Chapter Thirty-One: The Calm
It would be Her task
To protect, prepare, shepherd
All of her children
Citadel
Events had progressed rather quickly. News of Thane's death reached the Normandy an hour out from the Citadel, dampening the feelings of hope or accomplishment the crew felt over their achievements on Tuchanka.
Such was the mood that no complaints had been voiced when Commander Shepard cancelled the planned shore leave upon docking. Instead, everybody had been assigned to assist the dock workers in expediting the Normandy's refueling and resupply. The pace was frantic, clearly signaling that the Commander planned to spend the minimum time possible on the Citadel.
While most of the crew were busy, Shepard, Garrus, Doctor Chakwas, and Liara headed to the Presidium for Thane's short funeral service, before his remains were taken into custody of his son. Kaidan, not having known Krios, instead went to an Alliance military facility to get new L5 biotic implants surgically fitted, as he wished to be back in action as soon as possible.
The service was short and bittersweet. The Normandy crew in attendance returned to their ship, still docked. Not a word was said on the return trip, and upon arriving at the ship all went to their separate spaces to sleep or decompress, the stress and exertion of the last few days catching up toe verybody both physically and mentally.
For the Master Chief however, the pace of the past few days of the Reaper War was more-or-less standard for him. Returning to his out-of-the-way quarters underneath the engine room after a shower, he took the time to write-up the mission report of their Tuchanka excursion, since he hadn't been able to do so during the flight to the Citadel, then performed maintenance on his weapons and armor. With the crew so busy, the armory tech wouldn't have had time, even if the Chief had been inclined to allow someone else to take care of his gear.
This mission report he turned over to Cortana, who added what technical detail and advanced analysis she could, and then sent it off to the Infinity through the slipspace comms gear that had been offloaded onto the Normandy for this exact purpose, and which Chief stored underneath his cot. He then slept for five hours, which was the maximum amount of time that he needed to feel recovered and well-rested.
"Chief, time to wake up."
The Spartan had his eyes open and was fully-alert within a second, tossing back his sheets and swinging his legs over the cot. Over on his worktable Cortana's purple-blue avatar was standing out of the portable projector disk, looking over at him with crossed arms. She flashed the time above her head for him to see, 0400 hours.
"Anything I need to know about?" he asked in a characteristically gruff greeting. He stood and stretched some to loosen his tight muscles.
Cortana shrugged. "Not really. Your Tuchanka mission report arrived with no issues, and Normandy's restock finished two hours ago. Nothing new with the Reapers either, Allied fleets are still assembling above Despara."
"Any new orders?"
"Nope. Nothing from either UNSC or Alliance command."
He changed into PT clothes and began a moderately exerting exercise routine to pass the time. "Been keeping busy?" he asked Cortana.
"Very, actually. Have I told you that I can run millions of processes every second?"
"Repeatedly," the Spartan replied, deadpan. He bet he'd heard that millions of more times as well...
"Well, there's a lot going on throughout the Citadel. Mainly I've been listening into news networks, going through the financial system, and keeping tabs on the UNSC forces still on the station," said Cortana, still sarcastically smirking from her previous sentence.
"I didn't know we had left any troops here. Thought they would have been swept up with everybody else when the fleet moved to Despara," Chief said, not pausing his push-up routine a beat.
"Admiral Lasky thought it would be a good idea to leave 'embassies', though they're really small military firebases with a heavy ONI operative presence for intelligence gathering, on each of the five Wards and one on the Presidium. Spread the good word about the UNSC, you know. Go on patrols, give candy bars to kids, the hearts and mind sort of stuff we haven't done since the beginning of the Insurrection."
"Mhhmm, with a Quick Reaction Force just minutes away, and ONI spooks prowling the streets."
Cortana shrugged. "You know how these things go. Whether we like it or not we are invested in the Reaper War, and by extension, this galaxy. So, it makes perfect sense to maintain a presence on the galactic seat of power. Granted that presence is a military one and severely lacking in diplomats, but that's what the times call for and what we have available."
"How's public opinion?"
"In general? Scared. Surprisingly, the news networks aren't holding back on coverage of any kind. I'm talking about war footage, satellite images, audio clips, interviews with soldiers, wounded, people who've lost their loved ones, most of it raw and uncut. What you can find on their extranet is expectedly much worse."
"Doesn't sound pretty."
"It's not. Coverage like that never existed in the UEG back during the war with the Covenant. The advantages of a centralized military government and its all-powerful spy/propaganda agency with their all-seeing AI information scrubbers. On the other hand, maybe the unrestricted coverage will get the civilians more involved in the war effort. Though, with the economy tanking…"
"Let's keep things relevant," Chief insisted, not at all concerned with the economic state of the galaxy. "Any more news about Krios' killer?"
Cortana kept one arm crossed around her stomach, but the other reached up so that her hand could start twirling her holographic hair. "One new thing, yes. C-SEC found her body in her own bedroom, dead from a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head. I pieced together what security tapes there were of the event in the hospital, but it's not much and it's relatively straightforward. The Doc walks into the hospital, past the guard at the side door, up to the fourth floor, down the hallway, and into the room. She then shoots and kills the occupant and leaves the same way she came."
"You've forwarded the footage to Commander Shepard?"
"Yes, a few hours ago when I got it. That is still classified, so no news coverage with that footage yet at least."
"What was his reaction?" Chief asked.
Cortana sighed. "Upset, as can be expected. Shepard has known Krios for a long time. Everything I've been able to find points that they were good friends."
"What is he doing now?"
"Just sitting in his cabin, watching the security footage over and over again, I'm afraid to say."
"I thought it was implied that you wouldn't hack into Shepard's private quarters," Chief said, annoyed. "If you get caught - "
"I swear, it's like you don't even know me some of the time." Cortana replied, dismissing his concerns with a delicate wave of her hand. "I was literally built to infiltrate hostile systems, remember? Systems a lot more secure and complex than the Normandy, in fact. Not that the Covenant were exactly good at cyber warfare, but comparing their tech to the Systems Alliance? Please. Granted, these systems aren't technically hostile, and I have been keeping out, mostly. Besides, EDI? Catching me? Good one."
Chief frowned, both at the AI's insubordination, and at Shepard's mental state, but decided that trying to stop Cortana from spying would be like trying to stop him from soldiering. It was such an essential part of her nature that nothing he did was likely to change it. Instead, he focused on something he might be able to change; Shepard's situation. "How long has he been like that?"
"About two hours. He's also directed EDI not to admit any visitors," she said.
Chief thought for a moment. Perhaps he should try and talk with the Commander. He knew what it was like to lose close companions. The fact that there were only five Spartan-II's left proved that many times over. First though, he would finish his exercise routine. Thirty minutes later he had finished and after plugging Cortana's small chip into his neural lace, he headed up a couple of decks to the showers, where he washed off and dressed into fresh fatigues.
Deck Three of the Normandy, the Crew Deck, was quiet, but with an underlying buzz of tension that the Chief was intimately familiar with. Most of the Normandy's crew members were lounging around, split amongst the observation room, the 'game room', the crew quarters, and the various tables and chairs in the mess. It didn't take much to see that most of them were restless, speculating in hushed tones to each other about what was taking them so long to depart after the hectic rush to get resupplied, and what their next mission would be.
Nearly all of them retreated in some way from the Master Chief's massive figure, conversation halting until they thought he was out of earshot, not knowing of his enhanced hearing. He might have been wearing the same Alliance grey-and-dark blue camouflage fatigues, but he was still very much an outsider. Chief payed it no mind, since over the decades he had gotten used to the feeling.
Aside from the not-sneaky-enough stares from the Normandy ship crew, the only other thing that drew his eye was the small group consisting of Liara, Garrus, and Doctor Chakwas, who were clustered near the door to the med-bay. Chief tuned out the other conversations throughout the deck and the noise from the vidscreens above the secondary mess table, focusing his senses on the quiet words being exchanged between the the Human, Turian, and Asari.
"I already tried, but EDI turned me away at the door," Liara said. She sounded frustrated at first, but as she continued on her voice turned to one of sadness. "Even if he had let me in, I don't really know how I would have been able to help. I mean, sure I could try and comfort him physically, but emotionally… I can't imagine how much stress and grief he's under right now."
"It can't be healthy. In fact, I know it's not," Chakwas said. "Someone needs to get him talking, get him moving. Not just for his sake either, we have an entire warship and crew just lounging around."
"Why don't you try then, Doctor? You've known Shepard longer than both of us," Liara said, tilting her head at Garrus.
Chakwas pursed her lips. "I could try, but I don't know if I would have any more success than either of you. Yes, I've known Shepard for a long time, but our relationship is different than with either of you. I mean, there is a definite distinction between being down in the trenches with the Commander like you two are, and being back on the relative safety of the ship, waiting to patch everyone up when they get back. Why don't you try, Garrus? Shepard considered you the XO back when we were fighting the Collectors, and you've been down on missions with him more than probably anyone else that's ever served on any Normandy."
Garrus sighed. "Yeah, I'll go up there and see what I can do. It's just that, things are different since we left Cerberus and the Normandy became officially an Alliance ship. Different crew, different rules, hell I don't even know if Shepard still considers me to be that XO, now that we're part of the proper command structure again."
"You're questioning whether or not Shepard will listen to you? Liara questioned. There was an attempt to put some humor in her words, but it fell a little flat. "The Garrus Vakarian?"
"He turned you away, didn't he?" Vakarian countered, which struck a chord with the Asari as her eyes fell down to the deck.
From his semi-discreet listening post just a little around the corner, the Master Chief had decided that he had heard enough. If the three closest people to Shepard still aboard the Normandy were having indecisions, then they would never get moving. The Spartan decided to take matters into his own hands.
He started walking forwards again, noting how the conversation between Garrus, Liara, and the Doctor came to a halt when they finally noticed him. The Chief gave the group a polite nod then continued onto the elevator, where he pressed the button for the Captain's Quarters. As the door closed behind him, the trio just outside the med-bay could all see the number 1 light up in the display that showed where the elevator was going.
It wasn't long before the Master Chief was outside the door to Shepard's personal quarters, the haptic interface of the door a solid red right before him.
"The Commander is not seeing visitors at this time." The voice was EDI's, and wafted at him quietly yet firmly from overhead speakers.
"Open the door please, EDI," the Chief said.
The reply was as expected. "I apologize Master Chief Petty Officer, but I cannot do that."
"I need to speak with the Commander."
"My orders are quite clear - "
"Cortana?"
No sooner had he finished speaking her name when the haptic interface on the door changed from angry red to vibrant green.
"How did you -" EDI started, alarmed, before she was cut off by Cortana.
"Sorry girlfriend, but I'm with the Chief on this one. We've got to get moving."
The Spartan palmed the now-green haptic interface and the door slid open. He stepped forwards into the Commander's Quarters, which were darkened by the lack of lights, minus what illumination came from the large fish tank on the left wall, and a steady glow coming from further in the room. He didn't announce himself, but he made no real effort to quiet his bootsteps either.
He found the Commander on one of the couches in the area near the bed, hunched over a datapad on a nearby table.
The man didn't look towards the approaching Spartan, and actually didn't even acknowledge his presence at all.
"Commander Shepard," the Chief said to get his attention.
Shepard turned himself towards Chief, looking at him with tired red eyes, then seemed to look past him to the door that the Chief had entered through. "EDI, I told you not to let anyone in."
"Commander, the Normandy has been fully replenished for over two hours. Do we have any orders?" Chief pressed.
Shepard kept looking up at the Spartan for a few seconds, eyes unmoving and blank in their non-intensity, before he looked back down to the datapad again.
The Master Chief sighed ever so slightly through his nose before he stepped forwards a little more in order to get a view of what the datapad was playing. He already knew what was being played back, but now he confirmed for himself that it was indeed the security footage from the hospital, showing Doctor James shooting one one Thane Krios.
"They found the Doctor's body." The voice was Cortana's, coming in over the speakers in the cabin with a soft and gentle a tone as Chief had only rarely ever heard. "Dead in her apartment bedroom, Self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head. Or, that's what C-SEC is saying."
Shepard looked up a bit towards the ceiling. "Self-inflicted?"
"How did you gain access to this information?" This was EDI, also coming in over the speakers, still aggravated that Cortana had so easily bypassed her at the door.
"C-SEC investigation records being put in by the investigation team," Cortana answered.
"Citadel Security records are classified information," EDI protested.
"Like I give a damn. Anyways, newsies have already been playing with the ideas that she was forced to kill Thane in some manner, or even was a sleeper agent."
"Sleeper agent?" Shepard asked.
"Kind of makes sense though, doesn't it? I mean, we can already rule out some options, like a personal vendetta," said Cortana. "Digging through Huerta Memorial personnel files and assignment records shows us that one Doctor Sarah James worked on a completely different floor than where Krios was quartered, had absolutely no connection to him as a patient, and had likely only ever seen or heard of him in a passing regard. Not very much to form a basis from which you would want to kill somebody, doesn't it?"
Cortana continued. "Maybe she was forced to do it, but by whom? And why? What enemies did Krios have? Cerberus? Thane did work with you Commander, and sided with you when you turned on the organization."
"Wait." It was the Chief, who narrowed his eyes and looked at the datapad more closely.
"What is it?" asked Cortana through the cabin speakers.
Chief took another couple of seconds to look at the recording that was playing on the data pad. The current footage showed Doctor James walking down the hallway towards Williams' room, then entering the room itself. The footage then switched to a security camera within the room itself, where the Doctor could be seen drawing her weapon from her labcoat pocket and firing at Krios.
"Rewind by ten seconds," The Spartan said, and Cortana obeyed.
They all watched the segment again, Shepard and Chief with their eyes, Cortana and EDI via electronic means.
"That's no doctor," said the Spartan.
"Explain," Shepard said.
"Something isn't right. Her movements. No one draws and fires a weapon so fast and precisely like that unless they have been heavily trained. She's too fluid, the economy of her movement is too severe, the type you would only see in very few subsets of individuals."
Cortana kept the segment on repeat now, the Doctor walking down the hallway, then entering the room and shooting Krios.
"What kinds of individuals?" Shepard asked, having to look away from the repeat images of his friend being murdered.
"The most relevant group would be highly trained special forces operators." Chief had been taught that there was a wealth of information that could be discerned from body language and mannerisms. He recognized that type of movement, because it mimicked how he himself moved, as well as the other Spartans, ODSTs, Rangers, and even Sangheili he had seen.
Doctor James drew and fired her weapon, shooting a surprised Krios clean through the right eye, then twice through the chest.
The epiphany came suddenly, as they often do. He had seen that movement, that posture, before. He knew who this woman was. It was the same woman who had ambushed him in that maintenance hallway the first time he had come onto the Citadel, the one whose hand and knee he was fairly sure he had thoroughly destroyed.
"Cortana, can you extrapolate her height someway?" Chief asked.
"Sure can, just let me access the hospital architectural records… okay, based on the given measurements for things like the doorframe, ceiling, etc, she looks about five feet and nine inches," the AI said. "You recognize this person."
It wasn't a question in the slightest, in fact it was as much a sudden realization to Cortana as it had been to the Master Chief. After all, she had seen and knew about everything he did anyways, but usually she was the one who made these kinds of connections first, given her nature as an artificial intelligence.
"Who is it?" Shepard asked, suddenly much more attentive.
"This is the same woman who attacked me in the maintenance corridor the first time I was on the Citadel," Chief said.
"Look, Chief, even the weapon is the same," Cortana noted. The security camera feed was of a pretty high quality, which although unfortunately allowed the more violent parts of the recording to be viewed in grisly detail, also let them see the weapon fairly well.
It was the same compact, black pistol that looked like a scaled-down version of the Carnifex pistol that Shepard usually carried, again with a thin silencer protruding from the end of the barrel that turned the assassin's three shots into quiet coughs.
"Commander, you encountered Miranda during the Cerberus assault on the Citadel before we departed for Tuchanka. Could this be her?"
"Connect the dots, Shepard," started Cortana. "I believe that these mystery women are all the same person; Miranda. Cerberus has had it out for you ever since the Collector base assault. They show up on Mars, this woman attacks Chief on the Citadel, then you specifically during the attack on the Citadel by Cerberus, then kills Krios? What is the connection here? The answer is you, Commander."
Shepard visibly recoiled from these words, but Cortana pressed on.
"I'm looking at your debriefing report to Alliance Command right now, and you specifically say that you thought it was Miranda who was arming that bomb and who you nearly caught. Is it too far of a stretch to believe that she was the one who Chief encountered, and who killed Thane?"
Shepard's face was one of agony now, and his hands were clenched on the edges of the table so hard that Chief could see cracks spreading through the polished wood surface.
"I know it's hard to believe, and I will readily admit that the physical evidence leaves a lot to be desired, but think about it. Have you had any contact with Miranda since the Collector Base?" the relentless AI pressed. Silence was her answer, which she took as a now. "So it lies within the realm of possibility that Cerberus could have re-captured Miranda and somehow turned her against you?"
Shepard didn't answer, but again Cortana didn't expect him to. She decided to change tactics, go on the offensive a bit. "What better way could Cerberus and The Illusive Man affect you, not only in physical manners, but also emotionally, like right now? For Christ's sake, Shepard, the Reapers are here! The war is being fought as we speak! No, not as we speak, as we sit here in this dock doing absolutely nothing while you watch security camera footage over and over again!"
The air in the cabin suddenly charged as if struck by lightning, even causing the hairs on the back of the Chief's neck to stand up. In an instant Shepard had surrounded himself in a maelstrom of biotic energy as he rose from his seat, roaring, and out of pure situational reflex Chief had already taken a step back to steady himself and started raise his arms in case he needed to defend himself or try and restrain the Commander.
Shepard spun around and in one violent burst expelled all of his summoned biotic rage towards the first physical thing that drew his subconscious eye: the glowing blue wall-inset aquarium. The clear plexiglass shattered immediately under the immense pressure, sending dozens of gallons of water and plexiglass shards cascading onto the floor. As the noise and sudden motion subsided, only Shepard's heavy breaths of exertion and the soft atmospheric hum of the Normandy itself could be heard. Chief still had his hands half-up, looking at Shepard's turned back with equal parts wariness and frustration.
The Commander let out one last, semi-ragged breath. "EDI."
"Yes Commander."
"That list of Cerberus installations that we stole off of one of their ships? Find the closest one, and have Joker take us there."
"Right away, Commander," the AI dutifully replied.
Shepard started to stride towards the door, not looking back at Chief or the scene of minor destruction that had once been his aquarium. "Get someone up here to clean this up. Master Chief, you are dismissed."
With that he palmed the haptic interface on the door, waited the second for it to open, then walked through, leaving the Master Chief alone in the Commander's cabin alone. With a quiet sigh through his nose Chief let his arms fall to his sides, taking a look at the floor near the former aquarium.
"Good thing there weren't any fish in it," Cortana 'said.' She was speaking to him through his neural lace instead of through the cabin's comm systems, clearly implying she wanted absolute privacy. It was actually more like she was thinking to him, her words and inflections materializing themselves directly in the Spartan's brain. It was something that she didn't do very often, partly because it was slightly unsettling, but also because the need for this level of direct talk wasn't often necessary as it was usually provided through their enclosed suit comms. The rest of the conversation was nearly telepathic in a sense, with voiced thoughts serving as the means of communication instead of spoken words.
"You pushed him too hard," Chief replied, less accusatory and more just matter-of-fact.
"Maybe I did. But I had to do something to get him moving, and appealing to his anger seemed the most effective way to do that."
Chief shook his head ever so slightly. "Anger leads to mistakes, and mistakes get people killed. Back during training, an outburst like that would have gotten you pulled from the mission."
A short pause. Cortana's 'tone' when she answered contained a degree of softness to it that the Chief wasn't expecting. "This isn't NavSpecWar's training facility back on Reach, John. Shepard isn't a Spartan."
"I know that, but it's still unprofessional."
"Please," Cortana jeered at him. "You were born and raised to be a soldier. Do you know how long Shepard has been in the military? Fourteen years, only four in a command position. Sure, that's a lot of time, and he's an excellent soldier, but you know as well as I do that it would be simply impossible to expect the same kind of 'professionalism' that you expect from yourself."
Chief knew he wasn't exactly getting chewed out, but still couldn't help himself from frowning. Cortana continued on anyways.
"Think about his situation right now. Aside from Admiral Hackett, Admiral Anderson, and Ambassador Udina, who else in the entire Systems Alliance is considered important enough to make and carry out major military and political decisions? Shepard is, whether he likes it or not. Remember the task that Anderson gave him? It basically amounted to 'unite the entire galaxy'. I can only imagine the stress from that responsibility alone, but then you combine the relentlessness of both the Reapers and now Cerberus? To be honest, I'm surprised he's managing as well as he has been."
"You call that managing?" Chief countered, shifting his eyes between the various puddles of standing water and shards of plexiglass littering the floor.
"What, you've never gotten so angry that you've wanted to punch something before?" Cortana countered.
In fact he had, Chief knew. The first situation that came to mind was when Sam's suit had gotten punctured during their first mission aboard a Covenant ship, all those years ago. "No."
"Bull. I might not be able to read your mind through this neural lace, yet, but I still know you well enough to tell when you're lying."
"If he acts like this on an away mission - "
"Then it's a good thing you're rational, experienced, and cool-headed enough to handle a squad."
Chief pursed his lips. This is what he had been concerned about when Shepard made his mental state clear, managing the squad while the Commander went on a biotic rampage.
"You'll manage just fine. You did on Tuchanka, remember?" Cortana reassured, correctly reading the Spartan's hesitation for what it was.
"I'm going back down to the engine bay. I want everything you can find out about that first Cerberus target that Shepard is taking us to by the time I get down there."
"Of course, Chief."
Meanwhile, down in the QEC, Shepard was waiting impatiently for the quantum link to connect him to a person many hundreds of light-years away. Finally, the blue dots of holographic light started to materialized and coalesce into the form of one blue-uniformed, white-haired, grizzled Alliance Admiral.
"Commander, better make this quick. I'm due on the Infinity in thirty minutes with the rest of High Command," the scratchy voice from the other side of the QEC said.
"I'm going after Cerberus," Shepard said curtly but with what respect he could muster.
"Are you telling me, or asking for my approval?" asked Hackett. Evidently by looking closer at Shepard's holographic avatar he figured it out for himself. "Don't answer that, I can already tell. Do you think they were behind the death of Thane Krios? My condolences."
"I'm sure. I'm going to hit them hard, go down the list of targets that we acquired when they attacked the Citadel."
Hackett nodded his head in acceptance. "I have no doubt that you will, Commander. Very well, you have my approval, not that I think I could stop you. I wouldn't have much use for you over in Turian space, and I agree that Cerberus needs to be taken down to size as much as you do. Anything you need, supplies, money, reinforcements, I'll spare what I can if you ask."
"Thank you, sir," Shepard said. The tidal wave of rage he had been feeling had died down to a bubbling simmer by the time he had reached the QEC, allowing for the proper respects to be paid to the Admiral and for a brief moment of curiosity to surface. "How does it look?"
"Tough," the Admiral replied, sighing heavily. "Very tough. Between the us, the Turians, and the Salarians, we have well over fifteen hundred ships ready to take the fight to the Reapers, and an equal number of ground assault and troop transport vessels. Protecting the UNSC ships will be the only thing that really matters however, and estimations put Reaper opposition at anywhere from three to six hundred warships."
Hackett sighed, the weariness in the man starting to show for the first time Shepard could ever recall. "I'm not gonna lie to you Shepard, the raw number may be in our favor for now but firepower and staying power definitely favors the Reapers. The Infinity and her fleet certainly balances the equation, but this is definitely still our fight to lose."
"Then we'll just have to win instead. Good luck Admiral."
"Likewise, Commander. I'll be in touch. Hackett out."
As Commander Shepard faded out with the disconnection of the quantum entanglement link, Hackett spun around on his heel and headed for the door of his private ready room, past the few glowing terminals still alight with information of every kind hat he had been pouring over almost non-stop.
The door opened automatically, he had had the manual haptic interface uninstalled, and with another few steps he found himself in the CIC of the SSV Kilimanjaro. The urgent stress of activity had mostly abandoned the large room in the past few hours, as the hectic organization of the various Allied fleets and ships had been completed. Now was the phase that every military man or woman either relished or dreaded, where all that could be done was to wait. As it were, the twenty-two CIC crew were doing their best to keep busy and combat the growing sense of anxiety, or in some cases plain boredom.
Allied. Allies. The Allied Forces. Hackett mused for a brief second about the moniker about which the Systems Alliance, Turian Hierarchy, and Salarian Union were now being grouped into. He didn't know how exactly the designation of the three had sprung into being, but he did know that it had been accepted by nearly everyone in such a short amount of time that it was almost staggering. The three factions certainly were allies to be sure, but even though the official documents that bound them together against the Reapers weren't even four days old, almost no one referred to the Reaper opposition by their separate racial names. Everyone just called them the 'Allies', especially newsies, but even Hackett himself now.
He was drawn out of his musings by the sight of a bouncing blonde bun atop none other than the CO of the Kilimanjaro, his Flag Captain, Sydney Jillian. She was flanked on either side by two Alliance Marines, part of the CIC's security detail. None of the three bothered to salute, as Hackett had ordered the ship into a wartime standing, which loosened standard military formalities in the interest of promoting efficiency.
"Admiral, your shuttle is ready to take you to Infinity," she said.
"Our shuttle," Hackett corrected. Confusion swept across Captain Jillian's pale, fair features, quickly replaced by curiosity.
"Our shuttle sir?" she asked, wanting clarification to the question she thought she already knew the answer to.
"Yes, you're coming with me. I apologize for not letting you know sooner, but it was a decision which I just recently made," he replied.
Jillian nodded. "Yes sir. Could I ask why?"
"Because you're the next CINCSeventh in the case that I suddenly keel over from all of the stress of this goddamned war."
Surprise now, as the Captain's dark blue eyes opened wide. "Me sir?"
"Yes Jillian, you. You can probably tell that the Alliance Navy is running low on capable, experienced officers, so we need to hold on to the ones we do have, and that includes you. That's why I'm officially appointing you as my successor," said Hackett. In a way, it was like a personal admission of defeat. Normally, if something unfortunate happened to an admiral, fleet command would assign a new officer in their slot, or promote someone into it. Even during the hectic insanity of the First Contact War, or the rush to the Citadel to relieve it's begulared fleet during Sovereign's attack, Hackett had never had to worry about the continuity of the chain of command. If he went down, the next ranked admiral in the fleet would step into his shoes with no difficulties.
Now though, with this war… this was unlike anything he had ever experienced or prepared for. It wasn't what anyone was prepared for. There was no centralized fleet command anymore to issue promotions and adjust personnel if Hackett bit the dust. With the loss of Arcturus Station and its associated fleets, the command structure of the Alliance Navy had been gutted. Even in the fleets that survived, individual ship losses and casualties had destroyed the formerly neat organizational charts that outlined who succeeded who in the chain of command.
Hackett was just happy to have a mostly intact command staff himself, but most of the surviving Alliance fleet was not in such a comfortable position. He'd been forced to assign command positions purely based on performance, regardless of the formalities of seniority. Most of his frigate and cruiser groups were commanded by Captains, instead of the normal Rear Admiral rank. He couldn't afford to pull someone from another command slot, where they were comfortable and established, to create a backup for himself. Only someone already on his staff, intimately familiar with his strategic goals and thinking, could step into that slot. It might rub a few of the surviving officers the wrong way to have a captain jump over them to become Fleet Admiral, but it would cause less damage to the fleet's overall command structure in the long run than having everybody move a step up and force everybody to adapt to new roles.
The last war that had occurred on such a scale was the Rachni War and the following Krogan Rebellions, but almost everyone who participated in those was now dead, and Humanity hadn't even invented gunpowder at the time. As an Admiral, and especially now as CINCFLEET of the Alliance Navy, he was rarely afforded the luxury of the tactical thinking, but even in the strategic sense the scope of thought was so much larger that what used to be 'normal'. Before, the strategic view for Hackett had been limited to single planets or systems, and the strategies and maneuvers undertaken by the different individual elements of a single fleet. Casualty counts had been in the hundreds or rarely thousands, with ship losses in the single digits.
Instead of single planets or systems, Hackett now had to decide the fates of entire sectors, or pieces of entire galactic civilizations even. For example, he was just about to head into a meeting where a plan to retake over half of Turian space would be explained and begun. With regards to Systems Alliance colonies, the third closest to the projected path of Reaper advance were already evacuated, with the second third in the process of evacuation, and the last third fortifying as best as they could.
Mistakenly taking Hacketts sudden change in facial expression due to the rather serious thoughts that had been just crossing his mind as apprehension regarding his decision, Captain Jillian tried to reassure him. "Admiral, I promise I won't let you down."
The Captain's words drew Hackett out of his brooding in a sudden manner, and he responded quickly so as to allay her fears. "I have no doubts that you'll make an exemplary commander in the event of my unfortunate demise, Captain, I apologize if my expression made you think otherwise. There's just a lot on my mind right now, and most of it is not pleasant to think about."
The senior Alliance Admiral truly meant what he said. Jillian had graduated from the Alliance Naval Officer Candidate's School in Beijing with flying colors, the reward for which were her Captain's bars. A series of postings as XO and captain of frigates and cruisers, including taking command of an Alliance cruiser when the captain was killed during the Battle of the Citadel, culminated in what was widely considered a prestigious position as Captain of an Admiral's Flagship, the Kilimanjaro in her case. While some viewed an assignment under an Admiral as more of a punishment than a reward, since some admirals were known to micromanage their flagships to the extent that the flag captain ended up as little more than a glorified passenger on their own ship, Hackett was confident that his flag captain didn't feel that way. He had always been careful to ensure that those who served under him relished the opportunity to study the mannerisms and command tactics of an Admiral.
Jillian's expression changed into a tight lipped frown. The current cost and likely future cost of the Reaper War was certainly not lost on her either. "I understand, sir. Should we go then?"
"Of course, lead the way," said Hackett. It was a short walk to the ship's hangar bay, where his personal Kodiak shuttle was waiting, the path being cleared through the halls full of Alliance naval personnel by the substantial bulk of Marine guards in front of Hackett and Jillian.
As per wartime procedure, Hackett and Jillian split, Hackett entering his private shuttle, while Jillian moved into a standard shuttle parked alongside. His staff, including his Flag Lieutenant, chief of staff and comm officer similarly separated, ensuring that the loss of a single shuttle, either by accident or hostile action, wouldn't kill both the admiral and his deputy.
As he entered the shuttle, Hackett saw that there were already four other armed Marines occupying the rest of the seats inside. Old habits, he thought, even though he knew that they would probably be safer on the UNSC Infinity than anywhere else in the galaxy.
After the crew chief made sure that everyone was properly strapped in, the pilot lifted the shuttle off the ground and accelerated out of the hangar barrier into the vacuum of space beyond. Other than the forward pilot's viewport, there were no windows in the Kodiak, but Hackett didn't need the transparent material to know what occupied the space outside.
Currently assembled above the Despara shipyards was without a doubt the largest gathering of Allied military might that Hackett had ever seen. It was probably the single largest gathering in the history of any of the allied fleets, with the possible exception of the Rachni wars. Three Alliance fleets, seven Turian Fleets, and three Salarian fleets, and one misplaced UNSC Battlegroup, all amounting to just over a thousand naval warships in total. Not included in that count were the equal number of troop transports and logistics ships that would be as essential to the upcoming phase of the war as the dreadnoughts, cruisers and frigates themselves. The real question that Hackett knew wasn't only on his mind was, would it be enough?
He felt the Kodiak decelerate and the nearly imperceptible feeling of being subject to artificial gravity again, and it was only a few seconds until the shuttle touched down on the deck of the UNSC Infinity. One of the doors slid open as those within stood from their harnesses, the Alliance Marines stepping out of the shuttle first, weapons secured on back and hip magplates but still very visible.
Hackett took a few seconds to look around the moderately sized hangar, one of the auxiliary hangars he had been told, and saw the various other shuttles from around the assembled fleets and the designation marks which determined who they belonged to. He saw Captain Jillian disembarking from her shuttle before his attention was drawn away by an approaching trio of individuals. Two were UNSC Marines, easy to tell from the armor and lazily carried grey rifles, but the one in the center was obviously a naval type judging by the fatigues. The UNSC officer walked up to Hackett and saluted, saying, "Admiral Hackett, Captain Jillian, welcome to the Infinity. I'm Lieutenant Jameson, if you'll please follow me to the briefing room."
"After you Lieutenant," Hackett said, returning the salute. Captain Jillian signaled for four of the six Alliance Marines to stay with the shuttle, the remaining two falling in behind her and Hackett as they were lead towards a lift at the other end of the hangar by their UNSC guides. As they made their way through a number of lifts and corridors Hackett couldn't help but feel like his surroundings weren't much different from the Kilimanjaro, yet this ship was exponentially more powerful than any the Alliance Navy had to offer. It was a strange feeling, both humbling and also frustrating. If they had ten ships like this the Reapers wouldn't stand a chance in hell.
The door to the briefing room was easy to spot because of the assemblage of guards that had been left outside from every officer who was in attendance. He saw Marines, Alliance, UNSC, Turian, and Salarian, mingling outside in the wide corridor likely making small talk about what would be discussed by their charges inside the room, or grumbling about how long they would have to wait until the briefing was over and they could get back to their own ships. Hackett's eyes were drawn towards four large, armored figures standing direct guard of the door to the briefing chambers, clad in faded red and black power armor with reflective silver visors scanning back and forth. Spartans, or so he had been told.
Lieutenant Jameson led them towards the door, and Hackett could now see that one of the Spartans was standing besides a table upon which laid a variety of small arms, undoubtable the personal weapons of those officers inside that chose to carry them. Captain Jillian unholstered her Carnifex slowly, checked that the safety was on, then handed it to the Spartan manning the table grip first. The armored being nodded respectfully towards Jillian, gently took the weapon from her hand, and set it down on the table amongst the others. Hackett himself didn't carry, because he was of the opinion that if the situation called for him to draw a personal weapon on his own ship, then the strategic battle had already been lost.
The briefing room was akin to a small auditorium, with seats arrayed in rows facing a raised stage. Along with a large vidscreen imbedded into the back wall, there was also a small podium from which to speak from, as well as a few chairs on the stage itself reserved for the most important members of the Allied command, of which Hackett was for better or for worse a part of.
A large majority of the seats were filled already, and Hackett started recognizing various Admirals and senior naval Captains, as well as Generals and Colonels from the Army and Marine Corps branches of the Allies, all present with their respective staffs. A few greeted him with varying degrees of emotion, ranging from warmth from close comrades to cold recognition from those too preoccupied with the grim circumstances surrounding this gathering.
Hackett himself nodded a brief farewell to Captain Jillian, who had a seat with the rest of the Alliance big-wigs and their staff, while he made his way to one of the short stairways on either side of the raised stage. Standing around their respective chairs, not sitting since the briefing hadn't started yet, were the other three members of what Hackett had started internally calling 'The Big Four.' Admiral Lasky of the UNSC was calmly talking with newly promoted Grand Admiral Tibrinus of the Turian Hierarchy, while Admiral Manis of the Salarian Union was reviewing some last minute information on a datapad.
They all turned to greet him as he approached them on the stage, Hackett already feeling the weight of the stares being directed his way by those other important military heads sitting in the seats below.
"Hackett," Tibrinus said, taking his head. "Now that we're all here, we can go ahead and start."
The Turian looked to his other three counterparts to make sure that there were no last-minute objection, then he nodded and headed to the podium. Hackett, Lasky, and Manis all sat in their assigned chairs, and the rest of the room took that as the sign that they should all stop talking, sit down, and open their ears.
The Alliance Admiral steeled himself mentally for the long haul ahead, as he had attended and given enough briefings like this to know that they would be here a while. Tibrinus would likely start with the broad, overall idea of the operation, then move on to the nitty-gritty details of almost every operational facet that though time consuming, were absolutely critical to be understood. Even though they were on a time crunch, he didn't expect to get back to the Kilimanjaro for at least another two hours.
Grand Admiral Tibrinus gripped the sides of the podium with his hands, looking over the silent room for a few seconds. Hackett definitely didn't think that he was trying to build dramatic effect, but rather that the gravity of why all of these powerful men and women were in the same room was finally hitting him.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he started, "as you all are aware, our situation allows little time for pleasantries, so in the interest of time we will be getting right down to business. The main vidscreen at the front of the room flicked on with those words, controlled by Infinity's resident AI, Roland.
"Welcome to Operation Burning Spirits." On the vidscreen the same words appeared large on the screen in a serious looking font. "Our objective, to completely push the Reapers out of Turian Hierarchy Space. Our timeline? Nineteen days, because after the first Reapers that were stranded in the Sol System will start arriving on the fringe of Systems Alliance space under standard FTL, and open another front. A two-front war is something that we will not be able to manage, hence why our task is of the utmost importance."
The image on the vidscreen changed to show a section of the galaxy now, specifically the portion of Turian Hierarchy space that the Reapers had managed to take over before they were stopped at the shipyards above Despara. There were several systems that were highlighted, all of which containing primary mass relays. Most gathered were probably noticing now that the grouping of systems were connected by sequential lines that led from planet to planet, and that there were two distinct 'branches' of connected systems shown. These two branches connected at only one point at the end of the chains, the Turian homeworld of Palaven.
"Our plan of attack isn't simple, but it is imperative that it is conducted with as much force and momentum as we can muster. We cannot afford to either falter or stall," Tibrinus said with a hearty amount of conviction. "For those of you familiar with Human military history, our campaign will revolve around a strategy similar to what General Arthur McDouglas used in the pacific of the Earth's World War Two: Island Hopping."
Tibrinus turned to the vidscreen, pointing at one of the two planets closest to Despara, each of which formed the start of a separate 'branch.'
"These planets are the islands. We will be attacking each in sequence until we reach Palaven. As you have likely guessed by now, there will be two theater groups, Group A and Group B, each of which is assigned a different branch of planets. Each theater group is further divided into two more groups, an assault force and an occupation force. The assault forces will be comprised of mainly naval assets and fast, rapid-deployment ground forces. It will be their jobs to eliminate the Reapers in orbit and on key areas on the ground. Once the space above is safe, the occupation forces of our mainline armies will arrive and take over major ground operations, allowing the assault forces to regroup and move on to the next planet."
Tibrinus looked over the room for a few seconds before speaking again. "Before we continue into the finer details I'd like to open the floor to anyone who has a general question about operation at large. Yes, Admiral Lindholm."
"What's the UNSC's role in all of this?" was the question asked by the Systems Alliance Admiral of Second Fleet.
"Long-range artillery and elite, small-scale ground support." Admiral Lasky answered this one, standing from his chair. "My ships will be split up in as even halves as they can, but our tactical strategy for using them will stay the same as it was above Despara, at least initially."
"UNSC firepower is our ace in the hole when it comes to this war, and I cannot stress enough how absolutely vital it is that they stay protected," said Tibrinus. In the back of his mind the Turian Grand Admiral was thinking of the one of his Captains who had sacrificed his ship and his life in order to protect a UNSC Frigate from potential destruction. "We'll be covering UNSC integration into the operation at length further in the briefing. Yes, General Fromlik?"
"What has the Systems Alliance been doing to prepare for the Reaper's eventual arrival?"
Hackett stood, this question obviously directed to him. "The systems closest to expected paths of Reaper arrival have already been evacuated, with more systems further behind them far along in the process. We're also in the finishing stages of setting up what defensive lines we can, but in all reality any headway we'll be able to make against the Reapers when they come from the actions of the fleets."
He put a closed fist to his mouth to muffle the sound of him clearing his throat, but stood standing, wishing to continue his point. "If I may be frank though, we can discuss preparations for the eventual Alliance space incursion at a later date, but right now, the only goal is getting to Palaven. Ladies and gentlemen, we will be getting to Palaven."
Hackett sat back down, content with the few emboldened nods and brief looks of confidence that his strong words had garnered. He figured the assurance would be appreciated coming from one of those at the very top of the command structure in these tumultuous times. Words were easy to say though, and as much as Hackett might not have wanted to admit, whether or not they would even get to Palaven remained to be seen...
Special thanks to my betas JonHarper and Bearmauls