob better be keeping things together."
"So that means there's war with the Batarians now?"
All eyes turned to the Spartan at his natural deduction, but Tutela slowly shook her head, "No, at least… Not reported. Nothing has come out of Batarian space for a few days."
"Why would Shepard destroy that Relay, Miranda?" John asked, suddenly focused on Miranda.
"Why would I bloody know?" She grunted angrily, "Only one thing would be bad enough- Ah…"
John nodded, "This might be the start of the Reaper incursion…"
"What does tha' mean for us?" Musa scrunched his face up, his jowls creased in concern and his thick British accent entrenching in habit as his concern overrode his education.
"Make some safe assumptions…" Tutela said and rubbed at her chin forcefully. "Let's assume that Reapers are twice as fast as any of our ships without a Relay, and it's a safe bet that they started here as soon as Shepard stopped Saren a couple of years ago… Almost three now, how far away do you think that put them, Musa?"
"That makes for an ETA of six to eight months for the next closest Relay to Bahak," John said with his eyes narrowed, and Musa and Tutela both snorted mirthless laughs.
"Keep forgetting tha' the big guy knows numbers," Musa said but nodded. "Yeah, that checks ou'. That means we won't be ready."
Tutela frowned heavily, Musa glared at the hologram of the fabrication plant still on the table, Miranda narrowed her tired eyes thoughtfully at John, and John simply frowned in fleeting confusion at the other two local commanders across the table. Parvel, for her part, was looking with wide eyes at each occupant of the room.
"Optimise the designs of the Slipspace drive for something bigger, Musa. Get Doctor Hales onto that tomorrow. She doesn't need to focus on converting any more designs from the destroyer or the cradle. We'll have two completed destroyers by that time, and the cradle should be finishing by then, and we might be able to get a Slipspace drive large enough to bring Omega here."
Multiple brows climbed foreheads, but it was Parvel who broke the silence, "You want to transport Omega through a different dimension?"
"Yes."
Miranda smirked in amusement and nodded at the simplicity in John's reply, remembering some of his retellings and his recordings, and seeing the mobile alien city High Charity. "And by then we'll have completed training two more battalions, we might even be able to expand upon that if enough of these recruits can turn into good trainers themselves."
"That's madness!" Tutela bleated incredulously across at Miranda. She looked between the raven-haired woman wearing the cap and the impassive face of the gigantic man who only frowned at her.
"Nah," Musa said, shaking his head and pinching his lips together in thought. "The Chief showed us some of his records, remember, sweet-heart?" He asked with an arched brow to Tutela.
The muscular Asari fixed him with a stern look and scowl, heat in her gaze.
"That alien city travelled in Slipspace, so we know it can be done… And I reckon Omega looks smaller, ey Chief?"
John just nodded once, and Musa nodded several times to himself. "Alrigh', I'll go speak to Hales' right now-"
"-You told me that you'd acquired more funding?" Miranda cut Musa off before he could start toward the door.
The dark-skinned man halted, looked up thoughtfully, and then nodded as recognition came to his eyes, "Ahh, that modified omni-tool emitter that Hales came up with for your alien gun, she made one shaped into a sabre. I already reached out to the Alliance to offer a manufacturing contract. We could pump several thousand of them out a day, got a reply right away from Hackett too, so expect his message, Chief."
John nodded firmly, and Miranda suppressed her surprise at the unfolding details. Musa gave everyone in the room a thin-lipped smile and then excused himself. Like before, the silence only lasted several moments before the towering man moved onto the next item of business.
"Defence Secretary."
Tutela's eyes snapped from the distant gaze that'd she'd been drilling into the tabletop beneath the hologram.
"Do you have further intel on the Salarians?" John's eyes narrowed, "Or the Asari civil war?"
"The Salarians?" Miranda asked in place of Tutela. She frowned, and a sudden wave of concern that John was privy to something that no one else was washed through her, "Why would you worry about the Salarians?"
Tutela and Parvel both reflected the same thought in their expressions to John, and his brow clenched in surprise as he looked between them. "The Salarian Union has been involved in every major galactic event in your history," He stated, slowly and with enquiring purpose.
Miranda and the other two women in the room still frowned in confusion at the Spartan's point.
"They have been absent for a couple of months, doesn't that seem unusual?"
Tutela barred her teeth and forced out a sigh, "Goddess… How did we forget about them?"
"There have been a lot of other things to deal with," Miranda contended with a brow arching. "Maybe put that question to Hackett?"
Tutela nodded and raised her hands to massage her scalp crests gently to ease her sudden tension, "We've got nothing on the Salarians… And hardly anything about the Asari civil war. All I know is that Aria T'loak started it… Figures," She snorted. "And there have been ship mutinies all across the republic. I don't think they have any kind of formal communications, from what I've gathered, but I think there's an unwritten agreement to confine their fighting to Thessia. All of the mutinied ships have all disappeared."
John nodded slowly with the intelligence, narrowing his eyes as he did. Miranda sighed and swept her cap from her head and ran her fingers through her sweat-damp hair, "You better get your shuttle back into orbit to guide that Geth down tomorrow. Meeting adjourned?"
"Meeting adjourned," Tutela agreed with a tired and neutral smile. She lifted a lazy salute to John, and he reflected it strictly. Tutela was already halfway to the door by the time that he dropped his.
Several pensive moments passed, and Miranda spared John a glance to observe his stare into the near distance in thought. She pouted thoughtfully and then moved across to the table and the holographic projector in the middle of it, calling the lone Asari in the room forward with a wave.
Parvel stayed half a pace to Miranda's left, and Miranda swiped a thumb over the projector, and the display blinked and changed into a long spear-like superstructure with one dock encompassing each end. "That's the Halberd-Destroyer that's in progress," Miranda described.
"According to our resident mighty futuristic Spartan, it doesn't fly like anything from our reality, but prior piloting and technical experience will still help in training the recruits. We've already designed a simulation to help. If you could help to work out which recruits would be up to the job, then that would make this a lot easier."
The short-statured Asari nodded once, "Of course, Cap-" She halted, wincing a rueful smile at the raised brow that Miranda shot her. "Miranda, I'll get the word out in the morning that you want recruits with flight experience-"
"-Engineering experience too," John interrupted. His presence reasserted itself with his focus, and he reached into the display and pointed to where the reactor would be mounted, "It's mostly automated, but two engineers will be needed at a minimum and another twenty techs for systems maintenance."
"And there are systems manuals to bring anyone up to speed," Miranda added.
Parvel nodded, "Of course, most Omega residents have at least some experience with fixing ships, so that shouldn't be hard. Ahh-" She halted, glancing uncertainly to the Spartan.
Miranda arched a brow again, and John simply looked at Parvel in assent to her desire to ask a question.
"Ahh- Sir… I don't want to be impatient… A lot of the recruits are anxious to start real training…"
A tiny smirk crossed John's lips, but Miranda knew that it was too subtle for the Asari to read, so she issued a more socially readable version of the smirk on her own lips. Parvel caught it immediately and blushed a purple-pink shade across the bridge of her nose, "I'm out of line!"
"I always considered drill to be one of the most important parts of training, Lieutenant Forti," John said. He rolled his shoulders and raised himself in attention. Out of drilled instinct, Parvel replicated the posture, and Miranda smiled ironically at the display.
"The first step to making a soldier out of you," John commended, tilting his head in acknowledgement. "We've covered drill, are covering battlefield tactics, and you're all proficient in emergency first aid. All you need to do is get through weapons handling and step up to simulated combat."
"Sir!" Parvel barked, and Miranda smiled with a focused gaze at the twinkle of excitement that sat in the Asari's green eyes.
"Weapons handling and advanced fitness starts tomorrow," John grunted after a pause, and Parvel's twinkle shone brighter.
"Sir!" She barked again but in a higher pitch.
Miranda swiped at the projector, and the image shifted again to show the simulated battle strategy that John had issued them as a challenge in the classrooms. Like he had with the destroyer, John reached into it and grabbed and dragged sections of the blue formations.
He moved them forward toward the attacking red in pincer movements to cut off their supply of forces. As the red reacted and started to converge on the blue spearhead formation, he pulled it back. He brought several more blue squads groupings into flanking positions on the enemy converging on the initial attack force.
Unlike all of the responses to the simulation that Parvel had seen, and had herself done, John drew quick linear measurement lines for each movement, utilising the range-finding tool to keep the enemy at a maximum effective range of the battle rifles that he'd shown.
As the tip of the red swarm that had been heading for the civilian white on the highway started to draw away from the civilians and toward the armed contestants, John grabbed several more blue squads where they were still formed up at the transports and moved them down the highway to flank around the red mass attempting to absorb the other blue formation that was falling back with overlapping flanking manoeuvres.
The blue reinforcements splashed chunks out of the rear of the red attackers. As the red started to reorientate itself to face the enemy attacking from the rear, John dragged the initial blue squads down several east running streets. A block away from the red forces scrambled to get to the enemy that had outmanoeuvred it, and then he brought them back north into the exposed eastern flank.
Meanwhile, six remaining squads stayed in guarding formations around the civilians as they converged into the transports. Then John started arranging the squads that were assaulting the red forces into lines of prepared flanking positions so that as they fell back block by block they could cover one another and take out forward sections of the attackers.
The pattern continued until they finally reached the highway and John's gestures had them moving more swiftly moving in platoons now rather than individual squads.
Miranda had already observed the simulation's construction. She suspected that the simulation was based more on the Spartans experience with the Flood that he'd mentioned in as few words as possible than what an actual Reaper ground invasion would be like.
And in this case, she was happy to think that their fighting force was training for a more dangerous enemy than what they were likely to face. She looked back up, and the simulation froze with the transports zipping off the screen.
Parvel was eyeing it with her lips pinched, and eyes narrowed. She nodded slowly, "You made a point of describing the Alliance tactics being overly defensive and structured around barricades to show us not to do that?"
"That usually only works in drawn-out engagements when one side has around equal forces to the other, we expect this enemy to only grow with time, and to move faster as they grow, so we can't bog down and draw defensive lines. Aggressive strategies are likely to be the most effective against them."
"I- I understand, Sir," Parvel assented, pressing her lips thin and narrowing her gaze at the active display. "Ah- Sir, would you like me to go and make sure that the Krogan are getting ready?"
"Go ahead, Lieutenant."
Parvel threw a sharp salute, despite her physically apparent fatigue, and marched strictly to the door. It allowed her exit, and unlike how both Tutela or Musa had walked casually in their directions, Parvel jogged hurriedly out across the tarmac headed for the mess halls.
Miranda watched her go for only a few seconds, she raised her left brow at John and tapped her right boot on the floor. It thudded heavily, entirely unlike the fine half running shoe half seductive high heels she used to wear, and she smiled.
Miranda's nerves finally broke through her self-imposed neutrality and her eyes traced the mythologically-technologized armour before eventually rising to settle on his vibrant eyes. She felt small, more than just physically, but her rationality caught up, and she remembered that she was here and in this position at his request, and a sense of purpose swelled in her again, and her eyes arched and her cheeks formed small dimples.
"You need my help for something, Chief?"
He nodded after a beat, clearly not entirely sure how to respond to her coy statement beyond assenting to the truth, and then he crossed the room to the single doorway at the end opposite to the entrance. It admitted him as he grew close enough to trigger it, and Miranda followed him through with her heart thrumming in her ears.
There was a large plate of metal covering his bed, making it more like a workbench than a bed, and Miranda suspected that he hadn't actually used the bed once. The hospital corners looked exactly like something off a military display without a single crease. The metal plate that occupied the bed had five separate electric hand drills sitting ready with differently shaped bits in them.
John leaned forward slightly from the edge of the bed turned bench and relieved his left hand of his helmet, placing it near where the pillows should have been, and then he picked up one of the drills and offered it to Miranda. She took it and pulled the trigger once to test the charge and function.
The tiny star-shaped bit spun and the drill whirred in the affirmative, and Miranda looked back to him with a glint of trepidation. If he saw the hardly hidden anxiety, he didn't show it and instead offered his right arm to her.
Miranda looked over the presented section of forearm armour, searching for screws that would fit the bit. She found them in moments and haltingly lined up the bit before drilling. The receiving parts spun but didn't draw out; instead, the armour section expanded away until a slight hiss of pressure sounded the completion of that particular part.
Miranda bobbed her head, her ponytail swaying across her back with her motion, and she heaved a deep breath to steady her grasp as she moved from one part to the next. In minutes John gestured her back half a pace and grasped the armour from around his forearm and slid it free.
He deposited it on the working surface in the position that his forearm would be in if he were laying down and then offered the opposite arm. Miranda continued, trying to not meet his gaze to show her intense curiosity and anxiety that whatever part of her had conjured refused to rationalise away.
She worked for the next half an hour, moving from offered body part to offered body part until the only armour sections that remained on the soldier were his boots, groin armour, and chest piece.
"Chest next," John advised.
With a hand that seemed unnaturally gentle to the power of the man, he clasped the entirety of Miranda's shoulder and guided her back a step, and then he took a knee so that their head heights were level. Miranda wrinkled her nose and pressed her lips into a thin line, and she met his eyes.
Anxiety rolled through her chest again, but the eye contact conjured the reason forward this time, and she forced a shaky smile. She feared the perfection that she was striving for, and she feared that the idea of John's perfection in her mind's eye would only grow with him out of the suit, as he became more and more human to her, and she would feel even further from it.
"I'll be fine," He said.
Miranda blinked herself out of her thoughts, and the clenched her brow in confusion at his statement.
"Don't worry."
She blinked again and then realised that he thought she was worried about him getting hurt fighting the Krogan, and a laugh burst from her against her wishes. She winced with the smile and shook her head, "It's not that… Bloody perfect genes, my ass!"
John's brow knit in confusion, and Miranda sighed, biting her lip as she did. Her eyes held shut, and she nodded, "You're just… So… perfect… I want to be like you." She completed, whispering the focus of her thoughts.
A flash of surprise expressed in his eyes widening slightly, and then a tiny smile pulled his lips, "No, you don't. You're already better than me."
Miranda scoffed and rolled her eyes, "I doubt that… But, at least you humbled me, I suppose that helped make me better, you-"
"-No," John ground the word out firmly and dipped his head to catch her eyes with his.
Miranda felt caught by the gaze, and she swallowed at the intensity of his eyes. Desire struck through her, but it wasn't like any urge she'd ever felt in the past for anyone. She'd found someone particularly attractive and had the hormonal urge to be frivolous, and she'd acted upon that urge.
But this wasn't that, and her heart swelled with the desire that was more alien than the man in front of her, who for the first time in her experience with him was almost fully humanised. 'He's so much damn better than you… Why can't I be like him? Why couldn't I have been born in his world? To become like him? Is that it?' She asked herself fruitlessly.
She shook her head gently at the thought, set the next drill into place on his shoulder and started on the next bit. 'No… It's that he is better than you, and he thinks you're better than him… Why? Why does he trust me? Why does he want me to do this?'
The section of his shoulder armour hissed, and Miranda immediately moved to the next, and then followed onto where it joined onto the back on his side. Unlike the other armour sections that had either hinged open or loosened for John to slide off himself, the chest piece popped forward, and Miranda caught it on instinct.
"Ooof," She wheezed in surprise, "This thing is bloody heavy!"
A large hand grabbed it and relieved Miranda of the weight, and then he pivoted to place it amongst the other assembled pieces. He shrugged the back half off, and set that over the top of the chest piece, and then stood again to point to the next articles on the sides of his hips.
Miranda got to work without hesitating, but his voice carried over the drill while she worked. "I wish I could be more like you… But I can't."
The left side of his groin armour hissed, and Miranda halted to look up at his downturned face from where she was kneeling.
"More Human…" He added, and then pinched his lips briefly and shook his head.
Miranda smiled quizzically and her brows waggled, and she made a spinning motion with her finger. John rotated on the spot to present her the other hip, "Does that mean neither of us is right?"
She started drilling again, and John remained quiet while she worked from one point to the next. She finished, and like the chest piece, the front section of the groin armour fell forward. She caught it by the hip strap section, over the compartment that Miranda knew held the data crystal, and offered it up to the large man.
He accepted it, pulled the back of the armour from his gluteus, and then placed them on the workbench as well.
"I'm obsessed with being perfect, and in my eyes, you're everything I wish I could be… You're… Well, you're what you are, and you don't know what you should be because your war is over and you're the last of your kind?" Miranda stated thoughtfully.
John only clenched his brow at her, and she started on the two visible fixing points on his boots, while he pressed at thin panels of under armour across his body that clicked free without the outer shell encasing them.
By the time Miranda had released the fixings on the heavy metal boots, the workbench-bed was packed with what remained of the armour sections. She stood up with a thin smile and surveyed the broad muscularly shaped body in front of her, still dressed in a matte black undersuit.
Her brows rose in surprise, and she stepped back a pace when John winced and reached for a slim metal device fixed over the bulge of his groin. His skin paled and crinkled as he compressed a point on it, and then pulled.
Miranda clenched her jaw in disgusted understanding as John drew his hand away from his groin. He pulled a short length of catheter away with it, and a bit more of his reality of what he was made her feel guilty for having just stated her desire to be like him, without having thoroughly thought about everything that meant.
The curious urge to look only reached her eyes, and they darted down, but the synthetic flexible material that wrapped his body had already closed over where the Spartan had pulled the urinary recycling system out. Instead of looking for the further physical tells of Humanity in the ability to tote a sexual organ, like an encouraging part of her curiosity couldn't help but wonder about, she flashed her eyes across the undersuit.
It fitted like a second skin and had rows and patterns of tiny conduits and electrical systems built-in. Miranda realised the undersuit was just as crucial as the outer shell that provided all of the power.
"One last piece."
His voice broke Miranda out of her analysis, and he turned away from her.
"There's a zip on the back of my neck."
Miranda found it immediately with her right hand, and she tugged it down without issue until it stopped just above his buttocks. She took a cautious step back, despite the suit not simply falling away, and bit her lip while he reached for the unzipped flap at the back on his neck with his right hand.
Without any ceremony, the Spartan pulled the suit around his left shoulder and forward, away from his torso, and he tugged and jerked until a pale arm came free, and then that arm repeated the motions on the opposing side.
Miranda's eyes widened, and her lips sat heavy. Her head bobbed slowly as an understanding of his words dawned on her. Thick and thin white and pink lines crisscrossed his back in line with his ribs, scapular, and spine, along with other splotchy scars that looked like they were from heat and energy weapons.
He turned to face her with a tiny smile that said more than any of his words could have, and Miranda shook her head, "I'm sorry… I- I didn't understand."
She didn't understand, even faced with his torso and even more scaring that crossed his entire body. A majority clearly belonged to the procedures that had helped craft him, but there were still dozens of others from what would have been excruciating wounds.
"Hmm," Miranda forced a laugh, shaking her head as she did. "Maybe just I'm wrong… But I'm not perfect."
His muscular shoulders rose and fell, and the striated pectorals flexed unconsciously with action, "I never said you were."
Yet again, Miranda's eyes fixed onto John's, and humour, appreciation, and respect shone from her gaze to his, "I suppose you didn't, did you."
She looked around suddenly and found the single freestanding cupboard with a gigantic set of clothing a lot like her own hanging off it, "You don't want to wash down before getting dressed?" Miranda asked as she raised a brow and lifted the first item of clothing off the top of the folded set.
A pair of briefs that could have fit a Krogan, and Miranda suddenly felt improper holding them. A noise sounded behind her, and she turned instinctively, and a pale blush immediately crossed her cheeks.
John quickly stripped the bodysuit without her noticing and was standing entirely naked in front of her, completely unfazed or concerned about being revealed like he was. He held his left hand forward in a request, and Miranda blinked quickly, gulped without moving her jaw, and offered the briefs too quickly to somehow continue to appear neutral.
John cocked his head as he took them, and then smirked an apologetic turn of his lips while stepping into the underwear and pulling them up, "Sorry…" He stood straight and lifted his left leg and rotated it slightly with a thoughtful tilt to his brow. "Been a long time since I've worn normal clothing," And then another apologetic smile crossed his lips, and humour dappled his eyes, "I'm used to, or was used to, getting changed in barracks. No privacy, so you learn not to care."
"No- Ahh- No that's alright, haha, just surprised me." Miranda blinked, but the shade of pink stayed on her cheeks despite the excuse. The blush only got worse from her inaction, and John moved closer to her to reach around her body for the rest of his clothing.
She smelt his body odour, a musky sweatiness mixed with an antiseptic scent clearly from some kind of compound that his suit used to keep him hygienic. Her heart only beat faster. She forced her reactions as close to neutral as she could, and averted her gaze from the large muscular body stepping into the prepared clothing a meter away from her.
The Spartan dressed quickly, typical of him, Miranda though as the blush gently ebbed. Within a minute, he was standing straight again and was tugging creases from his military black cargo pants, then pressing the hem of his grey t-shirt that looked impossibly stretched into his beltline.
Miranda's eyes crisscrossed him again, seeing him for the first time as the man without the armour, and she appreciated what he must have gone through to become what he was. His body moved lithely, but his muscles were all taught under the fabrics that now topped them; he was clearly neither relaxed nor tense, but something between.
Her full lips pressed into a thin smile to herself, and she found herself entirely uncaring of the fact that John was more than likely keenly aware of the observation that she was making of him. His face wasn't as pale as the first time that she'd seen it, since he now either carried his helmet in one hand or left it in this very room more often than he had it on.
But by all traditional standards, and even compared to her own pearly skin tone, John was still pale. But at the very least, he no longer looked so unwell with his paleness, and his gaunt cheeks had started to fill in from a mixture of a more standardised diet, more rest, and a lot less stress.
His features were still strong and imposing with his high cheekbones and strong brow offering his unnervingly bright blue eyes a bold portrait. His cheeks and jawline were softly shaded a darker tone than the rest of his skin, and Miranda became suddenly aware of the strange fact that he shaved his face daily, but his body hadn't possessed a single hair that she could see – not that she'd looked closely.
He also kept his head shaved, but not in the same style as Shepard's scalp-wide close cut. John's was shaved razor short on the sides of his head with the top several millimetres longer.
The cut gave him a more commanding and aggressive look than Shepard's style. Her imagination immediately imposed the same cut onto Shepard and Miranda realised in a flash that the style was more than likely a choice to represent a certain kind of commanding image.
'Or maybe he's just emulating whoever trained him?' She mused within her mind and then pulled a gentle smile that reached her eyes. He was watching her eyes as she inspected him, Miranda realised in an instant, but she didn't blush or stutter like she immediately feared that she might.
Instead, acting on an impulse that she barely registered, her right hand rose slowly, and she placed it onto the centre of his left pectoral. His muscle twitched under her touch, but then stilled, and she let her smile linger. "We make a good team."
John didn't move for a long moment, and his steady heartbeat reverberated through the shared contact, until his chest finally rose in a deep breath, "We do." He agreed.
But Miranda wasn't sure if she'd made her statement for him to hear, or for herself, and she lowered her hand and gestured to the door behind the towering man with a nod. Even without his suit on, he was still easily head and shoulders taller than her, but now seeing him down to the skin he wasn't as imposing in her mind's eye.
Seeing that he was not born perfect, that he had been remade through surgical mania into what she had at first seen to be Human perfection was another lesson for how she saw herself and him.
Miranda saw the broad resolute man as more man than ever, and less idol, and yet she felt a spark of her inner self idolise him more for it, and realise that perhaps perfection wasn't, and shouldn't, be her goal.
John's eyes were thoughtful and curious, but he turned away from her and strode through the door. Miranda's reverie broke at his not entirely sudden exit, and she nodded to herself in an attempt to reconcile and consolidate her thoughts before making to follow after him.
X
John stood at parade rest with his right hand overlapping his left on the small of his back several meters in front of his command module on Alpha Base's tarmac.
They'd need to conceive a new name for the base, he thought absently while looking directly ahead at the several stories high fabrication plant in the middle of the base.
Sound of machines working thudded dully from its reinforced walls, and John knew that it was the result of Cortana's gift, and his vision, for this new world of his. This wasn't a world where anyone would need to, or should, assign him missions. This was a world where he saw his own visions to be more valuable than those of the people already in power across the galaxy, and Caucasus was the result.
"Ares Base."
John's voice was gravelly and cautious as he spoke his mind, and he looked down to his right. Miranda was standing with a hip cocked, her arms crossed, and was looking at him with a raised brow in question. The expression served to remind John of how exhausted she looked, and a flash of guilt at keeping her strobed through him.
Indecision gripped him, and he parted his lips to change the pace of what he was about to say to tell her to go get a much needed rest but his predictive imagination ran with the thought and he instantly realised that she would reject the suggestions.
He coughed lowly to clear his throat.
"Ares Vallis was the first landing site on Mars, in my world," He explained and narrowed his eyes looking into the near distance. "This isn't an FOB, this is a permanent base, so it should have a permanent name. The landing on Ares Vallis represented the next step in Human exploration and expansion."
"I like it," Miranda said.
John's eyes softened and refocused on his raven-haired comrade. She wasn't all of what he had first thought that she was, and yet, she was, but she was also a lot more. He withheld a scoff at the thought and looked back across the base. Who wasn't a lot more than they first appeared?
All kinds of people possessed all types of layers, and it only took the right circumstances, or the wrong ones, to bring one layer into focus over another. He liked to think that his presence here in this world was getting the best out of those he encountered.
The thought drew his eyes back to her, and she was still looking at him. Her eyes weren't judgemental or afraid, not like the first time that he'd met her. Her eyes were curious, her lips were pouted slightly in a look that he thought was care or respect, it was the same look that she'd had minutes earlier when she'd helped him de-suit and then she'd placed her hand on his chest.
No one had ever touched him like that, as strange as it seemed to him. There was a time when he'd entertained the distant notion of an attraction to Kelly, and she had considered the same unsaid notion back. The same went for most of the Spartans, but none ever did anything about it.
Their lives weren't for that, and they didn't have the time or luxury for it. So the most touching any of them ever did was the occasional hug of support, slap on the back, or brief grip of a hand. Halsey would touch them, and specifically John, in a way unlike the rest of the scientists and med-techs.
Whenever she set her slender fingers against his forearms, wrists, chest, or face, she would let them linger after the purpose of the touch was gone. John wished he could somehow go back and tell her that she didn't need to fear telling her Spartans that she loved them.
They loved her back - in their way - despite the monstrosity of what had been done to them at her behest.
But Miranda's touch had been new, and he'd found himself not disliking it. Unlike Catherine Halsey, Miranda's hand didn't feel frail, it felt warm and strong, despite being much smaller than his own.
Miranda searched his face and eyes, and he had searched hers, and now John was certain beyond a shadow of a doubt that he could trust her like he would one of his Spartans.
Perhaps, even, in some small ways, more than his Spartans. She was trying to reach what was robbed of him, the boy that never got to become a dreamer, the son that had never been able to tell anyone that he cared, the friend that had always wished to protect his first juvenile love.
His mother was long gone. Parisa was long gone. The playground and classrooms that had been the start of his journey were slag, and seemingly the opportunities to be Human burned away with them. But Miranda disagreed.
She'd not said it in as many words as that expanded thought, but she was reaching for his feelings on matters of his past and of the galactic present, and even beyond. For the first time in his life, John would latently commit several minutes out of his day thinking about what the future held.
Until this bold new world, every day it had just been about defeating the Covenant, about saving Humanity. Now… He still intended to save Humanity and as many other species as possible. Still, more importantly, he intended to preserve the idyllic beliefs that he'd been taught about what Humanity represented in the stars.
But he wasn't naive, not like he had been when he'd first deployed. The UNSC and the UEG didn't even represent the ideals they had so strongly espoused, but that didn't mean that John couldn't, which meant that he would become more than just a soldier. It meant the future held more for him than just destroying his enemies.
He would build things and forge this world into a bastion for others who could share in and advance his vision. Miranda heaved a long sigh, drawing John from his thoughts, and he looked down at her. She still looked exhausted, despite the grace in which she managed to hold herself.
The skin around her eyes was darkened, and lines formed down her cheeks, but she still managed to look sharp. Despite John's rebuttal about her being more than what she thought she was, and about her desire to have been born to live as a Spartan in his world, she truly would have made a good Spartan. Still, John was happy that she wasn't, and that he'd met her here and now.
"Here they come."
John was already looking in the direction of the mess halls and sleeping quarters before Miranda spoke. Across the dimming tarmac marched the battalions' Krogan members, all one-hundred and seventy-one of them. He nodded pridefully at the fact that they were marching in neat rows and not rushing.
Despite reported issues with the Krogan adhering to rules from other species, and jostling for position over other species regardless of their current rank, John was partially contented with the fact that they had at least committed his drill training to habit.
Two Krogan headed up the contingent, Groden and Fraker, chanting a deep rumbling marching song of Tuchankan origin. They came to a halt a dozen meters from the two planetary commanders and stood at strict attention.
"Krogan recruits reporting as ordered!" Groden barked loudly from ahead of the grid formation.
John regarded the group silently for a long minute. The dimming evening light triggered the base's sensors to switch on the floodlights, chasing the dimness away. The mechanical sounds from the fabrication plant now contested the sounds of nature until the recent month dominated the valley. With a moment of focus, John could also hear the other recruits' distant chatter coming from the mess halls.
"The Krogans' recent history has been warlike and tribal," John announced, his voice booming over the formation. "I cannot, and will not, allow that history to be a part of Caucasus history. Your history is filled with challenges to prove your power over your adversaries, but, you WILL NOT challenge any of your comrades!"
The Krogan all looked between one another at the tact being taken with looks of confusion and contrition. They only now seemed to realise that the unarmoured giant Human was the same man who'd been training them.
"Tonight will be your single opportunity to attempt to challenge the chain of command, to prove to you that your ways have failed you and that the ways of this colony will not."
A deathly silence stretched over the group, and then Groden slowly elevated his hand, "Sir… You're letting anyone challenge you?"
"Yes," John answered strictly. He didn't emote while looking at the ranging expressions of surprise, anticipation, and excitement. "I am not wearing my power armour, so any challenges would be on a level playing field. Step forward if you want to challenge me."
Fraker stepped forward immediately with a predatory grin splitting his brown features. Then several dozen more Krogan stepped out of their lines and made their way to the front of the formation.
"Good- Heh-" Miranda scoffed mid-sentence, and John regarded her with a raised brow. "You don't need luck. You'll be fine."
He nodded and then released his hands from behind his back and used one to guide her away. Miranda stepped back without contest and edged several meters away. John rolled his shoulders and widened his stance, but let his arms hang loosely at his sides.
"You first, Fraker," John assented.
"HUR-HUR-HUR!" Fraker gurgled his excited laugh and then tucked his almost black crest down and started charging toward the lone Human solder.
John's instincts kicked in, and the charging Krogan appeared to slow down, and he waited. The instant that the attacking reptile came within reach John dropped, caught himself by his hands, spun his whole body, kicked out Fraker's legs, and sent him tumbling along the tarmac.
Fraker roared in surprise and sprung back up and rounded on the Spartan in an instant. John had already stepped forward into his guard, and he lashed his cocked elbow forward into the top of Fraker's crest. The impact sounded with a meaty THWAK and Fraker reeled back swinging his arms wildly.
John waited for the Krogan to establish his footing and widened his stance before lowering his weight. It took the besieged Krogan another minute for his full awareness to return.
Fraker fixated onto John with enraged eyes and roared his earnest desire to fight. Fraker didn't show any recognition of the fact that the Human he was fighting stood a full head taller and was almost twice as broad.
He raced forward again, but not with as much abandon as his initial charge. When he came into reach of the towering man, Fraker slowed and drove his right fist forward in a straight jab aimed at John's face. The attack didn't faze the Spartan; he grabbed the offending wrist, dropped his weight and twisted, hauling Fraker off his feet and sending him hurtling over John's shoulder.
Before Fraker had moved more than half a meter over John's shoulder, he spun and caught the stunned Krogan midair around the neck with his forearm. John reeled the Krogan back in with lightning speed, locked his grip with his other arm and then hefted Fraker clear off the hard ground.
Fraker lurched and gurgled as John restricted his breathing. After a moment of trying to pry the vice grip from around his neck and finding it a futile effort, he started to swing his arms and legs wildly in an attempt to inflict some level of damage.
An elbow grazed passed John's cheek, and a boot almost cracked into his knee. John twisted his torso and dropped his weight and released his hold.
The manoeuvre sent the struggling alien face-first into the tarmac with a thud.
Fraker stilled for a moment before gurgling and pushing himself back to his feet. John remained in his wide-stance position to continue to demonstrate grappling techniques to the undisciplined fighter. Fraker came back to his feet, wobbling slightly on the spot, and dark blood running down his face and dripping off his chin from a large gash across the top of his crest.
He gurgled a roar again and stumbled forward.
"YIELD FRAKER!"
John identified the voice as Groden's. He briefly wondered if the reported problems with Groden might have in fact just been that he was attempting to reign in the other Krogan.
Fraker didn't heed the advice and assaulted John in the same fashion that he had last time. The strikes looked to be coming in slow motion for the Spartan, and he dodged them while getting up close to the Krogan. In an instant from Fraker's assault beginning, John had avoided the three strikes, wrapped his arms around Fraker's middle, and lurched his weight back.
He heaved the Krogan from the ground as though the alien weighed nothing and twisted and released, sending the alien hurtling back-first into the tarmac.
"Guuuuur!" Fraker cried around coughing, "I… I- I- Yeeeeild!"
John straightened and rolled his shoulders. Then, he took a step closer to where his wayward lieutenant in training was blinking blood from his eyes and shaking his head in confusion.
'One down…' John thought while letting his eyes scan the befuddled alien for any severe injuries.
Finding none, John stooped, grabbed the alien by the wrist, and pulled him back to his feet.
"Next." He commanded blankly after Fraker had stumbled back into the formation.
A second Krogan came forward, this one with cream skin and a red crest, and moving with a lot more caution than Fraker had. Rather than let the Krogan set the pace, John moved first and took three quick steps to close the distance. The alien took a startled step back swinging a wild right hook, and John craned his neck to dodge it and struck out with a lightning-fast uppercut into the reptiles chin.
He heard teeth break in the targeted mouth and the Krogan gurgled in pain and surprise while falling back. Unlike Fraker, this one seemed to realise that the initial opening would set the tone for the rest of the fight, and spat a dozen broken teeth out onto the tarmac and grunted his surrender as well.
A third came with a charge like Fraker's, but with fists swinging too, John pivoted from foot to foot backwards to dodge them. He took an extra-long stride back to make more space, and then struck his right leg up and forward in a Spartan-kick, catching the attacker mid-chest and propelling him back into a dizzying roll.
The contests lasted for another forty minutes. John only caught two fists to the body from a single recruit who attempted a mixture of grappling and boxing but went down bloody while John looked the same as he'd gone in.
His chest rose and fell steadily in only slightly laboured breaths, and he nodded to Groden.
The other Krogan Lieutenant hadn't shown any interest in fighting and was instead grinning from ear to ear with a predatory look. John clenched his brow and mentally readied himself for some kind of surprise attack. Instead, the Krogan turned toward the other recruits and pumped a fist in the air.
"We have a worthy leader!"
"RRAAAHGGR" The formation, even the ones who were nursing injuries, all roared in reply.
"We will follow the Master Chief's orders, and we will be everything he says we can be, for a future for all Krogan! UNITED! STRONG! PROUD!" Grodan roared enthusiastically. "We stand above the rabble from Tuchanka! We stand above the Merc gangs! We are not the rabble of the galaxy on Caucasus!"
"CAU-CAS-US!" A single voice chanted from near the back of the formation. Then another unintelligible cry of assent went up before all of the Krogan took up the chant, "CAU-CAS-US! CAU-CAS-US! CAU-CAS-US!"
"Sounds like we might need to think of a motto," Miranda stated matter of factly with a look that said she expected nothing less from this decidedly un-regulation session. She had moved back toward John's side when he felled the final aggressor without making a sound until now.
John nodded with a raised brow, "Suggestions?"
"Iuntus et dignus?" She tried with a thoughtful frown.
John narrowed his eyes, recalling the latin taught in the many lessons in his youth. Miranda was channelling the ideal that John was deeply hoping he'd succeed in creating without realising it, and he smiled tightly and nodded, "Connected and worthy?"
She rolled her lips inward and narrowed her eyes. It was a tiny expression of insecurity over her suggestion. Before she could change her mind or backpedal, John's tight smile grew a fraction wider than he customarily allowed, "It works."
Miranda rolled her lips back to their normally neutral expression fullness, and the smile that didn't quite sit on her lips reached her eyes, and they sparkled while catching his own. More than the rest, something about this day was suddenly feeling like the birth of the future that he couldn't quite perceive yet.
Despite the lack of full perception of it, John felt that it needed protection. Above and beyond him, those who made that future would have his total commitment, whatever that would call of him.
XxxX
"I'm a traitor… An insurrectionist… I-"
"-You're the leader that we need, Hackett. You're just going to have to deal with it."
Two sets of steely eyes met, one set pale blue and the other dark hazel. Councilor Anderson stood opposing Admiral Hackett across the circular blue-lit tactical map in the middle of the Killimanjaro's CIC. Each of the thirty stations around the room was manned, and none of the crew even flinched at the comfortably spoken words from the two highly ranked leaders.
"You tried to talk the admiralty board into it… I tried to talk parliament into it, and it just isn't happening," Anderson continued after the pause, and anger rippled over his face, and he clenched his fists. "We took every precaution that we could to protect Earth, but we need to think beyond Earth, the survival of the species."
Hackett shook his head once with his eyes closed, and he grunted a thoughtless sound under his breath to ease his inner tension. When he opened his eyes again, Anderson reached into the tactical display, and the holographic projectors lifted the map of their surroundings up higher for him to interact with more easily.
The Kilimanjaro was in the middle of the display with a small green ship docked to its port side. Three-hundred and fifty other green-lit ships of varying size were clustered around them, and beyond that were white chunks of space rock listing lazily through space.
Not far beyond the closest white rocks was a gigantic blue one, with its own cluster of blue ships of random makeup. All of Fifth Fleet held station near Omega in a defensive posture. Their guns pointed toward the Omega Relay and the other local Relay to disable any interlopers that Omega control identified as non-friendly.
"Hard to believe we're here…" Hackett grunted. Just a week earlier both he and Anderson had received messages from the new leader of Omega requesting trade alliances and a defensive pact.
More had already been put in motion thanks to the prompting of Lenka Pan. Hackett swiftly moved in his own interest in protecting Humanity above and beyond what parliament allowed and commanded.
Anderson had become enraptured with the discussion brought to the table. Then he and Hackett had contacted every captain and commander in Fifth Fleet to tell them of the current galactic and political position, regarding inner politics and external threats. Almost every single captain in the fleet had agreed to continue serving their Admiral over their parliament's orders.
Anderson issued orders and memo's throughout the Alliance network, telling them to reinforce Earth, provide civilians a means of escape to wherever they wanted, and that the Fifth Fleet was stepping away from Earth's control to do what they thought necessary to resist the approaching apocalypse.
A siren strobed the dim blue-lit room a dark red before Hackett quelled it with a swipe across the tactical display. Several new ships had just emerged from the local Relay, right on time, and they dwarfed the average vessel of the line.
"Ryder's right on time."
"Heh, that man was always good at being punctual. Funny that he answers your messages for emergency aid now that we've turned pirate," Anderson grunted in a tone that was half amusement and half-serious.
"We're not pirate," Hackett answered sharply, and then shook his head apologetically as he took the joke in Anderson's words after the fact. "So what should we call ourselves? We're not the Fifth Fleet anymore…"
"Are we revolutionaries?" Anderson reissued his thoughts, pensively, "How about the Alliance Free Navy?"
"Heh," Hackett scoffed, but then his smirk mellowed to a thoughtful look, and he shrugged. "That's actually not half bad, I'll send out a fleet-wide poll on it, we should retain some level of democracy in this outfit so no unsure crew don't start to think that we are actually pirate."
The tactical display strobed blue at an incoming signal, and Hackett answered it with a tap, "Good to see you again, Alec."
A screen resolved, visible from either side of the tactical table, and a middle-aged man with swept-back dark brown hair, a close but scruffy beard, and hardened features looked back, "And you too, Admiral." He declined his head, "So, you got fed up with the system at last?"
Hackett's lips trembled on the edge of a scowl, but he held it back. Alec's tone implied that Hackett had happily turned revolutionary, or at least dared him to think that when the fact was much more brutally simple.
He didn't believe that the Alliance would protect Humanity. Additionally, Lenka's fresher perspective about the Master Chief had made Hackett realise that he'd had his eggs in the wrong basket.
But without Alliance support, there was nothing substantial that he could do to shuffle his eggs back into the right basket. With Alec's and the Andromeda Initiative's manufacturing capability, that basket could become a whole damn coop that pumped out metal like a battery hen did eggs.
"Yes," He assented with a gravelly grunt. "I assume that you've been keeping your ear to the ground?"
The visible tops of Alec's shoulders in the screen rose and dropped in a shrug, "No, actually. Just the mainstream stuff… Shepard cured the genophage, went to war with the Geth on Rannoch, the Asari civil war, all that. And now you're saying that we're all doomed if we don't trust a super-soldier from a parallel reality?"
"That about sums it up," Anderson agreed, flashing a tired smile. "I know you, Ryder, you don't believe it… Not exactly."
"You know me…" Alec answered and raised a brow with a smirk on his lips. "So…?"
"So I also know that you trust my judgement, so you're stuck between not believing and trusting me at my word." Anderson said, smirking further with crows feet forming around his eyes. "And I damn well promise its true. The Master Chief is from a different universe. If we can somehow replicate his technology, then crossing galaxies might not even need extended cryo."
"According to Hackett's message, the guy asked for your support? Sounds like he's happy to have you involved?"
Hackett narrowed his eyes, "That's true, but things are different now. We only came to Omega to rendezvous with the Normandy and to protect Shepard from an Alliance courtroom, and to solidify a trade deal. We didn't expect to find out that the Chief has already been here and formed an alliance of his own, or that he's set up some kind of secret colony world… He might not be willing to destroy his current alliance to work with us."
"So you think that Omega won't allow you to work with this guy? Don't you have enough firepower to go beat him?" Alec answered with a raised brow.
Anderson and Hackett both shook their heads, and Hackett spoke first "A, we can't let it come to that. B, I'm not sure we actually could force what we want from him, even with the entire fleet."
Alec's confusion grew more taught on his brow. The tactical map showed the cluster of Andromeda Initiative vessels coming to a gentle halt at the battlegroup's perimeter.
"You haven't met him, Ryder," Anderson assented to reinforce Hackett's musings. "Think of the most dangerous Krogan in the galaxy…"
Alec's brow ridged.
"Then think that the Master Chief would deal with that Krogan in seconds…"
Alec scowled, and then rolled his eyes, "Typical Alliance thinking," He grunted, then shook his head, "So this guy is the real deal, okay… But maybe you're putting this all the wrong way - the Alliance always does. Think less like the Alliance, because you're not that anymore."
Hackett and Anderson shared a look of contrition over the screen, and Alec snorted a mirthless laugh, his own view screen showing the reaction of both.
"Give me your history with this guy; the short version?"
Hackett pinched his lips together and crossed his arms over his chest and then nodded after a moment. This wasn't the time for divisions between those he needed to make a stand against their looming enemy.
"He arrived on Omega almost eight months ago, he cleaned up the streets, started a revolution, and then came to the Citadel. I inducted him into the Alliance as a special operative when he provided evidence to back up his story, then he uncovered the plans for the Prothean device on Mars when he was looking for something from his own reality-"
"-He kept you in the loop the whole time?" Alec cut in, a pensive tilt to his brow, showing that he was absorbing the information objectively.
"He did…" Hackett agreed, and then crinkled his nose at the fact before continuing. "He went on to battle a Cerberus battalion on Eden Prime-"
"-So you have provided him with military support?" Alec interrupted again.
"No," Hackett shook his head, his nose crinkling again, "He did that on his own. Only one other squad member…"
Alec's brow rose, and then he nodded slowly, and his eyes ordered the retelling to go on.
"He found some kind of artefact there, form his reality, and it transported him to Thessia…"
Alec's gaze sharpened, but his brow became judgemental, and Hackett slowed his retelling for only a moment to try to ascertain what the once N7 was thinking.
"On Thessia, he called for my assistance and then offered his technology for Alliance support. I turned him down, I didn't think that the Parliament would have accepted, and then the next thing he went dark and hasn't contacted me in any way since."
Alec's brow remained judgemental for a silent minute. Finally, the rest of his face turned judgemental and he snorted. "What do they say about not looking a gift horse in the mouth…"
He shook his head and forced the judgement from his features and shrugged. "If this Master Chief could clean up Omega on his own, beat an entire battalion on his own, and according to whoever you spoke with on Omega form his own colony with their support; then I figure trying to steal anything from him will cost you more than you can afford to lose. I'm guessing you've got a favourite intelligence operative?"
Hackett nodded once.
"I'm guessing they said you should request his assistance?"
Hackett nodded again, more slowly, and Alec snorted derisively again. "I'm also guessing that you think that you won't have the upper hand over him now?"
Hackett and Anderson shared another look, bordering on frustration.
"You'll have to get used to that since you're not Alliance anymore," Alec added. "Fact is, this guy worked out how to get what he needed done without you, and now you realise you need him… So instead of thinking about how you can convince him to work for you, you should be thinking how you can work for him. The paradigms of the galaxy are changing, and you're stopping after just changing a little bit with it. The Citadel is almost empty now, I hear?"
"I thought you said you didn't have your ear to the ground?" Anderson queered in a slow voice.
Alec's beard pulled back with his coy smile, "I lied."
Hackett scoffed a laugh, "Your reputation is hanging in there, Ryder."
Alec shrugged through the screen. "It's what's gotten me this far- Now, I'm here because the galaxy is at stake. My people have the option of getting out of here right now, yours don't, so how about you stop playing politics and we straighten all of this out in line with this new paradigm?"
"And what new paradigm is that, exactly?" Anderson chipped in with a curious tilt to his brow.
Alec's eyes darted left in the window. He was clearly analysing another screen, likely the one that showed Anderson's face, and he squinted in a moment of thought.
"These Reaper things, they're real, and according to Shepard, they're here now, we've got six to eight months until they pull up at the next Mass Relay. The Salarian Union have dropped out of galactic affairs almost entirely, the Asari have too but are in a civil war, the Quarian's have committed all of their resources to reinforce Rannoch, the Turians are more than likely just keeping an eye on things to see where to put their chips, and the Alliance is literally splitting apart. The former seat of galactic power has been vacated by all of the galactic powers worth worrying about. This newcomer showed up with nothing, and now apparently has all of the cards for beating this enemy, and you can't find him without either him inviting you, or you somehow tracking him down with nothing but an omni-receiver- Have you checked that, actually?"
Hackett snorted. "He doesn't keep his omni-tool located sub-dermally. He keeps it in his armour, so if it's not actively in use, then it's powered down entirely."
"So no way to find him without asking nicely. In all likelihood, you need him more than he needs you. Time to get down off your high admiralty horse, pick up the phone to Omega- because they're looking like if this ever blows over, they'll be the ones running the galaxy, and tell them that you want to join up and get shit done."
Hackett and Anderson blinked in unison at the bluntly delivered directive. Before either recently ex-Alliance men could formulate any kind of answer, Alec grunted a finishing thought.
"Because if you don't, then I'm not going to risk my ships for a lost cause, and I'll go back about our original mission."
"I think you've made your point, Ryder…" Hackett assented in a slow voice. He chewed the inside of his cheek quietly for a moment and nodded at Anderson, "Alright, I'll send a message to the Chancellor that our fleet detachment will answer to their commands."
"There goes the Alliance Free Navy," Anderson snorted humourlessly.
The dark-skinned man shook his head and stepped back from the console. "You won't need my help for that, Admiral, I'll go get the full low down from Shepard, and we'll see what we can do about finishing his mission against the Collectors… We've got an entire fleet for it now."
"Right," Hackett answered and then averted his gaze back to Alec's pensive expression on the screen. "Ryder, stay ready to head off, I'll work out how to get your ships to wherever the Chief is… I doubt that he's just sitting on his hands."
"Aye, aye," Ryder agreed with an element of irony in his tone. He smirked, and his eyes crinkled in amusement, "Who'd have thought I'd end up back in the service."
"Different service," Hackett huffed. Alec smirked further, and then the screen went dead, and Hackett grumbled under his breath.
Ryder was right; the paradigm had been shifting ever since the Master Chief had arrived and triggered the changes in the galaxy starting with Omega, it had all just speed up recently and made Hackett feel like it was out of the blue.
He'd already abandoned his commission with over ninety-five per cent of his fleet; fearing committing to a new world order at this point was just foolish. His mouth and nose twitched sideways in annoyance, but he suppressed it and lifted his omni-tool.
He glared at the device briefly before agreeing with the thought more fully, and he opened his messaging system. At this point, he was entirely uncaring of any crewmen seeing him message an outsider asking for help.
From: Stephen Hackett
To: Master Chief
Subject: You've got your support, Chief.
Things have been changing out here, Chief, and I hear you've got your own colony now.
I'm not going to ask how that happened.
You gave me a good offer, and I turned you down because I didn't think the Alliance would go for it.
Everything's different now, I've just taken the Fifth Fleet and resigned my commission in the process, and you and your alliance are the only stable one in the galaxy.
My ships are your ships if you'll have them.
Let's show the Reapers that they can't take this galaxy without a fight.
We've got the Andromeda Initiative wrapped up into this now as well, they are basically mobile manufacturing hubs.
I'll be contacting Omega's Chancellor soon about this, but I would appreciate it if you broke the ice first.
Omega doesn't trust us, especially not after making it hard to open their embassy on the Citadel.
Hackett out.
He hit send and frowned at his own candour on display; these were trying times. Another thought occurred to him, and he scowled and lifted his omni-tool again to craft another message.
From: Stevey
To: Callisa
Hackett snorted a quiet laugh under his breath at the relaxed names that he addressed himself and Lenka Pan with via their messages. She was more often than not in regions where her signals were much more likely to be hacked, so basic code was always necessary.
Subject: Hope you're having fun
I just read that people are fighting for tickets to the show you love so much, make sure you don't get caught up in that kind of thing, people get hurt there. Maybe just people watching the nutcases who are squabbling for a seat is enough, or perhaps talking to the people who don't care might give some funny insights?
Let me know how it's going when you get a chance.
He hit send for the second time in several minutes. He pinched his thin lips together in thought, hoping that his meaning was exact without being confusing. The Asari Civil war could either prove to be hugely useful or a massive problem for the galaxy. He didn't want Lenka to risk herself getting too deep into it.
If the fight drew out much longer, there were good odds that either side or both sides would start raiding other groups and nations' supplies to keep their forces fuelled. If he could somehow help anyone avoid that mess, then it was the duty that he was assigning himself.
XxxX
"Hmmph," Lenka huffed as she read the message just in from Hackett. The Asari Republic might have descended into a civil war, but the omni-network was as good as ever. The small digital timestamp in the email showed a lag time of mere minutes from when it had been sent from Omega.
Hackett filled her in on his actions before she'd taken off from the Citadel in a civilian shuttle, so she knew where to go to find her people again when the time came.
"BRACE! BRACE! BRACE!"
Lenka followed the screeched directive that came over the intercom without hesitation. With hands that knew the routine Lenka swiftly looped the safety harness in her chair over her shoulders and fixed the buckle tight over her chest. The shuttle bucked sharply, and five Asari down the nearly empty row of chairs from her cried out as they were thrown out of their seats vertically and into the ceiling.
Baggage flew about the rectangular cabin with the bodies that hadn't fixed themselves down in time. Blood felt like it was pooling in Lenka's brain as the shuttle barrel rolled in entirely unexpected evasive manoeuvres.
Lenka hadn't been subjected to high G manoeuvres for years, not since finishing special operative training in the Alliance, so the twenty seconds of tumbling felt like a brief eternity.
As the inertial force left her, she felt like a giant released its grasp from her chest, and she sucked in a deep breath.
"STAY IN YOUR SEATS! DO NOT HELP ANYONE IN CASE WE NEED TO DO THAT AGAIN!"
Lenka nodded dumbly to the high pitched order over the shuttles comms. She averted her gaze from where three Asari were laying at the foot of a chair down from her with arms, legs, and necks twisted the wrong way.
They weren't her concern, her only concern here was intelligence, and keeping her head low so that anything that she learned could be useful to her superior; the no longer Admiral Stephen Hackett.
The rest of the flight went without any unexpected movements, or the inertial dampeners weren't suddenly challenged in the way that they had been to throw the passengers about like ragdolls.
At the pilots' stressed and tired prompting over the intercom, Lenka rose from her seat with her duffel bag slung over a shoulder, and she made her way quickly down the passage and into the open airlock.
Usually, any civilian transport landing on Thessia would have a gangway connected to the airlock, leading to some kind of bank of public transport vehicles.
The current Thessia was proving that to have been a past luxury. A flight of metal stairs on wheels had been rolled up to the edge of the bulbous shuttle, and Lenka found herself to be the first passenger mobile enough to have made it to the egress point.
An ashen-faced Asari whose skin was beaded with sweat and was wearing a green jumpsuit with the shuttle's name embroidered across the chest was waving Lenka forward without looking at her. Lenka followed the distracted crewman's line of sight out of the open door, but it was the smell that wafted in that caught her attention first.
The air was acrid and smelt of burning chemicals, as soon as Lenka reached the edge of the airlock and the top of the stairs, she saw why. Serrice was dotted with plumes of smoke, and the air was hazy with it. She ducked into a crouch on instinct at the heavy drumbeat of massive anti-air guns powering up somewhere nearby, and something exploded in the sky into a miniature sun.
The light from it faded, and a shower of debris trailing black smoke fell across the city. All of the streets close enough to see had flashes of light strobing from them, from torches in the late evening or weapons fire, Lenka didn't know.
"Goddess… We dodged a missile getting shot out of the air… That's what that was back there."
Lenka glanced sideways to the jumpsuit wearing Asari who'd started clutching the edge of the airlock to survey the madness unfurling beyond.
"Hurry up!" A voice yelled from below.
Lenka poked her head out further to see two more Asari. These ones were in black commando outfits, holding the mobile stairs' rigging and looking back up at her impatiently. She nodded to herself and didn't spare the anxious crewman a second glance as she stepped from the clearly not entirely safe confines of the shuttle and hurriedly bounced down the stairs.
The tarmac was slick underfoot and smelt of spilt petro-chemicals, and Lenka frowned. Petro-chemicals hadn't been used for fuel sources for hundreds of years… Why would they be… A sudden burst of flame chased the nights' dimness away and lit everything bright orange. Lenka saw another shuttle of similar build to the one that she'd just scurried from on a different section of tarmac held in the terrifying embrace of the flames.
She looked around sharply, hoping for some kind of direction. The two commando's who had been supporting the stairs cursed and ran for the open double doors in the domed structure nearby. The flames raced across the tarmac and acting on instinct Lenka reached for the crewmen still in the airlock.
Her body glowed a vibrant blue, and she felt the resistance in her mind of her grasp wrapping around something, and she yanked. The crewman cried out in surprise as she sailed through the air and landing by Lenka's side.
Lenka heaved up the crewman without a second thought and chased after the fleeing commandos. She threw out another biotic field in the form of a barrier toward where the flames were racing to catch them.
The flame's slowed, and suddenly the ground underfoot didn't feel so slick under Lenka's drumming feet. She hated wearing flat-soled shoes to look more civilian, rather than boots with a stronger grip and more arch support.
She barrelled through the open doors, and the commandos that had beat her there grabbed both her and the crewman she'd retrieved and forced them to the ground and covered their heads with their bodies. A deafening boom sounded, and heat washed over them.
Screams and shouts reverberated from the hall beyond Lenka, but she was deafened to them as she looked up to see the shuttle that they'd just come in on. It belched flame as internal combustibles reacted to the ignited petro-chemicals.
"WHAT'S GOING ON!" She demanded angrily. Her eyes were watering from the black smoke filling the air, and her skin felt thick with it, and she looked for whichever of the commandos seemed the most in charge.
Neither appeared to be higher ranked than the other. Still, the one who'd forced Lenka down cupped a hand around her mouth and yelled, "The Disunion troops are splashing down any ships that they can with petroleum and light them up… Right before your ship opened up, a Kodiak went overhead and sprayed the entire landing pad!"
Lenka blinked dumbly… What in the name of fucking Christ was going on? Her inner monologue didn't even attempt to pretend to sound Asari at the horror of the fracture splitting into a gaping wound on Thessia. Was Aria's mission to tear apart the entire Asari race?
Surely she knew about the Reapers? Why would she do this now? "That's why you don't depose a pirate queen without killing her…" Lenka hissed under her breath at the madness of the war taking place.
But it was more than that, Aria wasn't doing this on her own. She had droves of followers, and this just showed the level of dissatisfaction in Asari society that had been quietly bubbling away for hundreds of years. Lenka clenched her jaw and shook her head to herself.
She had even warned Hackett that she suspected there would be Asari civil unrest in coming years. That had been two years ago… But she had never thought it would be like this.
Two large sets of wings swept over the roaring flames, parting them briefly, and revealing spherical bodies underneath. The two commandos each took a knee and raised rifles that had been clattering on their back in loose slings. They held their fire and white clouds of foam cascaded down from the large red vehicles overhead.
In minutes the fires were quelled, and the ships moved on to obviously seek out similar sites to suppress. Why hadn't the transit hub on the Citadel spoken of this level of insurgency before sending flights to Thessia?
"You're hereby inducted into the Asari republic commando forces, this way."
A hand grabbed Lenka's bicep and pulled her away from the door. She blinked in confusion and surprise while being dragged into the large hall filled with bustling movement. Rows of Asari were being outfitted and spoken to by other Asari already geared up.
'That's why… Emergency conscription,' Lenka thought as her confusion finally cleared and the commando dragging her shoved her toward another commando next to a table. Lenka scowled and slowed her momentum and arched a brow at the vexed expression on the face of the Asari waiting for her.
"I have military experience, I can kit myself up."
The vexed Asari assessed her with shrewd eyes for a long moment, then nodded once and stepped toward where the crewman who Lenka had saved was being dragged to a different table. "So much for staying on the civilian sidelines…"
XxxX
"Keelah! What a von!" Tali hissed. She jammed her pointed index finger into the socket that she was looking up at rapidly and harshly with three quick jabs. She snarled at the point where the simple wiring wasn't entirely fixed in place for her modifications and growled deep in her throat.
"YOU GO IN THERE!" She hissed angrily. Snatching the wires hanging loose, she jammed them back into the socket and activated the fusing function on her omni-tool. "Yeeeoww!" She screeched as the small belt of heat crossed her fingers, and she withdrew them with a shake.
Her eyes watered at the pain and she snarled, but then noticed the positive feedback coming from the terminal above. She blinked the pain away and scurried out from underneath it to check the response of the system. A series of lights flashed green, and Tali grinned in congratulations to herself and silently pumped a fist and flexed her bicep.
The action made her stop suddenly, and her eyes turned sullen at the thought that it was a Human habit that she'd picked up from Shepard.
"Tali…"
"Keelah… I'm hallucinating now…" She grumbled quietly to herself at the sound of Shepard calling to her.
"Tali?"
She frowned, and then spun, and her heart jumped into her throat. "Ahh, Shepard! What- Ahh- How- Ahh- You-"
"I'm sorry."
Tali's brow exercised itself climbing and descending her forehead multiple times. She was angry, sad, confused and wanting everything that they'd built back, but the conflict of emotion made it a mess in her heart. She hadn't truly been as angry at Shepard about his opinion toward the genocide of the Geth as she'd made out, it had been a convenient excuse to exercise her anger.
Regaining the homeworld had opened her eyes to possibilities… No - to requirements, to responsibilities that she had. The Quarian race was endangered. She would practically be a traitor to her people if she willingly chose not to have children. No technology yet existed to cross-breed with non-Asari species.
The idea made her angry at everything… She'd done so much for her people, arguably more than any Quarian had since before the Morning War. It had been her hand that had brought the end to the Geth as a threat and reclaimed their world… And yet she knew that she would need to bear children as her sacred duty as a Quarian.
But she couldn't, at least, not while seeking a future with Shepard. The revelation had made her angrier than the response to Shepard's precious morals being breached by her actions, and she needed an excuse to vent that anger.
"I'm sorry," He said again. Shepard took a small and cautious step down the gangway toward her. He was halfway across it from the doorway beyond, and the blue glow of the drive core lit his face with indecision and guilt. "I- I should have tried harder to understand… I probably would have done the same thing in your shoes… I just wiped out an entire solar system of innocents because I thought I had to, and I hardly had to think about it… I'm going to carry that for the rest of my life."
He shook his head and clenched his eyes. "The Butcher of Torfan… The legends make out like I'm some mass killer who does it on the daily without issues. Point me at an enemy, and I'll shoot, but put innocent lives on my shoulders, and I'll do everything that I can to protect them."
Tali's lips pulled left in a sudden surge of anger; his words implied that he thought that the Geth she'd killed were innocent. However, she didn't rise to the urge to become angry again and instead carefully overlapped her arms to not look overly defensive, but not overly receptive either.
"Shepard… We're at war, a war with the Reapers, and the Geth were on their side-"
He raised both of his palms placatingly, silencing her, and he cleared his throat, "I know… You did what you had to do. I'm probably always going to have a bit of anger, or guilt, in the back of my mind about that. But I get it, and I won't judge you for it. I don't want us to end just because I couldn't understand you… I- Tali, I love you. I need you, you bring me back to myself."
Tali's heart fluttered, but she clenched her eyes and kept her arms overlapped in casual defiance. After a moment, she eased her eyes open and found that Shepard hadn't moved and was waiting patiently for her. A sigh crept from her lips, and she took a deep breath to steady herself, "Shepard… The Quarian species is endangered. We never liked to say that when we just had the flotilla… But there are less of us than any species in the galaxy- Except the Drell," She added with a frown of apology for her Drell squad member.
"You get what that means?"
Shepard's frown said he didn't, and Tali sighed again. "Bosh'tet… I'm going to need to have children at some point, Shepard. And that can't be with you."
Shepard's brows rose, and his eyes widened marginally with the expression of surprise. In an instant, he shook his head, and his resolve returned, "You can have a donor- Ahem," He winced, "A sperm donor… We can still be together, I can learn to raise Quarian children… Errr, maybe not with the war going on and all, but if we win, if we survive… I can do that."
Tali's eyes widened; she hadn't remotely considered what Shepard had just suggested. She suddenly realised that it was a practice fairly common in Human societies for many reasons. A surge of shame washed through her for not considering anything like that and that had accounted for at least half of her anger.
"You'd- You'd…" Her breath caught in her throat, and her eyes watered.
The dreams that she'd been fostering of a life with Shepard came flooding back. Images of a house overlooking an ocean on Rannoch. Both of them, old and grey, holding each other. The laughter and joy of her people in the background.
"I would do that, for you. Tali." Shepard presented a genuine smile, and his eyes softened. "Heh… There are enough Humans in the galaxy. I'm sure one of us not breeding won't hurt anything for the species."
Tali unlinked her arms slowly and took a cautious step forward. Doubt halted her, and the images in her mind were chased away by new images; ones of the Reapers, the Collectors, and husks tearing down the world she wished to build.
Shepard recognised the look on her face, and he took a step forward as well and took her outreached hand with his own. He didn't press for more and wrapped his fingers around hers and squeezed, "Everything is different now Tali."
His eyes implored her to have more hope and optimism, and she assented to the feeling and listened. She knew that everything was different… The galaxy seemed to be rearranging itself, and if Liara's and Hackett's own descriptions were anything to go by, it had all been triggered by one strange interloper. The same interloper was being betted on as being the hope to resist the worst of futures.
"The Normandy isn't an Alliance ship anymore… Huh," He scoffed an ironic laugh. "We're an Omega navy ship now… ONSV Normandy, ready for service…" He smirked, and Tali's eyes arched in amusement as well. "The Citadel Alliance has fallen apart, Hackett says that the Turians are likely to sign a defence pact with Omega. As soon as we get clearance, we're going to this hidden planet. We can reach out to the Quarians too, sign another pact with them? I'm not going to get court-martialled for Bahak…"
He scowled and his eyes hardened for a moment, but he shook his head and cleared his throat with a gruff cough. "The old world just died, and we're part of making the new one. We can win this… I don't know how, but Miranda thinks so."
"Miranda?" Tali asked, cocking her head slightly to the right and narrowing her eyes. "You've been in contact with her?"
Shepard nodded slowly, "Sparingly… Hackett sent this Master Chief a message yesterday, Miranda reached out to me about it." His smirked and shook his head at the gangways metal plating, "She officially outranks me… A Captain! And a colonial administrator for a military world-" He narrowed his eyes and shook his head again. "A military world… A Human run military world; the galaxy has never seen one until now."
"What- What did she say?" Tali asked haltingly. Her eyes were wide and hopeful for whatever good news had inspired Shepard to bring her up. "Miranda isn't the most positive person…"
Shepard shrugged casually, "Something has changed her… She's assertive, like always, but confident, commanding even, now." He sighed again and looked up in imaginative thought. "This Master Chief guy must bring the best out of people. But, she says that they're building ships that will outclass the Reapers. That they're training special forces, and they just committed one of their scientists to work out the best way to retrofit the Fifth Fleet. She says that the Master Chief has fought more powerful enemies than the Reapers and won…"
Tali snorted and then scowled behind her mask at the unexpected response.
"She confirmed that he's from a different reality, one where Humans are nothing like here," Shepard added with a thin smile. His smile said he wasn't one hundred per cent on the final fact, but willing to go along with it until it was either confirmed in front of his own eyes.
After a long moment, Tali nodded slowly and then reached forward with her other hand to find Shepard's unoccupied one. "We'll work this new future out-" She bit her lip and squeezed her eyes shut and took a quick breath, "I'm sorry for how angr-"
"-No," Shepard interrupted, and then leaned forward to press his forehead against her mask. "No," He repeated, "I'm sorry that I didn't make you feel like I was listening or understanding… I'm sorry that I didn't understand. I promise that will never happen again."
Tali's eyes arched joyfully, "Bosh'tet." She whispered.
XxxX
John was still unarmoured and was freshly washed for the first time in years, smelling like a medical-grade soap rather than antiseptic and sweat.
He was dressed in the same clothes that he'd worn the day before; black cargo pants fitted around the ankles, black plated boots, a grey muscle-shirt, and a grey fabric cap to protect his pale skin from burning in the sun.
He had his battle rifle slung over his shoulders with the butt stuck up over his shoulder, where it would be easy to grab and lift into a firing position, but where it was also clearly in a position of neutrality to show he didn't want to have to use it.
For the first day in weeks, the base was empty of recruits. Miranda had taken all of them down to the finished obstacle course. She was putting them through their paces in team activities where the strongest would have to slow to help the weakest. The smallest would have to tackle challenges to retrieve items that the largest simply couldn't.
A team could only complete the course if they were a mixed bunch and working together.
"You don't seem nervous."
John's eyes flicked down to Miles Musa at his right. The man was dressed in blue pants, a white t-shirt, and a white lab coat, and his shiny scalp reflected the sun. He, unlike John, did seem nervous. His hands were held tightly together, clenching and unclenching.
"Proelium is covering it, I'm armed as well, it says it wants to integrate," John grunted with a shrug. He nodded up into the sky above the base where two dots were growing larger by the second.
Tutela's armed shuttle dwarfed the tiny teardrop craft that she was escorting down. Still, Musa didn't seem as comfortable with a Geth in proximity as he did with it as an academic topic.
"Right…" He answered in an unconvinced voice.
John looked at Musa for only a moment before looking back into the sky and following the descending vehicles. Another minute passed before they came to a slow stop between John's command module and the fabrication plant. Spider-like legs grew out of the teardrop-shaped silver craft and took its weight.
A single circular portal opened in its side, and a man-sized shape dropped out feet first. The figure rose to its full height and its head that was all neck twisted toward John.
The Spartan arched a brow mildly but waited, and in moments the mechanical newcomer was trotting across the tarmac to greet him.
It stopped three paces from them, and its flashlight eye widened and narrowed as its runtimes decided on the best course of action. It was certainly not of the same sophistication as UNSC made AI, John thought.
Musa had frozen to the spot and was sweating bullets, soaking dark patches through his shirt and making his stress imminently notable.
"Master Chief, we are Geth." The machine said in a synthesised voice.
John nodded. He'd read about the Geth, as much as was known about them, at least. They were a machine hive-mind, and the more that was in one spot, the smarter they became. By his thinking; the sole reason they weren't truly an aggressive species had been because to be effective in battles, they needed numerical superiority to hope to outthink their enemy.
As such, they had stayed within their own borders and not risked their numbers, focusing instead on defence and construction. According to Ish's text conversations, its goal here was to continue its species by doing precisely what it had initially been designed to do.
"Geth," John nodded, narrowing his eyes slightly and assessing the machine up and down. "State your purpose here," He ordered.
The Geth straightened, and its flashlight eye narrowed. "Our purpose is to continue the survival of the Geth. Organics threaten us if we offer resistance, we offer to assimilate ourselves into your collective."
"How would you be useful to Caucasus?" John asked immediately. He had already read the transcripts late in the previous evening from Ish's conversations with the machine hive-mind. He expected the machine to stick to its own script. The fact of the matter was, he needed all of the help that he could get.
The possibility of having a fleet of drones working on construction under the control of a somewhat sophisticated AI collective was too good an opportunity to pass up.
"This platform is unnecessary for our survival. We would construct a central server to house our runtimes, from there, we could manage construction processes and mining actions throughout the system."
"And in return, you want protection?"
"We do," The Geth answered.
John narrowed his eyes at the mechanical entity for a silent minute. The Geth didn't seem fazed, and Musa's sweat patches grew. At the same time, Tutela remained overhead with the nose gun in her shuttle pointed at the Geth with its silent engines hanging it in the sky like a wraith.
"Musa," John said, and the man in question jumped in surprise. "Scan all of the Geth systems, make sure they have no way around the AI kill codes I provided."
"That will not be necessary." The Geth stated.
"Ehh, bloody 'ell…" Musa grumbled and looked carefully between his leader and the machine.
"I hope that it isn't necessary," John agreed with a raised brow, "But it will take time for us to learn to trust the Geth fully."
The flashlight narrowed an widened, and finally, its voice came out, "We have reached consensus – Your terms are fair. We anticipate a safe future for the Geth, Master Chief of Caucasus. We will assimilate willingly."
"Musa, we'll escort the Geth to the labs," John said pointedly to the dark-skinned man. Musa nodded more slowly, and his anxiety seemed to ebb. John lifted a hand with his index finger pointed and spun it in the air for the benefit of Tutela. In moments the craft zipped back into the sky toward the docks, and John gestured with his head toward the nearby road. "That way."
The Geth stepped out ahead of the two locals, taking the clear directive and moving without contest. John raised his omni-tool emitter fixed onto a battery pack on his wrist.
"Doctor Hales, prep your algorithmic scanners, we need to scan the Geth and make sure that our-"
He paused as the word of collective belonging left his lips, and he felt suddenly more at home for the fact that he was increasingly calling the base ours and not his. "-That our AI kill code will work on the Geth in the event we need to use it. We also need to set up access codes for that so only myself, Captain Lawson, and you have access to it."
"Pulling up the systems now, Master Chief," Cathryn answered with an excited tone, "I'm looking forward to meeting our new team member!" She added a beat later.
John snorted a quiet laugh to himself. The Geth wasn't the only new addition, he was just the only new one already here. The message that he'd received in the middle of the night from the apparently no longer Admiral Hackett had inspired a change of pace, just one that only he knew about.
He had agreed to take Hackett's forces in. He had requested that Chancellor D'argo formalise the offered ships into Omega's service, and in extension, the service of Caucasus. It was a topic that John was holding off on talking to Miranda about for the day so that only one stress could play on her mind at a time.
But it would invariably come down when Hackett's forces were allowed to come to Caucasus, and what would happen next. John had already decided that the Epsilon Eridani system was to be a total no-fly zone in or out with Mass Effect means to minimise the possibilities of it being found, so anything that arrived via Relay drop out would have to remain here until they were equipped with Slipspace drives.
Closing summary – Forgot to do this for the last chapter.
John and Miranda continue training the recruits.
John heads off the racial tensions around the Krogan recruits involvement. Miranda helps John remove his armour.
Each of them have a thought invoking emotive experience through that, but there are no dramatic strides in any direction.
Lenka Pan (Hackett's Asari spy) returns to Thessia and finds the state of civil war/unrest to have worsened. She's conscripted.
Admiral Hackett and Anderson have seceded from the Alliance, taking most of Fifth Fleet with them. They're docked with the Normandy near Omega. Alec Ryder and the Andromeda Arks arrive, and plans are discussed for the ships to enter into the service of Omega rather than remain on their own.
Shepard and Tali reconcile – Tali's issues are expanded on more.
Geth lands on Caucasus (it won't be called Legion… At least… Not that way. I'll expand the whole Geth thing in coming chapters.)