CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The Heroine
Arcturus Station, Age 20.4 (Years. Months)
By most visible standards, Kara Shepard entered the Alliance Naval Officer Academy with less personality than most. Her hair was well below regulation length, and her clothes deliberately nondescript. She wore no make-up, and no perfume. She washed herself with plain soap, and hadn't shaved—anywhere—in almost seven years. She had encrypted the data on her aging omnitool, and the small scar on her lower arm, where the surgeon had removed and replaced her broken RFID chip with a new, functional one, had faded to invisibility. She started in solid physical condition, and used her biotics sparingly, faking migraine symptoms when she did.
So far, her unfeminine appearance and reluctance to talk about her past had isolated her from her fellow cadets, who were two younger than her. She found the jokes annoying, but suffered them in silence. Attitudes changed, sometimes quickly. She had two years to win them over.
Of more concern was their chief instructor. Commander Eisha Stone's round face was marred by a perpetual scowl. A tattoo of some mythical beast peaked out from beneath the collar of her fatigues, colorful and menacing against her rich brown skin. For whatever reason, she had singled Kara out for extra abuse. She stalked, now, past their line, keen hazel eyes observing the details of their garb and posture.
"Cadet Shepard!" she barked sharply, her expression darkening further as she paused, staring down her crooked nose.
"Sir?" Kara replied, straightening her posture properly. Outwardly, obedience. Mostly. Alliance regs allowed a female officer to be addressed as 'sir' or 'ma'am'. The commander preferred the latter. She preferred the former, and not simply to be contrary. She saw no reason for a distinction based on sex, any more than race or appearance.
Stone's eyes narrowed angrily, clearly noting this act of defiance. "Are you here to learn, Cadet, or did you just drop by to tell us how things should be done?"
Clever, implying that she was close to getting herself thrown out. Under normal circumstances, it might have worked, but Kara wasn't deeply invested in becoming an officer. She met the older woman's gaze squarely.
"Both," she replied. She was always ready to learn, and she had come to serve. "Sir."
The marine leaned in close, her lips parted in a snarl. "Then you'd better make sure you're never wrong, Shepard, or I'll have you shipped off this station on a garbage scow. Is that clear, Cadet?"
It wasn't what she expected. She had seen how the turian's valued discipline and obedience in their soldiers, but Alliance representatives were constantly speaking about independence and freedom. Despite the rhetoric, the lessons her instructors had attempted to impart were about following orders first, and thinking later. She trusted her instincts, and they told her to question everything. Especially those things that people weren't supposed to question.
"Sir," she replied, quietly. Stone growled at her. "Sir? Weren't you about to discipline me for something?"
"F'ing-H, Kara, that was super epic. I thought the commander's head was gonna explode," the boy grinned. Kara didn't recall learning his name, but that fact hadn't stopped him from turning the full force of his latest crush upon her. She had wanted to win over her classmates, though this was unexpected.
"Blam!" he giggled. How could he possibly not be aware of her disinterest? She was making no effort to conceal it. "Blam! Bitch had it coming, right?"
"I like her," Kara stated. His comment had irritated her, and that leaked into her voice, cutting him off in middle of yet another nonsense sentence. It seemed to her that Stone accepted, or even approved of, her defiance, though it could not go unchallenged.
"But… like her? She looked ready to f'ing kill you."
Mere testing of boundaries. If they could come to an understanding, they had a chance at friendship. Stone had a tough reputation as one of the heroes of Shanxi, about which Kara had heard more than one rumor from the other cadets. She had nothing to say on the subject, but she had, officially, turned down admission into the prestigious IPC N6 program in favor of a post at the academy, which said more than enough.
Kara leveled a cold gaze at the boy. He met it evasively. Did the Alliance truly consider him officer material, or was he destined to wash out in the first month? She certainly didn't feel inspired to risk her life at his command.
"Sorry, ma'am. Uh, sir," he muttered, as the seconds dragged on. "Sometimes I just talk, and I… I didn't mean to…"
Hopefully, she had just lost her first fanboy. If not, he could salivate over her from afar. She had seen more than enough of sycophants, always chasing the whims of popular fools, to want such hangers-on for herself. She turned her attention back to her meal. Tasteless food and empty conversation.
"I guess he wasn't your type, Shepard?"
Kara looked up at the round face of Fukuhara Akio. He was more like what she'd expected of her fellow cadets, charming and intelligent. The sense of humor was extra. "No," she agreed, "but so few men are."
"I hear that," he laughed, flopping into the boy's abandoned chair. Kara couldn't tell just what he meant, though she hoped he had at least caught her point. "I thought you should know, you really were impressive out there. My dad's a sergeant. I never though I'd find anyone intimidating after growing up around him. Shows what I know. Heh."
"The trick is to know she can't hurt you," she replied. It help that she had faced worse, but adrenaline and a confluence of emotions had allowed that.
"Really?" Akio scoffed. "Dad… I wanted to become an officer my entire life, and she could take that away on a whim. I'd be totally lost if she threw me out."
Kara regarded him in silence. Her mother had been largely absent from her life, leaving her to find her own way. That, at least, she was grateful for, but a parent wasn't just another authority figure. Children were bound to their parents by culture and necessity, bonds that even when outgrown weren't easily broken. "There's a whole galaxy out there, Akio, full of opportunities. Trust that you'd find something."
"That's what my mom says. You must have something lined up for yourself."
"No," she said. She made plans on occasion, but mostly she followed her instincts. "Just thoughts."
"Well, go on," the young man grinned. "What thoughts?"
She almost turned a scowl on him, but the truth was, she would have to open up about something. One didn't make friends by having nothing to say. "I love music," she began, "and literature. There are works of astonishing genius out there, ready to be enjoyed. I can operate an omnitool better than most people, but it's still just a tool. Culture is life; it guides us, helping to form our identities, our values. There's nothing more powerful than that."
"I believe my dad would have called you a 'fairy,'" Akio laughed. "Or probably a pussy."
"And you?"
His off-centered smile seemed to acknowledge the annoyance in her voice, though his response was anything but humorous. "All the time."
Would her sometimes longed-for childhood with her mother have featured such abuse? Another thing to be grateful for. "I always believed I was better off doing my own thing."
"That sounds awesome," he sighed.
"Hey Akio," interrupted another cadet, leading with another three following him, as he sad down beside the young man. "Shepard, isn't it? Nice show with the commander."
Kara smiled, meeting the newcomer's grey-green eyes. "Thanks."
"Can I get you another?" Kara asked, seating herself at the bar. The establishment, a tiny place in an out-of-the-way section of the station, had a more subdued atmosphere than the more popular joints. It produced a more intimate feel, which she preferred to the stress of blaring music.
Eisha's attention, outwardly focused on her empty glass, had apparently gone further astray. "No, I'm good," she said. Her head turned slightly, brown eyes widened in surprise, and she swiftly snapped back to the present, as though she'd never been gone. "Shepard? What are you doing here?"
"Escaping a barracks full of children," she replied.
The forty-four year old commander gazed askance at her. Admittedly, two years made less difference than the experiences that filled them. "You really are full of yourself, aren't you?"
Kara sipped at a glass of dark ale, and leaned back against the bar. "I spent the last five years on my own, Eisha. I've learned to trust myself."
The woman's thin eyebrow rose at the use of her given name, but they were off duty and out of uniform. "Really? And what dire circumstances did the wayward Shepard endure?" Again, that was clever. Eisha clearly concealed a sharp wit behind her humorless drill sergeant routine.
"Oh, you know. Trying to decide whether to wear blue or green," Kara remarked dryly. "Keeping up with fashion is worse than being caught in a firefight."
"So you signed up for the dress code?" Eisha asked, the barest hint of smile betraying her serious expression. "Best reason I've heard all year."
"The truth?" Kara sighed. "To serve, I thought, but I guess I don't take orders well. To see what its like for myself. It's not very inspired."
Eisha shrugged. "The best officers know when to follow orders, and when to use their own initiative," she said. "If you want your commission, you'll learn to shut up and do as you're told. Is that clear?"
"I do, and I will," Kara replied. "When it's necessary."
The woman turned away from the bar, catching the bartender's attention with the wave of her hand, as she raised her empty glass with the other. "Shepard… Kara, right? I hope you know that chatting me up isn't going to get you anything."
"Friendship?" Kara inquired lightly. She had not considered that her actions might be taken as an attempt to gain influence, but she could see now how it could. Had Eisha known what she had done to gain admittance, those suspicions would have been wrongfully confirmed. Fortunately, that too remained a secret. "The benefit of your wisdom and experience?"
"Oh, god," the woman laughed. "Bad flattery."
Kara frowned. She had meant that seriously. "Diplomacy is the most important weapon of the soldier," she said. It was a translation of a common asari adage, made popular during their unifying war, now several millennia past. Diplomacy is the first weapon of the soldier, and the last weapon of the despot, it went. The greatest victory was the battle that never needed to be fought. "You want to push me away. What is it you think I'm after?
"No," she continued, her voice dropping to a near-whisper with the revelation. "What are you afraid of?"
That was it. Eisha's expression had closed off again, though her breath came quicker. Was it something that went back to the war? The ground battle on Shanxi had been brutal for the Alliance marines, trapped there by a turian fleet in orbit. They were outnumbered, their equipment inferior, and their intel nonexistent.
"I've seen enough friends die, Kara," the woman said, her voice tight, "and you're the front lines type. My advice—the benefit of my wisdom and experience—is, drop out. At the risk of further inflating your ego, you're the best in your class, and there's a million opportunities out there for someone like you. Just pick one and go."
"That's what I told Akio," Kara sighed. "This is what I've chosen, and I know what it could cost. Are you going to help me, or not?"
Elysium, Age 22.7
"Your eyes are like emeralds, shining with the light of a thousand stars."
Kara sputtered into her drink, a fruity salarian cocktail that was presently all the rage. Ridiculously sweet, much like the line delivered by the smiling, black-haired marine standing over her, it would be forgotten in a week or two, as everyone moved on to the next big thing. Unconcerned with fashion, and familiar with the species' palate, she had delayed trying it, but curiosity had eventually overridden her good sense. "Excuse me?"
"I've seen you around," the marine said, a friendly smile on her face. Kara had seen her, too, and she rarely wore any other expression, even when on duty. "Such grace. Such beauty. And yet you're always here, drinking alone in the quietest pub on the entire planet, while your friends have fun."
The implications were amusing, but Kara preferred her quiet corner to bar games or dancing. To sit and drink and talk… not everyone shared her tastes, though, and she respected that. Presently, her usual companions were experiencing a louder and more active night. More unusually, she had declined to spend the solitary evening in her quarters. "I'm enjoying myself just fine."
The marine—Eve, Kara thought her name was—sat down on the bench beside her. "That's not a report," she remarked, peering at the pad in Kara's hand. "What language is that? Asari?"
"It's a novel," Kara replied, nodding shortly to confirm Eve's guess.
"Beautiful and brilliant," the dark-haired woman breathed, warm against Kara's neck.
Kara smiled. Sex had not been a conscious motive for coming out in public, but the woman's close proximity and obvious intent had the effect of reminding her just how long it had been. If the marine was into her, then this was a game she didn't mind playing. "Are you always so over-the-top?"
"I'd be quite happy beneath you," Eve smirked. That was, to Kara's mind, a yes. The marine was in her early thirties, with a strong body and shapely breasts, accented by her tight t-shirt, with a collar that ended just below her neck, not showing off any cleavage. Her round face was certainly attractive. Of more importance than her physical appearance, they did not work together, even if they were both marine lieutenants, so there was no objection on that count.
"Is… is that… some sort of innuendo?"
Eve stared at her, her thick brows drawn down in confusion. "Really? Wait—you're playing with me."
Kara laughing softly, brushing her fingers through the older marine's dark curls as she casually placed her other hand on the marine's thigh. "Your eyes… are like a muddy field after a warm spring rain," she said, in a playfully seductive tone.
Eve rewarded her with a laugh and grin. "That's just not in the same class at all."
Narrowing the gap between them, but not closing it, Kara sent a warm breath through her parted lips. "Not really my skill set, Eve," she whispered. "Normally I go straight to kissing."
"It's E-va," the marine breathed, pressing their lips together. Hers were full and soft, and her mouth tasted faintly of gin and deep-fried onions. "I can work with that."
Elysium, Six Days Later
Smoke. Next to the screams of the dying, it defined the scene. Burnt flesh, from marines blow apart by grenades. Scorched synthetics. The snap of gunfire was subtle by comparison, almost ignorable amidst the general chaos. Kara took cover behind an overturned and burnt-out car, still smoldering, as enemy bullets passed overhead, or pitted the concrete surface of the street. More smoke. She coughed, wishing she'd worn her helmet, but she could hardly have known how the day would turn out. She summoned a biotic field as she rose, knocking a hole in the nearest figure's shields, and firing several shots. His skull exploded outward as the shards tore through his brain, and the back of his helmet.
Her stomach protested the sight. She swallowed quickly and forced herself to focus. She could not let her weakness stop her, rising to fire on another target, a batarian by his helmet. There were a dozen enemies at least, and those were just the ones she could see. They were trying to outflank her again. Teach your enemies to fear you, and they will defeat themselves.
With a yell, she summoned all her strength and wrapped the car in a biotic field, flinging it away. It barely left the ground, bouncing and spinning with a dreadful noise of metal against concrete. It must have weighed more than two tonnes, well beyond her own best measure of her abilities.
The world dissolved in a sickening haze, but she turned and ran anyway, a half-stumbling retreat that continued until she fell over a concrete barricade. Her barriers were almost drained, and her strength failing. Her pistol protested its dying power cells.
She peered over the barricade. Shifting the car had been a tremendous feat of biotics and adrenaline, and had bought her a moment, as a pair of armored figures attempted to lift it and rescue a third, who struggled under its crushing weight. She didn't waste the chance, ripping open a packet of saccharine energy drink and swallowing its contents. The haze lifted slowly, leaving her tired, but at least able to keep up the fight. She breathed deeply, taking an extra moment to steady herself.
Her relief was short lived. She had taken cover beside the body of a marine. The metallic shard had entered through the back of the black-haired woman's skull, not leaving much of hole there, but ripping open her face and spreading blood and brains across the concrete in a streak that lead back, towards the colony. Despite the damage, Kara found it easy to recognize the body, and disturbingly difficult to look away.
It was Eva.
Eva had been a warm, determined woman. They hadn't spent much time talking, but she did sex with passion and grace. Kara had given serious thought to how they might have a repeat experience, with a little more relationship to go with it, but now she was just a corpse, and for no good reason; because their corrupt system created its own enemies, the desperate forced into piracy to survive, and the battered Batarian Hegemony pressured by the Alliance's expansion.
Kara forced herself to breath, deep and slow. She felt sick. Angry. She wanted to kill them all. Anger was weakness, a failing. She needed to remain calm. Anger is a weapon of brute force, not finesse. The strength of a huntress lies in self-control.
She swapped her pistol's power cell for one of Eva's spares, and holstered it in favor of the marine's rifle. Eva had three grenades left, as well. Kara claimed them, and, struggling against exhaustion, formed a singularity in the middle of a group of advancing pirates.
She listened to their dismayed shouts for several seconds, then threw one of the grenades. The biotic field was too weak to toss the four pirates about, but strong enough to drag it and them into close proximity. Dismay turned to outright panic, and then an explosion. Silence.
She let the field dissipate. Her mind remained clear of haze, but she could feel the beginnings of a headache. Even with another energy drink, she doubt she could safely use her biotics for an hour at least. Still, she tore open her last packet, and swallowed its foul contents.
Then she checked her borrowed rifle, stood, and began firing at the first target she saw. They were retreating, for the moment at least. Idiots. They should've attacked, while she was weak, not given her a chance to regroup. It didn't matter; she would likely die when they returned. And she would go down fighting.
Arcturus Station, Age 22.9
The stage was set for news vid viewers, not for the small collection of staff officers and trainees that filled the first several rows of chairs. They too were mostly for effect-it wouldn't do to crown a heroine without an audience. She watched a half-dozen admirals stumbling about as they vied for the honor-a joke, surely-of shaking her hand as she exited. That would change when they saw her.
"Lieutenant Shepard, please. You really must come with me," demanded a makeup artist with a seductive voice, tugging on her sleeve.
"Back off," Kara hissed, shoving the middle-aged woman away, "or I'll tie you to a chair with your own fucking intestines."
Kara had gradually become aware of a change in how people responded to her. Before Elysium, the woman might have laughed and tried again. Now she back away carefully, the shadow of fear on her face.
Something in her eyes, or her expression? They tended to look empty, when Kara regarded them in the bathroom mirror, but maybe behind them, the shadow of something violent and frightened. She could feel it, sometimes, struggling to get out, and drowned it in alcohol. She sighed, and wished, again, that she had died on the blood-soaked fields of Elysium. Too late for that. By some combination of luck and skill, she had survived, leaving trail of bodies in her wake. She had heard the stories—the evil batarian pirates, who had in fact been mostly human. Her skill and daring. They had no idea of the truth, and she was not willing to tell it. She didn't want to remember.
The admirals had all found their seats. One bearded specimen, in a dress uniform laden with medals, stepped to the podium. She didn't know him, and she didn't care to, but he droned on anyway. Duty, honor, sacrifice; the usual lies, spread liberally with praise for the sole marine whose 'legendary heroics' had 'saved Elysium' from an army of 'vicious batarians'. Bullshit. "And now, it is my pleasure to welcome the Heroine of Elysium, Lieutenant Kara Shepard."
Her cue, obviously. She pulled off her dress uniform tunic—she would not have worn it at all, but they would have cancelled the ceremony, and she wanted to crash it—and walked confidently on stage. The applause slowed, uncertain, as she walked, and finally died. The bearded admiral—S. Hackett, read the patch on his uniform—stared at her in shock. She took the Star of Terra from him, pinned it to her chest, and took her own place at the podium.
She had given some thought as to what she might say. A stunning denouncement of the Systems Alliance? A drunken rant, for which she had not really come prepared? The cold truth was easiest, and cleanest. "The good Admiral was kind enough to provide me with a pre-written speech when I arrived, complete with the usual acknowledgements. I think the intention was that I modify it to my taste, while keeping the general message. I was to start by thanking my friends and comrades. Your deaths, though bloody and painful, are what made my victory possible. If you had lived, I would not have had to fight alone, and the heroism which you are here to admire would not have been possible.
"Next is the Alliance. They educated me; raised me. Taught me to kill, and used me as a weapon. Their marginalization and exploitation of impoverished colonies, longstanding assault on social justice on Earth, and encroachment on the Batarian Hegemony—all for the ongoing enrichment of one tenth of one percent of human civilization—is what provided me an army to test myself against.
"Lastly is god. This is an ironic thing to ask of an atheist, but so be it. Thank you, god, for helping me to cover the Elysian Fields with the pale, broken forms of the desperate poor, and the scented breeze with the screams of the dying. I'm sure it was music to your ears."
She paused, finished perhaps, and for the first time surveyed her audience. There, in the front row, Kara noticed a middle-aged woman with commander's stripes on her dress uniform, and a familiar face. She should have guessed; she should have known. "One more, sorry. To Hannah Elizabeth Shepard, my mother—" the woman started, her drifting attention returning immediately to her daughter. Her face was expressionless, but her eyes were full of pain— "without whom I would not be the dutiful soldier I am today. For her years of care and devotion, I am in her debt."
She held her hand over her heart, unclipping the Star of Terra with her thumb. It rested in her palm as her hand lowered, then fell to the floor. She kicked it under the podium, before walking swiftly off stage. She did not spare the admirals a second glance.
Kara groaned. Her head felt like she had tried to lift a large battle tank with an L2 implant. Her eyes resisted her attempt to open them. What the hell had happened? The last thing she remember was stopping by the bar on the way to her quarters.
Oh. The bar. She had needed a drink or two, to ease the pain and anger that had reemerged full-force during the award ceremony. She tried again to open her eyes. Dim lights overhead; soft voices in the background. These were not her quarters. A continued investigation revealed an IV drip on her arm. The medical ward? She had no bandages, and was missing no obvious parts; nothing hurt, besides her head.
So a drink or two had become a drink or six. That had happened too frequently, in the last two months, resulting her suspension from active duty and a set of counseling sessions. This was the first time she had needed medical attention.
She tried to stand, but even sitting up made the room spin furiously. Her stomach heaved, but nothing came up. She fell back onto the bed.
Her efforts had attracted some attention, at least, from a pale-skinned young nurse, who helped her sip water from a plastic cup and told her to rest. She hadn't realized how dry her mouth was, and muttered thanks. He frowned disapprovingly, and walked away. She wrapped a weak biotic field about his leg, preventing it from moving quite like he expected during his next step, and he almost tripped, catching himself on the door frame.
"Still feeling petty this morning?"
Fuck. She should have anticipated her guest, despite her on-stage performance the night before. Or because of it. Some people said that a mother's love was unconditional, but Hannah Shepard only ever gave her contempt. "Fuck off."
"So that's how you treat the woman who gave you years of care and devotion?" the elder Shepard inquired bitterly. "Public insult and suicide by alcohol aren't bad enough?"
Kara snorted, but didn't reply. She had nothing to say.
"I remember the day you disappeared. I felt so sick I threw up. I had to beg Captain Umbata for leave, and hardly slept once on the transport back to Arcturus Station. None of your friends would tell me anything, and when I finally found out you were shagging that… that…"
"Girl?" Kara filled in. The memory was a fond one; Yejide Tipesh had been such a shy teen, almost invisible, but she had somehow known just what she wanted, while Kara, friendly, popular, and at the top of her class, hadn't. They made an unlikely couple for about a year, when Kara had left the station, leaving her lover behind.
Hannah's head shook, shoulder-length hair swaying as she did. A disappointed frown turned the corners of her narrow lips. "I don't suppose your taste has improved any?"
Kara sneered. It did not reflect well on humanity that such bigotry was not a thing of the past. Distant past, at that. She wondered how Hannah Shepard would react to learning that her daughter had sex with aliens. Badly, of course.
"Too much to hope for. She just sat there looking miserable, insisting that she didn't know where you'd gone, or why. Are you going to tell me what happened?"
There wasn't a human alive who knew that, and Kara had no intention of making her mother the exception. "No."
"What is wrong with you, Kara? Are you so full of anger towards me that you can't believe I might care about you?"
"I'm not angry," Kara snapped, "I'm—satharii, you wouldn't understand. I didn't come to any harm."
Hannah nodded, sighing faintly, as she seated herself beside Kara's bed. "Thank you. Is it so hard to believe that I care, and I might want to understand?"
"No. It's simply too late." There were too many expectations dashed, too many insults thrown. She had never once felt the need to contact her mother, not in four years of wandering, and three serving the Alliance. She had no desire to hear about who she had failed, and what she had done wrong. That much she could see for herself.
Hannah sighed, in frustration rather than relief. "I do love you, Kara. A mother's love is unconditional."
I love you in spite of your failure, Kara heard. "I've been loved for who I am," she said, softly. It was cruel of her, but that was the only relationship they had. It had not been her choice to continue it. "You only love what I am."
"I don't know who you are anymore—"
"You never did," Kara muttered. Loud enough to hear or not.
"—Why don't you tell me what happened on Elysium, before you finish letting it destroy your life."
"I learned that the galaxy needs less heroes and more cowards. There's nothing heroic about saving one life if you have to end another to do it. That there is no glory in war, only death. That the enemy loves her friends and family as much as you. We all repeat the clichés, but we don't believe them; and the sorry truth of it is, they're right, and we're fools."
Hannah Shepard snorted. "Sympathizing with pirates? If preventing rape and pillage is excuse enough for you to drink like that, you make for a poor soldier."
"You've never killed anyone at less than a thousand kilometers, Hannah. I shot people, and watched them die, begging for mercy as they did. I listened to a Batarian, his guts spilled by a grenade, cry for his mother. Would you rather I felt some sort of twisted pride?"
"Wouldn't anything be better than self-loathing? For God's sake, you were given the Star of Terra last night, not a summons to a war crimes tribunal." She drew the medal itself out of her pocket. "It's just so much garbage to you, isn't it? A janitor found it under the podium. 'Kara Elaine Shepard, for acts of heroism on Elysium, 22. 11. 2176'."
"Fuck that. I'm no heroine."
Hannah shook her head. "If you don't straighten yourself out, Kara, you won't be an officer soon enough. There's talk of having you discharged."
It was no surprise. They had already suspended her training, after an embarrassing drunken incident. She really did need to clean herself up, regardless of the trajectory of her career. The military psychologist's assumption of PTSD was fair, whatever diagnosis he had officially returned, and if she would not accept help, she would have to deal with the problem herself.
To start with, that meant no more alcohol. It was hard not to see it as a problem, and she had conquered worse. The training would be more difficult, as she would need to outperform their expectations just to make up for past failures. She could do that, too.
The only thing that seemed consistently beyond her grasp was relating to the woman who gave birth to her.
Torfan, Age 24.6
"Commander, I could take a small squad, and—"
John Battur was not a big man, but he had perfected an imposing presence. The set of his shoulders, the firm line of his mouth, they spoke of determination and strength. Confidence. "I said no, Shepard," he said bluntly, leaving no space for argument. He had already explained his reasoning; even a two person raid against the enemy outpost would risk alerting them to his unit's position, making the next day's assault all the more risky.
Kara disagreed. It was the Alliance's brute force tactics that made the assault a risk. Their plan was not to outmaneuver their foe, but to crush the disorganized pirates beneath weight of numbers with bloody finality. Plenty of Alliance soldiers would die in the process, though there was little chance of failure. Kara frowned, and let the fight pass. For whatever reason, they did not get along. He was unimpressed by the so-called heroine of Elysium, and she regarded him as cold and calculating, a fitting commander of drones, not living beings with hopes and dreams.
He was also her CO. Soldiers were supposed to respect the chain of command, to obey orders because their superiors had access to more information. Yet, they were all responsible for their own actions, regardless of orders. The Alliance would not approve, and if things went badly it would end in a court martial, but she did not anticipate trouble finding something else to do with her time.
Rather than returning to her cramped quarters, she made her way to the armory. With regular patrols coming in and out, no one questioned her need for her armor and weapons. Circumstances forced her to take a suit without an amp, since Biotics were not sent on routine patrols, so she added an assault rifle to her arsenal, to make up for the loss. Her personal amp—though lacking the power of a suit-integrated model—was more of a comfort. There were sound reasons why colonies were purposefully exposed to element zero, at great cost, not to mention the more controlled laboratory exposures such as her mother had chosen. Biotics made for dangerous soldiers. So long as the technology to enhance their natural abilities kept pace with other battlefield tech, that wouldn't change.
Once equipped for her expedition, Kara checked the seals of her suit as she made for the side entrance. Torfan was a small moon, with just enough mass to have formed into a proper spheroid. The pre-fab bunkers dropped in by the Alliance Corps of Engineers had an eezo gravity net built in.
"Lieutenant," said the private standing guard at the airlock, throwing an impressive salute. "I wasn't informed of anyone leaving."
"Just going for a walk," she said. A mystifying response, she suspected, but she did outrank him. Without specific orders, he made no move to prevent her entering the airlock. She secured her helmet as the air evacuated from the tiny room, the gravity grid slowly shutting down. In less than a minute, the external door slid open, and Kara walked lightly out onto the brown, dusty surface of the moon.
Kara made her way north, keeping out of sight of the Alliance observation points whenever possible. She could not outrun a Grizzly, if Battur ordered one to pursue her, but it would quickly become not worth the risk of detection. With no atmosphere, meaning no wind or water to shape the surface, Torfan was roughly flat, soft ridges ripped apart by frequent small impact craters.
To hide their presence, the pirates based on the moon had constructed their bunkers and storerooms deep underground, penetrating nearly to the frozen core. The concealed hangers for frigate-sized raider ships had been taken by Alliance marines in the first wave. The retreating pirates had collapsed the tunnels leading deeper into the complex, killing hundreds of marines, and giving themselves time to regroup. Even so, they knew that unless they could drive off the entire Second Fleet, there would be no escape. They would fight with all the desperation that their position demanded.
The outpost towards which she made her way was about fifteen kilometers from the Alliance bunker, an observation post, from which the pirates could keep watch on the enemy, but also an access point to their deeper tunnels. They had captured a four-person patrol after it strayed too close to their position. Command had managed to track them back to the outpost from orbit, and claimed that at least three of the marines were alive. They would certainly be used to try and slow the Alliance assault, if not rescued. Since the strategic picture demanded that the assault continue regardless, they would die.
A good leader took even the smallest battles into account when fighting a larger war. They made the difference between victory and defeat; and if the admirals, or the captains, would not lead them, the Lieutenants had to. If she wondered why she even bothered, she thought of those soldiers, held captive by the pirates, and their fate. They did not deserve death.
In the low gravity, Kara was able to make the journey in two and half hours. She had seen no signs of patrols outside the enemy outpost, but at that point it made sense, as an exposed soldier would make a tempting target for the Alliance frigates that patrolled the skies. A single pass and a few shots from their GARDIAN lasers could wipe out a platoon.
Of course, no one outside limited her options for getting in. With no tracks to follow, it took about ten minutes to locate the door, built into the side of a small crater, and overall well-concealed by dark grey paint that helped it blend into the rock. She had to pry off the control panel with the blade of her combat knife, and override the locking mechanism. The doors parted with a blast of escaping air, instantly forming a cloud of ice crystals that just as quickly dispersed. Once she slipped inside, a weak biotic field was enough to knock the wires apart, and the door closed automatically behind her.
Thankfully, the controls for the inner door were not locked, and she was able to open them, after convincing the computer to repressurize the small compartment. Forcing the external doors had almost certainly set off an alarm, so she came out with rifle in hand.
Kara barely ducked the rifle butt aimed at her face, and threw herself at her attacker. The male human tumbled to the floor with her on top, He had managed to keep control of his weapon, and swung it at her.
Capturing his arm, she twisted it until he cried out, dropping the weapon. Then she grabbed the collar-ring of his armor, and slammed his head into the floor. He went limp, unconscious but alive. She hoped that he had arrogantly decided to take her on alone, and failed to alert his comrades.
Thankfully, a small security station accompanied the airlock. There were no alerts registered on the system, that she could see, but she did manage to find a map of the outpost. A brief but rapid descent led down to the main room, where a total of six pirates waited, with more in the nearby barracks. The cells were on the opposite end of the room, not far from the barracks. She couldn't tell if they were battle ready or idle, but she would need to hit them hard and fast either way.
She move carefully down the stairs, grateful for the dim lighting, which kept her hidden from the one pirate who could have seen her approach. He was unarmored. Taking a final, deep breath, she readied her rifle, and stepped out into the open.
Before they could even start in shock her appearance, she had launched a biotic field at the guard farthest from her, and smacked her rifle butt into the skull of the nearest. Her next target collected herself quickly enough to block Kara's first swing, but not a followthrough punch that cracked her jaw. None of them got up.
The remaining three pirates moved to surround her, one Batarian and two human males. She swept the feet out from under the tougher looking of the three with a low kick. The second swung at her from behind, but she ducked, nudging him to overbalancing with a biotic field. He tumbled over her, and she threw him lightly. He crashed into a chair and lay unmoving.
The last, the Batarian, glanced at his fallen comrades, and began to back away. Smart of him, but futile; the slammed him into the wall with a biotic field.
Distracted, she didn't notice the bulky human until he slammed a chair into her back. With full armor on, it did little damage, but it knocked her off her feet, and he loomed over her, leering unpleasantly, as he raised the chair again.
Kara kicked him in the groin.
His expression changed to shock, as the chair fell from his hands. He clutched his genitals protectively. Kara opened the emergency medkit strapped to her belt, and injected a sedative into his thigh, catching him as he slid to the floor.
Groaning a little, she stood. The chair might not have done damage, but it still hurt. Cautiously, she checked over her fallen opponents. She left those that were unconscious alone, but injected those that showed signs of stirring with more sedative. None of them were seriously damaged.
With them gone, it took little more than a moment to locate the cells, and bypass the lock. The first was empty, but the second contained two prisoners, dressed in their armor undersuits. One was male, caucasian in appearance. The other was younger and female, her features asian.
"Are you okay?" Kara asked, offering them both a friendly smile.
"Uh, yes," the woman replied. "Who are you? What are you doing here?"
"Kara. Disobeying orders," she explained briefly. "There isn't much time. Are there any other prisoners?"
"It's just us," the man said. "Fucking pirates."
Kara nodded. "Right. Let's go. Move fast, and keep quiet," she said, checking to make sure they followed as she made her way down the hall.
The man whistled softly, glancing around the main room as they passed through. "Someone beat the shit out of these fuckers. Where's the rest of you?"
"It's just me," Kara hissed, frowning at him. "Which is why you need to keep quiet."
"He's still alive," the woman whispered, pointing to a groaning pirate.
"Up the stairs, now," Kara ordered. Her medkit was empty, and besides, he was likely concussed. It was perhaps an ineffective mercy to leave him unharmed now, only to die in the assault, but it was all she could do. She hoped it didn't cause her more trouble, as she backed up the stairs, after the freed prisoners. "Pressure suits, in the locker. Get suited up."
"Yes, ma'am," the woman said.
Kara checked the security panel, briefly. Still no alerts posted, and no movement in the room below. She slid her rifle onto its clamp, and moved to assist the prisoners in getting dressed.
"I don't know if it'll help, ma'am," the woman ventured, as Kara helped get her arms through the heavy sleeves, "but there's a batarian tank hidden under some camo, about twenty meters from here. I saw it as they were dragging us in. I thought, if only we could get to it…"
"You can drive it?"
"I can drive anything," she grinned. "Ma'am."
Kara smiled. "What's your name?"
"Private Aoki Sayuri, ma'am."
"Stop saluting me, Sayuri. It sounds like we won't have to walk back."
With one prisoner dressed and ready to go, Kara moved back to check the security panel. A light was flashing. There was no movement, yet, but the display didn't show anything below the area of the guardroom. "Damn," she hissed. "Hurry it up, you two. We going to have company."
Sayuri nodded. "Stop fidgeting, Karol, and let me help you," she said.
Kara readied her rifle, and moved to the top of the stairs. She could distinctly hear footsteps, despite the rustle of thick fabric and Karol's swearing. Another few moments, and a pirate appeared below her; she fired a burst at him, and he ducked back. "Hold your fire, private," she said, loudly. She hoped the pirates, seeing the damage done to their comrades, would believe there to be more than one of her, and hold back, rather than rushing the stairs. She couldn't hold them off alone. "Wait until you've got a clean shot."
"We're good, ma—Kara," Sayuri whispered. She had already pulled Karol into the airlock, when Kara turned to check; she followed them, quickly.
Kara didn't wait for it to cycle, pulling open the control panel and ripping out the circuitry. With the power cut, she was able to force the outer door, with Karol's help. She hoped it would hold off the pirates, who were already beating on the inner door. Without the seal, they would have close the emergency bulkheads, and vent the security room at the top of the stairs. Even that wouldn't take much more than a moment.
Not having any working comm, Kara settled for gesturing at the asian marine, who nodded, eyes bright, and began to trudge off.
Karol followed. Kara took up the rear.
Arcturus Station, Fifteen Days Later
"Commander Battur, would you describe what happened between you and Lieutenant Shepard on the Fifteenth?"
"Nothin' much to add to my report, ma'am," John Battur said, his eyes flickering from Kara's attorney, Eliza, a middle aged woman with keen grey eyes, to where she sat, and back again. They were so full of anger when he looked at her—not so different from how he looked when facing the batarians—that she found him quite disturbing. "Our orders was to take a position on the western edge of the pirate's underground base. We hit 'em hard, and I lost a lot of good men before we broke in. We was just a diversion for the main assault, comin' in from the other side.
"After the fightin' was over, we found a group of Batarian slavers holed up in a security room, throwin' insults and threatenin' to rape our daughters. Dirty fucking bastards. I ordered them to surrender themselves up to my custody. They flung more insults like they was good as bullets, afore tossin' their weapons out. When they followed, one of 'em pulled pistol. That's when Shepard shot me."
"And two days earlier, you wanted to discipline her for another infraction?"
"Yes," the commander said, launching into a mostly accurate description of the pirate ambush that had captured Privates Aoki and Karol. His version of their argument was more skewed, emphasizing insubordination that she hadn't showed. "So I gave 'er a direct order to stay put. A rescue attempt'd put more marines at risk than just two of 'em, I said. It'd make our assault on the pirates that much more of a risk, I said. I figured she'd accepted 'em, but an 'alf hour later, I was told she'd left the base. She'd not told anyone what for."
"And where did she go?"
"On her idiot rescue attempt. Showed up three and a half hours later in a stolen Batarian tank. The whole base was roused before she crawled out the hatched, that Asian girl following her like a lost puppy."
"So she did rescue the two marines?"
Battur frowned. "Yes."
"And did this rescue harm the Alliance attack?"
"No," he admitted, grudgingly, "but that's not the point."
"Isn't it?" Eliza asked. "The Alliance encourages its officers to take the initiative.—" No, it didn't— "If your orders were flawed, Lieutenant Shepard made the right decision, didn't she?"
"Initiative in carrying out their orders," Battur said. "Not disobeying them. No military can afford to ignore insubordination like that."
Kara frowned. Point to him, she decided, though his obvious racism didn't help his case.
"Private Aoki, you were captured by pirates during the operation on Torfan. Could you describe how?"
"My patrol was ambushed, sir. Private Karol and I were the only survivors." Sayuri looked nervous, faced by the stern military prosecutor. Her eyes flickered over to where Kara sat, and she straightened, drawing a deep breath. "We were dragged off to their base and held there."
"And how long have you known Lieutenant Shepard?"
"Since the Thirteenth, sir," she said.
"So she didn't have—" he coughed discreetly—"personal reasons for rescuing you? Her predilections in that regard are well known."
"Not that I'm aware of, sir," Sayuri said, "but I don't think Karol was her type." A joke? Her eyes did flit in Kara's direction, seeking… approval?
Kara smiled, as much as she dared. Again, the young marine seemed to drawn strength from her. It made her uncomfortable, but Sayuri was there because of her, and deserved her support.
"Uh, no. How would you describe your relationship with her now?"
Sayuri shrugged. "She's a friend. What do you expect?"
"A friend. She saved your life, and now you owe her. So you would lie for her? Before us, here, today?"
"My service record is excellent. You have no right to question my integrity."
Kara's smile widened, a fact that Sayuri picked up on.
"Forgive me, Private. I'm merely trying to understand how you can condone the Lieutenant's shooting of Commander Battur."
"I believe the rest of the court did just fine, sir. Should I try using smaller words?" Another swift glance at Kara.
To his credit, the prosecutor maintained an emotionless expression. "Perhaps that would be helpful for those of us who aren't as… witty as you, Private."
"Commander Battur was about to commit a war crime. Lieutenant Shepard stopped him. Is that better?"
"War crime! For killing a few wretched batarians?"
"Unarmed batarian prisoners. Sir," Sayuri added coldly. Her eyes turned on Kara again, holding this time. "I would like to add, for the record, that I will not serve in any organization that punishes people for doing what is right. As Kara did what is right."
Kara felt her heart skip a beat. It was expected that a soldier be willing to die for their comrades, but Sayuri had risked her future. Sacrificing the security of a military career had a lifetime of uncertain consequences, quite different from a quick death. She had not expected that type of courage, and she wouldn't forget it.
"Lieutenant Kara Shepard. Service number: 5923-AC-2826. Awarded the Star of Terra for heroism on Elysium. Nearly bounced out of IPC training for Drunk and Disorderly. Disrespectful of authority. Disruptive. Always thinks she has a better way of doing things." The prosecutor's smug smile was barely tolerable. "Oh, and mutineer. Have I missed anything, Lieutenant?"
"Only my wit and charm," Kara shrugged. Flippancy was unlikely to improve her chances, but she hardly thought that mattered. The hearing was little more than an exercise, to prepare the way for her court martial, as it had proven repeatedly.
"Lieutenant, we've heard several conflicting descriptions of the events of the Fifteenth. Do you have anything to add?"
"No."
"So, you're not going to correct the record?"
"I'm sure the panel is capable of reaching its own conclusions," Kara replied, "but I could explain things in smaller words, just for you."
He hissed in annoyance. "Very original, Lieutenant."
"I'm not the best at telling jokes," Kara agreed. "I'm much better at political analysis. You see, if John had been a batarian, and the prisoners human, I'd be awaiting my second Star. I would have prevented a massacre. Yet you insist that I interfered in what… an execution? Of unarmed prisoners, whose past was unknown? It's hardly a secret that the Alliance holds its enemies to higher standards than its own soldiers."
"This hearing is not concerned with Alliance policy, Lieutenant," said one of the three judges, an older man.
"And I was fully aware of the potential consequences when I shot my CO," Kara shrugged. "If my career is over, so be it, but I will have my say first. The Alliance has spent ten years trying to provoke an armed response from the batarians. Planting colonies on contested worlds, black-ops raids on shipyards and research labs, cyber attacks on economic targets—the list is long enough. The only possible conclusion is that the Alliance wants a war, because you think you can win it. Raids by slavers on our colonies aren't a tragedy—they're an opportunity to raise public outrage. A massacre of Batarian prisoners isn't a warcrime—it's an opportunity to anger the Hegemony."
Kara stared coldly at the panel. "I'm not sorry for what I did, and I will not apologize for it. I shot John because it was the only way I could stop him. Doing so may have prevented a war."
"That will be all, Lieutenant," the judge said sternly.
SSV Kyoto, Age 27.0
Kara sat in her small but private quarters aboard the SSV Kyoto, a mug of tea in one hand, a tablet full of quarian poetry in the other. On so-called high profile patrol, their mission consisted of little more than showing the flag over a few colonies. That said, they were also rotating marine garrisons on several of those worlds, so were full to capacity with fresh young privates. She was lucky not to have to share.
When on duty, she spent her time training, and running the ship's total of a hundred marines, twice its usual compliment. Her own marines were a dedicated bunch, in fine shape after three months under her command, which was more than could be said for the rest. They were too green, eager to test themselves in battle, and not knowing what it meant.
Kara, though, preferred dull. Lounging around half-naked in her quarters with a book of poetry, for example. She did wonder if the Alliance had posted her to the Kyoto simply to keep her out of the way of any incidents that might provoke more politically inconvenient disobedience, after they had failed to court-martial her for her actions on Torfan. She hadn't expected her career to survive, but Command had chosen to pin another Medal of Valor on her tunic, then sent her to elite IPC training. Her missions there, performed under close supervision, were always carefully selected to be inoffensive. And now? N7 graduate and Lieutenant Commander Kara Shepard trained marines on patrol cruisers.
She snorted, and tried to focus her wandering mind on the poetry. While the asari translations were beautiful and moving, she often wished she could read the originals. They were, at least, translated by living minds and not VIs. They certainly created a stirring image of Rannoch in her mind, all reddish sandstone and narrow bands of green; the cities build into the rock of canyon walls and seaside cliffs. Were it not for the geth, she would have placed it next on her list of places to visit.
Unfortunately for her attempts at concentration, the Kyoto's combat alert klaxons blared with a noise designed to wake even the most dedicated dreamer. She sighed and stood, pulling on her shirt between gulps of tea. Finally, she set her cup aside, and snatched her uniform tunic as she headed out the door.
Like all Alliance ships designed for atmospheric entry, the Kyoto had a cargo bay on its lowest level, the main door lowering to form a ramp for loading and offloading supplies and personnel. This included a vehicle bay, with one of the new combat-deployable M35 Makos, and four heavy M29 Grizzlies, incapable of mid-flight deployment. Behind that was the staging area for the ship's marine complement. This was Kara's combat post—making sure her marines were prepared for the unlikely chance that the ship was boarded, or for any other missions the captain might require.
Had she not already known that no drill was scheduled, the buzz of the capacitors that powered the shield grid, would have convinced her that the alert was real. She stood in the main assembly room, not yet changed into her armor, making sure that, as each squad checked in, they moved to their designated posts. Only about twenty of her marines would remain the assembly area, for emergency deployment or, in rare circumstances, boarding operations via the Kyoto's armored combat shuttle, but their passengers were also present, filling up the deck in a confused throng.
"Shepard," said her second in command, a dashing young lieutenant with hard grey eyes and confident manners. His name was Ira Hunsaik.
"Report, Ira," she said.
"We're being hit hard by pirates. They dropped out of FTL within a dozen kilometers, and started shooting before we could react. The Svolder and the Pasargadai are down."
Kara closed her eyes briefly. Their two frigate escorts, also crammed with extra marines, each had about sixty people on board. At best, perhaps a third of them might have survived. "Find Kato. Tell him to get his rookies out of my space. Sort out the ones that might be of use, and get them down to engineering. The rest, sent them to quarters."
"Aye, sir," he said, saluting quickly.
An impact shook the ship. Kara cursed under her breath. It was either a disruptor torpedo, taking out part of their shield grid, or the enemy had punched through their barriers with a mass accelerator slug. Either one made for bad news. "Abeje," she said, catching a passing marine by the arm. The middle-aged woman was an experienced combat veteran, a second lieutenant and one of her team leaders. "Take over down here. I'm going to suit up."
"Ma'am."
Armor was unlikely to help her much if the ship was destroyed, Kara knew, but it would protect her from sudden depressurization, and she did need to be prepared if the captain ordered her deployed. She slipped quickly between the thronging marines, making her way to the smaller command armory, where she immediately began to strip down to her skin, stuffing her clothes in her locker, unfolded.
Her armor itself was a top of the line Alliance model, finished in dark grey, with built-in biotic amplification. The suits were specially manufactured for N7 grade marines, complete with their red-and-grey logo on the chest, and rank stripes on the shoulders. She slipped quickly into the cloth undersuit, designed to keep the wearer dry and comfortable, followed by the pressure suit. The ceramic plates, which provided a last line of physical defense, came last.
As she finished checking the clamps that held them in position, the ship shook again. She barely kept her balance, but an explosion nearby knocked her off her feet. As she went down, her head struck the bench, hard enough to leave her dazed. She managed to regain her feet, and collected her helmet and pistol from the armor locker.
It was rapidly getting harder to think, and to breath, she though, as she crossed to the door, intending to resume her duties. Maybe she had suffered a concussion. The red light that flared when she pressed the controls meant something important, she felt. Something not good. She could override it, with the right passcode, but staying upright seemed to take all her concentration.
Air pressure—that was it. Her suit had a small, built-in air supply, if she could just put on her helmet. She had clipped it to her belt. These things were supposed to be instinct, not clumsy and impossible. First, protect yourself. Seal your pressure suit, or don one of the formless emergency bubbles. Second, if the breach is small, attempt to seal it. If it is too large, escape the area.
She had fallen against the wall, and her helmet was in her hands. Her skin felt cool, and her scalp tingled where blood met thinning atmosphere and instantly evaporated. She was out of time.
Inexplicably, the door controls flashed, and the door itself opened with the hiss of hydraulics. Warm air washed over her—she gulped it down, and forced herself to stand, ignoring the proffered hand of her rescuer. He was not one of hers, and his armor bore the insignia of the 171st Colonials. That made him one of the recruits, heading out for his mandatory year of garrison duty on one of the backwaters they were visiting. "Thanks," she said, stepping quickly, and unsteadily, into the corridor. Her head was clearing nicely, the fog seemingly more from oxygen deprivation than her injury. He sealed the door as soon as she passed through. "What's your name?"
"Handel, ma'am. Aaron. Private, second class."
"Call me Kara," she muttered—but that was another battle, longer and less deadly than the one they were currently fighting. They both had places to be. "Report to your post."
"Yes, ma—Kara," he finished, throwing in a salute for good measure. There was a surprise, and she wondered if he would keep it up, as she sent him off with an acknowledging nod. Also, there was the question of how he had found her, but more importantly, how he had opened the door. The survival of the ship is more important than any one person, a lesson which every new recruit learned. Depressurization seals were not to be overridden, unless absolutely necessary, because opening them risked the rest of the compartment. He could have hacked the interface—it was not overly complex—but that was an odd risk for a fresh young private to take. If so, she was more inclined to hand him a medal than enforce discipline.
"Commander Shepard, report to CIC."
The voice over the intercom interrupted her speculation. An odd order, that, and from Captain Li Kate directly. Normally, it was her first officer, the unpleasant Terrance Kamai, who'd be giving her orders. She hooked her headset over her ear, and switched it on. "Yes, sir."
The Kyoto's command deck smelled overwhelmingly of burning flesh. Kara almost gagged as she climbed out of the lift shaft—the carriage had locked halfway up, after another explosion. Her training included some understanding of ship command, including CIC layout and operations, so she could identify each station as she passed them, heading for the stairs down the captain's central console. Tactical. Engineering. Helm and Operations on the far side.
Captain Li Kate was in her late thirties, her black hair tinted red by the overhead status lights. "Shepard," she said, glancing up at Kara's approach. "You're my first officer. Take your post."
"Sir?" It was not a post she felt qualified to fill, training or no, especially not in the middle of a fight.
"Don't argue, Commander."
Kara nodded, stepping up to the central console. The holographic display showed the Kyoto, under attack by three other ships. In addition to their escort frigates, two other ships were drifting broken in space. Two of the others were frigates, Alliance design, possibly constructed by a so-called 'dark shipyard', a construction ship employed by a corporation, and parked somewhere in interstellar space. They were not much threat on their own, but the third appeared to be of cruiser-weight, and turian configuration.
She checked ship status on her auxiliary display. Barrier capacitors were at about fifteen percent capacity, recharging slowly as the enemy cruiser maneuvered for a clear shot. Their GARDIAN turrets were overheated, but had managed to hold off the enemy's fighters. A shot from the cruiser had torn open the main engineering compartment. Engine power was fluctuating, and the port maneuvering thrusters were offline. "Hunsaik, get every marine who can hold a spanner down to the engineering section," she said, switching on her headset. "Get Miranda off guard duty, and tell her she's the new chief engineer."
"Aye, sir."
She looked up at Captain Li, who nodded at her in approval. "Recommendations, commander?"
"We can't evade that cruiser on half-thrusters, and won't survive another barrage. We need time," she said, staring at the display. A light cruiser could take a full turn in about forty seconds, but this one was sluggish, struggling to align itself for a clear shot. Possibly, it was a mothballed design, stripped of much of its useful tech by the turians. If the pirates had fitted an abandoned hull with their own equipment, a single shot from the Kyoto's main guns might break through its barriers, which explained why they were fighting in such close quarters. "Full starboard thrusters for a short burst, then turn to port. That should line us up for a clear shot."
"Helm," Li ordered, keeping her eyes on Kara. "Three second burst on all lateral starboard thrusters."
"Yes, ma'am," a young, brown-haired ensign shouted. On the tactical display, the ship began to shift relative to its target.
"Roll, fifteen degrees positive, half power," Li continued, now watching the display. "Now, yaw to port, five second burst, three-quarters power."
The pirate cruiser began to slow its turn, trying to escape from this unexpected maneuver.
Li looked over Kara's shoulder, at the tactical officer. "Fire."
From the anticipated command, to the impact of the five kilogram slug on the enemy ship, was barely half a second.
"Again." The first shot had broken through the ship's barriers, before crashing into one of the decorative armor 'crests'. The second had struck the crew section. "Yaw starboard, five second burst. And fire!"
This final shot tore through the hull, and several decks. The impacts left the ship drifting on an odd axis, its thrusters firing in an attempt to reassert control. The Kyoto's main gun was still cleanly targeted on it.
"Finish them, Lieutenant," Captain Li sighed.
Kara sat across from Captain Li Kate in the officer's quarters. They were perhaps half again the size of her own, and more comfortably furnished, but the feature she envied was the private bath. The officer's showers were rarely empty, after all.
"So, Kara," Kate said, her arm thrown casually over the back of the couch. She was a small woman, a good twenty centimeters shorter than Kara, and above average weight for her height, but her demeanor and posture projected a commanding presence. She had also spend her entire career in space. "What would you say is your greatest weakness as an officer?"
An interesting question. She had expected the captain to offer some praise regarding her conduct during the recent battle, prior to informing her that a new first officer had been chosen, and that she could return to her post. "I don't have much training or experience in running a ship," she replied. The lessons taught in IPC were limited to frigate and corvette operations, where marines were far more likely to double as shipboard officers and crew.
"More generally."
Ah. She didn't have a ready answer for that. There were a variety to choose from, including lax enforcement of discipline and her intolerance of certain behaviors. Still, she knew what answer would sound the most natural, given her record. "I don't respect the chain of command."
Kate shook her head, laughing softly. "Terrance would have agreed with that," she said, her dark eyes shining. "He… took a strong disliking to you, but holding up the showers is a small inconvenience. At the Torfan hearings, you were unrepentant. So I'll ask you again; what is your greatest weakness as an officer?"
"That's too complicated a question, since you won't accept a simple answer," Kara replied. "I'm not claiming to be flawless, Kate, but I do my job as best I can."
"I noticed," the captain said, smiling faintly. "I spoke with Chief Šáfárik—" Miranda, the marine Kara had put in charge of the engineering section during the battle— "just to make sure you weren't exaggerating in your reports. She's impressive, and says the same of you. I'm thinking of making her position permanent."
"She'll appreciate the opportunity." Miranda had enlisted, like many young people, to crew a spaceship, but had ended up a marine. She performed well in the role, though their conversations during training sessions had revealed her interest in engineering systems. Kara had facilitated her training, and while it and her combat leadership experience made her the ideal person to take over during a crisis, she would need to learn quickly if she wanted to keep the post. "She'll need some patience, while she learns the job."
"Well, it'll be your job to make sure she gets up to speed quickly. Unless you don't want it?"
"I do," Kara said. The transition from marines to navy was rare, despite the Alliance's unified service, due to the different skill and training requirements. The most common route was through the Interplanetary Combat program, which often submitted its graduates for command officers on infiltration frigates. Their three dimensional tactical training and lectures in naval command protocols had certainly helped prepare her for serving aboard the Kyoto.
"Then as of this moment, Kara, you're relieved as marine commander, and officially promoted to first officer. I think we should start by going over your responsibilities, to the ship, and to me."
SSV Kyoto, Age 27.4
"Kara, sit," Li Kate said, standing up from the chair behind her desk as Kara entered her office. "Tea?"
"Please," Kara replied, taking the nearest grey, cushioned seat, and watching her captain in silence. She had been training with her marines when the summons came, and hadn't taken the time to shower or change into her uniform.
Kate moved to the small kitchenette, little more than a sink and electric pot, typically used for coffee, and filled a decorated ceramic cup with dark liquid. "You've been on my ship seven months now, isn't it?"
"Yes." Three months in command of the marine contingent, before the ambush, and four months as first officer and XO.
Kate sat beside her, holding out the cup.
Kara took it, smiling as she breathed in the rising wisps of steam, sighing softly. It was always black, plain, and of the highest quality.
"The crew rates your performance quite highly," Kate continued, resting her elbows on her knees as she leaned forward. "You have a talent for inspiring self-confidence and loyalty, two important things in an officer. I always had to work at them both."
The captain's expression had turned slightly bitter. "I've never had reason to doubt you," Kara said.
"You see?" Kate grinned. "I dare say every department on this ship is functioning better than ever, including the galleys, and I thought that was impossible."
"That's just a matter of supplementing the supplies—"
Kate cut her off with a gesture. "I'd rather not lose you, Kara, but Command has made it very clear that first officer on a cruiser isn't an appropriate use of your IPC training. It's only my protests that have kept you here this long. You're being transferred back to Arcturus Station for ship command, operations, and tactics training. You may get your own frigate in a few years, but honestly, I'm not even sure if that's what you want. What do you want, Kara?"
"Kate…" Kara sighed. She thought about it occasionally, when she began to feel trapped by her military career, but If she'd discovered a straight answer, she would have resigned in order to pursue it. "I don't know."
"Oh. I honestly expected a more defensive answer," Kate said. "You can be evasive when things get personal."
Kara shrugged. "I prefer to keep things close."
"Yes," Kate nodded. "What I'd like to know is why. You aren't timid. You're willing to break with orders, when you think they're wrong. Yet, I don't think you've got a single friend on board. I had hoped, by now, that you'd be willing to talk to me."
"I've watched enough friends die," Kara replied. "This is better."
"That's not much of a reason," Kate frowned. "I expected something more, maybe something to explain the four-year gap in your record. Whatever happened to you, I'm sure it'd make for a fascinating story."
"No."
Kate laughed. "See what I mean? Is that 'No, it was boring' or just 'I don't want to tell you'?"
"That's not your business," Kara snapped. She could, with some justification, claim concern that it would harm her career, or maybe that it would betray the trust of those who had actually shared those years with her, and helped her. Over time, though, her reasoning had changed, and she believed that it had almost as much to do with her desire to have a part of herself shielded, hidden from the prying eyes of the Alliance. That could also explain why the subject provoked such an angry response.
Leaning back in her chair, Kate nodded. "As you say. I just find you remarkable, Kara, and I'd like to know more."
"I'm sorry, Kate," Kara sighed. "I appreciate that you trusted me. I've had COs who didn't. And I trust you."
"—but you're not going to talk." Kate stood. "Have your things packed before we arrive at Arcturus Station, Commander. The details of your transfer have been sent to your account."
Kara stood, and caught her surprised captain in a friendly embrace. "Thank you, sir," she said, nodding, as she stepped back.
SSV Anqing, Age 28.5
Kara rested her chin on her arms, folded across the back of her chair. The world that slowly rotated on the main display in the Anqing's comm room looked green and pleasant. And it was. Surface gravity was only slightly lighter than Earth normal, and the mean temperature a comfortable twenty-three degrees. Idyllic, really, except for one important point; a common native plant released a toxic pollen. Even though it was easily filtered from otherwise breathable air, it made colonization too costly for the usual list of corporate sponsors, and well beyond the reach of any independents. That was a blessing for the native life, at least, giving it a chance to evolve.
"Report, Kara."
"Captain," Kara said, rising graceful to her feet, and turning to face him. Iraj Sadashiv was a tall, brown-skinned man with rich brown eyes and thick, black hair, a little overweight and somewhere in his early forties. He said, with a casual smirk, that he didn't like to talk about his family; but he sometimes let slip that he had an adult daughter, whom he had raised alone. She did not salute. "The tracking device we planted on the raider worked perfectly. Lieutenant Abrams reports that we're about to enter the Vostok system, on our final approach to Nodacrux." She gestured at the world on display behind her.
"What's your assessment?"
"It's a near-garden world. Oxygen atmosphere, spectacular lightening storms, but toxic to human life. The survey team classified it as uninhabitable, which makes it a prime location for a hidden base."
He nodded firmly. "Good. Prepare your team, Commander. You'll deploy as soon as we enter orbit."
Kara nodded. It left her an hour in which to anticipate the pleasures of a combat landing in the new M35 Mako medium tank. She hated combat landings.
The pirate base was constructed in a low valley, concealed from orbital scans by camouflage netting. If not for the tracker, Kara doubted that the Anqing would even have noticed it. However, they had found it, and waited out of sight, less than half a kilometer away. Lieutenant Chayton Jonson, sniper and her second and command, observed the structure through the scope of his rifle. "I see movement," he said. "Half a dozen men and women, coming out of the base. They match the description of the raider crew."
"That's unfortunately," she muttered. The hope was to deal with the ship and crew on the ground, which would at least give them the chance to recover its cargo. If necessary, though, the Anqing was more than capable of destroying it in orbit.
"Wait—there's someone else. She's wearing a uniform of some sort. Black and gold, with an open-hexagon logo." Cerberus. They were a pro-human terrorist organization, former Alliance black-ops, though both sides denied it. Kara suspected ongoing links between them, but even the rumors were difficult to come by, and often unreliable. She had learned of them years ago, but this was her first encounter.
"Damn." Kara opened a comm channel with the ship. "Captain, we've got a problem. There's a Cerberus agent down here."
"Acknowledged, Shepard," Sadashiv said. "Proceed at your own discretion."
"Aye, sir." Her orders were to neutralize the base. Against shoddily-equipped mercenaries, that was not an overwhelming challenge, but Cerberus was reportedly well-funded. No matter—she had confidence in her team. "Back to the Mako, Chayton. We're going in."
They scrambled down the short hill, careful to remain out of sight, to where the Mako was parked. Kara slid into the cockpit's second seat. "Drive on, Jarrah."
"We goin' in shooten', Commandah?" he inquired, switching on the vehicles engine.
"Not this time," she told him. "How many times do I have to tell you call me 'Kara', Lieutenant?"
"Always one time more, marm," he grinned. She would keep trying, but not everyone was comfortable with the informality she tried to maintain, even on the battlefield.
"Chayton, you'll take Erika and secure the raider ship," Kara said, turning her seat so she could see into the rear compartment. "Jarrah, stay with the Mako. The rest of you are with me. This may be a Cerberus facility, so don't expect the usual amateurish tactics. You all know I prefer prisoners to corpses."
"We've been spotted, marm," Jerrah informed her "but they ain't goin' anywhere."
"Everyone ready to—"
"Commander Shepard," Captain Sadashiv interrupted. Kara detected a hint of anger in his voice. "I'm giving you new orders. Withdraw and prepare for pickup."
What? That didn't make much sense. Patrol and recon ships had standing orders to disrupt terrorist cells on contact, which were only overruled in emergencies. "Why?"
"Just do it, Shepard."
"No," Kara said, closing the channel. Cerberus was a blight on humanity, and she had no intention of tolerating it. If the Alliance wanted to court-martial her, they were welcome to try. Again.
"I'm going in, orders or no," she continued, turning to her squad, looking them in the eye one at a time. "Any objections?"
The girl was about seven, tall for her age, but thin. Her eyes were brown, so filled with despair that they had no room for fear, her small hands trembling as Kara knelt before her.
"Hey, it's all right," she said. Pulling off her armored glove, she gently touched the girl's cheek. In too many ways, the girl was reflection of herself at that age. She hadn't been much older when they'd installed her first implant, beginning a decade of agony that had only ended with the kindness of strangers. "They won't hurt you again."
"Commandah," Jarrah interrupted. He sounded almost dazed, overwhelmed by what they'd discovered. "The Anqing 'as landed. Captain Sadashiv's on 'is way to the commandah's office."
"Thanks, Jarrah," Kara said, smiling over her shoulder at the lieutenant. "And thanks for sticking with me."
The marine mustered a soft smile, as he knelt as well. "Hi, dearie. 'Ave you got a name?" The question was met with silence, and he sighed. "It's like you say, marm. Don't follow your orders away from your conscience. No one kidnaps children on my watch."
"Thanks to you, she can go home," Kara said softly.
Jarrah scooped the girl up in his arms, as gently as one could in armor. His young burden clung to him without much enthusiasm. "The captain had better have a good explanation for his orders."
He did; they weren't his. Sadashiv firmly believed that humanity needed to solve its own problems, of which Cerberus was one. "I think he's on our side. Get all the kids together, and get them to the ship. See if you can't find them in one of the missing person databases."
"Yes, marm," Jarrah nodded. Kara followed him into the corridor, but turned in the opposite direction, towards the base commander's office. The Cerberus commandant was an attractive woman in her mid-forties, dressed in a tight uniform, with the name 'S. Marie' printed on its chest. The fear in her grey eyes betrayed her coldly stoic expression. A funny thing, really, that she should be afraid, after what she'd done.
"Well?" Kara asked, sitting on the edge of the woman's desk. Her full name was Safiya Alexandra Marie, according to the local database, a Cerberus employee of fifteen years, with an exceedingly uninformative record. "Would you care to explain any of this?"
"I acted in the best interests of humanity," she declared softly.
"We both know that's propaganda, Safiya."
"Future generations will be in debt to us, for the work we do," she continued, "even while they condemn us. Like you, they're cowards, who just don't want to get their hands dirty."
"Commander Shepard has been called many uncomplimentary things," Captain Sadashiv said, coming through the doorway. "Coward isn't one of them."
Kara stood, and turned to face her captain. He was wearing his uniform, rather than combat armor, a somewhat risky decision, of which she approved. "And what have you called me today?"
"Insubordinate."
Kara shrugged. "That's nothing to what I'm thinking of calling you."
He laughed, gesturing that she should follow him into the hall. "I was just thinking of you in basic training, Shepard. Some big drill sergeant shouting insults at you, and you just stare back."
"Why did you order us to withdraw, Iraj?"
Her captain sighed, rubbing his forehead as he stared down at the floor. "You aren't the only officer to receive orders they don't want to obey. Honestly, I don't how you get away with it. My report on this incident will clearly state that I support your actions, and when you come up for review, I'll state that you're an excellent officer, who is ready for her own command. Because I want you off my ship."
Arcturus Station, Age 28.11
The usual warm breeze, scented with greenery and flowers, blew in from Arcturus Station's central dome, as Kara sat in a small café on the outer ring. Situated in the middle of the carefully managed park was the grandiose parliament building, an uninspired mix of traditional architectures, representing a half dozen of Earth's majority cultures.
Kara sipped at her cup of rooibos tea, and refocused her attention on the Normandy's design schematics. She found it difficult to believe that the navy had chosen her as the first officer of their new stealth frigate, considering her record, but they had done so, apparently at the instigation of the highest levels of the government. In addition to familiarizing herself with the ship's technical capabilities, she had commanded it on several test flights around the Arcturus system, in preparation for an official shakedown cruise, scheduled for after their new captain arrived.
For that role, her superiors had selected Captain David Anderson, another N7-designated marine, decorated for his role in the First Contact War. Most of record since was classified, though she had discovered reports of a botched joint operation with a turian Spectre. With no surviving evidence to support either side, it was impossible to judge who was responsible for the resulting disaster. She guessed that his selection had also been a political decision, most likely intended to send a message to their allies in the Council.
She found that curious. As a joint project between the Alliance and the Turian Hierarchy, the Normandy had been a success with few qualifications. Most of its systems were a clear improvement on the previous model of infiltration frigates, from the internal frame, which supported the pressure hull, to the oversized mass effect core. The most highly classified new feature, the ship's hull refrigeration mechanism, they key component in its active stealth system, would not have been possible without both species' input. Why would they risk offending the turians, after such a successful effort?
Perhaps that wasn't their intent at all, though. They had already scheduled a joint press conference, to officially announce the success of the first collaborative project between the two governments, with Anderson and an unknown turian official attending. She was on the list as well, though she no intention of showing up.
An unexpected movement, through the holographic display of her omnitool, caused her to look up, and discover a familiar face studying her. "Eisha?"
"Congratulations on your promotion, Lieutenant Commander," the woman said, a faint smile on her wide lips. She had not changed much in eight years, at least in appearance. "Though I hear it was almost a court martial."
"It's just commander, now," Kara smiled, "and no hearings, this time. Join me?"
Eisha sat across from her, setting a cup of coffee on the small table as Kara switched off her omnitool. "So, how've you been, Kara?"
"Well enough," she shrugged. "I keep thinking about resigning, but I think command has finally grown wary of putting me in combat. I'm surprised they haven't offered me your job."
"I know a couple of fans who'd love that."
Kara scowled irritably at her companion, but the older woman seemed to find her distaste amusing. The current group of cadets would have been in their early teens, during the Skyllian Blitz, old enough to get caught up in the propaganda campaign that followed.
"So you gave up your sense of humor, then?"
"I'm as much a heroine as you are," Kara sighed. "I hate to think my career inspired anyone to join up."
"So would I," Eisha replied. "One of you is bad enough. Could you imagine the chaos a few of your disciples could cause?"
Disciples? Kara smiled faintly. The woman's tone had been teasing, but in truth, neither of them had much interest in helping fill out the ranks. "Perhaps I should write down some observations, or some cryptic instructions, just so people know what I expect of them. I've always wanted my own religion."
"If you're looking for a high priestess, or whatever…" Eisha began, her jovial expression faded as silence fell over them. "If I didn't know you very well, I'd think you were being serious. Do you remember your acceptance speech, for the Star of Terra?"
"Both of them," Kara nodded. Had Eisha seen the original, or just the propaganda version?
The older woman laughed, shaking her head. "Yeah. I was in the audience, that day, so I caught the live version, and that awful fake they broadcast. As soon as you came out, I knew you hadn't survived the Blitz. I stopped by your quarters, that evening, hoping we could talk."
And had found her passed out of the floor. Kara had always assumed it had been her mother. "Then you saved my life. Thank you," she said, reaching across the table, to cover Eisha's hand in her own. "Why didn't you stop by later?"
"Because I was fucking pissed at you," Eisha growled. "You were the last person I expected to find solace in drugs. I thought maybe we could talk, and help each other understand."
Had she been given the choice, Kara would have preferred to faced her former instructor that morning, rather than her mother. "I just… put it behind me," she sighed. "Though I did think, I should have listened to you from the start."
"You were always better at facing other people's problems," Eisha said. "Like that kid that hung around you all the time… um…"
"Akio?" Kara asked. That his interest in a military career had come from his father's influence, and not his own desire, had been obvious to everyone. She had merely convinced him to choose his own path. "He works at an indie vid studio, these days."
Eisha shook her head. "While you've been assigned as first officer aboard some classified frigate. I've made a few friends high-up in the chain of command, over the years, Kara. They've got big plans for you."
Note: More actual new writing than I've done on this story in a while. The section with Kara at the Academy has been on mind since it was raised in a discussion of the original story. I added an additional scene aboard the Kyoto, and the final scene is also a new addition(tying into the story proper). Somehow or another it works out to about four thousand extra words.
So, what do you think? Did Kara believably survive her Academy days? Leave a review and let me know.
PS… another review calling me a social justice warrior. But he did compliment me on my writing style! So two compliments in one review. This is gonna start going to my head real soon.