Faith again reviewed the blueprints Garrus had given to her concerning the Normandy retrofits. The ship would be absolutely deadly when they were completed: able to out-fight most cruisers in a straight-up firefight; with armour plating most militaries lacked the technology to implement, shield technology that could take an eye-watering amount of punishment, EDI's cyber-warfare suite, and weapons that she was hoping could damage even the Reapers themselves.
Weapons she had leaked to every single species' militaries a little over a week ago.
The leak had been a calculated risk. She had considered, debated long and hard with her small crew; the other members now returned from their leave. Ken, Gabriella and Tali were installing Liara's new suite in Miranda's old office, for the inevitable day they could no longer use the Broker's ship and had to begin their preparations on the move. Kelly had begun her practical medical training with Doctor Chakwas, having happily accepted the post of medical assistant as well as her existing duties, and Joker was running endless battle simulations with EDI. Liara, Garrus and herself had been the ones discussing and preparing for the war on a larger scale, making moves from prompting large mercenary groups to absorb their smaller rivals, in preparation for their absorption in turn into the inevitable galactic fleet, to actions such as releasing Thanix Cannon technology.
The latter move had been their riskiest so far, but Faith was nothing short of delighted with the results. In just days, existing weapons and defences had been rendered obsolete, and militaries scrambled to upgrade and update as many of their ships as possible, because they all knew that the other species would not hesitate to do the same. Research expenditure had skyrocketed on defence to weapons like Thanix, and though the cannon was only a shadow of the terrifying Reaper weapons, the technology was similar enough to be of use, and militaries were investigating ways to upgrade both the weapon, and the existing defences against it.
All of this, without causing anywhere near the unrest their worst-case scenarios had predicted. By giving the technology to all governments, none actually had an advantage and the power balance remained fairly even.
The greatest risk, they soon found, was coming from government branches, rather than military. Most species were not happy with somebody shaking the balance of power so brazenly, doubly so when none had any idea of who was doing it. Liara's informants told that the salarians had assigned an STG team to investigate. The asari were concerned of a new military power, and though they had yet to commit to action, their mutterings carried great weight, particularly in the Citadel Council. The turians, who were the original researchers and developers of the weapon, were furiously investigating their technology being stolen and distributed for free. Of the Council species, only the Alliance had not sought to investigate the unusual leak so far.
But the time had come to make the final decision about the Normandy. To take the plunge, and trust EDI to be the power behind the most powerful frigate in the galaxy, to trust it... her...to allow Shepard to run a tiny crew, making space for drastically improved armaments.
'I... don't feel comfortable, dry docking the ship for such a long time, Shepard.' Faith looked up to the speaker: Garrus was uncharacteristically nervous, and though his voice gave little away, she knew enough about the turian to know his simply stating such a thing was enough to show his feelings. He glanced around the Normandy's communications room, occupied by Faith, Liara, Tali, Joker and himself, before continuing. 'Not to say that I don't like the idea. It's what we're going to need. But we've been upsetting a lot of people... and will probably be doing that same while the fittings take place. Illium might not be under the control of any central government, but that doesn't mean the ship will be safe there.'
They had decided on Illium as the best place to make the fittings: some of the galaxy's best engineers made their home there, and they could get most of the materials they needed from the huge variety of markets.
Faith felt an uncomfortable curling in her gut at his words. Garrus was right: though Illium was under no official jurisdiction, if the STG... or anybody else... found out she was responsible for the leaks, and found them whilst the Normandy was in a state of disrepair, the consequences could be dire. Shepard's crew estimated that with a good team, the fittings could be made in approximately a month.
A long time for a ship that was being hunted, to stay prone.
'You underestimate the... let us call them laws, of Illium, Garrus.' Liara spoke softly. 'Whilst there is little in the way of a formal legal system that the galaxy at large might recognise, the corporations and corrupt politicians that run the planet are highly protective of their revenue base, and a client paying close to a billion credits is a very important client.'
Faith fixed Liara with a glance. Out of all of them, the asari was the one to know the details of the planet. 'So do you think we will be safe?'
Liara's ice blue gaze joined her own, and Faith was again reminded just how easily the asari could compartmentalise herself: she was very definitely working now; her perfect poise, formal voice and clear expression, even in the presence of her closest friends, displayed that clearly. 'I could not guarantee it, Shepard. But I think of anywhere in the galaxy, Illium will be best. A private dock, and a crew hired in secret, might run slightly less chance of being discovered, but if we were found, there would be no protection such as Illium could grant.'
'What kind of protection?' Shepard prompted.
'The first layer is commercial. If we request that the fittings are kept secret, and pay well enough, they will stay that way through official channels in a way Council bureaucracy could not allow. The next would be legal: the corporations would not hesitate to employ the Council's own laws against them, and if even one company on the planet was seen to be pressured, the others would help resist in fear of that company's defeat by an official government setting a precedent.' Liara clasped her hands together ahead of her, and leaned forward onto the table. 'The final would be physical. Most of Illium's companies have considerable armed presence, either through contracts with mercenary companies, or their own private armies.'
'And you worked there? Voluntarily?' Joker spoke up for the first time during the meeting, sounding incredulous.
'For close to two years, yes. I made something of a name for myself, in certain circles.'
'Damn... what happened to the Liara who stumbled into my cockpit looking for the bathroom, like, four times?'
I happened.
The unwelcome, uncomfortable thought elbowed its way into Faith's mind. It was her fault that the old Liara was gone. She had caused the asari so much pain, both by pulling her into this whole mess... and personally.
But still, for some unfathomable reason, Liara loved her.
And her own feelings did not relieve the guilt - if anything, the opposite was true. Whilst the shy naivety of the archaeologist who spent most of her days hiding in the small lab behind the Normandy SR1's medical bay had been endearing, and still lived underneath the colder exterior, Faith was ashamed to admit that she liked Liara's new edge. It excited her.
What did that make her?
'I could tell you...' Liara picked up the glass of water that was sitting in front of her, and peered into it critically as she gently swirled the fluid, before turning her clear blue gaze to him with an exaggerated narrowing of her eyes. 'But I am afraid I would have to kill you.'
Chuckles sounded from around the table, breaking the awkward tension caused by Joker's question. 'Ok, scary blue lady, point taken.' the pilot continued, holding his hands up in submission.
'So,' Faith overrode the distraction, determined to end any more of this line of questioning. 'Illium it is. Liara, I suspect you've already approached the right company for us?'
The asari nodded firmly, a hint of a smile playing across her lips at Faith's correct assumption of her efficiency.
'Good, can you make the payment arrangements?'
'I will. I suspect they will be ready for us inside of three days.'
'Thank you.' Faith nodded in return. 'Tali... ah, Legion as well...' The concept was still strange and uncomfortable to think of; the geth living with Tali. But the quarian, despite some obvious doubts of her own, had assured Shepard that she was happy to deal with the situation herself. 'I'm leaving you in charge of the upgrades. Garrus, I want you to stay with Liara and I on the Broker's ship until the Normandy is ready, your contacts and knowledge will be of better use than your technical skills.'
She glanced between the turian and quarian, sitting close by each other. They had become close - more than close - but she could not hinder the war effort for the fact. Faith softened her voice for her next words 'I'm sorry. We shouldn't be apart for more than a month.'
Garrus looked at Tali, then to Shepard, sighing in resignation. 'I know. It's the correct decision, Shepard.'
The correct decision.
The phrase that summed up so much of her life. But just because it was correct, that did not make it right.
'Like Liara said we'll have a few days. So say your goodbyes; hopefully we'll be so busy the time will disappear.'
'Jeeeez,' Joker's melodramatic sigh drew all of their attention again. 'If you're not busy turning my baby into the Love Boat, can I go?'
Again chuckles rang around the table, and Faith looked around at the small team fondly. The five of them had been together from the start, in one way or another, and despite the troubles all of them had faced along the way, they shared something that would keep them together through the inevitable pain that was to come.
'Dismissed.' She saw both Joker and Garrus relax almost imperceptibly at the word, and felt herself doing the same. Some things that military training drilled into soldiers, never left. She smiled to the group. 'I've brought up some drinks from the Broker's ship, and will be putting a film on in the lounge later. Some old Earth one that EDI, of everyone, suggested - she said you'd like it, Garrus. It's called "Dirty Harry".'
The loft is strangely empty.
I am used to Faith waking before me, but she usually stays in the room - either in bed with me, simply enjoying the peace - or studying datapads on the couch. Returning to the Normandy, still in orbit around Hagalaz, every night is a routine Faith insisted on after finding me asleep at my terminal one too many times, and I have to admit I enjoy the formality of ending the day, the pair of us winding down as we return to what I now know as home.
Her thoughts were troubled last night.
Joker's offhand comment struck her deeply, and though I managed to relieve the tension with a joke I heard more than one human involved in the information trade make, and a small performance learned during my work on Illium, I still saw a tiny widening of her eyes, her fingers clench into her palm, her shoulders drop just the smallest amount.
The room seems barren without her. Most of the cabin is still furnished to the standard Cerberus provided, but even one as uncaring of material objects as her has left a very distinctive mark on the small room. Whilst she used to keep a small holo of her sisters by her bed on the Normandy SR1, ever since our trip to Mindoir this has been replaced with a picture of her entire family, gifted to her by the religious leader of the colony, a picture taken just months before the batarian raid, of five smiling humans , a much younger looking Faith's arms wrapped around her youngest sister's waist. Alongside it is one of the two of us, both mounted on Tri'Lessa's back, taken by the horse's owner as we returned the majestic animals.
A series of small model ships are lined up along the desk, even those assembled poorly left out on display, and a picture of the ground crew of the Normandy SR1 sits beside her terminal, simply one of the hundreds and hundreds of press shots we were forced into by our respective governments following Sovereign's attack. Our faces are all held into the stoic poses the photographer demanded, dressed in ceremonial-style armour, gleaming dramatically in the artificial life but useless in a real fight. A reminder, perhaps, of that simpler time, as we scoured the galaxy, became friends, without any understanding of just what the reapers meant.
Even the empty fishtank is hers in its own way - most would have filled it simply for the sake of using it, but she enjoys the reflections the softly rippling water casts out across the room more than she would fish floating in it.
After preparing some clothing for the day, a scientist's uniform free of any insignia, a shower seems like a welcome prospect: her very absence makes the room feel colder. An absurd notion, on the regulated environment of the ship, but that does not stop me stepping under the warm, streaming water, thoughts wandering.
She had not wanted to make love last night: we simply held each other, thoughts and emotions swimming together in a deep meld.
The war will be hard on her, I know, as it will on us all.
In a way, it is my fault.
By encouraging her - perhaps even forcing her at times - to open up, to finally break the shell she had worn for so many years, every decision she makes now truly affects her in a way it perhaps might not have done so before. Her emotions, previously kept tightly controlled but let out when she needed them, as if they were simply another tool in her arsenal, are now bare for both loving and hurting.
She assured me she would have it no other way. To know partnership as we do is worth any cost, she said, worth any pain along the way.
I assured her the same. If she had not come to find me on Therum, I would be dead by now. If mother had not been embroiled in Saren's schemes, I would be living out my final days in ignorance, a foolish child, thinking my research important when the cold reality is that it was only of interest to a few hundred niche researchers.
The automated water cycle suddenly ends, and warm air begins to buffet me from all sides.
Perhaps, should we win, I could go back to that life. With no hard decisions to make, no dead bodies other than those that have been that way for thousands of years, no pain.
Something inside me bristles at the thought.
The Broker's networks hold so much. So much potential, to help rebuild a galaxy that has been shattered by war. So much knowledge, resource, power. Blueprints for technology that may be lost, stored safely in remote data banks. A galactic library. Histories of every species.
The power to make a better galaxy.
Could I simply abandon that, to live a life of peace?
Am I just trying to convince myself that I act for the greater good of the galaxy?
The thought of abandoning the Broker's networks actually stresses me. Who else could take over, be trusted to do the job right? Other than the immediate crew of the Normandy, and Cerberus, nobody knows anything about the real Shadow Broker. Feron was taken to Kahje to recover from his torture, his body and mind shattered by two years of imprisonment. None on the Normandy would want to fill the position. Cerberus could not be trusted to do so without selfish motivations.
As I dress, pulling on the smart uniform, the worries begin to dissipate. None of that will matter unless we can win. And to that end, I will do all I can to help Faith, whether it is liquidate all long-term assets to bolster resources available for the imminent war, pay for the Normandy upgrades...
Or be there for her, however she needs me.
Where is she?
Faith awoke early, as usual, gently tucking Liara tighter into the bed, before rising and showering in the soundproof bathroom.
It had been good to get the small crew together last night, the team bonding over drinks and the slightly ludicrous film. They shared an easy camaraderie, even the now ex-Cerberus members; Ken, Gabriella and Kelly, happily joining in the banter and discussions.
Having a smaller crew certainly made the ship feel a lot larger, and more empty, but she suspected that feeling would go away when the retrofits were completed: there would barely be any living room between the new armaments, shield generators and improved armour plating. But for all the tactical advantage, perhaps an equal bonus was that Faith felt comfortable with a small crew. She had never felt a particular need to justify her actions to anybody other than herself, and more recently Liara, but she knew that in general Operations workers were kept out of the loop of activities on the ground. It always bothered her: a soldier should know what they are fighting for. And while providing mission briefings to the several dozen crew members would have worked, she preferred the idea of simply talking about them to the small group.
She needed to bolster the ship's complement, however. A communication specialist. Weapons researcher and requisition officer. Shuttle pilot and mess sergeant. At least two new ground crew members, preferably one of them biotic.
She shook her head as the steaming hot water pounded into her, plastering short, dark, hair into her scalp. She was a powerful biotic.
She just did not know how to use her powers, other than the simple Throw she had been trained in by the Alliance, and the recklessly offensive and dangerous Biotic Charge she had discovered by accident as she fought the asari Spectre, Vasir.
Not for the first time, she felt a deep well of discomfort form in her gut. If Miranda were still alive, the perfect human would no doubt have taught her how to use the complex pre-set nanite commands to perform a wide range of biotic manoeuvres Cerberus had programmed into her body, so she did not have to spend months learning the correct muscle sequences as she did during biotic training with the Alliance. Training that she was quickly relocated from, because her powers were amongst the weakest recorded amongst humans, and her skills lay elsewhere.
No longer.
She had extensive reports on her powerful new body, and would study them. Train and practice, to become an even more deadly warrior. To honour Miranda's memory, her sacrifice, her work in bringing Faith back to life, to fight the fight, to love as she did now.
Satisfied to have a plan of action from the day; to begin the search for new crew members, and begin something of a biotic training course, hopefully with Liara, she quickly ended the shower and dressed into some casual clothes, pulling up her omnitool to check any messages.
Her inbox had close to four hundred unread mails, received as she slept, and her heart sank. Somehow her contact information had permeated throughout the galaxy, sold for no doubt exorbitant sums by information brokers, and spreading by word of mouth from there. There was everything from death threats to pleas for help to, of course, junk mail, burying the few important messages.
As she watched, the mails began to shift. With a rapid speed, starting at the oldest, the messages were marked "read", then moved into one of several folders, most being deleted after just seconds, those that might be of interest saved for further sorting.
Faith glanced at her chrono. It was just before 0400, ship time. Kelly was already awake, sorting through the messages so Faith did not have to.
Her yeoman worked too hard: she knew the soldier awoke early, and so tried to do this before she rose every day, despite Faith's reassurance that Kelly did not have to disrupt her sleep just so she could read her messages a little bit easier.
Glancing again at the peacefully sleeping Liara, Faith stood and vacated the room, asking EDI to identify Kelly's location as she stepped into the elevator.
Yeoman Chambers is currently in the Port Observation room.
'Thanks, EDI... What time did get to sleep last night?'
Her vital signs shifted to those associated with sleep at approximately twenty three fifty two, close to two hours after she entered her bed.
She's not getting enough sleep...
Faith disembarked the elevator on the third deck, quickly pouring a pair of coffees, filling one with milk and sugar as she left the other steaming and black, before traversing to Kelly's location, the door opening before her.
'W- oh! Shepard!' Kelly jumped out of her seat, quickly looking down at herself, then back up helplessly. The redhead was wrapped in a very fluffy, bright pink robe, the legs that poked out beneath them clad in baby blue trousers. 'Erm... I hope this is ok, ma'am, I brought it back from home, I-'
'Relax, I think we're long past dress codes.'
The soldier crossed the room, handing the milky coffee to Kelly, and sank into the opposite leg of the "L" shaped couch to the yeoman. 'If you're going to ignore me about getting a decent nights' sleep, you might as well be comfortable.'
'Thanks, Shepard.' Kelly took a sip of her coffee, then sat down as well, pushing the portable terminal on the table away to make room for the beverage.
'I mean it though. You're going to burn yourself out of you don't sleep properly. My messages can wait. Have EDI do them, if you need to.'
Kelly smiled wanly. 'Maybe I'll do that. But...' the redhead glanced down at her clasped hands, then back up at Shepard. 'I've not been sleeping well, anyway.'
'Nightmares?' Shepard prompted gently. The normally upbeat redhead had lived through something absolutely tragic; both the abduction, and the loss of most of the crew on the Collector Base. To expect anybody to come out of that unscathed was unrealistic, and Kelly was no soldier: she alone on the ship had no military training, very little experience of combat situations.
Kelly nodded. 'I... It's silly. I keep trying to think of myself like one of my patients. What I would say to me.'
'You went through something horrible, Kelly. It doesn't just go away because a psychologist says the right words.'
Nightmares were something Faith knew well. From the scent of burning flesh on Mindoir, to the sound of her men dying at Torfan, to any number of things since, waking in a cold sweat, shaking, suppressing the urge to vomit was something that plagued even her drastically reduced sleep time.
'It's a little different from the other side. I'm starting to see why soldiers don't like psychologists much,' added Kelly with a nervous giggle.
'Your own mental health is just as important as everyone else's.' The soldier took a sip of the bitter coffee, and considered her next words carefully. 'You know talking about it helps some people: my door's open, and there's nobody on this ship who won't offer an ear.' Faith looked down into the swirling black depths of her mug. 'If it keeps happening, speak to Karin, she'll give you something to help you sleep.'
Drugs that suppressed dreams were still experimental, and most caused physical sluggishness as a side effect of the deeper sleep, which was why Faith avoided them. But Kelly's job was not as physically demanding, so she was less concerned about that than she was her yeoman exhausting herself.
Shepard, I apologise for disturbing you, but we are receiving a call from the Alliance, designated urgent. It is Admiral Steven Hackett.
Both women rose to their feet at EDI's interruption, and Kelly looked questioningly at Shepard, who shrugged. The Alliance would not be calling unless it was very important, doubly so an admiral actually making the call.
'We'll talk later, ok?' Shepard felt bad leaving the conversation there, but to both of them, duty came first.
The redhead nodded. 'I... I'll try and get some more sleep. Good luck with the admiral, Shepard.'
After asking EDI to ask the admiral to hold for a few minutes - not an unreasonable request considering the ship's onboard time, which the AI had no doubt informed him of - Faith quickly returned to the loft and dressed into a formal, unmarked uniform, and planted a soft kiss onto Liara's sleeping temple before descending to the communications room.
As the image of the grizzled Admiral Hackett materialised in front of her, she had to force herself not to salute.
I'm not in the Alliance anymore, and won't go back.
A deep nervousness gripped her as their respective ship's computers calculated time lag and a dozen other variables. What could the Alliance want with her? They had made their position clear: that while she was with Cerberus, they wanted nothing to do with her. She could not be prosecuted for any of her actions, due to her Spectre status. And now that the Collectors were defeated, she had no intention of returning to the military. She would not accept their orders any longer. She could do far more on her own, than she could restrained by their command structure and regulations.
Finally the calculations were completed, and a small green light lit up in the corner. Hackett began immediately.
'Shepard. Thank you for your time.'
She kept her face neutral, and waited for him to go on.
'I'll keep this brief. The Alliance has a deep cover operative who recently reported in, saying she has proof of the imminent Reaper invasion.'
Shepard's back straightened. So soon? They were not ready, not nearly ready! 'I thought the Alliance denied the Reaper threat?'
Hackett nodded his head. 'Officially yes. I'm not ready to commit one way or the other; I know you well enough to know you wouldn't say what you're saying just for attention or influence, but so far what you've provided isn't enough to justify preparation for full scale war.' The admiral quieted for a moment, looking thoughtful. 'But whatever you're doing, Shepard, it's getting noticed.'
His face cleared, and he straightened into a parade rest. 'The operative is Doctor Amanda Kenson, and she recently reported that she found what she believes is a Reaper artefact... and that it contains proof of an invasion.'
'So why are you calling me? If she's got proof, then you need to start preparing! Ships, armies, show the proof to the Council!' Her heart began to race. Was this finally it? Could they begin preparing for this war properly? She shifted on her feet, fighting the urge to begin pacing excitedly. They could finally end the act of pretending everything would be ok, and give themselves a fighting chance when the Reapers arrived!
'Before we could extract her - and the artefact - she was captured, and is being charged with terrorism.' The admiral shifted awkwardly.
'Charged? Terrorism... where is she? Who has her?'
'Amanda Kenson is a deep cover operative, working in batarian space.'
Batarians.
She scowled instinctively, teeth flashing in the dark room, and clenched her fists, nails digging into the palms of her hands. The monsters that slaughtered her family. That plagued the galaxy with their disgusting slaving ways and barbaric practices. She tried to avoid them, where possible, for a heady cocktail of anger and fear never failed to pump through her body in their presence.
She had hated Omega, when she was forced there to recruit Garrus and Mordin, when she had to return occasionally for supplies, because so many of them called the place home. They were everywhere, begging in the streets, broadcasting their propaganda over loudspeakers, ranting about the "human plague" to bored bystanders, looking to start fights in Afterlife.
In one of the busier markets, near the famous club, some were even selling their slaves out in the open, despondent looking people of all species kept in cages as a monster actually stopped her in the street and offered a "good deal" on a pair of young humans.
It had taken every ounce of self restraint she had not to Tear. Him. Apart.
But she could not fight every batarian on that rock, and could not risk angering Aria by damaging her profits.
So she had bitten down on her cheek hard enough to draw blood, pushed him aside, and continued on her way.
'I know your feelings Shepard, but hear me out. She's been captured, and you know we can't risk sending in an Alliance rescue team without threatening all out war: the batarian Hegemony has been looking for a reason for years and that would be just the excuse they need. Between that and your obvious interest in her find, I want you to go in and rescue her. But I want it done quietly. Go in quiet, alone, or don't go at all. You've got the skills for it, and one human, disassociated from the Alliance, saving a friend, shouldn't cause any trouble.'
Is he serious?
Her breathing shortened, and she could not keep the anger from her face, feeling it pull at her mouth, feeling it literally pull her face apart into a map of deep, glowing scars.
'Let me get this straight,' she snarled, glaring at the hologram, 'I do your job for you, destroying the Collectors, saving hundreds of thousands of colonists in the Terminus, and you want nothing to do with me.' She jabbed a finger at him. 'And now, when it's convenient to you, you call and tell me you've not only found proof of the Reapers, but you want me to go in and sort out your mess again?'
She took a step forward, clutching the rail before the projection of Hackett. 'And not only that, you want me to leave behind my team, and go in alone, to save you face in case I get caught? Tell me why I shouldn't just take this information, raze the batarian facility to the ground and take the artefact straight to the Council. Because unless you have a damned good reason, that's exactly what I'm going to do when this call ends.'
It was no empty threat. She would have Liara trace the Alliance's communications using her moles there, take the Normandy, find the artefact and reduce the batarian facility there to slag.
And then she would finally have her damned proof.
The admiral said he knew her well: if he knew she wouldn't lie about the Reapers, he no doubt knew she would not lie about this either.
'You know as well as I what that would do to relations with the batarians, Shepard. We can't afford a war with them.' Hackett sounded angry: she would be in his situation. But she needed him to know where they stood.
On that, at least, Hackett was right. If the Hegemony and the Alliance got into a war, they would be wasting ships and resources against each other while the Reapers closed in.
Not that she would leave any batarians alive to report who was responsible, as her raised brow to Hackett suggested.
'And...' the gravely voice suddenly lost its business-like edge. 'Doctor Kenson is an old friend of mine, Shepard. I want her safe. So I'm asking you, as a favour to the Alliance, to do it like I want it done.'
Faith felt a horrible, deeply bitter laugh bubble up through her throat. She withheld it, but did not hide the scorn in her next words, even as a plan came to mind.
'A favour? You lost the right to ask me that when you disowned me.' She turned and took a step away from him, before turning back, and assuming a more neutral stance, crushing down her emotions. 'I'll do it your way, but I want something in return.'
The admiral's response was equally venomous. 'Since when have you become a common merc?'
She did not allow the insinuation to touch her. 'I don't want money. I'm fitting out a crew, and need personnel. I'll do it your way for three people. Three good people, like those who staffed the Normandy SR1... the best you have. I'll take care of their pay if you want, I just need the bodies and training. You can keep them Alliance, as representatives on my ship. It seems like you're at least ready to believe me about the Reapers if I find proof...'
The man nodded, face deeply unhappy and angry, but he was no fool.
'So I'm guessing you've got an idea of what I've been up to, preparing for this war,' she continued. 'I'll let them report back to you, but they'll be under my direct command. It'll benefit both of us. You can keep an eye on me, and I'll have a rapport with you this way.'
She paused, and waited for the admiral's response. He brought a hand up, clutching his chin thoughtfully. 'Three people...'
He was clearly weighing up the cost. The financial cost was substantial, but compared to the Alliance's huge budget, the lost investment of training and skills was but a drop in the ocean. But he would be taking a huge risk assigning three of his people to a non-Alliance command; any action they committed under Shepard's order would be his responsibility, the consequences his to deal with. And Shepard's current tone was likely not inspiring confidence.
But she knew from experience how pragmatic the admiral was. Despite their tense relationship, both she and the Alliance fought the same fights, and the people would do as much, if not more, good with her than with the military.
'What do you have in mind?' he asked finally.
Yes!
She had not truly expected him to accept her price. The situation must be more serious than his understated delivery suggested. Not wanting to waste any time, or question her good fortune, she sent him the three of the job specs she had in mind. 'I want a comms specialist, who can work with multiple incoming and outgoing sources to set up a war-ready command hub. Next, a maintenance worker who's happy to do mess duties, and pilot a shuttle. There's more detail on the file I just sent you.'
She swallowed, and spoke the next words clearly. 'And a soldier. A good one. N-designated, if possible. I need someone I know will keep up with me in the field.'
Hackett nodded slowly, reviewing the files ahead of him. 'The first two I can do. The last will be a problem: Our N-designated soldiers are thin enough on the ground already, and I don't want to give one up.'
'I need the best, Hackett. If they're good, they'll do more with me than they could in any Alliance op. If they're not, you'll be sending them to their graves.' She was disappointed, but not surprised, by his answer. Only the tiniest fraction of soldiers were even recommended for special forces training, and of those fewer than half even graduated N1. When she was promoted to Spectre, the number of N7s had been just over forty, with around five hundred who had graduated the program at other levels.
'I believe you. I can assign the other two without anybody asking too many questions, but I just can't give you one of our special forces operatives.' Again he raised his hand, rubbing harshly along his scarred jawline. 'How do you feel about rejects? I've dealt with a damned good soldier a couple of times now. He's brutal on the battlefield, recommended for N-training by more than one officer but I don't think he's got the right mindset to pass anything more than the field assignments. He's a fighter, made some tough calls in the field, but don't expect anything more than that.'
She considered the offer, but not for long. She would not get a better offer than that: N-grade soldiers were galactically recognised for their skill both in the field and off of it, and of the two she needed a fighter, not a leader. She already had leaders, in herself and Garrus, and the rest of the ship's crew could fill in any of the other skills they might have picked up during training.
'Ok. Send me details of the batarian facility. I'll head there right away, and do it your way. Have your people ready for pickup by the end of tomorrow: I'll send somebody to get them.'
'That's not giving me much time, Shepard.' the admiral frowned again, and she was reminded just why she could not stay with the Alliance any longer. This kind of bureaucracy would drag her down. But she wanted the soldiers on board, before the Normandy was moved to Illium. Before the Alliance could trace them, if things went badly. She would allow them to keep in touch with the Alliance, but would not let them reveal her location, intentionally or otherwise.
The location of the Alliance operative suddenly popped up on a display below Hackett's face.
'I'm moving to do as you ask right after we're done talking, admiral. Do me the same courtesy.'
The man shook his head. 'Fine. They'll be waiting at Arcturus tomorrow. I'm giving you a great deal of trust on this, Shepard.'
Shepard straightened, again resisting the deeply ingrained urge to salute. She needed to maintain at least civil relations with the Alliance, but would not be subservient to them. 'Don't talk down to me, admiral. You're not the one personally exposing yourself to death or torture on my behalf.' She took a deep breath, feeling the anger kicked up by thoughts of the batarians begin to burn out. 'But... I appreciate you getting the people for me. It won't come back to bite you.'
She took a final look up at the hologram, and stepped forward to the console. 'I'll have your friend safe ASAP.'
She cut the call.
A/N: Thank you Jay8008 and Tayg
