By the time Ashley had managed to get Dominic Osoba's bleeding under control and the ragged wound to his midsection packed with enough Medi-gel and trauma compresses to keep his belly from splitting open completely, the lingering haze of gunfire within Anita Goyle's apartment had finally begun to clear, the building's ventilation and filtration systems dutifully humming away in the background. There was still an acrid, metallic smell hanging in the air, but at least nothing was on fire and the force fields keeping the place pressurized were holding strong.
There was a temptation to exhale, relax a fraction after the brief, brutal fight. But there was no time for that, she knew.
The DSS agent and the operatives who'd been with her hadn't expected to find the level of resistance they encountered when they rang Anita's door. But it was a virtual certainty that whoever had greenlighted their operation wouldn't make the same mistake twice. Ashley figured they had ten minutes at best before a more sizable and well-equipped strike force looking to finish the job was sent to the upscale Tayseri Ward high rise.
Standing up from where she'd been kneeling on the floor next to the ambassador, she kicked away an empty trauma packet wrapper and looked down at her hands. They were covered with Dominic Osoba's blood. Nearby, the tattooed biotic woman who'd arrived to help them was patching up Kolyat's injured shoulder. It didn't look too bad.
Ashley could feel her lip beginning to swell where Agent Palls, petite figure and all, had landed a surprisingly powerful blow. She glanced over at the woman's lifeless form laying on the floor nearby and scowled. Bitch.
"Lieutenant Commander," Bailey said, approaching Ashley. He gave a nod to the injured arm he was holding tight against his side. "You mind?"
Ashley narrowed her gaze on the man's arm and nodded. "Yeah, of course," she said. She placed one hand on his dislocated shoulder and another on his elbow, carefully manipulating the man's injured limb for a moment. "This is going to hurt," she warned.
"Uh huh. Do it."
She shrugged and gave his arm a strong, swift tug and jerked the shoulder back into the socket. Bailey's face contorted in pain but he swallowed it silently. "Sorry," Ashley said, carefully releasing her grip on his arm. "I got some blood on your uniform."
Bailey looked down at his shirt dispassionately. "I doubt that's going to be the last of it today," he said, grimacing as he gingerly tested his range of motion. "How's Osoba?"
"Not good," Ashley said, reaching down and pulling a self-injecting syringe from the open med kit at her feet. She pulled the cap off with her mouth, spit it out, and jabbed the needle's business end into the meaty part of Bailey's arm. The advanced Medi-gel and antiseptic cocktail of drugs would take the edge off his pain as well as accelerate the healing process of any damaged ligaments or torn muscles. "I've done what I can, but he needs a hospital. Soon."
Bailey nodded. "Right," he said, carefully raising his arm and accessing his Omni-tool, beginning to cycle through menus. "I'll get medical transport arranged right now."
"That DSS agent—or whoever she is—was wired," Ashley cautioned, gesturing toward her eye. "Ocular overlays. She could have been live-broadcasting the whole thing, which means her handlers would know you're involved. The C-Sec shuttle that delivered those other assholes means your people are compromised, Bailey. At least some of them. And honestly, aside from all of us still breathing here in this apartment, I can probably count on one hand the number of people currently on this station who I trust."
"Yeah, I caught on to all that, Lieutenant Commander," Bailey said, not looking up from his Omni-tool's display. "Don't worry. I've got an emergency med service I used back in the day when I worked the beat in the Lower Wards. They're discreet and unaffiliated with C-Sec or the hospital networks."
Ashley raised an eyebrow, imagining the many possible reasons an old school C-Sec cop like Bailey would have a service like that on speed dial. But any potential ethical questions she might have had were the least of her concerns. She left him to it, snatching up the med kit and walking over to the partially shredded armchair where Kolyat had deposited Anita a few minutes earlier. She crouched down and gave her a long, appraising look.
Goyle was still a few shades paler than normal and looking more frail than was typical for her, but, all things considered, she seemed to be doing pretty damn well for an eighty-something-year-old who'd just taken the brunt of a biotic charge at close range. Ashley had probably gotten the worst of what Palls had dealt them, but she was an experienced, highly trained combat soldier and despite all that was still fighting the urge to puke her lunch out all over the floor. One tough old lady, she thought.
"How do you feel," Ashley asked, activating her Omni-tool's emergency medical diagnostic routine and moving the scanner slowly along Anita's body.
"As if I'd spent my afternoon negotiating with an angry krogan inside a broom closet," Goyle smiled weakly. "But I'll be fine. Will Dominic survive?"
"I think so," Ashley said, scrutinizing her Omni-tool's readout "I've stabilized him as best I can but he's going to need a lot more care than what we can provide here. Bailey's working on it." She deactivated her Omni-tool and reached back into med kit. "You have a few fractured ribs, by the way. Hairline mostly, along with what'll end up being some pretty severe bruising. But no internal injuries, thank God. I'm going to give you something for the pain."
Goyle nodded solemnly. "I waited too long to act," she said. "Dominic is paying the price for my hesitation."
Ashley waved away the comment. "It's done. You wanted to do things by the book, which wasn't necessarily the wrong call, given the information we had available. Besides, none of us anticipated this. We all thought we were being careful, but I guess we got sloppy somewhere along the line. Nothing to do about it but move on and do better." She found a suitable spot on Goyle's arm and pressed another self-injecting Medi-gel cartridge against it. "There. How's that?"
Anita gave a gentle nod. "Better," she said. "Thank you, Ashley. What do you suggest we do now?"
Ashley blew out a long breath and glanced around the ruined apartment. "First, we need to pack up and get the hell out of here before anyone else decides to drop by for a visit," she said. "Once we get clear… I'm not sure yet. I'm making this up as we go along. So, where's Kasumi anyway?"
"Scouting ahead," Goyle said. "I sent her to the Embassy Plaza building a little earlier to confirm Udina's presence, before we committed to making our move."
"And what did Goto have say?" came a voice from behind Ashley.
Ashley glanced behind her, half startled. She hadn't even heard or felt the biotic woman approaching though she was now standing just a few feet from where she was crouching next to Anita. She shot her a wary glance, still wondering how exactly this hard-looking woman fit into everything else.
"That the building was on lock down and operating with heightened security protocols," Anita answered. "But she believes Donnell is still there."
"This one's still alive," Kolyat said from where he was checking the HASTR operative Bailey had taken down.
"Shoot him in the face," Jack said casually, sparing a brief glance over her shoulder.
"Do not do that, Kolyat," Ashley said, shooting to her feet and rounding on the other woman. "Who the hell are you anyway?"
"I'm your new bestie, sweetheart," Jack said mockingly. "After saving your ass a hot minute ago, I'd say you owe me some fucking courtesy."
Ashley bristled, her face going red, adding to the throbbing in her lip.
"Lieutenant Commander Ashley Williams, meet our wayward friend, Jacqueline Nought," Anita said.
"Jack," she corrected, fixing Ashley with a severe gaze. "It's just Jack these days."
Ashley held Jack's stare for another moment before glancing over at the HASTR operative's body. The big man was lying flat on his back, unconscious, his weapons all kicked away, but still rigged up in the exoskeleton. His chest was rising and falling laboriously, but only just.
Kolyat reached down and ripped the power coupling from his Exo-suit, effectively rendering the man paralyzed within his heavy rig. "I don't think he's going to be waking up again anyway," he said dispassionately.
Anita cleared her throat, getting Ashley and Jack's attention. "Ladies," she said and gestured to the opposite wall where one of the ultra-def vid displays that was still intact was broadcasting a local Citadel news feed. She increased the volume with a voice command.
"—and an immediate state of emergency is now in effect throughout the Citadel with all flights on and off the station cancelled indefinitely," the female reporter was saying. "According to an official statement released by human Councilor Donnell Udina's office, heightened security measures on board the station will be established immediately and personnel from the Human Alliance Special Tactical Response force will assume additional authority over the safety and security of the public, further assisting Citadel Security Services. Additionally, the Councilor's office has authorized the deployment of Alliance-operated security mechs to assist with maintaining law and order on board the station."
Footage of the modified LOKI Mechs Ashley and Kasumi had found staged in Zakera Ward appeared on the vid screen. Groups of the synthetic-humanoid combat platforms were roaming the concourses of the Presidium, assault rifles clutched in their mechanical arms. Then, more images of mechs and HASTR operatives moving through the Wards. Another scene showed a group of the men and machines erecting a crowd-control barrier at a busy chokepoint in one of the Wards, bewildered-looking citizens watching the show.
A smaller window displaying the reporter's face appeared, superimposed against the backdrop of cycling footage, including more than few shots of angry Citadel citizens and C-Sec officers wearing shell-shocked, incredulous expressions.
"As of yet, there has been no official comment from the Turian, Asari, or Salarian Councilors or any of their respective offices. Attempts to reach the C-Sec Executor's office for comment on these stunning new developments have also been unsuccessful. And now, eye witnesses report they've observed a significant increase in military activity at the primary Systems Alliance Navy docks.
"With tensions on the station already running high after the recent terrorist bombings, it remains uncertain if these drastic new security measures prove successful in quelling public uncertainty or, instead, merely feed the public's growing anxiety and fan the flames of distrust and hostility toward humanity's Systems Alliance.
"This has been Khalisah Bint Sinan al-Jilani, Westerlund News Network."
"What the fuck is going on?" Jack said, scowling at the news footage that continued to scroll. "Security mechs my tight, finely sculpted ass. Those fuckers are outfitted for war."
Nearby, Thane had just finished purging the apartment's local computers of all the team's sensitive materials and was now examining the body of one of the assault troopers who'd burst through the apartment windows. "Jack, Williams," he said and beckoned them over. "You should see this."
Ashley tore her attention away from the vid screen and walked quickly over with Jack at her side. For the first time, she recognized the trooper's battle armor was an older Alliance military set, the kind you could find in any number of surplus supply depots scattered throughout human and Council space. A little scuffed and worn, it wasn't the best equipment, but serviceable. Thane had managed to get the dead man's helmet off.
"Shit," Ashley hissed. The man's face was a horror show of crude augmentation. There were clear cybernetic modules implanted along his brow and one of his eyes had been removed all together, replaced with tech that Ashley couldn't even guess at the purpose of. Fine, sinewy strands of biosynthetic conduit tracked deep fissures along what was left of his face's organic tissue.
"Fuck me," Jack said. "What the hell is up with ugly? He looks like some kind of husk wannabe."
"Cerberus," Ashley said. "We encountered troopers just like this after they raided the Alliance research facility on Mars." She knelt down next to what used to be a human male and examined him more closely. The cybernetic implants were definitely similar to what she saw at the Mars Archives, but this guy's stuff looked more substantial. More evolved.
Jack winced in fury. "You have got to be shitting me. Cerberus? Goddamn it, I'm like a fucking magnet for these assholes."
Ashley gazed down at the body a while longer, deep in thought, and then stood up abruptly. "We need to go," she said. "Now."
A minute later they had Osoba strapped onto a collapsible stretcher Kolyat had fetched from the stash of medical gear the team kept in a back room of Anita's apartment. As a group, they moved with cautious haste out into the hallway, Thane and Bailey leading the way with weapons at the ready.
The C-Sec Commander was on his comm, speaking to someone in hushed tones while sweeping the area ahead with his heavy pistol, casually stepping over the crumpled body of the other soldier who'd arrived with Agent Palls. Jack and Ashley followed, carrying the still unconscious Osoba on the stretcher between them. Anita hobbled along right behind, supported by Kolyat as she endured the lingering pain of her up-close-and-personal encounter with the enemy. At the main bank of elevators, Thane struck the call switch and quickly cleared the lift before they all piled inside.
More than a dozen floors below an entire section of the building was in the midst of major renovations and completely unoccupied. Even the workers who would normally be present this time of day were absent, most likely due to the steady stream of bulletins issuing from local authorities, urging citizens to remain off the concourses and avoid mass transit whenever possible.
Bailey closed his comm link and came walking over to where Ashley and Jack had just set Osoba down on top of a low table covered with building schematics and data pads. "Two minutes," he said. "Med techs are on the way in an unmarked ambulance with a detective I'm tight with riding shotgun. There's a service bay one floor below. We'll meet them there. I've already sent a message to Doctor Michel over at Huerta. She'll be ready to receive the ambassador and keep his name off the records."
"Good," Ashley said and looked at Jack. "Can you get Ambassador Goyle somewhere safe?"
"What, you got somewhere you need to be?" Jack said.
She glanced between Jack, Anita, and the others gathered around. "We need to reestablish secure comms off this station," she said, addressing the group. "The FTL Buoy network's out of commission, so that means we need to get inside the Human Embassy compound and access the QEC."
"The Normandy," Anita said approvingly "You mean to contact Captain Shepard."
Ashley nodded. "Cerberus is on the ground here, that much we know for sure. And those mechs being out on the streets is bad news. They might have the Systems Alliance emblem stamped on their heads, but that's no kind of hardware I've ever heard of being planned for, much less fully combat mission-capable. And now, the whole of the Citadel Fleet is steaming out toward some bullshit Reaper signature with the entire local Marine battalion in tow?" She shook her head. "It all stinks."
"You don't think the Reaper alert is authentic, Lieutenant Commander?" Anita said.
"No," Ashley said. "Not anymore. I don't know what the Fleet's heading into, but I'll bet my life it's no Reaper armada."
Anita inhaled slow and deep, wincing a bit from the pain of her fractured ribs. "Then it seems we may have drastically underestimated the extent of Admiral Kaneda's treachery," she said.
"Damn convenient to take all those Alliance Marines off the station when you've just deployed a private army of mercs and mechs," Bailey grumbled. "With goddamn Cerberus assault troopers dressed as Alliance and driving around with C-Sec hardware to boot."
"Exactly," Ashley said. "Udina's a politician. For sure a devious jerk, but not nearly capable of manipulating the bulk of the military assets in this system on his own. If there's any chance at all that Kaneda's collaborating with Cerberus… Well, we need to be really careful with who we report that to. Assuming the Normandy's still on-station over Tuchanka it's going to take them some time to get here. All of that means we need to get our asses in gear."
Jack was looking at Ashley with an expression that seemed like her version of respect. "Okay, I'll get the old girl someplace where nobody can touch her." She glanced over at Kolyat. "Come along and keep us company, kid. You can get my gear setup on your TacLink while we move."
Kolyat gave her a curt nod, checking over the combat shotgun he'd lifted from one of the dead HASTR operatives.
"You planning on heading straight for the Embassy?" Jack asked, returning her attention to Ashley.
Ashley shook her head. "No. I need to stop at Club Purgatory on the Presidium first and collect a friend and some gear," she said.
Jack laughed. "Purgatory? Well, you've got style, sister. I'll give you that. I wouldn't have pegged you for the type who frequents that joint."
"It's a sensible rally point for an armored Marine coming from the Alliance barracks to reach," Ashley deadpanned and shrugged. "But yeah, I may have been there a few times, so I know the scene. Nobody in that place gives a shit about what species you are or gets in your business. And I've never once seen the law there. Security's all handled in-house and discreetly."
"That's pretty much accurate," Bailey said. "But you might attract a fair bit of heat on your way with that wanted bulletin hanging over your head, at least until I can get it sorted for you."
"I know," Ashley said and locked eyes with Thane. "But I'm bringing the assassin with me, so I think I'll manage okay."
SSV Normandy
Bethany Westmoreland stood at parade rest within the Captain's Ready Room, her arms held loose behind her back and beret tucked neatly beneath the left shoulder board of her immaculately pressed and fitted BDUs.
Her CO, Captain John Shepard, was facing Bethany, leaning slightly back against the front of his small desk, arms folded in front of him in what she'd learned was his typical devil-may-care manner. She'd known plenty of officers who'd tried to pull off that same kind of breezy style while still maintaining a semblance of poise and authority, but nearly all them failed pretty miserably. But she had to admit, Shepard had it down. Somehow, he never seemed to come off as inappropriately casual or arrogant. She figured it was his authenticity. That, and the effortless, contagious confidence he radiated, putting just about everyone who served under him at ease.
Ship's XO, Major Miranda Lawson, was present as well, standing a little off to the side of the Captain. Her squad lieutenant, James Vega stood next to Bethany, his bulky shoulder nearly brushing against her own lean frame.
The four soldiers gathered made for some rather cramped quarters, given the modest size of the pocket ready room off the Normandy's CIC deck. But that was just fine by Bethany. At the moment, she was experiencing one of the proudest moments of her relatively young life, hearing Shepard tell her that he'd recognized her value to his ship, was impressed by her exemplary performance under fire, and how he couldn't have asked for someone more capable than her to assume the role of squad's senior NCO.
All this, despite the fact that he'd recently learned about the incident that had taken place a little over a year ago in Rio de Janeiro, during Bethany's first term at N-School. That day was not one of her fondest memories.
It began with a 3 a.m. simulated combat alert which led into a highly disorganized and irregular live-fire exercise, resulting in the severe maiming of her squad's Combat Technical Specialist. Afterward, with the acrid smoke from low-yield artillery still hanging in the air, Bethany found herself standing over her platoon lieutenant's splayed out form as blood flowed onto the jungle floor from the ruined nose and multiple facial fractures her armored fist had dealt him.
Predictably, it was her last day at N-School.
Later, after the MPs had secured her within one of the base's small detention cells, Bethany figured her days as an Alliance Marine were pretty much finished as well. That is, aside from what promised to be a long stay in military prison followed by the inevitable Category 6 dishonorable discharge.
Ultimately, a small level of fortune smiled upon her. The Alliance realized they'd screwed up rather spectacularly in assigning the lieutenant who'd staged the disastrous training exercise to instructor duty at the Villa and was eager to sweep the incident under the rug. Bethany was still promptly booted from N-School, but instead of a court-martial and expulsion from the Corps, she received a rather anticlimactic administrative demotion to PFC and was fast-tracked for a career of nominal guard duties within the solar system before what was likely to be an eventual exile to some colonial garrison at the ass end of the galaxy.
The lieutenant in question, on the other hand, was connected, the son of some bureaucrat in the Parliament at Arcturus. Bethany heard that after a few days recovering at the base's infirmary he'd been quietly reassigned to a plush desk post at Luna Base, far removed from instructor duties and where he might directly affect the fate of combat soldiers.
These days, when she thought about the corporal who'd had his legs blown off in that sweltering jungle, she liked to imagine that particular lieutenant being vaporized by a Reaper energy weapon during the invasion, or, better yet, torn apart by one of the enemy's monstrous foot soldiers. It was a severe way to look at it, ruthless even. She knew that. But the sort of blatant incompetence that ended the career of her training squad's Tech Specialist and needlessly endangered the lives of the rest of her soldiers was something she simply couldn't tolerate—or forgive. The lieutenant had violated the very core of what meant to be a Marine in the Systems Alliance. Semper fidelis.
The records of that incident were all supposed to have been sealed permanently, conveniently lost amid the mountains of administrative files so as to spare the Alliance Marine Corps the embarrassment for having allowed such an inept officer to reach a position of influence over accomplished combat soldiers. But somehow, Shepard had managed to dig up the information, even with so much of the Alliance's information systems in ruins. The knowing look Bethany caught from Lawson told her all she needed to know about how the captain had pulled off his little fact finding mission.
"Given you were already an E-4 on the fast track for promotion at the time of your dismissal from N-School, I don't think the jump to Staff Sergeant will be an issue for you," Shepard said and glanced at Vega. "And the lieutenant here is sorely in need of a senior NCO with your kind of chops to get his squad in order."
Vega grunted a muffled laugh before clearing his throat and shifting his stance slightly. "Westy's basically been the acting squad sergeant since she came on board," he said with a nod.
Shepard inclined his head a fraction. "True enough," he said, returning his attention to the female Marine. "You got served a raw deal, Westmoreland," he continued. "And I have zero tolerance for that particular brand of political bullshit on board my ship, much less blatant incompetence from my officers. I've seen your work and I know your skillset. And XO Lawson here has been adamant for some time now that your promotion was overdue. She knows talent when she sees it and I know a good soldier. This isn't charity or desperation to fill the ranks after the losses we've sustained. You've earned this, in spades. And if we make it out of this war alive, I'll see that you're reinstated to N-School."
A little jolt of emotion shot up through Bethany's gut threatening to upset her disciplined, neutral expression. She stifled it and said, "Thank you, sir. I'm honored. And I won't let you down."
Shepard returned a brief, tight smile. "From what you've shown so far, Staff Sergeant, I have no doubt about that. I'm giving Vega here about twice the workload as would be normal for a combat rotation, so he'll need plenty of help managing the squad, especially while we get the new transfers integrated into the Normandy's culture." He glanced at Miranda.
"PFCs Tran and Griffin," Miranda said with a slight nod. "And Corporal Hincapie."
"Right. Given the nature of our mission out here, I'll probably be looking to expand the squad a bit more after we get back to the Citadel for resupply. But for now you'll get the new guys squared away and acclimated to the way we do things on the Normandy. Make sure they meet Major Vakarian and Dr. T'Soni and that they're familiar with our sometimes unconventional squad dynamics."
"Yes, sir. I'll get it done."
Bethany glanced over to the left, catching Lawson staring at her with that intense manner she'd become familiar with, the faintest hint of a smile playing upon the XO's lips. She'd come to understand that that particular look was one of the few ways the striking woman conveyed approval and respect to her subordinates. For the newly minted Staff Sergeant, the silent gesture was nearly as satisfying as the complimentary words Captain Shepard was speaking out loud.
Of course, along with most of the rest of the Normandy's crew, Bethany was well aware of the special relationship that the XO shared with her captain.
Not that the two officers were making a big show of it, walking the decks hand in hand or making eyes at each other across the CIC. No, they were far too professional to behave like that. But it was still a fairly small ship and no matter how discreet they tried to be about the whole thing, it hadn't been long before the rank and file crew took notice that the XO was generally only using her berth on the Crew Deck for administrative duties and that her bunk was rarely slept in.
But to be honest, the affair probably wasn't even the most noteworthy scandal involving Miranda Lawson. Her mere presence on board one of the Alliance Navy's most iconic warships was a stunning turn of events all on its own. And assuming the role of ship's Executive Officer before she'd even been officially accepted into the Navy was outrageous by any measure. The fact that she was sleeping with the captain only served to highlight these strange realities all the more spectacularly.
Nevertheless, no matter how brazenly the two may have been violating Alliance Naval and Marine Corps regulations and codes of conduct, the crew didn't seem to care one goddamn bit, Bethany included.
Oh, there had certainly been a time, not too long ago, in fact, when that sort of behavior from the command staff would have caused Bethany some severe unease. She'd grown up in a strict household and had always been a stickler for regs, intolerant of her fellow soldiers who tended to flout the rules or took advantage of favor.
But that was before her brief stay in Rio and before the Reapers arrived and began laying waste to the galaxy and obliterating just about everything and everyone she'd ever cared about. Now, Shepard and Lawson's blatant contempt for regulations and traditions of decorum felt like a trivial issue to the point of absurdity. Besides, as far as she could tell, the relationship hadn't effected the ship in any negative way, aside maybe fueling a little harmless gossip or sparking the occasional crude joke in the mess or crew's quarters.
The whole thing was a non-issue for Bethany and the rest of the Normandy's crew. Like many of the others, she'd fought side-by-side with the both of them, learning first-hand why so many grunts like her had come to elevate Shepard to near-legendary status and why he, in turn, put so much faith in the enigmatic former Cerberus loyalist.
They were all still Alliance soldiers, through and through, loyal and committed to the oaths they'd sworn. But out here in the deep black, with the Reapers stalking and herding what was left of the great fleets of mankind toward Armageddon, it was Shepard's judgement and steady hand on the wheel that ruled the day. All that mattered was the he and Lawson were giving them the best chance of striking back against the horror that threatened to purge all of humanity from the galaxy.
Serving under them didn't feel tainted by their personal relationship. It felt like a privilege.
"Congratulations, Staff Sergeant," Shepard said. "That will be all."
Bethany snapped back to attention and saluted. "Thank you, sir."
Shepard stood up straight and returned he salute and glanced at Vega. "James, send Traynor in will you?"
"Will do, Loco," Vega said, clapping Bethany lightly on the shoulder in his brotherly fashion.
Bethany met Miranda's gaze one last time, accepting the woman's respectful head tilt before turning on her heel and following the lieutenant out into the CIC.
"Hold up a sec and I'll head back down with you," Vega said, ambling over to the Comm Ops station.
Bethany let out a long, slow breath, surveying the CIC crew as they went about their duties with the typical discipline and efficiency of a fleet vessel.
No, more than just a skilled crew, she thought. These people were a part of Shepard's family. Men, women, and alien alike who'd happily follow him to the brink, each of them understanding that he would do everything in his power to keep them alive.
Fate had brought her here, seeing fit to put her and Private Campbell on that particular escort duty at the exact moment when everything went to hell back in Sol, babysitting a certain feisty flight lieutenant as they went about the doldrums of their garrison post duty.
But she'd earned her place among this crew now. And she was ready. Ready to run through walls for Shepard and Lawson or to lay down her life for the sake of every last soul on board the Normandy.
Vega walked halfway back across the deck and jerked his head toward the lift, beckoning her to follow.
Comms Specialist Traynor hurried past Bethany, shooting her a quick, nervous smile.
Westmoreland returned an encouraging nod and watched the young woman slip through the Captain's Ready Room doors. Then she strode after her squad lieutenant, purposefully, eager to get back to work.
"Ensign?" Traynor stammered, her eyes wide. "You're making me a commissioned officer?"
"Provisionally, as far as the Alliance is concerned, but yes, that's right," Shepard said, looking down at the datapad he held in one hand. "Normally, that would mean I'd need to send you to OCS on Earth or Luna Base. But obviously that's not an option. I wouldn't want to lose you for that long anyway. So, you'll just need to complete the condensed officers training program designed for battlefield promotions. It's mainly procedural, work you can easily wrap up over a few weeks during your spare time. Lieutenant Commander Williams can guide you through the process once she rotates back on board."
Traynor was only vaguely aware of what Captain Shepard was explaining to her, still processing the information and not totally sure she'd heard him correctly in the first place.
It all seemed so totally absurd to her. She had never imagined herself advancing upward through the Alliance ranks beyond her lowly Tech Specialist role. She liked having the freedom to focus on the technologies she excelled at while not having to take on much more than a minimum level of responsibility. Hell, she'd never even planned on making the military a career in the first place. It had simply been a means to an end, a way to get access to the training and resources a conventional advanced university offered but without the expense. In fact, she'd always planned on rotating out of the Navy as soon as her minimum commitment was fulfilled. A nice plush, corporate R&D position was what she'd had her sights on, maybe even somewhere close to home on Horizon. After the Collector attack and before the war, reconstruction was going strong and a number of major firms were talking about establishing permanent facilities on the colony world. She could have envisioned a long, fruitful career there. Stable. Safe.
Not this. Never was this ever remotely the concept of job security she had in mind. A commissioned officer's post in charge of entire department on board an active duty warship sounded ludicrous. No, terrifying. She could feel herself beginning to sweat and an uncomfortable queasy feeling was starting to roil in her stomach.
Making matters worse, Miranda Lawson was standing over in the corner, arms crossed tightly under her breasts, scrutinizing Traynor with that penetrating gaze that always made her feel a little naked. She knew that hyper-critical look was typical from the XO when she was busy judging the crew and that just about everyone on board outside of Shepard's closest inner circle had withered under it at one time or another. But just knowing the experience was common among the crew didn't do much to keep her stomach from tying itself into knots when the tall, raven-haired woman set her expectant sights upon her.
She decided to focus on Captain Shepard's far less intimidating form. She cleared her throat softly, gathering her wits. After another brief moment of awkward silence, Shepard looked up from his datapad and met her gaze.
"Sir," Traynor blurted out. "I—I'm flattered by your confidence in me, but I'm not even officially rated for combat operations. I'm just a lab geek who's barely managed to keep her head above water. But you're asking me to take on added responsibilities?" She shook her head slightly. "Sir, I like tech. No, I love tech. I'm really good with systems and understanding complex patterns of information and behavior. I'm not management. It's why I chose the technical specialists track after the academy. I'm not leadership material. I probably really shouldn't be in charge of other people, much less an entire department. In fact, I assumed you might have me rotated off the ship once we got back to the Citadel. Maybe transferred over to the new fleet yard they've setup at Bekenstein to help with network installs and optimizations on the new ships. I just feel like… I don't know… It's a lot of responsibility."
Traynor swallowed, forcing herself to stop talking, realizing she was rambling and breathing far too rapidly. She could feel Lawson's gaze boring a hole into her. She tried to ignore that, keeping her attention on Shepard who was now wearing a somewhat amused expression on his face.
Now she felt like an idiot.
"I'm aware of your service record, Traynor," Shepard said evenly. "And I know that finding yourself on board the Normandy during the most catastrophic attack in the history of mankind wasn't something you had penciled in on the day's agenda. Believe me, I get it."
She relaxed a fraction and gave an uneasy smile, allowing Shepard's natural charm to relieve the tension that had taken hold of her. How did he do that so effortlessly?
"I'm not concerned about your lack of experience in the field before you got here. It's what you've done since you arrived that matters to me. And that work has been outstanding, far beyond what I would have expected given the nature of the situation."
Shepard stood up from where he was leaning against his small desk, putting the datapad down upon the desktop surface. Traynor wondered if he'd ever actually sat behind that desk or merely used it as a convenient piece of furniture to prop himself up against from time to time. It was probably the later, she decided.
"Right now, there's no one alive who knows the Normandy's comm and neural networks better than you, Traynor. Taking the reins on the other operational duties your post is designed for will be a natural progression of your skillset, I'm sure of it. I know the promotion to Ensign is a big leap from where you were, but it's necessary your rank match your status among the other CIC crewmembers."
Shepard took a step closer and put his hands on the sides of her shoulders, startling her for a brief moment. She felt like a wobbly pillar he was carefully steadying or some sort of crooked picture hanging upon the wall that needed straightening.
"Hey, I wouldn't be promoting you if I didn't think you were absolutely capable of handling the position," he said. "You've earned this, Traynor. And whether you realize it or not, you've already shown you can handle the pressure of that station. On top of that, EDI seems pretty partial to you. Developing a bond between operations crew and the local VI—AI in our case—isn't the sort of thing that's crucial on most ships. But it's damn near mandatory here on the Normandy. Especially given certain recent developments. That's all the more reason I'm reluctant to let you go back to your old duties and have to break someone new in."
Traynor felt herself blush, remembering her off-handed remarks about how much she enjoyed listening to EDI's voice. Embarrassing. Even more so now that the Normandy's artificial intelligence platform was busy walking around in synthetic humanoid form, just as gorgeous as she might have imagined a flesh-and-blood version of EDI to be.
Shepard released her and took a half step back, looking at Samantha appraisingly, recognizing her hesitancy. "Listen, I won't force this on you, Traynor," he said. "I'll be disappointed if you decide you'd prefer to go back to a support position at Fleet, but I won't order you to remain on board the Normandy. But I do want you to put some serious thought into it before you make your decision. You'll need to be quick about it though. We're only a few hours out from our final Citadel approach and if I need a new department head for Comm Ops I'll need to know as soon as we begin replenishment operations. Understood?"
Traynor nodded rapidly. "Yes, sir."
"Good. Dismissed."
Traynor saluted her two superiors and quickly turned to flee, the small compartment suddenly feeling a bit claustrophobic. She shuffled back to her post, half in a daze, head swimming.
Miranda eyed the young woman as she scurried out the hatchway, the door hissing shut behind her, before catching Shepard staring over at her expectantly. She frowned and cocked her head to the side. "What?"
"You think I'm making a mistake with her."
Miranda sighed. "She's perfectly competent," she admitted. "And you're right, she's quite brilliant when it comes to her understanding of advanced comm technology and neural networking. I also can't deny that her comfort level with EDI is an asset."
"But."
"But, she's woefully inexperienced when it comes to the tactical aspects of proper Comm Ops duty. Ensign Riley ought to be focused solely on weapons and other combat-specific tasks, but instead he's had to handle greater responsibilities during the few engagements we've been involved in. I know you favor having familiar faces around you, but there were more than enough experienced, seasoned officers available in the pool of displaced sailors attached to the Exodus Fleet. Any number of them could have been transferred here before we got underway."
"I remember," he said. "I read the files you sent me."
"No you didn't."
"Okay, I skimmed them. But closely enough to recognize there were some perfectly qualified candidates among them. Good people. But like you said, I am partial to people I already know. It just makes things easier, not having to break in new people who don't understand what life on board the Normandy is like. It can be a shock to the system," he gave a crooked smile and leaned back against his desk again, rubbing his hands through his closely cropped hair. "I know Traynor's green, but she's growing into the position. And with EDI on board, I really don't need to ask for much more than that. I think she'll keep showing her value. Plus, she's plucky."
Miranda smirked. "You like plucky," she teased. "But you saw just now how she reacts to a simple promotion and the prospect of taking on greater responsibilities. Panic."
"She's just overthinking it. We've both seen her focus and poise during combat situations. When she's in the moment, it clicks for her."
Miranda sighed, conceding. "It's your call, of course," she said, walking closer and putting a hand on his chest. "I just hope the fact that she's stationed almost exactly where Kelly Chambers used to be isn't affecting your evaluation of Traynor."
Shepard gave her a brief, startled look, a dark cloud passing behind his eyes that vanished an instant later. He gave tired, sad smile and bowed his head slightly.
"We can't turn back the clock and save her, John," she said softly, leaning forward and touching her forehead to his. "I need you to stop blaming yourself for what happened. Can you do that for me?"
They remained like that for several moments, still, listening to each other's breathing over the low-level hum of the ship's power plant. Shepard moved first, lifting his head and cupping her face gently. He kissed her on the lips and gave a fleeting, easygoing smile, but said nothing more.
She looked back at him for a long while, weighing whether or not to press the subject any further. Finally, she patted his chest lightly with one hand and walked to the other side of the small compartment. "I only want to ensure that you have the best possible crew available to you, Shepard. After tomorrow, I won't be around to keep your little ship in line. And I'm not at all convinced Ashley Williams is up to the task."
"You know I haven't given up on convincing you to stay. You don't need to be ship's XO to have a place here."
Miranda gave him an incredulous look. "I know you want to believe that. And perhaps that will be the case in the future, but it's not now. We've been over this. It won't be long before the Normandy is sent on her next mission. My mission is somewhere else."
"Your father."
"It's not personal, John. As long as Oriana's safe, there's no score that needs settling. But Henry Lawson's collaboration with the Illusive Man is a serious threat and one we cannot ignore. It's crucial we understand what they're working on."
Shepard crossed the room to her and put his hands on her hips, smiling in that disarming way again. "And you will find out what that is," he said. "But not until after we regroup on the Citadel and put a game plan in place. The Normandy's still in need of more repairs and resupply. The crew's going to have some time to wind down a bit before heading out again. That includes you."
Miranda raised an eyebrow, a wry grin playing across her lips. "Is that an order, Captain?"
Shepard laughed softly. "Maybe the last official order I'll ever be able to give you," he said.
A soft electronic chirp sounded from the overhead speaker followed quickly by EDI's voice. "We're approaching the local mass relay, Captain, Miss Lawson. Thirty minutes to Widow System transition corridor."
"Thank you, EDI," Shepard said. "We're on our way."
Miranda gave him a taut smile and turned, the Ready Room doors hissing open automatically, the light touch of Shepard's hand briefly on the small of her back as she strode out to the CIC deck.
"Dunkirk has engaged final mass relay corridor approach vector," Traynor said, her gaze locked on the complex array of information flowing through her station's data feeds. "They're locked in on their departure lane and have released helm to the autonomous relay nav systems. Jumping away in T-minus twenty seconds."
The big holographic tactical and galaxy map display dominating the center of the CIC deck flickered briefly as the icon for the SSV Dunkirk winked out of existence a few seconds later, the frigate having been hurled almost instantly several dozen light years across the galaxy. Instantaneously, the other plots representing traffic in the vicinity of the Aralakh System Mass Relay refreshed with new data. A similar sized icon representing the Normandy was a short distance behind where the Dunkirk had been a moment before, accelerating toward the relay.
"Bridge, CIC," Miranda said over the intercom. "Lieutenant Moreau, you are clear to initiate final transition sequence. Engage final approach vector and transit velocity at your discretion."
"Aye, aye, Major," Joker said, his voice carried through the CIC's overhead speakers. "I have the ball. Relay is hot and my board is green. Commencing final approach run."
"Ship-wide comm, Ensign," Miranda said, glancing at Traynor.
"Aye, ma'am. Ship-wide comm active."
"All stations, secure for mass relay transit," Miranda announced. "I say again, all hands, secure for imminent mass relay transit to Widow System."
"We're in the pipe," Joker said. "Jumping in three… two… one… Jump."
Shepard leaned forward and took hold of the CIC railing, anticipating the familiar, low-level tugging sensation he always experienced during a mass relay transition. The exotic physics associated with mass effect field-enveloped vessels meant that most people rarely sensed anything significant during relay jumps, despite the extreme relativistic speeds involved. But he'd always been sensitive to the forces involved in catapulting a mass of metals, alloys, and the accompanying organic material dozens—sometimes hundreds—of light years across the galaxy. The effect had only become more pronounced after he'd awoken on Lazarus Station, after Cerberus doctors had rebuilt his ruined body.
Seconds later, the galaxy map refreshed again, stars and constellations shifting dramatically as their perspective on the universe and their place within it changed. The Dunkirk's plot reappeared on the tactical readout, the Normandy's passive sensor array acquiring her fleet cousin almost instantly upon entering the Widow System. Captain Dah's Normandy SR-1-class frigate was already under full power again, approximately two hundred kilometers out and assuming a standard course to take her deeper into the nebula where the Citadel orbited the local system's star.
"Transition to Widow System, Lima-3 Relay, complete," EDI announced via the overhead speakers. "All systems online and operating within normal parameters. Resuming full reactor output."
EDI's recently acquired synthetic form was strapped in the co-pilot's seat on the bridge, forward of the CIC. Given the bond she'd developed with his chief helmsmen over their time together, Shepard had figured it was the most appropriate spot to keep her physical body posted. Joker hadn't complained.
"Receiving telemetry from Dunkirk, ma'am," Traynor said. "We're cleared to proceed on our prearranged Citadel approach pattern."
"Very well," Miranda said. "Lieutenant Moreau, you are clear to engage primary sub-light propulsion and execute approach."
"Aye, aye, Major," Joker said. "Adjusting for drift and engaging standard approach velocity and pattern, approach vector zebra-echo six. ETA to the Citadel, two hours, seventeen minutes."
Shepard exchanged a glance with Miranda and pushed back from the railing, walking aft toward the Ops station. "Let's see if we have any better luck with the comm buoy network now that we're in-system, Traynor," he said. "See if you can get me a direct line to Alliance Fleet Operations."
"Understood, Captain. Initiating link requests now. Stand by, sir."
He gave his newest junior officer a curt nod and strode deliberately along the length of the CIC deck, arms folded in front of him, observing his crew executing on his XO's directions, every move precise and efficient.
With Reaper armadas roaming the galaxy with impunity, even routine mass relay jumps had become operations that called for heightened alert levels. The Fleet hadn't adopted full combat readiness protocols for transitions to known friendly territory just yet, but that step was likely right around the corner. But Shepard didn't want his people taking anything for granted, even during what ought to be a mundane journey to one of the safest, most well-secured regions of settled space in the galaxy.
Shepard watched his crew work under Miranda's disciplined, assertive direction for another minute. The particulars of their run from Aralakh to the Citadel had all been worked out between Miranda and the Dunkirk's XO ahead of their departure from Tuchanka orbit, so there wasn't much for him to do beyond reflect on how much he'd miss having her close, keeping the Normandy in order and, just as importantly, keeping him from buckling under the weight of what they were facing.
He sighed inwardly, watching Miranda lean over the shoulder of a young serviceman at the primary sensor station and scrutinize the data the ship's array was pulling in. He was likely the only one in the CIC that could recognize it, but he could see she was tense.
It had been nearly a week since Anita Goyle had last checked in with them via the QEC node at the Citadel's Human Embassy. Paired with the apparent collapse of the Widow System comm buoy network, the silence from their allies on the Citadel felt ominous to say the least. And he knew well that the delay in getting back to the Citadel had grated on Miranda's patience, feeding an anxiety she rarely allowed to manifest in any physical sense.
Immediately after Miranda had confirmed Lieutenant Mallory to be the mole she'd been hunting, Shepard had requested an emergency conference with the two senior Alliance officers in the Aralakh System, Admirals Lindholm and Navarro.
Outwardly, the Admirals had taken the news of Mallory's deception pretty stoically. As disturbing as the implications might have been, they'd both seen far too much over the course of the opening months of the Reaper War to be thrown into disarray by something like that. But even over secure vid-comm, Shepard could tell that Navarro, in particular, was stifling her outrage.
He knew that Adrianna Navarro had fought a long, uphill battle to reach her place among the most highly respected commanders in all the Systems Alliance Navy. It was a revered status she'd earned even before the Reapers had effectively cut the pool of qualified wartime leaders in half during the opening days of the war. And it was just that reputation for integrity and an unmatched work ethic that had landed her the command of one the fleet's newest, most powerful warships. For someone like Navarro, news of one of her peers actively working to sabotage another officer's command, especially in a time of war, was a hard pill to swallow.
Ines Lindholm was tougher to read. And ultimately, as the supreme commander of all Alliance forces in the system, Shepard and the Normandy were technically subject to her authority, beholden to her decision on how to handle the situation. Shrewd and pragmatic, she had no trouble grasping the seriousness of Mallory's actions and what they suggested about Admiral Kaneda's motives. But she also had no intention of jumping to a rash decision or branding one of her contemporaries a traitor to the Alliance.
Lindholm and Hiroyuki Kaneda had a lifetime of Systems Alliance Navy service in common. A proud and fiercely loyal officer, Shepard knew she'd need more than a few medical scans and the testimony of a now disgraced Marine lieutenant to declare that some sort of overarching conspiracy was taking shape on the Citadel. She wanted time to digest what he'd presented, weighing the situation against the monumental task of overseeing a rapidly gathering collection of Alliance, turian, and krogan ships over Tuchanka.
Shepard wasn't particularly inclined to wait for Lindholm to mull over the facts and complete her due diligence. The sudden collapse of the comm buoy network in and around the Serpent Nebula and subsequent near-blackout of communications from his people on the Citadel was more than a little worrying. The buoys had been notoriously unreliable since the war's outbreak, but the drop of entire network segments usually meant an active Reaper presence somewhere in the region. But the comm drones being received from the station roughly every twelve hours hadn't included any reports of an imminent incursion in Widow.
By invoking his Council Spectre authority, Shepard knew he wasn't technically required to wait around for Lindholm's blessing before taking the Normandy back to the Citadel. It was a card he hadn't exactly been reluctant to play in the past, not when his gut was pushing him toward action over measured caution. But he was also keen to maintain good standing for both himself and his eclectic crew. If he was going to make good on his promise to Admiral Anderson and the Council to find a way to stop the Reapers, he'd need support from all his allies.
Miranda's role in exposing Mallory and casting suspicion on Kaneda, along with her presence on the Normandy, complicated matters all the more.
While Navarro had been largely won over by the enigmatic, former Cerberus operative, Lindholm was emphatically outside of Miranda Lawson's modest collection of Alliance supporters. In fact, Lindholm had been among a handful of senior Alliance officers who'd taken the time to sign an official protest of Admiral Hackett's order to grant Miranda amnesty for her actions in the service of Cerberus on top of giving her what they viewed to be a completely outrageous emergency officer's commission to the Alliance military.
But as sticky as Miranda's presence was to the situation, Shepard knew that he'd still be in much the same situation if she'd been half a galaxy away.
There was no getting around the fact that he was an enormously polarizing figure who'd developed a habit of surrounding himself with even more polarizing companions. Miranda never tired of reminding him of that.
Sure, he had his supporters, some of the most influential people in the galaxy, powerful allies and friends who granted him the license to push the envelope and take on the toughest missions. But there was an opposing force to that formula as well, a collection of enemies and detractors that only seemed to be growing in number, despite the stark realities of a desperate war. The reality was that the impulsive style he thrived on and that had seen him to many more victories than defeats was the very same thing that tended to give his superiors pause.
But the ultimate irony of the whole situation was that it was Miranda herself who had been the most influential in convincing him that he needed to learn to temper his brash ways, mix in a softer touch of restraint and tact, and generally fight the urge to tell his superiors to piss off any time he disagreed with them.
In any event, the Normandy had taken a beating during the battle over Tuchanka and the minimum level of repairs needed would take some time. The hull breaches the Reaper incursion pods had caused had to be properly sealed, especially before FTL flight or a mass relay jump, meaning some delay getting back underway was unavoidable.
By the time Lindholm had come back and officially authorized the Normandy to accompany Captain Dah's Dunkirk for a rapid return trip to the Citadel, they were still only about halfway through the patch work. Shepard gave the order to skip the final polish and prepare the ship for travel as soon as possible. It didn't need to be pretty, just functional enough to ensure the ship didn't implode or disintegrate during FTL. Final touches could wait until they had access to the Citadel's dry dock facilities.
The hiss of the elevator doors opening drew Shepard's attention behind him. Garrus and Liara were exiting the lift together, striding into the CIC, equally as interested to discover what they'd find in Citadel space. He offered his friends a quick nod, walking back over to the Comm Ops station.
"Traynor, anything?" Shepard asked.
"I'm afraid not, sir," she said, exhaling in frustration. "I've been trying every trick I know to establish a buoy network connection, but the links all end up corrupted or dropped before we can pass along any data." She glanced up at him. "Honestly, this doesn't look all that different from what we saw near Elysium, sir. Someone's definitely tampered with the local nodes. Extraordinarily complex sabotage is my initial assessment. EDI's already begun a more comprehensive remote diagnostic."
He nodded, unsurprised. The comm drones that had come through before they'd left Tuchanka orbit described as much—total collapse of the local comm network. "The QEC still quiet?"
She nodded. "I'm pinging the paired nodes at the Human Embassy and Fleet Operations every sixty seconds, but either nobody's listening or they're simply ignoring our requests."
"Alright. Keep at it."
Garrus edged up closer to Shepard, crossing his arms in front of his bulky chest armor, glancing up at the big holographical display dominating the center of the CIC. With every passing second, the Normandy's passive sensor arrays were expanding the vessel's scope of awareness, populating more system information. But aside from the Normandy and Dunkirk, their screens were clear of traffic.
"I don't think I've ever seen this region of space so quiet," Garrus said in a low voice. "There's normally dozens of vessels moving through these shipping lanes on any given day. Can't be a good sign the traffic's dried up."
Shepard nodded slowly. "A bit unsettling isn't it?"
Garrus grunted his agreement.
"Anything from your sources, Liara?" Shepard asked, glancing at the asari. On board the Normandy, she still relied on the ship's communication array to establish outbound connections, but he knew the network of satellites and drones she could theoretically access extended beyond the conventional FTL comm buoy networks. All throughout Council space and beyond, dozens of shadow comm satellites and drones operated outside the officially regulated gear, serving the Shadow Broker's extensive network of informants, as well as other information brokers who were willing to pay the hefty prices involved in maintaining the equipment.
Liara shook her head. "No, Shepard. I'm still in contact with a number of assets scattered across the galaxy, but nobody of particular usefulness who's operating on the Citadel has checked in recently, which is odd. There are at least a few sources I would have expected to relay something, but they've all gone silent. Quite suddenly, actually.
He gave her a probing look, wondering if there was something she might be holding back, but then shook himself of the thought just a quick. He was starting to get paranoid. Given what he'd dealt with over the last few months, that was probably to be expected. But he knew he could trust Liara. Doubt shouldn't have ever crept in about that.
He blew out a breath and rubbed his hands against his temples, realizing he'd been going without enough sleep much too frequently of late. Even the stims he'd convinced Chakwas to supply him with weren't cutting it any longer.
"New Contact," Ensign Riley announced from the Tactical Station. "They're squawking a standard Alliance IFF, identified as SSV Antietam, Intruder-class frigate."
Shepard shook out the cobwebs and looked up to see the bright blue icon that designated the craft as a confirmed friendly contact appear on the big holographic orb, out at the extreme edge of Normandy's awareness sphere. The Alliance frigate's designation and hull number populated just below the plot a half second later.
"Antietam is hailing Dunkirk over ship-to-ship fleet channel, sir," Traynor said a moment later.
"Let's hear it, Ensign," Shepard said. "On speaker."
"Aye, sir."
"This is SSV Antietam, to approaching Alliance Navy vessel," The Antietam's comm officer said, his voice piped through the CIC audio system for everyone to hear. "Identify yourself and state your mission."
"Antietam, this is SSV Dunkirk, Dunkirk Actual," Captain Dah replied. "We're inbound to the Citadel with SSV Normandy for replenishment and repairs. That is, assuming the Citadel's still there. It's awfully quiet out here."
A few seconds of light static on the open comm passed and then a low, persistent alert tone began issuing from Ensign Riley's tactical board.
"Whoa," Riley said, reaching over to silence the alert. "We just got lit up by a long range active scan from Antietam, Captain. If they didn't see us before, they definitely do now."
Miranda glanced at Shepard, arching one eyebrow. "Well, that was rude," she said in an icy tone. "Seems a little excessive from an allied vessel in supposedly friendly space."
Shepard frowned, looking closer at the tactical plots, hands on his hips.
There was a prolonged pause from Antietam, much longer than what should have been the case given the distance. "Dunkirk, we have you and Normandy on our scopes. And that's an affirmative, the Citadel is still where you left it. Be advised the entire comm buoy network this side of Widow is dark. We are manning the outer picket line, tasked with intercepting all traffic inbound from the Juliet, Kilo, and Lima relays. You and Normandy are to form up and assume new course and speed for rendezvous with the picket task force where you will be escorted to your assigned docking slip for handoff to Citadel Control. Do not deviate from the prescribed course for any reason."
Garrus scoffed audibly. "Mood's decidedly more uptight since the last time we had the pleasure of a visit to the Citadel," he said. "War and all, that is one downright cold reception for the team that just pointed the whole of the krogan nation toward the Reapers."
"Yeah," Shepard said under his breath. "I'm not a fan if this is the new norm. Looks like they weren't expecting us to tag along with Dunkirk for this run, does it?"
"Why would they care?" Liara asked, fidgeting a bit with her hands. "It seems like they care."
Shepard nodded slowly. Liara was right. It definitely seemed like they'd thrown this patrol for a loop. He briefly considered jumping on the open comm line with Antietam and voicing his own opinion on the current state of affairs, but decided against stepping on anyone's toes. As the senior captain, Jill Dah technically had the lead of their little two-ship column. Besides, he trusted Dah and knew perfectly well that she was just as annoyed at the lack of Alliance hospitality as his command team was.
As it was, the response from Dunkirk was delayed nearly a full thirty seconds. Shepard nearly smiled, imagining his counterpart on the Dunkirk letting loose a cavalcade of cures aimed at whoever was issuing the abrupt orders on Antietam.
"Antietam, acknowledged," Dah finally replied. "And I suggest you adjust your attitude. We are inbound to the Citadel on priority-one orders from Fleet Admiral Lindholm, escorting Normandy. She's still limping a bit from a little dust up over Reaper-contested Tuchanka orbit. So, I'm not exactly feeling the love here. What gives?"
Garrus stifled a laugh. "I can't believe you haven't introduced me to this woman yet, Shepard. I need to buy her a drink."
Shepard gave his friend a wry grin. "I think I'll join you, Garrus."
Another long pause from Antietam followed before the reply came back. "Be advised, Dunkirk, the Citadel is under a Council-imposed state of emergency after multiple terrorist attacks in the Wards. We're operating at a heightened alert level throughout the quadrant, even when dealing with assumed friendly craft. Sorry for the lack of a warm welcome, but everyone's a bit on edge. Your formation isn't what we had on the docket. Please relay status on Salamis and Guadalcanal."
Shepard and Miranda exchanged another glance, her ears perking up at the news of attacks on the Citadel followed by the somewhat unusual request for information about the other two frigates that had been attached to Dah's Wolf Pack flotilla.
"Antietam, Dunkirk Actual. Salamis and Guadalcanal ordered by Admiral Lindholm to hold back and remain on-station near Tuchanka for outer system patrol duty. Copy your orders for Citadel approach. Coming to revised heading for rendezvous with picket task force. Just make sure we're not delayed any longer than we have to. We've got people to see and things to do."
"Acknowledged," the Antietam's comm officer replied tersely before closing the channel.
"We're receiving new course instructions from Antietam, sir," Traynor said.
Miranda walked over to Traynor's station, examining what had come across the ensign's screens before looking up and giving Shepard a curt nod.
"Alright" he said. "We'll play along for now. Acknowledge our receipt of orders and then forward route instructions to the helm and advise Lieutenant Moreau to form up astern of Dunkirk."
"Aye, aye, sir."
"Updated course received," EDI confirmed a moment later. "Revised Citadel arrival ETA factoring in revised course and speed, two hours twenty-three minutes."
Shepard leaned in over the oval CIC railing, staring up at the big holographic tactical display of the system, studying the plots representing the Normandy and Dunkirk gradually moving toward the icon for the Antietam, farther out ahead, standing between them and the Citadel.
He exhaled and glanced at Miranda who'd wandered over to his side. "Let's break first shift for thirty now," he said, his voice lowered. "I want to make sure they're fresh and sharp before we get closer to the station. And check in with Vega and Cortez. I want the Marines staying close to their weapons and armor and Kodiak One placed in Ready-5 status. Just in case."
She gave him a knowing look and a subtle little head tilt. "Aye, Captain. I'll see to it."
"Traynor," Shepard said. "Call Oriana up here to relieve you for a quick break and then I want you both to keep your ears open for anything unusual out there. Nothing about this approach is feeling right."
The Antietam continued closing the distance between the Dunkirk and Normandy for another ten minutes before making a big, looping track around the other two Alliance frigates and assuming a matching course, shadowing the other two Alliance vessels from a discreet distance but very obviously tracking their progress every step of the way.
"Ma'am," Riley said, glancing up from his station over to where Miranda was standing. "I have two more contacts on long-range scopes. Positive IDs for New York-class heavy cruiser SSV Toronto and Ticonderoga-class frigate SSV Wake Island. They're on an intercept trajectory, fifty-six minutes out at current velocity."
Garrus leaned over the ensign's console, scrutinizing the sensor data. "They weren't joking about that escort, huh?" he said. "Seems like overkill, doesn't it?"
Shepard was scowling. "Yes it does," he said deliberately. "I don't care how paranoid they've gotten. That's entirely too much hardware to spare from a picket line just to escort two confirmed friendlies back to port."
"Well, that's just it, isn't it, Shepard?" Miranda said. "It seems they don't view us as entirely friendly."
Shepard looked at Miranda for a moment and turned to his Comm Ops officer. "Traynor, any chatter from Citadel Flight Control? We ought to be in range to pick up something by now."
"Uh, no sir," she said, sounding distracted. She glanced up from her station where she and Oriana had been huddled, looks of supreme concentration on their faces. "There's been nothing at all from Citadel Ops. However, we do have something for you to see, Captain."
"Talk to me, Traynor," he said, striding closer to her station, Miranda and Garrus in tow. "Something else on comms?"
"Not exactly, sir," Traynor said. "It's an anomaly with the Antietam's fleet transponder encryption pattern. Something very discreet Oriana and I discovered about the power cepstrum aspects of their IFF and the base logarithm of its signal." She glanced up at Shepard and frowned. "Sorry, sir. With your permission, for the sake of expediency, I'll spare you most of the technical vagaries involved."
"Good idea, Traynor. Skip to the punch line and tell me what you've found."
"Yes, sir," Traynor said and gave a quick sideways glance to Oriana who returned an eager nod. "As you know, Systems Alliance Navy-designed IFF transponders are made up of highly complex subcomponents that are used to generate a unique signal that cannot, theoretically, be imitated by another vessel. Even if you removed all the components of the IFF system from one ship and installed them in a vessel of identical design, the resulting modulating frequencies and exotic particles embedded in current naval transponder signals would be appreciably dissimilar." She quickly keyed a command on her terminal, producing a scaled holographic image of the frigate that was currently pacing the Normandy and Dunkirk. "However, whoever's operating this Intruder-class frigate seems to have found a way to imitate another vessels' transponder nearly perfectly. Nearly.
"The anomaly in the transponder is incredibly subtle, but Oriana has a gift for these sorts of details. Once we found evidence of a counterfeit signature, we compared the signal to the classified Navy databases we synched up with last time we docked at the Citadel, just to be sure of our findings. The Antietam's known IFF signatures are all on file, of course, along with all the detailed technical information associated with the device.
"And just like IFF transponders are unique, so are starship propulsion signatures," Traynor continued. "There's usually no need to examine the drive system emissions of a friendly vessel, but at this range, we've been able to gather extremely detailed passive scans of our escort which EDI has been analyzing and cross-checking against every vessel in the database, including the ships the Normandy has records of direct contact with. We've just managed to find a match for this frigate's drive core emission signature, sir." She pointed emphatically at the icon representing the ship broadcasting as the SSV Antietam. "This is not the Antietam, sir. It's the SSV Farragut."
Shepard felt a sudden wave of fury wash over him. The Farragut was one of the four SAIS operated frigates that had fallen upon the Normandy after their escape from the doomed Bahak System, immediately after Kelly Chambers had delivered the virus that had temporarily crippled EDI and other critical systems on his ship. In fact, the Farragut had been Major Richter's command and the vessel used to transfer Shepard to the freighter, Persephone.
"Confidence level in this, Traynor?" Shepard asked.
"One hundred percent, sir," she replied confidently. "There's no doubt."
He looked at Miranda and saw the storm brewing behind her eyes. "Alert status, XO," he said calmly. "Bring everybody up to battle stations but keep our weapons and defensive systems cool for the time being. I don't want them tipped off that we're on to them."
"Of course, Shepard," she said, maintaining her poise despite the same wrath he knew she was remembering. She immediately turned and began barking orders to the CIC crew.
"Good work, you two," Shepard said, returning his attention to Traynor and Oriana. "Ensign, get me a secure tight-beam connection to Dunkirk. I want to speak with Captain Dah and not over fleet channels where that other ship can monitor."
"Yes, sir. One moment while I setup the link."
He turned to Garrus. "Get down to the Flight Deck and rig up," he said. "See that Vega and the Marines are fully mission prepped for potential close-quarters action and that the Kodiak's warmed up."
"You got it, Shepard," Garrus said, a glint of excitement in his eye, and turned to rush back toward the lift.
"Secure tight-beam link ready, sir," Traynor said. "I have Captain Dah for you."
He gave a curt nod and strode over to his private terminal. "Send it to my station."
"Yes, sir," she said, her fingers dancing over her haptic interface. "It's there."
Shepard leaned forward, accepting the vid-comm link. Captain Dah's face appeared on his monitor a moment later. "Enjoying our little pleasure cruise, Shepard?" Dah said with a humorless smirk. "I haven't had a chaperone tied this close to my hip since junior prom."
"It's a bit over the top, Captain," Shepard agreed.
"Damn irregular is what it is, Shepard. What do you have for me?"
"You have the new arrivals on your scopes yet?"
She looked off screen for a moment before glancing back at the vid-comm camera. "Your passive gear is a bit better than ours, Shepard. That pig of a cruiser and her escort just popped up at the extreme edge of our awareness screens. What. The. Hell."
"My thoughts exactly, Captain," Shepard said coolly. "And I've got something else. Something I think you're going to be very interested to hear."
