"Shit, how does chain of command work? Am I still XO, or does Williams bump me?" Vega mused aloud, leaning over some stacked crates that Cyzilie Worbaar had slid to make her a sequestered area of the kennel for logistics and privacy.
Worbaar was sitting in a worn-out black plastic and cloth office chair, her feet propped up on more of the same crates Vega leaned against. "Shit, that's tough." The colony-born marine plopped another piece of jerky in her mouth, chewing it some before she spoke anymore. "You see either o' 'em today?"
Vega's eyes wrenched back into his head in remembrance, his finger dotting the air when he recalled an instance. "Yeah, saw 'em both when I was getting breakfast."
"What where they doin'?"
"Commander was drinking some Coffee and Williams was headed for the lift. Why?"
"Shiiiiiiit." Worbaar hissed as she swiveled her chair around, her feet coming off the crate to rest on the ground while she leaned towards Vega. "They're definitely fighting."
"What?! How can you figure that out?"
"You're pretty Vega but you must be a moron in relationships." Worbaar laughed aloud, and then hushed her voice back to a whisper. "We haven't seen Williams in months, and they're that separated—not even bullshitting? I knew there was something going on. You're definitely XO, but I'm pretty sure that's the way it would work anyways."
"Damn…" Vega mused, while the slimmer and shorter marine slipped from her chair, and ultimately the area she'd been sitting in. "Where you headed?"
"Packing my shit before we go aboard the Citadel, planning to actually enjoy this brief shore leave."
The view while approaching the Citadel was astonishing. Given the badly-damaged station had already been in the Sol system, and that the Sol system was home to a decent-sized asteroid belt, the Citadel was left in-system and towed towards the belt. From that position the reconstruction forces could mine the belt for resources and transfer it back to the station for the Keepers to use during their efficient repairs. That meant that upon approach now ships were given a cinematic view of the inner planets of Sol.
Ashley Williams looked off in the distance, catching sight of the distant blue marble that was Earth, her mind flashing back to the frightful fighting they'd had to slug through down on its surface. She was presently aboard a skycar taxi, seated inches away from Shepard, as they were ferried from the Normandy towards the Presidium Tower. She could tell Shepard was glancing towards her, trying to slyly judge Ashley's mood without caving and looking over. Things had been tense for the pair since their fight several nights prior, and right now Ashley wished they could get back to their collective jobs and experience some space.
Her eyes landed on Tayseri ward, the once-broken arm now firmly attached to the Citadel's superstructure, though the mend was bare and skeletal in some places—showing the Citadel was still very much under construction. The Presidium though, had been restored astonishingly form the damage it'd sustained during the fighting, as well as Shepard's stunt with the Conduit.
Her eyes caught a flicker of movement reflected in the window, and then it happened. Everything around her raced by, any screams or cries from those aboard drowned out by the thundering crash that roared over the inside of the skycar. She could feel pain digging at her arm from how hard she'd been thrown against her restraints, but the trip was far from over. The careening space car came down in the Presidium Commons, slashing through one of its restaurants before the car flipped and tumbled into the Citadel's bulkhead that protected inner rooms and halls.
Though the car had now come to a halt, Ashley still felt as though she were tumbling. The Spectre was hung upside down, by her restraints, with blood trickling down her forehead and cheeks from new cuts. Desperately she squeezed at the restraint holding her to her seat and fell down into the wrecked cabin of the skycar. The pilot was dead, his body nearly cleaved in two, and Shepard wasn't moving where she'd been in the seat beside her. Ashley fumbled with the former's restraint, helping her as her body fell, but still there was no sign of life from the limp woman's body. A grimy and bloody hand felt for Shepard's jugular, and Ashley felt herself noticeably relax that she'd felt a pulse.
She staggered out of the skycar, feeling for her shield capacitor to make sure it was still there, and then feeling for her sidearm—which luckily had survived the crash on her belt. In the distance was a shuttle offloading two bulky men onto the walkway, each holding what looked like a Mattock from this range. "Fuck."Ashley spit out, a fine mist of blood coming out with her words. Limping away from the wreckage she glanced right and felt relief wash over her. She'd known that if this really were an accurate rebuilding of the Citadel it would need an unsettling amount of public arms dealers, and nearby—tucked away amidst the other shops of the Meridian Place Market—there was Kassa Fabrications.
She knew from the still-sporadic distant screams that much of the public had witnessed her crash, and she could tell by the horrified look on the faces of the booth's employees that they had also witnessed it. "I'm a Spectre," wheezed Ashley, her left hand suddenly clutching at her abdomen to suppress some new pain budding there. "I need a rifle, just hand me something."
The frightened human boy behind the counter slid an M-15 across the counter, while he crouched to take cover as best, he could with a shiny, unused pistol clutched in his hand. "If I'm successful you won't need that."
The men were drawing closer, though it looked like they intended to split and have one head for Shepard while the other headed for Ashley—either they must think they're fast, or they must overestimate how bad that crash hurt me.
Ashley drew the Vindicator back into her shoulder, cradling the rifle in in a way that had become muscle memory for her now. She had a clear look at the nearest of the attackers, a tall male dressed in black tactical garb including a ballistic vest and fully-covering mask. Two goggle-like eye pieces covered each of his eyes, giving the human-appearing man a non-human appearance. His Mattock was rested in an idle position, but before he could bring it up the few inches required to get a shot at Ashley her Vindicator had already spit two bursts of fire into his chest. They were caught by his personal shield in a brilliant spray of sparks away from the now-visible white field. He'd managed to raise his rifle and snap off a shot at her, which likewise smacked harmlessly into her shield. Its protection had bought her an extra few seconds, which allowed her to snap off another two bursts, the first of which totaled his shield while the second sliced through with a liquid sound and a cry of pain from him.
The noise from her gunfire had caught the attention of his partner, who had broken off his intended execution of Shepard in order to deal with Ashley. He juked to the side just as she fired the first time, only the outermost of her burst hitting him. He was on the move, drawing his rifle up for a desperate shot at her. His bullet smacked into her shield much like his partner's had, though this time it shattered her shield in a brilliant flash of white light and sparks. She pressed herself against a raised garden, scrunching into the ground as much as possible to allow her to slip from his sights, and then she fired again, two more bursts during a quick shift to the side to line it up.
His shields shattered, and her finger was going for another shot, but she was interrupted by the sound of loud gunfire from a new direction. Her opponent dropped limply to the ground, and she could see a pool of blood forming on the ground near where he'd been. With her weapon still raised, Ashley pivoted to investigate the source of the shot's that'd downed her opponent—only to find Shepard, still lying her stomach, trying to drag herself from the wreckage with a smoking pistol in her hand. Multiple streams of blood ran from her hairline across her pale forehead and cheeks. One of her legs seemed to be stuck, and the lithe muscular woman tried to pry it free for a few moments before giving up and slumping against the wreckage that pinned her.
Ashley moved quickly to help her, her head spinning to see if they were in danger form the shuttle only to find it gone. Unconciously she raised her rifle to check it, and found that her thermal clip had expended its last round tanking the target's shield. Was she keeping a tab on my ammo?
"Major Shepard… we could have postponed this meeting if you needed more intensive medical attention." The man speaking was Prime Minister Nyah Dowling, a small-statured man with indistinguishable skin tone that painted him only as an amalgamation of different indigenous peoples. He had thick black hair, cut into a smart professional style a little longer than a buzz cut.
"Surely, Major, the Prime Minister is correct. Given the attack on your life you should've at least opted for a night in the hospital to allow the medical professionals time to observe your condition." This as from Alliance Intelligence Agency Director Kallum Briggs.
"Prime Minister, Director, I'm honestly fine." Shepard didn't look fine, her face was cut in multiple places, there was dried blood around her hair line, and her left arm was in a sling as it'd either been broken or severely bruised during the crash. Shepard had only consented to emergency medical treatment and then had insisted on a discharge, so she could finish her business.
"If you insist, Major," began Dowling. "Why don't you detail for us the operation you were sent on, and what exactly you witnessed." Present also at the debriefing was Secretary of Defense Kyie Pike, Supreme Commander of Alliance Military Forces Admiral Steven Hackett, as well as Secretary of state Adil Garrison, and Secretary of the Navy—and head of the 63rd Scout—Admiral Mikhailovich.
"I was summoned to a briefing through discreet means by Admiral Mikhailovich's assistant, Dorika Pallas," began Shepard. If I'm going to get drug down, you're coming with me bastard. "At the briefing Admiral Mikhailovich explained that we were being loaned to Admiral Gafford for a special operation he was trying to conduct, one that had been blocked by AIA when he tried previously." This brought ought a clinch of Briggs' jaw, and a narrowing of his eyes. Gafford was noticeably absent from the debriefing.
"The mission was a surgical strike against what we were told was a pirate and slaver staging area, one that they were using to actively raid the Alliance border in the Traverse. The mission was to use the Normandy for approach, due to its stealth IES. We had a trio of active shooters aboard the Normandy enroute to the mission, and a final disloyal marine that attempted to crash one of our Kodiak's into the others to kill us during descent—they of course failed." Mention of the active shooters drew attention from all those gathered, even Ashley seated beside her, though none dared to interrupt her.
"During the approach on the facility we saw no resistance, which I noted as strange, though I later understood why. The resistance was standing guard within the facility while data-wipe protocols were being run, and explosives were being placed. A lone team was left on the ground, likely not told they were being left, and we engaged with them. Half a dozen of my marines took on injuries, from flesh wounds to broken bones, from that standoff. With no warning a final explosion obliterated the enemy position, burning and marring their bodies beyond recognition. In the aftermath my Helmsman, Lieutenant Moreau, warned me that they were attempting to escape, but I was in shock from having been tossed by the concussive blast and couldn't process that in time. By the time we had gathered ourselves together, Spectre Williams had arrived. Additionally, from our observation of our combatants prior to their death, it is safe to assume that they were not pirates."
Shepard swallowed hard and her left hand, which had already been in her lap, moved to discreetly apply pressure to her stomach. She had torn some of her stitches, she wasn't sure when, but she could feel the warm trickle of blood down her stomach. Fuck.
"Major, was there anything that indicated the disloyal marines might have done something like that, prior to the incident?" This from Pike.
"No ma'am." Shepard answered crisply, "I didn't personally know any of the disloyal marines, though I did know some of the casualties from their attack. Their records were just as distinguished as my own, questioning their integrity would've been borderline disloyal prior to the attack."
"And do you have any clue as to who the men guarding the facility you attacked were? Do you believe they were related to your accident earlier today?"
"I have no idea who they were ma'am, but I do believe they were related in their attacks. I've been informed that Naval Office of Criminal Investigation (NOCI) is investigating the remains from today's attack."
"Indeed, I've been told as much. I have no further questions Major."
The other gathered officials took turns asking Shepard and Ashley a variety of questions associated with the situation, some of which they had answers for, others they didn't. After another fifteen minutes of questioning Shepard was released and left in a unique dilemma. Her uniform was luckily a deep burgundy that didn't show blood, but no doubt her undershirt had been stained through and through.
She leaned towards Ashley, her voice a whisper, "I need help getting up… I tore my stitches." Shepard took a deep exasperated breath at having to follow it up with, "Will you take me to the Emergency Room?"
There was a sudden terror in Ashley's eyes that lead Shepard to pat her arm reassuringly, "I'm fine I just need a little help and don't want to cause a scene."
Despite a high volume of protest from Shepard, the Emergency Room Doctor chose to admit her in Huerta Memorial for the night due to her bleed and the amount she lost before finally arriving in the ER. It'd been almost an hour since she'd been returned to her room after the surgery to re-close her wound, and Shepard was beginning to think Ashley had returned to the Normandy or her ship. Her presence just outside the door to Shepard's room was a welcome surprise, and Shepard sat up some in her bed to welcome Ashley in.
Ashley was wearing her trademark blue faux-leather Spectre uniform, and Shepard could tell as the tall woman drew closer that she'd gone somewhere for a shower and fresh face of makeup. "Ashley-" Shepard began, but the brunette raised her hand and cut Shepard off mid-sentence.
"Hold on."
Ashley closed the distance between them, resting a hand on Shepard's shoulder reassuringly. "I lost you once before for real, and a second time for a few weeks that I thought you were dead. Each time I tore myself apart, wishing I'd savored the moments I had with you more. I realized after the crash that you could've died, and it would've been with me upset over stupid shit. We're both balancing a long-distance relationship and work, and our tempers are short; I'm just going to let the other night go Skipper."
Shepard let out a breath she'd been holding in, and the tension visibly dissolved from her shoulders at Ashley's reassuring words. Her hand reached out to hold the Ash's, and her thumb softly caressed the top of her calloused hand. "Have I ever mentioned how much I love you?"
Ashley's hand squeezed hers while her eyes took on a mischievous glint, "Not enough you haven't." She pulled her hand away suddenly, and patted Shepard in what was more of a parting gesture. "I've got to get to meetings with the Council. Are you okay…?"
"I'm fine Ash," Shepard replied, her lips a relaxed smile, "go!" She mock shooed her hands, urging Ashley on to her obligations.
"So run the details by me again?"
Shepard leaned against the side of the beater-shuttle she was riding in, her eyes cocked at the sailor piloting the small ship. "Alliance decided to get their things back in order and sent a couple boys over to the lunar facilities to take stock. One of 'em, old training facility, won't let us in. Keeps asking for 'Commander Jessica Shepard' by name, even took a warning shot at a tech when we tried to pry it open."
Shepard's red eyebrows arched even higher, a low whistle parting her lips. "I haven't been Commander in about three years, so they're running on outdated intel. Any idea who it is?"
"None, ma'am. It didn't give any clues in the prompt and didn't seem able to communicate from within the bunker. The demands never even changed phrasing."
"You know why the Alliance started poking around the moon this week?"
"Negative, ma'am. Way above my paygrade."
"Fair enough." She shifted in place, before standing up to move from the co-pilot's seat to a place nearer to the door.
"Bout half' minute till drop time ma'am."
"Copy, Petty Officer."
The shuttle bucked and skipped for another few seconds, and a barrier between her and the pilot lowered to seal the air in with him. Shepard rechecked the seals on her helmet before the inevitable roar of depressurization came. The door to the shuttle slipped open silently in the airless realm, and with a push off the side Shepard was away.
She'd managed to time her jump perfectly so that with a little navigation via biotics she landed just in front of the bunker. The bunker itself was a hardly visible facility, with just three hatches protruding from the surface of the moon alongside a host of new turrets that immediately trained on her. She saw where a series of tools had been set up around one of the control panels, and so that was where she chose to head first.
Upon approach she could see there was a simple looking text prompt that began to scribble a string of words together at her.
Scanning life form….
Comparing results…..
99.7% probability Commander Shepard... Welcome Commander Shepard.
"I have to say," muttered Shepard, "usually that isn't as easy as it just recognizing me and letting me in." She had an uncomfortable history with this bunker, it was the one she'd rushed years prior to stop the crisis plaguing the Alliance's outfit here.
"Commander Shepard." Scrawled a poorly synthesized voice, "please proceed to the main data control center."
There was silence for another minute as Shepard walked, and then the voice repeated—Shepard began to realize she wasn't dealing with any type of intelligence, instead it was just basic repeating prompts. The one outside asked everyone for Shepard until it finally got her—and was instructed to shoot if they tried to bypass. The one in here was designed to guide her through the facility somewhere, and just that. She wasn't sure what she was walking into, but it was meant for her.
She palmed open the door to another of the corridors and could tell by the direction of activated lights that the control center was to her left. A brisk few steps brought her inside, and she wasn't sure immediately what she was looking at. There was a large mainframe that seemed to only be connected by a series of bundled wires, wires which ran through a thoroughly busted control panel. It looked like such a high amount of voltage had been run through the panel until it literally burned itself up.
"Am I supposed to fix this? Is that what you want?"
"Commander Shepard. Please proceed to the main data control center."
"So yes?" She began scanning the panel with her omni-tool, assessing what it had been through. Her initial assumption about its condition wasn't far off, and it only took a small repair made of omni-gel to restore power. She could see the soft glow of lights coming on across the mainframe, and then a screen on the front began to flicker into a boot-up sequence.
A voice came from unseen speakers in the mainframe, heavily distorted and electronic. "Hello Commander." A burst of static came from the speakers, which seemed to recalibrate the vocal synthesizers much like clearing one's throat. The voice returned, but this time it was hauntingly familiar. "Hello Shepard."
"EDI?!"
"Try to push past me again, motherfucker. I dare you." Cyzilia had her hands resting on her hips, posing the short-statured marine in an unmoving posture and striking immediate conflict between herself and the much softer-looking man who was trying to slip past her.
"Master Sergeant… there is no reason this needs to get ugly between us." If the man's reconciliatory words and calming hand motions were supposed to influence Worbaar's mood, they didn't. She remained just as unmoving as before, now with the attention of nearby passing crew members. From the corner of his vision the newcomer caught sight of James Vega approaching behind where Worbaar stood at the main entrance to the Normandy's cargo bay.
"Commander Vega… Please, surely you can order Master Sergeant Worbaar here to step aside…?"
"Who the hell are you?" Vega spat back, closing the gap between the three of them even quicker now.
With a sigh the man reiterated the introduction he'd given Worbaar moments earlier, "I'm Agent Lucienne Thaw, with Alliance Intelligence Agency, sir." With a sigh he motioned towards the distant contents of the cargo-bay. "I'm here to recover some data from the gear used on your most recent mission."
"Request denied, Agent Thaw." Vega spat back immediately, "I don't take walk-ins to look at our shit, especially not when the Major is away."
"Lieutenant Vega I have orders directly from Director Briggs himself."
"You'll have to let me know how they feel, shoved up your ass." Vega returned, "Because that's the only place they're going right now. Get the hell off my ship."
"Lieutenant…"
"Cyanide," began Vega with his nickname for Worbaar, "why don't you go ahead and bounce his ass?"
"Gladly." Worbaar's voice cut like ice, and she seized the AIA agent by the arm and hauled him away from the cargo-bay, back into the elevator. The march from the Kennel back to the ship's exit saw the AIA agent go from pleading with Cyzilie, to threatening her, to trying to wriggle free—each change in tactic just brought a tighter grip from her until he was thrown from the ship.
She was only halfway back to the Kennel when Vega ambushed her from around a corner. His face was chiseled with thinly veiled frustration, and she fell in step beside him. "Where to, Commander Vega?" Worbaar asked with a touch of amusement.
Vega's eyes cut back at her with a tone of annoyance, but she could see the slight bit of relief her joking formality had given him. "Heading to go talk to Williams, I'm X but she'd want to know—and she knows Shepard." They were only a dozen feet from Williams' cabin now, and Cyzilie could see that Vega had no intention of calling her first—but the time to point that out had long since passed.
Bullishly Vega rushed through the barely-opened doors, only to stop dead in his tracks when he saw that Williams was on VidCom with someone. The holographic projector gave the young boy an orange tint, but she could still tell he was little older than 24 and lacked any facial hair. He had short-cut blonde hair, and an annoyingly high-pitched voice.
"Look, I don't know why you're grilling me over this now. I was already debriefed by your Director, as well as SecDef and the PM, with Shepard. You're not going to get some new nugget of information."
"I understand you previously spoke on the mission, but new information has come to light and I was hoping to discern what you might know in a more individual setting."
"You're saying without Shepard. Agent—" Ash stopped, like she was trying to recall a name, but then just waved her hand dismissively, "Major Shepard is the most professional officer I know. If someone would be able to recall that mission meticulously, it would be her."
"I'm just asking what you remember, Captain Williams. How well do you remember the corpses of Shepard's supposed shooters?"
"What the hell are you implying now?"
"Captain Williams I'm sorry for any perceived insult, in light of Admiral Gafford's arrest we are reviewing all information we previously thought we knew for certain."
"The Admiral has been arrested?" Ashley hadn't known Gafford much, but she'd met him once upon their return from the mission when he was welcoming Shepard back. Furthermore, Shepard seemed to think he was an alright guy. "What the hell for?!"
"Sorry ma'am can't discuss an active investigation. I just have a few questions though, could you te-"
Ashley disconnected from the VidCom and spun to face Vega. "Fuck that kid." She muttered, eyes raising to meet his. "What do you need?"
"We had our own situation with AIA," Vega began with a steely voice.
"I don't quite follow, run me through it again," Shepard leaned against the wall while she stared at the AI's blinking server lights. "Last I knew, you got fried aboard the Normandy when I fired the Crucible."
"Correct Shepard," began EDI's synthesized voice, "However, several months prior to the end of the war I discussed self-preservation with you, in regard to my programming. Following our conversation, I chose to implement some changes to increase my self-preservation—and in the process I came to realize that the Crucible's nature was one that would destroy all Reaper, or Reaper-enhanced technology, including my programming and many of the circuitry that was used to construct my datacore. I warned Jeff of this as you were firing the Crucible and asked him to buy me time. Unfortunately, the resources required for my task didn't leave enough to properly explain to Jeff what it was I was attempting—and he likely believes me dead."
Shepard just nodded to confirm, "Why did you chose this place?"
"This was where I first became aware, and I knew it housed a sizeable enough datacore to hold my main installation, it was entirely of Alliance design without Reaper influence, and it was close enough to offer much faster transmission speeds before Jeff jumped to FTL. I was able to successfully transfer my installation there, setup a simple query system outside, and then disable power to my datacore so the Crucible's purge couldn't reach me."
A bright red eyebrow shot up, and Shepard snorted a slight laugh, "Damn EDI, well done." She looked back at the busted panel she'd had to repair, realizing it must've been EDI's handiwork. "Let's get you out of here before Joker drowns his liver."