The GST called it the Spirit of Fire.

It looked the part too; alarmingly so.

I wondered if there had been travelers in earlier eras. Anyway, she was impressive, if only in scale. My French chauffeur, who insisted on being called "Ezio", glanced back into the cabin of the shuttle. "Voila! Bienvenue a' la maison."

One of my two escorts, "Min-ji" piped up from beside me. "He says 'welcome home.'"

I could only stare dumbly. I had wanted to be an astronaut since I was a small child; ironically, ever since I saw the Challenger disaster on a news report. The mystery and majesty of space and space travel were a distraction that, to be honest, always felt out of reach. Yet here I was; the final frontier. "Welcome home indeed."

My other escort, "Rambro", snarked from the back of the cabin; "Yeah, the novelty will wear off soon enough." He patted me on the shoulder before settling into his jump seat and locking the harness. "You might want to strap in. Ezio likes to drive like a Parisian Minibus Driver." Min-ji joined Rambro in locking herself in.

I didn't need to speak French to know Ezio's opinion of their faith in his skills.

Based on our approach and landing, I assumed Ezio had been either a Med-Evac or Combat Helicopter pilot prior to 'traveling'. We stepped out onto a voluminous but crowded hangar. There were dozens of people running around as almost indistinct announcements blared out over the PA system in several languages. A Drell in a flight-deck helmet and a white vest ran up to our shuttle. "You Hiram Abiff?"

I nodded, slightly alarmed at the close proximity and familiarity of the non-human.

Rambro chuffed. "Easy there Sykes. Hiram's still Travel Lagged; only been here five days."

Sykes nodded at that. "You three are on twelve hours crew-rest, then report to debriefing room three. Command should have another tasking for you by then." He turned back to me. "You're coming with me to Medical for In-Processing." He then headed deeper into the hangar. I gave a frantic wave to my rescuers and rushed after him.

Sykes slowed down once we were out of the bustle of the flight deck. "Sorry about the rush, but we have two other Fire-Teams inbound, one with wounded."

My head was on a swivel as we made our way through the ship. "No worries. And sorry about staring earlier. I just didn't know any of us came through as anything but human."

He shrugged non-committaly. "It took some getting used to. Color perception is off and sense of touch is diminished, but my memory's sharper than it has ever been. I could write textbooks I only glanced at in college word-for-word now. Could be worse." We hugged a bulkhead as a medical team rushed towards the hangar. "Ziva was a 5' 5" lady from Tel Aviv, now she's a Krogan Bull. Lotta anger in that one."

We wound our way through the ship until we arrived at the Medical Clinic. "Here's where I leave you." Sykes nodded to the check-in desk. "Just sign in with Sweets, and they'll get you squared away." With a handshake, he was off, and I was left to the mercy of the ship's medical team.

...

We (the GST) lucked out in getting a dozen EMT's, two Navy Corpsmen, a Registered Nurse from Minsk, a retired Canadian Army Surgeon, and a Veterinarian from Zoo Berlin.

There were also a smattering of Med school students wrangled into acting as Orderlies to help with the GST's peculiar medical needs. That didn't make the medical exam any less invasive or uncomfortable, but at least it was familiar. With the many individuals running around, I got a chance to see just how diverse a group this 'GST' was.

Most were humans, but there was a decent mix of other species as well.

A few seemed more stressed than others, but everyone was as supportive as possible. The other thing I noticed was that like me, everyone was in their prime. Every person, whether 'Ghost' as I heard some of the fire team members call themselves, or 'Skell Techies' as most of the non-combatants were referred to, were in peak physical condition.

Once Sweets and the med-techs were finished, I had a map loaded onto my Omni and was told to report to the Personnel Center to be assessed and assigned a section, as well as a billet, a payroll number and account. When I got there, I was directed to the desk of a slight Middle Eastern woman.

She shook my hand and gestured to a chair across from her. "Welcome aboard the Spirit of Fire. Call me Paki; everyone does." She had a distinct British accent.

I paused in seating myself. "Well that doesn't seem flattering. How about I call you Bene Said?"

There was a wisp of smile on her face. "I think I'd like that better. Anyway, I'll be your Case Evaluation Officer. I'll be assessing your skills and placing you where you can do the most good; or the least damage, depending on what I see. Now, you've stated your name as Hiram Abiff. Is that what you wish on our formal records?"

I nodded. "Yes ma'am."

"Good. Next: military experience?"

"20 years, US Air Force enlisted. I was an aircraft mechanic, precision flight control rigger and a crash recovery specialist."

She raised an eyebrow as she looked through her records. "Hm, you're the first recovery specialist we've gotten. Any combat experience."

I smirked. "Unless you consider Civil War reenacting or SCA fighting, then only basic small-arms training. I joined the Air Force to avoid getting shot at." My smile faded. "Surviving Nos Astra, but that was more dumb luck than training."

She didn't seem to notice my mood shift as she made more notes. "Alright, highest level of education?"

"Bachelors of Arts in Military Studies through online courses."

She hummed as she kept typing. "And what does that entail?"

"It's like a BA in History, but not focusing on history. It isn't really useful except to say I got the Degree."

She looked at me for a second, and then went back to typing. After a minute, she sat back and looked at me. "I'm going to schedule you for a battery of primer courses on small arms and small unit tactics, as well as our basic introduction to Mass Effect technology and space frames. I want to see about having you assigned to a Recovery, Assessment and Salvage team. They are moderate risk; nowhere near a Ghost Fire Team, but you could still run into trouble with other scavengers. Does this meet with your approval?"

I considered for a moment. Most of my career, I had never questioned my choice in enlistment; especially as it allowed me to be stationed in Europe for several years. But once 9/11 rolled around, there had been a growing sense that I hadn't been doing enough. This felt like a chance to correct that. I stood and reached out to shake Said's hand. "Where do I sign up?"

...

Bene Said's "Primers on Small Arms and Small Unit Tactics" turned out to be a group two week crash course conducted by a surly Turian Scandinavian called "Bjorn". Between his alien appearance, temperament, and his penchant for devolving into Swedish when riled, my class took to calling him "Grendel"; just never where he could hear us. I was immediately assigned as the machine gunner for my training squad.

On the morning of day two of combat training, I woke in a cold sweat from a nightmare. I tried to put it behind me, but by the middle of the day I was distracted and irritable enough for Bjorn to call a halt to training and send me to see Bene Said.

"Hiram, I got a message from Bjorn saying you were very distracted today; fumbling weapons, snapping at fellow trainees. If you aren't certain of yourself, we can put you in the Skell Tech program." She told me.

I was all but shaking in shame. "No!" I barked out, then calmed myself. "No, I want to be a part of this program. I just... I need to talk to a counselor is all."

A wave of depression hit me as soon as the words left my mouth. I was convinced that wasn't an option for me. The statistical likelihood of a trained grief/trauma counselor being a Traveler as well was so astronomically low as to be laughable.

"I'll notify Capt. Dube to expect you."

I started at that. "You have a counselor?"

She smiled comfortingly. "We have a South African Army Chaplain."

When I arrived at the massive Bantu priest's office, I was met by another Traveler leaving. It was heartening to know that not only was I not alone in this, but the GST was making sure we were taken care of. Whatever I did or did not say with the good Capt. is strictly between him, me, and God. Ultimately, after a month of counseling I was given a tentative clean bill of health (with expected weekly visits) and allowed to complete Bjorn's training.

Several of my class were immediately routed to the so called "Ghost School'" for placement in a Ghost Fire Team. The rest of us were a mixed bag of technical skills, including two Fire Jumpers from Pike's Peak Station everyone called "Hans und Frans", and an EOD tech from Mexico City who simply went by "Juan". We and a half a dozen others were shuffled off to remedial Tech School near the Spirit's air wing.

Our instructor, Latoya, was also a former Air Force mechanic; though in her case she served her four, got an Aerospace Engineering Degree and went to work for Boeing. "Morning ladies and gentlemen; I am tasked with teaching you everything we currently know and are learning about Eezo, its applications, and what not to do around it. Let's begin."

The things I learned during the following two weeks amounted to: the GST had scientists among their ranks, keep magnets and charged particle beams away from Eezo, and that it somehow acted directly on the large time-like dimension without affecting the Higgs Field or Boson.

A lot of what was said made only the slightest bit of sense, but it told me something very important: as an organization, the GST had no intention of being caught in the Reaper's technology-trap.

We received brief reviews on the various small craft used by the GST and the broader galaxy.

This was mainly so we'd know what to look for as things of importance, and what to not touch at any cost. At one point, the Chief of Scientific research Dr. Helix, paid our class a visit. "While your teams will largely work for Ghosts Arc and Mira in asset recovery and retrieval, you will periodically receive tasking from my office. We are desperately in need of any and all research into alternative theories and technologies to combat the Reaper threat." She explained.

I raised my hand. "Would that include talking papers and formulas from the 20th and 21st centuries, or does your office have those." I received a number of odd looks from my classmates.

Dr. Helix gave a humorless chuckle. "No, we don't as of yet. But unless you have copies of Dr. Alcubierrie's research-"

I had recently finished downloading my tablet's files onto my Omni, so it was simple enough to send them to the class monitor. "His, Hill, and Cox's papers on Relativistic Mass at speeds greater than C, Ueba and Takahara's research into converting heat into IR."

Dr. Helix and the class boggled the screen for a moment, before turning their stunned looks at me. "What? I like science; I just never got a degree in it." I said, slightly defensive.

Dr. Helix took off out of the room at a run; her voice could be heard dopplering down the corridors, ordering teams to begin reviewing the math against what they knew and ranting about not needing to start from scratch. Latoya cleared her throat. "That's another thing your teams will be sent out for." She started explaining as the class resumed, though it felt as if I was given somewhat more scrutiny than before. I said as much to Capt. Dube during my weekly visit.

"Are you truly surprised? You have garnered their attention and respect by recognizing what you had was important."

I leaned forward in my chair. "Being respected because I hoard ebooks doesn't feel like an accomplishment. It's so arbitrary. I'm... worried they'll expect 'great things' from me, and I'll end up getting people killed."

The Zulu considered me for a moment. "Is it really so arbitrary? We as an organization, and this galaxy as a whole needed what you had, and you had the presence of mind to preserve it. We've discussed your faith before." He stood and walked over to a small Lutheran Shrine. "I've studied theology for most of my life. I've never doubted the existence of miracles, but I never expected to have one occur. I believed in the soul, but never had such empirical proof as our being traveled here."

He turned and faced me. "In light of this, is it really unreasonable to assume we were all specifically brought to this place, at this time, with our foreknowledge and willingness to help? Would it really be so absurd a thought, after every impossibility we have collectively experienced, to believe that we are each here on purpose?" He sat down across from me again. "I don't think any of us are here as a Messiah, but I do think that we are each, individually meant to be here. Take heart in that."

...

One of the "graduation" projects we all participated in was to craft our personal kit for field operations. I had intended to take a page from the character of Jason Quill of Marvel fame and, "make some weird shit!" When we got down to the fabrication plant, I found several people had beat me to the punch. One tiny Japanese woman was gleefully swinging what I guessed to be a Mass Effect field enhanced copy of Cloud's "Buster Sword" from "Final Fantasy", while another individual polished the carapace of something resembling a Landmate from the "Appleseed" manga.

I shrugged it off and sat down at my terminal to design my gear.

All kits started with a basic enhanced mobility hard-suit. I stripped all of the outer shell and began beefing the servos driving the joints; I was going to be lifting heavy loads, not playing patty-cake with an Asari Commando.

I hoped.

Next, I decided on an enhanced active power supply. I was not as concerned with stealth and low emissions as with my ability to remotely power subsystems for access. With the abundance of power, I opted to layer armor more akin to a 20th or 21st century Plate carrier; as well as a Tech Armor enhanced Kinetic barrier with a secondary EM field generator for dealing with radiation, and potentially, high energy weapons. I attached an armature with an Omni-tool for whatever I would need, including a plasma cutting torch.

The last item was more a vanity piece, but I had to try.

One of the ideas I had been playing around with since arriving was a Hard X-Ray Laser (HXL) generator. I was confident I could design it (with significant VI help). It turned out, a lot of the ground-work had already been done, and all I had to do was scale the system down and integrate it.

In the design process, I figured out that I could make a dual purpose Charged Particle beam Gun and HXL without too much difficulty. Scaled down, the weapon system was still the size of a medium machinegun and weighed in at 68 kg. Thankfully, my design for the suit was more than up to the task of both powering and carrying the weapon, as long as it was on its own dedicated armature.

The final touches were holsters for my knife and pistol. I had become strangely attached to the awful thing. Once the parameters were entered, I set the order into the que for fabrication.

The second part of our graduation was no less thrilling: flight lessons. It had been reasoned that, as we were expected to potentially retrieve starships, we should have a rudimentary knowledge on how to use them. As an incentive, we were all promised Astronaut's Wings.

I found that my own skills as a pilot matched up quite well with Ezio's. Maybe he had just been a Parisian Cabbie as Rambro had suggested.

Once we were certified and our armor finished, we formed up in the hangar for our formal graduation and unit assignments. Our personal quest to protect the galaxy from the Reaper threat had begun.

A/N: Another Amazing entry by Ian the Mechanic.

As I noted earlier, I am still taking submissions; and I have a discord server ready for you guys to join into. The code is /Pv2bv88; but it will only work for 100 people (discord doesn't have a higher limit) before I have to reset it. I will keep the link I post on my profile up to date.

As you can see, Ian has a better eye towards scientific area's in this story; along with an outsiders perspective to the inner workings of the GST.

Which was the whole point to this series of side stories.

I will always take submissions; provided they pass the battery of examination. I will explain the rules to those that message me through FF PM System or through my discord server.

That said, if you have a good short story concept; but don't feel as if you have the skills necessary to write it, let me know and I'll see if I can find someone who is willing or able to do so.