a/n: sorry about the long pause between updates-end of year exams are coming up and writer's block decided to kick in. Also a warning: this fic will be earning its M rating shortly.
Pebbles underfoot. Sunlight dancing off water to flick blindness across her eyes. There had been laughter, salt in her mouth.
But here were only eyes and her visor filtering the light to acceptable levels, like adjustable sunglasses. Here was her mate (and she blames the Joining, that she's started to think in asari terms, their languages blurring into one another) touching her back.
She couldn't feel it through her armour, but she could hear the soft scrape of the ballistic weave of the asari's gloves against the plates of her armour.
"Shepard," She said softly and Shepard dropped her memories around her feet. Pulled on Commander Shepard like a comfortable shirt, because the girl who'd swam with her brother and run shrieking as he splashed her wasn't this woman, in her heavy armour and biotics rattling her teeth.
She took a breath.
The colonists had crowded around the shuttle, resisted by the thing ring of the tiny detachment of Marines and her 'specialists'. Ashley was oppositea young woman in bulky armour that was two years out of date, a hole burnt in the side. The Spectre had her arms crossed, the symbol bright on her shoulder. The woman (she couldn't have been more the twenty-two) had her chin raised, her face a mask of defiance.
Shepard could feel a headache coming on. For all her excellence at shooting things with a large variety of things, and her own unique style of leadership, Ashley wasn't too good with civilians. And this civilian looked like she was trying her very hardest to have a problem with them.
"XO Williams," She said firmly, "What's going on?"
"Ma'am," Ash stepped back, clearly more than happy to hand over the diplomacy to Shepard. Even if Shepard's idea of diplomacy was punching admirals.
She didn't let the girl speak, "Staff Commander Cameron Shepard, commanding officer of the SSV Normandy and Spectre. This is my executive officer Lieutenant Commander Ashley Williams, Spectre. Who is in command here?"
"You brought less than a platoon," The girl growled, "There's an army out there."
Shepard allowed herself to smile, tugging her helmet off, "Miss, we're worth more than an army. Now, who's in charge here?" She let her own confidence drag through her, comforting and energetic. She was sick of feeling uncertain, of wondering if they could truly win. If she could win, or if she was destined to fail, like all those before her.
"Major Raiford is commanding the militia," The young woman said flatly, "Mayor Salsbury is co-ordinating everything else." Few people looked at her like that. Without fear or awe. Shepard wasn't sure whether to feel disconcerted about that or unsettled that she was disconcerted that someone who wasn't a centuries old asari matriarch or krogan could look at her like that. The colonist had green eyes and everything in them was swallowed by fear-anger.
"I'll need to speak with them."
The woman stepped back and jerked her chin at two men pushing through the crowd that tittered with noise whenever Shepard's eyes fell on the shifting, whispering mass of humanity. The major straightened to attention, snapped off a salute that she returned, the man's face too hard for the smile on his face. He wasn't Alliance. The mayor was softer, his hands carrying only the marks of a pen pusher as he grasped her armoured hand.
"Thank you for coming, Commander. I can't tell you how happy we are that you're here."
"Just doing my job, sir." She said calmly, restrained. All these eyes, pressing at her. The air was too familiar. Don't ask me to save this place, I never could before.
Liara was still close to her, the Mayor's eyes slid questioningly to her. The asari kept her face blank. It was blank far too often these days.
To business. Lock down that hint of fear climbing up her ribs, digging into her stomach, "Have you been in contact with the colonial government?"
Raiford shook his head, "They dropped out of contact shortly after the attack, Commander. We haven't heard from them since. We're operating under previously decided protocols for the evacuation and defence of the planet." Logical to surmise that the Reapers had struck the colonial parliament to behead Mindoir's leadership. She didn't let the thought reach her face. She didn't let it in too deep. Why leave Taspan then?
Her jaw tightened. They were herding them, rounding them up with the promise of safety. Like animals, cattle.
"How large is your force?" She rattled off familiar questions. Her heart wasn't in it. She listened to the rounded vowels of the Mayor's voice and remembered another man who'd spoken like that.
By the end she knew that there was a company of militia in the town with HMG support and a few out-dated armoured vehicles. More firepower than most militias had, who were constrained by laws meant to keep the SAMC as top dogs when it came to equipment. It was probably against Alliance law. It would also make her job a helluva lot easier.
"The Normandy is a stealth reconnaissance vessel," She explained, her hands locked behind her back, her shoulders square, her eyes hidden behind her visor, "We are unable to shift large amounts of people off-world." Some maybe, a handful, since the Normandy was a reasonably sized frigate and had only a skeleton crew, but there had to be hundreds if not thousands in Taspan.
"We've got some ships," The Major said, perhaps realising he should've been happier if a cruiser or even a carrier had been the one to pass by, "We can shift the majority of Taspan off-world but we'll never fit everyone on Mindoir onboard and they're shooting down anyone who tries to leave the planet."
"You can't save everyone, Major." Shepard replied softly. Normal procedure would be that the children, others that couldn't defend themselves, would be loaded first. They would escape and those with a chance of survival would remain.
But could they afford that? Anyone who could fight, anyone who could help ensure the survival of the species was needed. So what, a voice that tasted blue like Alliance blue and the skies above her parents' home, I leave the weak to die because they're not useful? She could imagine exactly what would happen; she'd seen it before.
If anyone is left standing after this I will have won. She took a staggered breath, Never forget what happened at Bahak.
"Where's the line?" She whispered to herself and opened her eyes without realising she'd closed them.
The Major blinked at her, "Excuse me, Commander?"
She shook her head, "Nevermind." If anyone…
The radio hummed. "Enemy incursion at Outpost Charlie, I repeat, enemy incursion at Outpost Charlie, over."
"Unfortunate," The Major sighed, with the weary air of a man who'd seen far too many things go wrong to be surprised anymore. She took back her assessment of him not being Alliance-at one point he had. Possibly a Shanxi vet. He did eye Garrus a little too often, "Stragglers from the outlying farms were still coming up that road-we'd managed to keep it open until now."
"There was still one group due in," The major said mournfully. In the background a MCM comms specialist was murmuring into the radio.
"Do you know where they were at last contact?" Shepard asked. Suddenly: purpose. Combat was simple: act and react. There was nothing else. It wasn;t an even playing field and it thrilled her-when she was fighting she didn't need to think about politics or the aftershocks of her decisions. Just how do I get to my objective and how do I kill the target in front of me? An enemy was always a target. Never a person or what used to be a person.
"They were at Hendrickson's Well-satellite village," The Major quickly added. She didn't recall the name, "But they'd probably made some ground since then, even with some livestock and children." Left unspoken was: they're most likely dead.
"I'll clear the road," She said simply, "Mark their last known position on my map-if I can I'll bring them home."
"Thank you Commander."
She shrugged, said, "It's my job." Such things are easy to say now. And then she was turning, shouting for her team to get organised.