Sparatus for Councilor, 2020!
Dock 15-B, Lower Hub, Arcturus Station, Arcturus System, Arcturus Stream, June 17, 2183
Colonial Army Staff Sergeant Ashley Madeline Williams was dressed in her Army-issued Systems Alliance Battle Dress Uniform for the day, having already done her daily gauntlet of physical training, a full hour-and-a-half of working out between calisthenics and the few pieces of exercise equipment in the SSV Normandy's Cargo Bay. A quick shower and some Navy grub later, and she felt ready for the day.
The Normandy had arrived at the Arc late last night, during Noc Shift.
"Alright, listen up, folks!" Commander Jane Catherine Shepard spoke up as she stood in the center of the Cargo Bay, addressing her crew, which was assembled in a loose formation. Every Human was there save for the Watch (a couple of Boatswain's and an Officer, as Ash understood it), and most of the others too, since there was really no other place to go. "We're docked at the Arc, so Liberty is set." There were grins at that; Navy was different than Army, and Ash was starting to learn how. "There will be six hours passes for each and every one of you so you can get the things that you need and stretch out your legs. Return is set at 1300 Arc, where we will commence with restock and refit. 1900 Arc will be nighttime Liberty, in which return is set at 0730 Arc. Do not fuck it up." The redhead's voice was stern with authority as her green eyes cast over the sixty-man crew. "Drinking is not allowed for daytime Liberty, boys and girls, and if I smell alcohol, you will be standing Watch as well as facing Non-Judicial Punishment." Yep, no difference there between Army and Navy, that was for sure.
"For our visitors," the Skipper looked to the assembled non-Humans, "you are detailed to this ship, and I have given you access badges that allow you admittance to the Lower Hub. There are species-oriented shops and eateries for visitors if you need to pick something up, but as a reminder this vessel is responsible for your health and welfare, so there's no need to pick up basic supplies when I can pick up the tab. Same rules and time lines apply to you. Fuck it up, and it's the Brig." Aliens couldn't stand Watch for obvious reasons, and the Skipper obviously couldn't threaten them with the Uniformed Code of Military Justice, or UCMJ. Instead, they had a series of small cells for those who didn't like rules. "Any questions?"
That was always a loaded question; it didn't mean to actually ask one.
"Alright! Go to Liberty and enjoy yourself, Normandiers! Dismissed!" The Commander gave off a 'shooing' gesture that didn't need a brother as Sailors whooped in glee, getting off a vessel they had more-or-less been confined to for several weeks, as Ash understood it. Some of the younger Enlisted practically dashed out off the Cargo Bay's opened deployment ramp and onto the Arc Dock, chattering like Junior Enlisted did; conversations about drinking, entertainment, and the ever-important hunt of the most-sought out game in the galaxy; sex. For the Marines, the talking was done at an even dozen decibels louder, one-up'ing each other with manly boasts as they pushed and jostled each other down the gangplank ramp.
"First time on the Arc, Staff Sergeant?"
Ash turned to see Petty Officer (Third Class) Sara Elaine Ryder standing close, a knowing smile on the shorter, younger woman's face. The sling had come off just that morning, Ash noted, and the Navy Corpsman looked happier to have it off.
"Colonial Army, remember?" The colonist-born brunette reminded the Citadel-born woman with a lopsided smile. "Our assignments come from the Alliance Ministry of Colonization on Earth, and our hub is Jump Zero. Not too often the likes of me gets to see the Arc."
"Well then, guess I get to be the tour guide." Sara winked, gesturing off-ship. "Wouldn't want you to get lost and pull out a compass when there's no magnetic North, Staff Sergeant."
"Watch it, Navy." The Soldier growled half-heartedly, but smirking all the same. "And it's 'Sergeant'." That had Ryder rolling her eyes. Marines called their E-6's by their full title, while it was appropriate for Army E-6's to use the shortened version. Thank God for that; if Ash had to address an E-7 as 'Sergeant First Class' every single time, she'd go nuts. Funny, Marine E-7's were Gunnery Sergeants, but most everyone called them 'Gunny'. Well, no one ever credited the Marine Corps for being smart.
Ash followed Sara as they made their way off-ship and onto the dock, her brown eyes immediately sweeping at the strange and exotic location that Ash had only heard of but never visited. Arcturus Station… Humanity's bastion in the stars, it's Citadel, it's pride and joy. At first, it almost looked like the terminal of any other spaceport that Ash had ever seen save that it was heavily populated with military personnel; uniforms were everywhere. On the opposite side of the docks was a large-scaled cafeteria nearby where Sailors and Marines could grab a bite to eat for lunch without having to go far, which was a smart move. Ash snorted as she spotted no less than three Starbuck's Coffee Kiosks. Those things really were fucking everywhere.
"Oh my God!" Sara stopped dead in her tracks about halfway to the cafeteria, her eyes wide as Ash looked to her, and then towards where she was looking. Ash saw a knot of Marines a few dozen meters away, and almost got ran over as Sara sprinted right towards the Marines, calling out 'Scottttttiiiiieeeee!' the whole way as the Soldier watched the Corpsman practically tackle a young-looking Marine with a hug, the Marine's arms going around her just as quickly. Boyfriend, Ash guessed, seeing the young man hoisting the Sailor up and spinning her about as Sara laughed.
"That's Scott Ryder."
Ash turned to see Commander Shepard standing next to her, the Skipper's face broken in half with a smile. A real one.
"Wait… the BiotiBall player?" Williams blurted, her mouth outrunning her brain. "From the Presidium Toshe Team?" Scott Michael Ryder was one of the few Humans good enough to play professional BiotiBall, though he had been in an Amateurs League. He had been voted Most Valuable Player two years in a row in his League, and his Number 32 was actually going to be cased and retired, if rumors were true. Ash wasn't a huge fan of the sport, but she had watched the Toshe to see Scott 'the Viper' Ryder beat some alien ass. Waitaminute… Scott Ryder… Sara Ryder… "They're siblings?"
"Twins." The redhead replied with a quick juke of her copper eyebrows. "She calls him 'Silver Medal'."
"Heh. Guess that explains that one." Williams chuckled. Yeah, 'Silver Medal' for second place in that race. She could see Sara and Scott just… looking at each other, the joy and amazement evident even at this distance. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"
"Two years." The Skipper replied, her tone a little sad. "Together everyday since before they were born, but their choices forced them apart. I remember how they both messaged me of their struggles with that. It… was heartbreaking, honestly." Ash got that; she had three sisters herself, and leaving home for Basic Training had been hard. With twins? Even more so. "Called him up and asked him to request a forty-eight hour Liberty Pass for the Arc, and gave him a time and a location."
"You're a good Auntie." Ash knew that Commander Jane Shepard wasn't actually related to Sara Ryder; she had seen the movie, of course. But family didn't always mean some shared DNA, after all. The Army taught her that all too well. "She needed this." Sara had just lost her platoon of Marines thanks to the fucking Geth, including one she had helped survive damn near a day of fighting with, an eighteen year old kid. It had been hard as hell on Ash with her own grief with the 2nd Battalion, 12th Infantry Regiment (Eden Prime), her platoon and company massacred before her very eyes, along with the other companies and battalions responsible for Constant. She was still dealing with it, and she wasn't some twenty-year old kid. "Guess my tour guide got pulled away." Ash snarked, making the Commander snort.
"Are bad jokes an Army value?" Williams just groaned at that as Shepard chuckled at the point. They had been going back and forth, like Army and Navy always did. Honestly… Ash needed it. "C'mon, Soldier. Don't want you chucking yourself out an airlock looking to get some fresh air."
"Gawd, everyone's a critic."
Corporal Scott Michael Ryder sat at a table at the local cafeteria at the dock of the Lower Hub, his twin sister sitting across from him as she jabbered on, her face practically glowing as they reconnected. It had been two years since they had seen one another, an eternity for a twin, and seeing Sara now?
God, where the hell did she get those muscles? Scott couldn't help but look at her biceps, her Alliance Blues' sleeves rolled up neatly above the bicep, like Marines were allowed to do. It was, of course, to promote the strength of the Systems Alliance Marine Corps, but Scott had never expected his eternally effervescent sister to have arms almost as big and just as well-defined as his. He could even tell the thickness of her shoulders through her uniform. She had always been a very dedicated woman, throwing herself completely into something she thought worthy of herself. Her acceptance into the Presidium Academy of Education and her amazing grades were proof of that, on top of the fact that she worked as a Citadel Emergency Medical Technician at fifteen while at one of the most prestigious schools in the galaxy. Scott was proud as hell of his Sara, seeing her succeed in what she wanted most.
Her dream was becoming true right before their eyes; working alongside Aunt Jannie. Who was now Humanity's First SPECTRE.
Yeah, Scott was pretty damn jealous.
But then Sara had broken down and tearfully told him about Therum.
Scott was just as dedicated as his twin sister, but he was of a different path. Sara had aways been the smart one, the over-achiever. Back when he had been a boy growing up, he had been so dead determined not to be eclipsed, so Scott Ryder chose to be an athlete, as skilled and as talented as he could be. He grew up playing in an Earth Urban Combat Championship Team along with other Human boys in the Citadel in a Youth League, joined a team in the Armax Arsenal Arena Amateurs League, but found his passion and edge in BiotiBall. At fifteen, Scott had been one of the youngest players in the game, and he had quickly rose in the ranks and standings of the popular sport, usually finding himself facing off against Asari, Biotic Turians, and young Krogan with the Soulfire. It really shouldn't have come as a surprise to him that he'd gotten popular quickly, a young Human male in a galaxy-wide sport that was not only doing well, but became the Captain of his team due to his skills, talents, and bravado. Sara had supported him, of course, going to as many games as she could and fixing up his injuries with her growing medical knowledge and experience.
He had actually turned down a contract to go professional to become a Systems Alliance Marine.
It really shouldn't have been surprising to see that the twin children of the Human Pathfinder, Captain Alec Clancy Ryder, would serve their species. Despite all that they had achieved as teenagers, with the possibility of continuing the same endeavors (Scott as a professional athlete, and Sara had scholarships for medical schools), both had wanted to feel… Human. Growing up on the Cit had been amazing, and Scott wouldn't trade it for anything, the ancient station forever being his home. Yet they had grown up with only a small population of Humans to interact with, and visiting Earth-borns or Colony-borns would always tease them of their 'funny' accents… or straight up get hostile. Scott never understood how it was that he could get along better with Turians then he could members of his own species, as if somehow being born outside of the Systems Alliance somehow made him a traitor or not Human. It wasn't all of the Earth-borns or colonists, but there were a good many of them. But Scott had never been anywhere where Humanity was the majority population, had never seen a Human-held area, never visited one colony. He had felt like he was missing something, like he should contribute something back for the amazing childhood he understood to have had to the species he had been less-than apart of. So he had went and become a Marine.
That… hadn't worked out quite to plan.
In two years time, Scott had done nothing. He pulled Watch on a Destroyer-Class vessel, the SSV Flavius, as standard-duty for all Marines on-board a Navy vessel. The Tenth Sustainment Flotilla was a reactionary unit; if there was a distress call or an emergency, they were sent to the situation. If there was nothing going on, they sat at Relay 202 to monitor any activity coming in and out of the Relay since it did connect to the Attican Traverse via another system's Relay. For two years, Scott had been on the Flavius for three four-month tours, and then spending the intervening four months on the Arc standing Watch on the docked vessel as it went refit and redeployment. Two years… and nothing to show for it. Sure, yes, he got his Corporal in a good amount of time, knocking out on-line college courses and military correspondence courses during his off-shift, pushing himself ahead of his peers. That was something he was proud of, but being a Corporal without a Combat Drop Badge or a Deployment Tab was rather weak.
But after what Sara told him about Therum? Scott wished he wasn't so eager to prove himself a Marine, now.
Thirty-seven Marines and a Corpsman against a thousand Geth? The numbers had the young man in shock, really. That was like… twenty-five to one! They were still getting news about Eden Prime ten days after it happened, and Scott hadn't heard of Therum yet, no doubt the Admiralty Board going through the information. Battalions of Colonial Army just utterly wiped out, only one known survivor of the assault from beginning to end, one Staff Sergeant Ashley "Lone Wolf" Williams, rescued by none other than his Aunt, Commander Jane Shepard. Now a platoon of Marines was utterly gone, only six survivors, his sister included. The thought of Sara in danger, how close she had been to being killed? That had Scott's blood run cold. What if… what if she had been killed? After not seeing her for so long, to have her just snuffed out, just like that? It was a pain that lanced through his very core, something that terrified him. The past two years, being without her, Scott had to fill in the the times with something when he missed her, when that part of his soul was looking for its other half. If the Geth had killed her? He wasn't sure how he would manage without his twin.
And she was going to be on the Normandy with their Aunt; the Lion, an N7 and a Council Agent, now.
Sara was going to war.
"Sara, are you sure about this?" Scott looked to his sister, the young woman's blue eyes scrunching up a little at his question. "I'm not questioning your resolve or your skills. I just… I'm afraid for you, Sara. I don't know what I'd do if… if I heard that you were killed." Sara reached a hand out and put it on top of his own, giving it a gentle squeeze. She understood.
"It could be you too, Scottie." The Corpsman smiled to her brother. "You're on a Red Alert Unit and the Geth are just popping up out of nowhere and we don't know how or why. You could be the one sent next." Damn, she had a point. Two weeks ago Scott was positively itching for action, back when the big threats were pirates, slavers, and smugglers. Now? Geth. "Just… promise me this, Scottie. If you do get called? If you're sent out? BiotiBall tactics, keep changing them and keep the pressure up."
"Seriously?"
"Seriously." His sister smiled, though there wasn't joy in it. She was still hurting on the inside from the loss of her Marines. There was no doubt in Scott's mind that she was a Doc through-and-through, and that loss was hitting her hard. "The Geth adapt to tactics quickly. If you keep changing them, you'll keep them off-balance. Also…" Her face grew pained, something Scott hadn't seen in a long time. "Don't let them get a hold of the bodies. Auntie said it best; they assimilate them." It took Scott a moment to recognize the term, but when he did? He felt his blood go cold again.
"Like… the Borg?"
"That's what happened with my platoon on the surface." The female Ryder replied, her voice weak as her blue eyes went onto Scott's own hazel eyes, the pain and grief ready to pounce on her. "Those motherfuckers desecrated their bodies in the worst way possible, Scottie; they turned them into the enemy." Sara shut her eyes quick to stop the threat of tears as Scott squeezed his sisters' hand, feeling her squeezing it in return. The thought of something that horrified him. It couldn't be possible, but his sister had never been one to be given into flights of fancy or dramatic exaggerations. "They did that on Eden Prime. The did it on Therum. I can only imagine they'll do it in other places, too."
"Let me ask again; are you sure of this?" Scott wasn't an idiot. Aunt Jannie had been in the spotlight for years now, and her being made a SPECTRE and charged with hunting down the Bloody Talon himself meant that Jannie was going to be the very tip of the spear. The worst locations, the hardest missions, the toughest objectives, failure unacceptable. Aunt Jannie was a trained-and-true N7 who had been doing such things for half-a-decade now, toting the best guns and equipment the Alliance had, and then making her own. While he worried for her, Scott knew that his Aunt was prepared. His sister Sara was no slouch, but she didn't have the years of experience that Aunt Jannie did. In truth, he didn't want his sister in that fight. It scared him to think of it.
"I… didn't have a choice on Therum. None of us did." Sara began, her voice thick as she looked to her hands, and then to her brother. "We took our assignment seriously, but even after the news of the Geth attack on Eden Prime, there was no way we could have prepared ourselves for what was going to happen. They dumped… a thousand platforms on us, Scott, obviously to obliterate us without question. I was frightened as hell, of course, in that Dig Site, surrounded by rock and waiting for our last moments. They just kept coming and coming, sending a dozen or so at a time, keeping us from really resting or sleeping, just pressuring us enough to stay in place. There were a dozen times when I should have died down there, or one of my Marines. The only reason we didn't was because of our Biotics; there was me and then two Asari. The Geth have no adaptability against Biotics. Yet."
"So you want to see this through?" Scott was pretty sure he was seeing what Sara was thinking. It wasn't necessarily because of the Marines she had lost, but that was a part of it. No, there was something else.
"Scott… I couldn't just walk away knowing that it's going to happen again." His sister said with finality, and that, Scott understood. "If I just… walked away and let the Navy stuff me somewhere else? I'd probably end up in another Marine unit that might face the Geth and I would be looking at the same disaster again, or perhaps shuttled off to some quiet spot where nothing happens… but the thoughts that won't go away." Yeah, Scott was right. Sara was too much like Dad; never one to let a wrong stay wrong. "At least on the Normandy, I'm surrounded by exceptional people, ones who have an improved chance separate, and a great chance together. Seeing to them as we dive in? I… want this. Scared as hell, and it might cost me my life, Scott, but this is exactly where I'm needed, and I want it."
"I know." Sara was perfect, honestly; three years as a Cit paramedic, two more years as a Navy Corpsman, now a Fleet Marine Corpsman. There were probably some Humans out there that had worked on other species, but nowhere near the experience Sara had. And how many of them had been preparing themselves for combat? Were ready for it right now? The Attack on Eden Prime had enlistments tripling amongst Humanity, but it would be weeks and months before any of them graduated Boot Camp or Basic Training. What the Alliance military had right now was what was going to be defending Humanity for the next six months or so.
And they had already lost too many.
"Sara," Scott took his sisters' hands into his own, his hazel eyes looking into her own blue ones, "I respect your decision to go. You've spent years getting to be where you're at now, and now you are the perfect candidate when we need them the most. I'm proud as hell of you, Minute Rice." The old nickname had his sister snort and smile, just as Scott intended. "When you're facing the Geth, give it your all. That's the only way you're going to survive from one mission to the next. You've got the brains, you've certainly got the brawn now," Sara snorted at that again as her smile grew wider, "and you've worked you're whole life into becoming the kind of woman you've always wanted to be."
"And what's that?"
"An angel." Scott replied with a smile, making Sara's smile twist into a lop-sided grin. "I'm not talking those robe-wearing feathered chicks with harps and whatnot. I mean the fist of God, wrath of the Heavens angel, burning sword in one hand, helping those in need with the other. For the Bravest Generation, they had Dad, Poppa Bear, Aunt Hanna, Uncle Steven, Aunt Stacy, Uncle Tadius and Pop-Pops. For this generation? We've got you and Aunt Jannie to look up to."
"That's… wow. It's really going to be that way, isn't it?" Sara looked a little sheepish at the thought. She had been a bit of a celebrity after the Assault of Elysium, people charmed by the Angel of Illyeria. She was a spunky girl back then, and she had been so endearing during a time of grief, a child hero who had fought not with weapons, but compassion. Scott wasn't far off the mark; his sister and his aunt likely were the next Bravest Generation, the ones Humans would look up to, the leaders of the pack. His smart and sassy sister upon the pedestal again, standing tall amongst her kind, Firstborn Cit-born showing what a Human can do. "Least I got 'Scope 'Em And Drop 'Em' Vakarian watching my back."
"Holy shit, you've got Detective Vakarian on the Normandy?" His jaw was practically hitting the table at that. Detective Garrus Vakarian was a celebrated cop on the Cit, and supposedly the best shot in all of the Rapid Response Unit. Scott was a big fan of the former Blackwatch Talon Leader-cum-Detective of Special Crimes and Rapid Response Unit Sniper. "The Geth are so fucked."
"Yeah, imagine him watching your back." Sara smirked big time at that, obviously rubbing it in that she would be working with Detective Vakarian. Again.
"I almost feel sorry for the Geth." Scott replied whimsically, his smile growing nasty right along with Sara's, a matching set that only twins could do as they spoke at the same time.
"Almost."
"Admiral, Commander Shepard reporting as ordered."
"Jane." Commander Jane Shepard smiled as she stood at attention, saluting the man in front of her as he stood up from his office desk, coming around with a smile on his disfigured features and a hand extending to shake. Jannie dropped the salute and smiled as she shook the hand of Rear Admiral (Upper Half) Steven 'Lance' Hackett. "Good to see you, Jannie. I've gotten your latest from Therum." The handshake was over with, and they were down to business. It was one of the things that Jannie truly appreciated with Uncle Steven, the former SOAR pilot whom her mother was a co-pilot to, as well as her father and Poppa Bear being a part of the same unit, the Night Stalkers. Most assumed that Steven Hackett was a bit of a cold-hearted man, but Jannie knew better. He was utterly devoted in the defense and protection of Mankind, and he didn't waste time on politics or debates. If he saw a problem, he solved it. If he saw an issue, he crushed it. He had gotten his rank not through the military political game or kissing ass, but by being one of the most lethal Naval commanding officers since Fleet Master Jon Grissom.
"It was bad, but we pulled a win." Jannie took to a seat in a guest chair, noting the spartan decorations and decor of Uncle Steven's personal office. Besides a shadow box containing his personal awards (of which there were many) placed on a bookshelf, the only other personalization of the office were exactly three framed pictures; physical ones, at that.
One was of 160th SOAR (Night Stalkers), a picture of a nineteen-man Special Operations Aviation Regiment crew that were now legends, the pinnacle of the Bravest Generation. Jannie didn't need to look on it to know who was on there; her mother, her father, Poppa Bear, Uncle Steven, Uncle Alec, Aunt Val, Uncle Royce, Aunt Jill, Uncle Z, Uncle Jack, Uncle Tad, Aunt Beezy, Aunt Sun, Uncle Mike, Uncle Sjorgen, Aunt Ana, Aunt Katie, Uncle Krem, and Uncle Ricky.
The second picture was a Twenty-Fifth Anniversary picture that the surviving unit had been more-or-less made to do by the Systems Alliance Government at New Beijing, Shanxi, where the worst fighting had been and the informal 'cease-fire' had been enacted. There, only ten were present; Admiral Hannah Singer, Captain David Anderson, Admiral Steven Hackett, Captain (ret.) Alec Ryder, Master Chief Petty Officer Stacy Valentino, Master Chief Petty Officer Royce Mason, Admiral Tadius Ahern, Command Sergeant Major Jill 'Amazon' Dah, Sergeant Major Sun Moon, and Senior Chief Petty Officer (ret.) Katherine Hale.
The last picture was… a touching one, one that didn't feature warriors, but children. There were four, the kids of the Night Stalkers, pictured together. There she was, Jannie in the middle, with Sara Ryder and Scott Ryder to her front, and finally Amanda Ahern shoulder-to-shoulder with Jannie, all smiles. The twins were eight at the time, she almost seventeen, and Amanda going off to Military Academy a few months later. In some ways they had all grown up together, their parents friends, so thus they themselves a sort of strange nuclear family. It had actually been a while since Jannie had seen Amanda's image. She never lived to see twenty-one, a training accident gone horrible wrong
"The reports you've given us are comprehensive, and the footage is being poured over by ONI analysts for any tidbit we can glean." Uncle Steven replied, sitting back at his seat, his holographic monitor powered down so he could talk to her. "The multiple reports, as well as the inclusion of Sara's reports from her own experience before your arrival on Therum will help us in the fight, but only by margins, I'm afraid."
"The Geth are unlike anything we've ever seen or faced." Jannie concluded on her own, the Admiral nodding his head in agreement. "I'm still trying to figure out how the hell they were about to show up in our space twice without tripping over anybody! Unless they bum rush a Relay and destroy all the recon probes and defensive checkpoints and we somehow went blind and stupid, the only other conclusions I can think of is that they've found a Relay into our space that we have yet to discover, FTL'ing to these systems with some rather long-range capabilities, or they've got some sort of stealth system, like the Normandy."
"We've ruled out stealth, since we've picked them up on thermals and LADAR in Utopia Space during the Assault on Eden Prime." Hackett replied, obviously having thought the same thing. "It could be a possibility that there is a Relay in Alliance Space that connects to these systems, and I'm currently having several astrological teams as well as Relay specialists looking into it. It will take time to discover, sadly." Yeah, that was the truth. Generally one had to know where to go to connect from one Relay to another. Relay exploration was fraught with danger, and the scientific vessels that did so were usually equipped for a long-term plan in case they exited out of a one-way translation with no return Relay to translate back. It had happened before back during the Expansion Period, before the First Contact War, and a few times afterwards. "If they've found a translation point with a hub that leads into these systems, it would certainly explain how they've gotten the jump on us twice now. There will not be a third time." Uncle Steven's scarred countenance was generally all the motivation one needed to do one's job to beyond expectation. Yet when he was furious, most everyone jumped and scrambled with miracles ready to serve.
"So, what do you need me to do?"
"Honestly, the original plan is scraped, not shelved." Jannie merely 'hmm'ed' at that, guessing that she was probably going to end up a very silent, very lethal spear against the Batarian Hegemony. Shelved meant for later use. Scrapped meant no longer applicable. If the Batarians had the sense God gave a slug, they would be gushing gratitude at the Geth for their timely intervention. "The Hegemony is not much more than a paper tiger, thanks to intel collected by recon probes, piggybacking signals, data trawls, and Night Owl ops. We can honestly create an insurrection amongst their own people and watch them kill each other in a civil war and not spend a Credit as long as we patrol their borders for potential opportunists and raiders looking to make a profit. That's on hold for now. Eden Prime sent grave concerns from the very bottom to the very top of Humanity, Jannie. The Geth came out of nowhere, practically destroyed Constant, and damn near wiped it off the face of the galaxy. I don't know their endgame yet, but it is very clear that the Geth are unlike any enemy we've ever faced before."
"Yeah, a whole new version of war." The Geth weren't emotional, drawn into political squabbles, and weren't interested in diplomatic shouting matches. They struck with machine-like precision, hosting numbers that outstripped anything the Alliance could immediately field, and had an obvious tactical advantage. Any engagement with the Geth Fleet or its ground forces were likely to be losses with heavy casualties. No wonder the Council was so quick to throw Humanity under the airbus; the Turians were no doubt learning everything they could without doing any of the bleeding. Assholes. Their tune would change once a Turian colony got struck and someone found a megaton Polonium bomb to irradiate the battle site and everything within five hundred kilometers. Thank God she had an EOD-trained expert in First Lieutenant Kaidan Alenko, otherwise the continent Constant was on would have become a high-rad lethal zone.
"Your mission is to find priority objectives of the Geth and to either recover those objectives for our use, or ultimately deny them for the Geth." Uncle Steven told her, his grim face even more grim, somehow. "I know of Council Agent Saren Arterius, and David is correct; the Turian hates Mankind with a passion. If he is truly leading them as oppose to just being a convenient ally, he will find ways to hurt us in new and imaginative ways. If he is using the Geth to support his cause or views, then that is your most obvious objective; keep that criminal from getting what he wants. As likely as it will be that his fury will cost more lives, it will also make him irrational."
"And he'll start making mistakes." Jannie concluded, getting a nod from the Admiral. "I know that he's searching for something Prothean, and I just picked up two experts, one of them being the Dean of Prothean Research and Study from the University of Serrice. I'll collaborate with her for active Prothean sites and potential high-tech discovery possibilities and see what we can keep an eye on for Geth activity. He's also got Krogan merc at his disposal. No real surprises, there."
"I saw." Combat footage never did pull punches, and no doubt Uncle Steven watched little Sara Ryder rip off a Krogan's headplate after taunting him. No doubt that was on a 'favorites' list. "That would be another point of investigation to look to; to see where the meat is going. I'll have ONI scour our contacts through the larger merc companies and gangs to see who's throwing Credits for bodies. Sooner or later, we'll start getting points to look into." That was a pretty standard way to look for pirates and slaver bases; the filth plussing up their forces with some thugs.
"Saren's a Council Agent, he isn't going to think along the normal lines." Something Sara had said just yesterday had Jannie thoughtful. "Uncle, the man was educated in one of the best schools in the galaxy; Sara's, actually. As I understand it, there's a bit of a community network amongst the Presidium Academy Alumni. If one is a Peer, they can ask for favors from lower-ranked graduates and they're suppose to provide as long as it isn't really illegal or unethical. Just the thought of someone with a high-class education where said person is put on a pedestal by their species and expected to reach high-level business and political vocations is kind of scary. Saren wouldn't have to ask for something malicious, just another piece of a puzzle he needs."
"Hmm. I wasn't aware of that. We'll look into it." The Admiral nodded. "That's good, though. That provides us with other options. I know Sara graduated in the top five, could she do the same?"
"Yes… to a certain degree." Jannie knew the truth; Sara's biggest problem in the Academy was her race. She had spent years being antagonized for being a Human. Likely, anything that Sara might ask for in the way of information or intelligence might be denied without repercussion. "Surprisingly, I've actually got four Alumni on-board as we speak. Doctor Liara T'soni, Detective Garrus Vakarian, and Agent not-Dalatrass Zevin Raeka all went to the Academy as well. If Sara can't, one of them might be able to. Hell, together? They went an invented a Faraday Cage grenade that latched on with magnetics in a cave using… I dunno, a coconut and an OmniTool?" That had Hackett chuckling. "Sara's already compiling some ideas on how we can plus up our weapons and our tech. I'm good at what I do, but she's brilliant, honestly. She went and created battle-deployment armor using OmniGel that I physically watched gush out and adhere to her Phoenix Armor. My Pilgrims instantly got jealous."
"Having someone innovating will certainly be a help in the coming weeks." Steven reached into his desk and pulled out a red-bordered FOUO datapad, one that came encrypted, couldn't be tampered with or copied, and was usually destroyed right after. "I've had this in the works for a year or so now, and it became official two days ago. Your orders… Captain Shepard."
Wai… what?
Jannie took the datapad in hand, pressing her thumb to the biometric scanner to identify herself, seeing an icon hourglass rotate twice before confirming her identity and accepting her need-to-know. It was a standard orders from the Systems Alliance Human Resource Command, naming herself in the personnel column. On it was the kicker.
"I'm being frocked?" Jannie was stunned, to say the least. She had just made her full Commander less than six months ago! And now she was being frocked? That meant that she would be promoted fully to Captain during the next fiscal year on October 1, when the Captain's Promotions List came in. Being frocked meant many things. She would wear the rank, bear the title, and even get the pay on the date of the orders (which Jannie was amused to see was two days prior). Being a Captain in the Navy was a huge deal, both for Unrestricted Line Officers (which she technically was now) and Special Warfare Officers (which she still was). She could legitimately command both vessel and N team, even both at the same time, like Poppa Bear. Obviously, whoever was to be Humanity's First SPECTRE was going to be unleashed, able to command their vessel for the needs of the mission, which just made sense.
But the orders had so much more.
"Wait… this… says I'm in command of a Battle Group?" That… was a good deal more than just being 'a Captain'. Though there were Captains in charge of Cruiser-led mini-Fleets for patrols, about half of the Battle Groups were led by Real Admirals (Lower Half).
"On paper." Hackett replied, a small smile on his scarred lips. "That will be the official story, you being in command of a full Battle Group. We even have something to keep up the fiction for the military watchers. On the other hand, there will be things that you actually will be receiving due to your position. Like the budget." Jannie looked from her Uncle to the datapad in hand, and found the budget allowance.
"Holy shit." Shepard was… flummoxed. She never used that word in her entire life, but it felt utterly appropriate now. To run the SSV Normandy, she was given in excess of fifty megaCredits monthly for expenses to run the vessel for the month as an allotment. According to the orders in her hand, she was given the budget to run a Battle Group that consisted of twenty-five vessels, from a York-Class Cruiser down to a dozen Corvette-Class Knuckledusters. But she would command only one ship. That meant she could outfit the Normandy and her crew with anything and practically everything. Topping off the tanks with high-grade Heavy Helium for better performance, triple-refined Eezo for lesser discharge and optimum power output, custom-made armor kits for the Normandy for added protection, improved Anti-Matter warheads for weaponry, and customized cyberwarfare suites to protect delicate ship instrumentation and computer suites. There was the list compiled by Lieutenant Commander Charles Pressly of the things that needed upgrading, improving, and re-calibrated. Now she could afford them all and then some. Easily. Hell, she could outfit her entire ground team with the best equipment as well, paying top Credit for a rush order! She understood why such the lofty budget; to keep her on top of her game, to one-up the competition every time.
Jannie knew they were going to need it. Hell, it might not be enough.
"So whose command will I fall under? I'm not under the impression that you're just going to let me off the hook with an experimental Frigate and millions of Credits without some sort of oversight." Jannie asked, still feeling a little dizzy at the prospect. This was beyond a dream come true, but in the worst way possible.
"There's really only one man in the entirety of the Systems Alliance who can understand your position. What it entails, what it needs, what you need." The Admiral smiled. "Thanks to our asshole of an Ambassador, he's in the perfect position to do what's best for you. Couldn't pick a better man."
"Poppa Bear." Jannie smiled, and the thought cheered her up immensely. Being under the command of her Poppa Bear was a boon, the man a dedicated warrior and father figure. Uncle Steven was right, there really wasn't anyone else who would likely understand what it meant to be a SPECTRE, Captain David Anderson having been a candidate himself. "So he's going to be a Joint Task Force Commander? As a Captain?"
"David's getting frocked as well. Long time coming, if you asked me." Jannie knew what that meant; Poppa Bear was getting his Admiral rank, something he had refused for years so he could be a part of the Teams, being where he loved to be. "I know that command of the Normandy was to be his last hoorah before he was going to be considered, but we need him to aid your endeavors and try to keep the idiocy down to a minimum. The last thing that we need is a bunch of politicians thinking they know what's going on or what they are talking about. Not to mention social media reporters." That had Jannie snort. "Anderson will field the public relations as well as the military resource so you can focus on your mission."
"Is that all my mission is, to track Saren and the Geth? To do the bidding of the Council?" Jannie wasn't too sure about all that. When Poppa Bear and Agent Kryik had first informed her, she had barely gotten the idea wrapped around her head before Joker had intercepted the emergency signal that was issued from Staff Sergeant's Lieutenant, Lieutenant Durand. Everything else after that point was just a long-running uphill battle between fighting the Geth, recovering from the Beacon, tracking down the evidence of Saren Arterius' involvement and guilt, and finally Sara's message of the attack on Therum.
"For now, Council interests and our own are in alignment." Admiral Hackett replied, folding his hands together. "As I understand it, most SPECTREs are watchdogs over their own governments and species to curtail any illegal activities, Convention violations, and anything that breaks the Treaty of Farixen. For you, this likely might not be the case since you're so obviously a SPECTRE thanks to the highly-publicized announcement and various media outlets. Once we actually start having more than a couple or a few, that will more likely be the case. Continue the hunt for Arterius and his allies, disrupt whatever they have planned, and find any intelligence we can exploit. For now, the reaction from Earth and Sol System is to consolidate our forces into a defensive posture to protect our people, our shipping lanes, and any routes towards our heavier industries we need to survive. While this doesn't stop the Geth, leaving these areas of interest undermanned means the Geth can attack us in ways that will ripple throughout Earth Alliance Space." The Admiral's face went sour. "We just don't have the manpower to cover the territory we have, Jannie. You, for now, are our spear, our Lion."
"No pressure." Jannie snarked, a wry smile upon her lips.
"Green pickle award, Captain." The smile was back, and Jannie just sighed as her Kassa Fabrications' Polaris OmniTool dinged with a Chirp, and she saw a holographic icon that popped up to indicate that it was from Sara. Jannie queued it up and saw the message, and her heart was tugged at the message.
You are cordially invited to the memorial service of Red Platoon, Betelgeuse Company, 3rd Battalion, 7th Marine Infantry Regiment at ArcBar at 2000 Arc.
"Shit." Shepard muttered, knowing what a Marine Wake entailed. "Our little Angel's holding a Marine Wake tonight at the ArcBar." Uncle Steven's face merely twitched at that. "Poor girl's taken a hard hit with the loss of her men. I know she doesn't go and say it, but she feels like she abandoned them when she went to her position inside the Dig Site. Feels like they died because Doc wasn't with them."
"I know Katie felt that way." Senior Chief Petty Officer Katherine Hale had been the Night Stalker's Fleet Marine Corpsman, a woman who had made herself into a combat medic for sake of species and those of her unit. Even to this day, Aunt Katie couldn't look Jannie in the eye due to her father's death, the Petty Officer having not been there when First Lieutenant John Shepard, Lieutenant (junior grade) David Anderson, Sergeant Jill Dah, and Corporals Tadius Ahern and Zaeed Massani fought Turian Blackwatch members to a standstill while First Lieutenant Alec Ryder and the rest of the Night Stalkers evacuated a hospital filled with refugees. Jannie's father had died during the desperate defense, saving innocent lives, dying in his best friend's arms. According to her mother, Aunt Katie had supposedly held three-year old Jane Shepard in her arms, begging the child's' forgiveness for not being there for her father.
It wasn't Aunt Katie that Jannie blamed.
"I guess I better set some booze aside if I want my men to have anything to drink tomorrow." Uncle Steven said wryly, making Jannie snort.
"Good luck. Marines can hunt a beer from sense of smell a parsec away." That had the Admiral chuckle knowingly. "There's only one thing that'll keep a Marine from alcohol, Uncle."
"Better guard that, too. Don't need a bunch of baby Marines nine months from now." Jannie just peeled with laughter.
Author's Note: I invented a space funeral. :'-(
You are cordially invited to the memorial service of Red Platoon, Betelgeuse Company, 3rd Battalion, 7th Marine Infantry Regiment at ArcBar at 2000 Arc.
Now-frocked Captain Jane Shepard (SAN, N7, OST) had gotten the Chirp earlier in the day from Petty Officer (Third Class) Sara Ryder and knew what it would entail. By the string of addresses attached to the Chirp, it seemed that the Corpsman had invited everyone on the SSV Normandy's Ground Team (which was tradition for adjoining units to be included) and anyone else who was on Therum (again, that was pretty standard), along with the encompassing address of 3/7 MAR. That meant anyone in, attached, or a part of the 3rd Marine Battalion, or the 7th Marine Infantry Regiment. No surprises there. The N7 wondered briefly how many people would show up, and how much alcohol would be involved. Knowing Marines, the answer would likely be all of it. Jannie had forwarded the inclusion to the owner of the ArcBar earlier, giving them a heads-up to stock up on the booze, and then giving her account number to pay for the drinks.
Sara had taken the deaths of her thirty-two Marines hard. Likely, she'd be taking to the bottle equally as hard.
Shepard showed up thirty minutes prior to the start to find that the five surviving Marines and their Doc already there, dressed in their Alliance Blues, Sara easy to pick out amongst them as she was the only woman in the group, and her Navy Blues a lighter shade than the darker hue the Marines wore. They all had their blouse sleeves rolled up to the appropriate standard that the SAMC generously allowed, showing off muscled arms to impress upon others their strength, and in that, Ryder was no stranger. Her sleeves were equally bloused just as high, rolled up and buttoned above her biceps, with well-defined biceps and triceps that were thick for a woman. It had been two years since Jane had seen her friend before Therum, and those two years had changed Sara. Jannie was still getting use to the fact that no longer was she the petite, lithe, perky little teenager that was an absolute bundle of energy. Still petite, but she had gone from lanky to athletic, her shoulders seemingly as muscular as her arms, a bastion of lean muscle mass worshiped appropriately with rigorous training and long-term strengthening exercises.
Seeing her in her Navy Blues along with Marines, Jane was touched to see that Sara Ryder fit right in, just like a Fleet Marine Doc should. She wasn't some skimpy or flubby Navy bus driver standing next to pillars of muscles and testosterone, some last-minute attachment from a Dispensary because Marines wanted a medic just in case they got hurt. No, Sara looked like a Femarine, muscles and attitude, a woman who held her head high and proud amongst Marines. Fairer sex? Yes. Gentler sex? No, not by a long fucking shot. Anyone fucked with Doc's Marines, and she looked easily capable of snapping a motherfucker in half; a Krogan's headplate was testimony to that. Her Marines, and no one else's. Shepard walked to a quiet corner as Sara was talking to one of the Private's, Louis Broussard. Brassiere, that was his nickname. Only a Marine would name another Marine after feminine undergarments and live to tell the tale. Hell, one guy was called 'Lapdance' and another 'Ballsack'. Shepard knew that Docs generally didn't get nicknames; Doc was a good one in of itself, a Corpsman who would run in under fire to pull out a casualty, providing medical care to save a life. Yet Sara had earned herself one, and Jane had overheard it on the Normandy; TBG. No one explained the acronym, but the N7 figured it on her own after a second or two. TBG, toughest bitch in the galaxy. It wasn't just a nickname; it was a title.
The woman responsible for the deaths of over a hundred Geth platforms by her own hand? Yeah, the Geth got a good look at that title as it punched them in the face, didn't it?
Shepard wasn't too surprised by the turnout in the ArcBar, the station's main bar in the Lower Hub of Arcturus Station. It was generally the Enlisted Bar, while the NCO Bar was in the Mid-Hub, and the Officer's Bar in the Upper Hub. Technically, Sara could have held the service at any of the three, but she had picked the 'rowdier' one, one where her Marines would likely feel more comfortable at. Most of the Normandiers had showed up, along with the entirety of the ground team. Seeing a Krogan and a Turian at a Human military bar was certainly a sight, but no one was messing with either the half-tonne mercenary or the Turian in armor still decorated in C-SEC RRU colors. Tali'Zorah nar Reyya and Niki'Raan nar Tombay were sitting at a table with Lieutenant Greg Adams, along with two others from Engineering, obvious to be nearby the few Humans she could relate to engineering-wise, and Doctor Liara T'soni and Professor Irissa T'vara occupied a table of their own, most likely out of the splash zone of drool from the Human males (and a few female ones, too). There were a good many others in the ArcBar Shepard didn't know; several Marines of varying rank, a few Naval personnel, Enlisted and Officer, and even a couple of civilians; family members? The service was going to begin, and Jane saw Sara spy her out amongst the crowd, and gave her a smile and a nod. This was going to be hard on Sara, but she would do it regardless.
Semper Fidelis, after all.
When it was 2000 on the dot, Petty Officer Sara Ryder raised her fingers in her mouth and blew out a twilling whistle in the bar in the sound of a Bosum's Whistle, tttttWWWWWEEEEEeeeeettttt! Whatever conversations were going died immediately as every head at the ArcBar turned to look upon the Petty Officer surrounded by five Marines. If anyone had come not knowing what was about to happen, they were going to learn the hard way.
Marines had died for their people. Now the people were going to honor their memories.
"Barkeep! Degresser and twenty-one shots!" Sara shouted for all the bar to hear, calling for the potent, terrible-tasting liquor that was used for one thing, and one thing only. It was only distilled in the Arc, said that the still was made from the parts of an old STS engine, and brewed from the tears of mothers, widows, and orphans. No one ordered Degresser save for one purpose and one purpose only; in memoriam. It was bottled in glass, with a wide-neck port, and enough liquor to filling twenty-one shotglasses. Technically, the bottle was a fifth of an Imperial Gallon, but only twenty-six and a quarter Imperial Ounces were put into the bottle with a neck big enough to shove an orange through. The label was a broad white bare label with nothing on it; no manufacture, no name, no print, nothing to sully the surface. No one said a word as the barkeeper filled twenty-one shot glasses with the potent liquor, rated at one hundred and eighty-proof; ninety percent alcohol. Every one was filled to the line, not a drop wasted. They were lined in a row on the bar, and only five Marines and a Sailor dared approached them. Six hands went to six shotglasses. Sara looked to Jane, and gave the Captain a nod. It was time.
"Ready!" Shepard called out. "Aim!" The six glasses were lifted. "Fire!" The remaining members of 1B3/7 did the shots, in which once they were done, the shotglasses were violently hurled to the bar's floor, the glasses shattering into pieces. Their faces said it all; the liquor was possibly the worst-tasting in existence. "Ready! Aim! Fire!" The second shot was done, and the glasses went to the floor, breaking into shards. Several of the Marines were coughing, their faces in agony. "Ready! Aim! Fire!" The last shot was done, all six drinking as one as the shotglasses ended up by their brothers, broken and gone. There wasn't a dry eye on any of them, the liquor so potent and so vile that it brought tears to the survivors, meant for the dead. In memoriam. Some of the Marines were swaying in place, and Sara was trying to hold one up, struggling herself. Of the three remaining shot, they were left on the bar. They would be served soon.
"Barkeep!" Shepard called, continuing. Sara had Chirped her personally to be the Master of Ceremonies, being the Commanding Officer of the response unit who received the distress signal of the attack on the Dig Site. Jane had been more than happy to participate. "Thirty-two bottles of beer on the wall!"
"Thirty-two bottles of beer!" Human voices cried out in the ArcBar, following the tradition. Thirty-two bottles of beer for thirty-two lost lives. The barkeeper laid out thirty-two random bottles of beer, beer made throughout the Systems Alliance, for the many homes that Humans lived in, for the homes that Marines defended.
"Who will commemorate?" Petty Officer Sara Ryder called out, her voice thick and slightly slurred, but it was more than loud enough for all to hear. "Who will honor these Marines?"
"Captain Jane Catherine Shepard!" Jane called out as she approached the bar and grabbed the first bottle, a green-bottled Heineken. She pulled the top off with her hand and chugged the beer in one go, opening her throat and draining it in four seconds. When she was finished, she threw the bottle on the floor, smashing it amongst the debris of the shotglasses, adding it to the pile. The bottle's top went into the empty bottle of Degresser, the opened top of the vile liquor more than big enough as the metal cap tinkled into the bottle. She then ripped off the nametag of her uniform, and placed it on the bar. Her hands went to her new rank, set upon her uniform's shoulderboards, and ripped it off before placing it onto the nametag and hammering her rank onto her name with her fist. Jane then ripped off her N7's badge, and hammered it just to the left of her rank. She then pulled out of her pocket a new addition; the badge of the Office of Special Tactics. That got hammered just to the right of her rank. "Commanding Officer of the SSV Normandy, N7, Council Agent! The Lion of Elysium, and First Human SPECTRE!" The nametag, along with its additions, were added to the bottle to applause from those in the ArcBar.
"Lieutenant Kaidan Raphael Alenko!" The Biotic Lieutenant moved to the bar as Jane stepped away, seeing Sara and her Marines standing there, watching. They may have been swaying, they may have been grieving, but not one of them sat down or fell over, holding each other up. Semper Fidelus to the very end. The Lieutenant grabbed a bottle of Labat Blue, draining it like a pro, and smashing it on the ground. "Battle Duty Officer and Explosive Ordinance Disposal Officer of the SSV Normandy!" Alenko ripped off his nametag and placed it on the bar before ripping off his rank and hammering it on. The nametag and bottlecap went into the bottle to the sound of applause.
"Staff Sergeant Ashley Madeline Williams!" The Colonial Marine stood up, taking a bottle of Budweiser, chugging it and breaking it on the floor. "Weapons Officer of the SSV Normandy! The Lone Wolf of Eden Prime!" That had been a new addition thanks to the news, the nickname circulating through the social media sphere. Ash had fought and survived the Geth, surviving a massacre and fighting for an hour single-handedly before being rescued by Shepard and Alenko. Her bottle cap, nametag and rank were added, and there were a few whistles amongst the applause.
The bar went silent with the next commemorator.
"Detective Garrus Kaaldon Vakarian of Palaven!" The Turian approached the bar, and true to the service, selected a bottle of Guinness Draught and drank the levo-chiliary beer before breaking it on the ground, coughing and gagging for a moment. He was going to be sick later, and everyone knew it, but that hadn't stopped him. "Detective, Special Crimes Unit, Citadel Security Services. Sniper, Rapid Response Unit, Citadel Security Services. Currently of the SSV Normandy!" The Turian surprised everyone by plucking his C-SEC Detective's badge off and somehow managing to shove it into the opened top of the Degresser after adding the Guinness's cap. No one had expected that, but it had been awarded with cheers and applause.
"Tali of Clan Zorah, born of the Reyya of the Migrant Fleet!" The Quarian Engineer came next as she grabbed a bottle of Red Stripe, and pulled out from her EnviroSuit (of all things) a straw. Much to everyone's amusement, the Quarian heroically sucked the beer from the bottle as fast as she could through the plastic device until it made the typical sucking noise when a liquid was finished. She hiccuped through her vox before breaking the bottle on the ground. "Engineering Sub-Officer of the MFV Reyya, Engineering Sub-Officer of the SSV Normandy!" She put into the bottle of Degresser a small piece of fabric. Jane knew it to be a portion of the Quarians' cherished reilk, a part of it having been torn off during the operation on Therum. The garment had been made by her now-deceased mother, and instead of sewing it back on, added it to the bottle. Jannie was touched by the sentiment.
"Niki of Clan Raan, adopted of the Tombay of the Migrant Fleet!" The Marine Pilgrim went after her cousin as she hoisted up a bottle of Miller Genuine Draft, sharing the same straw that Tali had used. "Migrant Fleet Marine Prospect of the MFV Tombay, Ground Team Member of the SSV Normandy!" She was still trying to shake off the alcohol as she spoke, adding the bottlecap into the Degresser before putting something else inside; an ammo block for a pistol.
"Wrex of Clan Urdnot of Tuchanka," the old Krogan was next, surprising Shepard that he was joining in, "son of Jarod, son of Krull, last Krogan Councilor!" Holy shit! Everyone went quiet as hell with that. Jannie had no idea. The big game hunter ended up grabbing the largest bottle, a bottle of Old English 800 Malt Liquor, and drank it in one fell swoop. He then crushed the bottle with his own hand, and purposefully added his blood to the pile of broken glass on the floor. "Big game hunter. Heavy Weapons, SSV Normandy." To the bottle of Degresser, he added a small anti-personnel grenade, the arming device deactivated, along with the bottle cap. There were a few alarmed faces, but many had nodded their heads in acceptance.
"Mannovai Janoir Ye'ili Tavac Zevin Raeka, of Mannovai!" The female Salarian stood up from her seat as her lanky form moved with a surprising grace in what Jannie considered to be either casual or formal civilian robes of subdued colors instead of her Armax Arsenal L-Series Light Combat Armor. "Special Reconnaissance Agent, Special Tasks Group… unit withheld." That had a few chuckles as the not-Dalatrass selected a Terminator Stout as she drank the dark beer, adding it to the pile of broken glass by throwing the empty bottle. She placed the bottle cap in the bottle of Degresser and added her own specialization badge into the bottle.
"Doctor Liara T'Soni, of Serrice, Thessia." The young Asari Protheantologist stood up now that the immediate ground team was done. The Thessia took a bottle of Chango and drank it, making a face when she was done as she threw the bottle on the ground, obvious to everyone that it was possibly the first time in her life ever breaking glass. "Xenopaeleosociologist, University of Serrice, Expeditionary Member of Dig Site Alpha of Therum. Because of these brave souls, I am alive today." Liara ripped the University of Serrice patch from her Expeditionary jumpsuit, gave it a kiss, and stuffed it down the bottle of Degresser.
"Professor Irissa T'vara, of Itoma, Rannoch." The Asari Matriarch was next, and the announcement of her homeworld had everyone shocked; no one under the age of three hundred had ever met a native-born Rannochian. Jane noticed that Tali'Zorah had turned sharply to look at the Protheantologist at the name of the homeworld she had only dreamed of. The Professor selected a bottle of Samuel Adams Boston Lager, and drank it like a pro. The bottle crashed against the ground as the Asari smashed it with the rest. "Dean of Prothean Research and Studies, Xenopaeleotechnologist, University of Serrice, Lead Expeditionary Member of Dig Site Alpha of Therum. Because of these brave souls, every member of my team, my responsibility, was evacuated safely, and are alive today." Irissa ripped off not only her UniSerrice patch, but also the pin marking her the Lead, hammering it into the patch before including it and the bottle cap into the bottle.
"Abadexus Linaseus, of Vallum, Taetrus." The gray-plated Turian with while colonial markings displaying the Taetrus Colony upon his gray facial carapace, standing tall and proud as he went to the bar wearing a freshly clean-and-pressed Citizen's robe. Much as Detective Vakarian had, the former Centurion grabbed a random bottle of beer and clipped the cap off with a talon, drinking the Coors as fast as possible before hurling the glass receptacle to the floor. "Citizen Reservist, tenth-tier and former Active Duty Hastist Infantry of the 54th Infantry Corps (Taetrus)." The bottlecap went into the Degresser along with what appeared to be a small printed Book of Valluvius that Jannie understood that the Hierarchy gave to every Soldier to outline the devotion of duty to species.
The service continued as men and women joined in the commemoration. The Captain of Betelgeuse Company, one Captain Kal Sun, drank a Corona before adding his nametag and rank. The Battalion Commander, Lieutenant Colonel Patricia Fallows, came next as she plucked a Blue Moon from the bar before adding her nametag and rank. Following her was the Regiment Commander, Brigadier General Yasmine Khan, drinking a Swedish Mead. Then there were former members of 1B3/7, five in all who had served the platoon in the past. One civilian happened to be the sister of Private Mikael Holodansk, one of the Marines who had died, a MOD Member working on the Arc. She took a Yingling Black and Tan and inserted a childhood still of her and her brother, a personal memento. There were half a dozen Marines who had come for their own reasons, honoring brothers and sisters. A couple of Sailors came to the bar as well, honoring the sacrifice. There was one more bottle, a Nichevo Russian Ale, and the tradition stated that it was reserved the the highest-ranking individual that attended the service.
"Rear Admiral Lower Half Steven Bishop Hackett." The sight of the old war hero and Commanding Officer of Fifth Fleet had everyone standing as the scarred visage of the man presented itself at the bar, the Shanxi veteran taking the Russian beer and popping the top by placing it against the bar and popping it open by smacking it with his palm. He swilled the beer before breaking it on the floor, the mess of glass now littering a good chunk of the ArcBar's deck. "Commanding Officer, SSV Orizba, Fifth Fleet. Callsign: Lance." That had been his callsign as a fighter pilot over the skies of Shanxi during the First Contact War, as famous as the man himself. The Admiral ripped off his nametag, and took his two stars, hammering it through the nametag before he added another piece to it; his Star of Terra, the ribbon wrapped around the nametag before they went into the bottle. Admiral Hackett took the remaining three unfinished shots of Degresser and pured the liquid contents into the bottle before breaking the shotglasses onto the bar floor. The barkeeper gave the cork to the Admiral, who inserted it back into the bottle of Degresser, sealing it. A candle was lit, and wax was dripped onto the bottle's entrance, sealing the bottle and cork together, tamperproofing it. The Admiral finished it by taking an old-fashioned Sharpie pen and writing thirty-two names upon the blank label, the names of the men the bottle represented. Once the act was done, Admiral Hackett turned from the bar to look upon the crowd, the bottle in his hand. "Who will send these Marines home?"
"Here am I!" Came the response from the remaining members of Red Platoon, Betelgeuse Company, five Marines and one Navy Corpsman volunteering, as was tradition. The sealed bottle was handed to the highest-ranking member, Petty Officer Sara Ryder, who led her Marines to one portion of the hull that had in it a small jettison port. Everyone stood and watched as Sara opened the port and placed the bottle inside before sealing the port, not activating the depressurization sequence. Next to the port was an old-fashion lever meant to open the outer port into space, and above the lever were the stenciled words 'To Earth'. Six hands went onto the lever, the Marines and Sailor holding onto the lever as they held onto one another, crowding closely for the finale.
"May you be in heaven an hour…" Sara spoke out loud.
"Before the Devil knows you're dead!" The Marines shouted in response.
"May you shake Saint Peter's hand…"
"While the Devil shakes his head!"
"May you enjoy your eternal reward…"
"Forever in Kingdom Hall!"
"One day I will see you again…"
"AT THE LORD'S LAST MUSTER CALL!"
The lever was pulled.
The bottle of Degresser with all of its additions was shot out into space, the air pressure of the small jettison port launching it at subsonic speeds, sending it towards the Sol System. Every member of the military stood saluting as the bottle was sent, a small port window showing the glass container flying away.
Sending the Marines home.
Commander Jane Shepard sat at a table in the ArcBar, nursing a rum-and-coke as Petty Officer Sara Ryder sat at the same table with her, the other two seats at the synthetic wood platform purposefully empty. Thankfully, notoriety could sometimes be useful when one saw the Lion of Elysium and the Angel of Illyeria drinking together and realized that it was a private occasion. The remaining Marines of Red Platoon were at various other tables with attendees of the service, not one of them having to pay for a drink. They were veterans now, veterans of the Geth War, where so many had already died. Jane had already put forth the paperwork to transfer the five Marines and the Corpsman to the SSV Normandy, knowing that her mission would be facing the unexpected, and she needed boots-on-ground. They would work well as a secondary team, providing flanking coverage and flexibility on missions while her team of specialists actioned in on whatever objective was currently the mission. She already planned on having Staff Sergeant Ashley Williams as their Platoon Sergeant, using Williams' experience as a Colonial Soldier, an NCO, and as a veteran of Eden Prime herself to help shape and mold the Marines into an even more effective force. They were young, but Jannie didn't have a lot of options. The amount of available Geth War veterans were all a part of her ship now; there was no one else to be had. Even those young Marines knew more than N's who had never faced a Geth and their adaptability.
"How did you deal with it? You know?" Sara pointed to Jane's left arm, her words slurred as the Petty Officer drank shots of Bacardi's, already at four. She was going to end up on the ArcBar floor pretty soon by the way she was tottering in her chair. Shepard knew what her friend was referencing; there were seven names tattooed on her left forearm, the names of the teachers who had joined her side to defend Illyeria High from Batarians and their hired thugs. They had died protecting their students, but it was only Shepard that was remembered. Jannie had gotten their names tattooed on her left forearm not only to remember them, but also to remind her the cost of her heroism. Most didn't realize that behind every heroic act, there was a toll. Sara had never asked that question before, obviously understanding that it was personal. But now? Now she understood.
"The tattoos helped, but that was just a personal thing for me." Jannie replied, looking at Sara's blue eyes, seeing them staring at her blearingly, the Corpsman well beyond tipsy, now. "But honestly? I realized that every action, every incident, and every battle will have a death toll. Every single fucking one of them." She could tell that the Corpsman didn't like that answer at all, her profession being one meant to save lives, not to mention the woman herself having that kind of soul in her. "There hasn't been one N Candidate who went to the Villa who hasn't lost a friend or a comrade. It's actually an unspoken requirement, you know? We don't need an elite combatant who doesn't know that bitter taste." It was a sad necessity, unfortunately. One did not go into Special Forces without having some combat experience, without having lost a member of their unit in battle, or without a Purple Heart. Yeah, it kept their numbers down sadly, but it made for more experienced combatants who had seen the true rigors of combat and the cost of such endeavors.
"It's bullshit." Sara replied, her words coming out somewhat slurred and mumbled. "I… I could have saved some of them."
"Sara? You likely would have died right next to them." Jane told her friend, the young woman looking from her empty shotglass to her. "And then the rest of your Marines wouldn't have had your guidance, your experience, or your leadership. They likely would have died in the Dig Site, and then some of the civilians would have to. Possibly many of them." Shepard was relentless, believing every word she was saying to Sara. "That Krogan would have captured Doctor T'Soni, probably killed Professor T'vara in the process. Is that the scenario you'd prefer?"
"No, Auntie." Ryder replied glumly, her head drooping down. "It just… it just hurts so fucking much." Jane knew why. Field Medical Training Battalion spent eight weeks straight hammering into Fleet Marine Corpsmen Cadets these are your Marines; you will live with them, you will work with them, you will eat with them, you will fight with them, and you will die for them, as they will die for you. FMF Corpsmen saw protecting Marines as more than just duty; they strove for the honor. To have let a Marine die was a wound in Sara's soul, feeling as if she had forgone that duty and honor. Having thirty-two? That much worse.
"Sara? You did right, and you did well." Shepard reiterated, doing her best to cut through the grief and the alcohol, looking into her friend's eyes. "Six Marines needed you, six with no experience and little training, only having been in the Marines for a year or less. Those men needed you." Sara looked at her, frowning. "Gunny Halverson put those men in that ruin because it was a means to make them effective without them doing something silly or stupid like baby Marines will. He kept the experienced men out front, keeping them effective, and then he put a person in charge of those men, someone he trusted. And you proved that trust better than he could have hoped for. You kept them alive, and the seven of you killed close a thousand Geth. You… saved… lives. My own included." Ryder slowly nodded at that, her hand going onto Jannie's, gripping it tightly.
"Love you, Auntie." Sara smiled, looking a little bit better. "Still hurts… but… you're right." She looked to the table, and found that her shotglass was still empty. "Refill?" The young woman looked so hopeful that the Captain couldn't help but laugh.
"One tequila, two tequila, three tequila, floor." The N7 smiled at the young woman she had known since she was nine, on the very day Sara Elaine Ryder was born. "I'll get you a shot and a spatula to scrape you off the ground."
"That's what family is for." Sara smiled drunkenly as she picked up the shotglass and shook it emphatically. "You can laugh at me tomorrow while I suffer in return."
"That's what family is for." The redhead laughed as she raised her hand up to get a waitress's attention.
Author's Note: This is the first time I've really fleshed out Scott Ryder. He played in a team called the Presidium Toshe (pronounced 'Toss-shee) and would be the equivalent of a point guard in basketball terms, or a forward in soccer/football. Ash being a fan of a Human trouncing aliens in an alien game would certainly appeal to her.
I've mention a couple of times about 'a movie' concerning the Lion and the Angel. Yes, there is a movie detailing the Assault of Elysium, featuring the Lion, and the Angel as a supporting character. The movie's name is The Fires Of Heaven, and you will learn more of it later.
Red Alert Status - There's always a unit in a post or base that is under 'Red Alert', in which they are expected to be ready in a quick amount of time in case of emergencies. Mostly involves flight units to scramble jets, there are ground forces that do this as well (come to think of it… I don't think I've ever actually been put on this despite being Combat Arms). Remember this one kiddies; you'll be seeing it later during the Battle of the Cit.
I gave Garrus a nickname after his favorite one-liner; scoped and dropped. Oh, he's former Blackwatch, too. You'll learn more of his past later on.
The Bravest Generation - the First Contact War's 'Greatest Generation'. Roster Includes Admiral Jon Grissom, Admiral Kastanie Drescher, Captain Alec Ryder, Admiral Hannah Singer, Lieutenant John Shepard, Captain David Anderson, Admiral Tadius Ahern, Master Chief Petty Officer Stacy Valentino, Master Chief Petty Officer Royce Mason, Admiral Steven Hackett, John Martin Harper, General Theodore Williams, Gunnery Sergeant Jill 'the Amazon' Dah, and former Corporal Zaeed Massani. Several of these individuals make up for Jannie and Sara's eclectic and crazy 'family'. A couple of them are OC's (Val and Mason), while a couple only existed in paper media (General Williams and Gunnery Chief Dah, seen in Revelations).
Rear Admiral (Upper Half) Steven 'Lance' Hackett - A First Contact War Vet, Ensign Hackett (Callsign: Lance) was a SOAR Pilot (Special Operations Aviation Regiment) who delivered N's and SpecOps to high-value targets and quick-reaction force requests on Shanxi. His crew consisted of his co-pilot, Ensign Hannah Shepard (Callsign: Zephyr), and two crew chiefs, Petty Officer (Third Class) Stacy Michelle Valentino and Able Seaman Royce Abraham Mason. Their ground crew consisted of 1st Lieutenant Alec Ryder, Ensign David Anderson, Lieutenant John Shepard, Corporal Tadius Ahern, Sergeant Jill Dah, and Corporal Zaeed Massani, along with others.
160th SOAR (Airborne) - A real-life US Army Special Operations Aviation Unit, they were created after the disaster of Operation Eagle Claw/Desert One (the failed attempt to rescue American hostages from Iran during the Iranian Revolution in '79). There were no ready-combat rotary wing aviation units at the time, and the 160 SOAR represents the same elite dedication that one will find amongst the Berets and SEALs. In fact, they're the ones usually flying them in.
Night Stalkers - 4/160 SOAR - Again, a real life US Army Special Operations Aviation Unit, unit name 'Night Stalkers'. Stationed in Washington.
Amanda Ahern - I actually am borrowing this from LogicalPremise's "And Then There Were None", though how Amanda dies in his story is actually explained, while mine is generalized.
I made a Gillian's Island reference, the long-standing joke of the Professor who could craft anything out of anything… save how to repair a three foot hole in a ship with two sailors.
Technically, no one has died in space (at least that anyone has admitted to). America has lost seventeen Astronauts in total; three from Apollo 1 (training exercise accident on the ground), seven from the Challenger (launch, O-ring failure), and the Atlantis (re-entry, integrity failure). Every Astronaut has sadly died on fire. The former Soviet Union had never admitted to its losses, though there is circumstantial evidence and tales that they indeed have lost dozens. Because of this, no one had knowingly been 'buried' in space, though some (like Gene Roddenberry, creator of Star Trek) has had his remains launched into space. Makes one wonder… did NASA have a plan in case an Astronaut did pass away from something during mission?
I created a space funeral with a variety of traditions. The Twenty-One Gun Salute would be impractical on a space station (no one wants holes in the hull), so I changed it to Twenty-One Shots. The hammering of ranks and badges is actually a US Navy Seal tradition, though the devices are hammered onto a casket. Many toss mementos into caskets, personal items added in memoriam. The drinking portion is an Irish Wake, where a beer is drank (usually from a mug) and smashed upon the ground. The various beers I picked from various portions around Earth because the Systems Alliance would be multinational. I, unfortunately, could only come up with some imports for non-American beers, though I tried. Nichevo is not a Russian beer, but a Russian saying; it can't be helped is the general translation. The launch is more based upon the old Viking funerals, in which a body was sent on a boat onto the sea, usually set on fire for cremation. The spoken epitaph was one of my own creation, used several years back.
Johann Carl Fredrick Gauss (pronounced 'Gouse', like 'house') - a sheer mathematical genius whose works and influences are still practical and in use today, nearly two hundred years after his death. His work on numbers theory helped reprove some mathematica that hadn't been redone since the Ancient Greeks, and actually influenced architecture and construction with the use of a compass and a straightedge (technically, we still use this with a protractor nowadays). Like many of the mathematical greats, he was a mathematician who invented, solved equations, tacked problems, plotted asteroids pre-Calculus, and brokered new fields of thought. Today, magnetic fields are measured in 'Gauss' (which is a Centimeter Gram Second… and I have no idea what that means) for international units, and is 1/10,000 of a Tesla (again… I have no idea what I'm saying unless you're using magnetic fields for conduction of electricity or objects). A refrigerator magnet is about 50 gauss.
In Sci-Fi, you'll see many names come up; Maxwell, Gauss, Faraday, Tesla, and Edison, as they were all pioneers of electromagnetic/electrodynamic theory and applications. Seriously, Edison invented the Electric Chair. I can only imagine the first test run on that sucker and the poor bastard that rode the lightning. They probably didn't know to use a sponge, wet it, or drape a cloth over the face. Barbecued murderer is my first guess. Barbecued murderer with burst eyes and on fire is my second.
Okay, so I looked it up!
George Westinghouse (AC Titan in America) was responsible for the generators, while Dr. George Fell (a physician) tested the theory on dogs (btw, this guy was in fact with the ASPCA!) after dock workers would play with electrical wire and die without wounds. Edison didn't make the Electric Chair, but sat on the board and helped with the 'more' humane ways of killing convicts than hanging. William Krimmler was the first to enjoy that little test, a man who murdered his wife with a hatchet. They knocked him unconscious the first go, and burned him the second time. It took eight minutes to kill the guy. George Westinghouse later quoted to saying 'it would have been more humane to use an axe'. Whoops.