"This feels weird." Mycerra said to Deltano. They sat side by side, jostled by the air turbulence. "I've fifty plus hours talking to this man, and finally meeting him to talk shop feels weird."
"Just another human, right?" Deltano said in encouragement.
She chewed her lip. "Yeah. From what I've heard, he runs a tight ship at Haven 2. Nothing like Haven 1."
"Haven 1 operates exactly as it should."
"We could do things better, differently." She argued. "Doesn't help the raiders like to test us once a month."
"Which is why you can't structure Haven 1 like Haven 2. You lack the numbers to enforce the same rules." He leaned back into the seat, body shifting ever so slightly. "Two different worlds, Colton. He has Alliance backing. You have scattered remnants of stubbornness and ingenuity. The greenhouse and shuttles we repaired so far are proof we don't need the Alliance."
Their escort, two armed Alliance soldiers and a pilot, listened to their conversation.
She wished they were able to communicate over comms except she never owned a proper suit of armor in her life and Deltano's comms needed repaired after being damaged during patrol two days ago.
"I'm starting to hate that word. Need."
"I'm not disagreeing with you." Deltano agreed.
She put her head in her hands and pulled on her standard high fade haircut. The hairstylist in camp said it looked great on her. She liked it enough. "Tabitha and Diyal will be fine, right? I mean I left them well cared for. Dravis said he'd look after them like he does me and they have your people leading up in your place. Galaxy promised to be on her best behavior-"
Deltano gave her the 'quit it' look. "You can't be everywhere and everything. Breathe. Focus. Charge."
"Breathe. Focus. Charge." She repeated.
"You humans are strange. You want to save everyone, but you can't. The sooner you realize that the better off you'll be."
"Over my dead body." She shot back.
His head cocked. "It may very well come to that, Colton, if you don't realize your limits."
Her eyes locked with his a moment too long before she mimicked him and leaned back. Closing her eyes, she channeled her nerves into planning how to protect the greenhouse and building more walls for the shuttle area when they returned.
"We're here." The pilot announced to the group as they touched down in an old parking lot.
The doors opened. Mycerra hopped to her feet quickly, catching herself in time to not collide with the escort. Deltano motioned for her to follow him out of the shuttle.
She took comfort in knowing she had the M-3 and her military grade knife in worst case scenario.
She stepped out of the shuttle onto hard cement and looked at a camp in the stages of building concrete structures. A dedicated Alliance force directed the efforts, survivors staffing the operations. Not unlike Haven 1, Haven 2 during the day proved to be a ghost town outside of construction projects. Unlike Haven 1, Haven 2 appeared to be more successful in its efforts. Envy ate her alive.
"If you come this way, our medic will tend to your scans." They followed the lead escort, the second soldier following the rear. Mycerra wanted to tell them it was unnecessary to treat them like prisoners. She entered an intact building converted into a medical clinic. A quarian stopped them at the front desk, taking their names down and then scanning them.
A glass wall blocked off the front desk from the treatment areas. Medical stations behind the glass laid out neatly with impeccable cleanliness La'Quoia Schidmt always attempted to varying degrees in the less-than-ideal conditions. A 'clean' room, as Mycerra called it, dominated a third of the room and outfitted with advanced technology for surgery. Currently, the glass frosted over to provide privacy for the blurry shadows within.
"Colton, Mycerra. Civilian. Human. In database. Occupation – Politics. Leader of Haven 1."
She frowned.
"Deltano, Titus. Military. Turian. In database. Occupation – Military. Army General."
"Does that mean we're clean?" Mycerra asked, irritation creeping into her voice.
She ignored the dirty looks from the nearby human clinic worker. The Alliance rubbed her the wrong way for simply existing. No amount of politeness would change that.
"Miss Colton, you are clean."
"And my comrade?" She gestured to Deltano.
"Yes, Ma-am."
"Thank you. Where to now?" She turned to their escort.
The soldier removed his helmet. "The Primarch wanted to speak with General Deltano first."
"Good luck, General."
"You're joining me. I'm your escort and protection." Deltano informed her matter-of-factly and gave the soldier a look that dared him to contest that. "Where's the Primarch?" His tone shifted to more professional.
Their escort showed them to another building, the shell of it completed. Inside, the bare necessities of an office filled out the space. The sterility of it sent a chill down Mycerra's spine. Sure, the tents weren't secure, and sure, the sterility of the environment didn't exist at Haven 1, but Haven 1 had more character than concrete, wires, and simple furniture.
Turians, quarians, and humans filled the area. Working tech displayed a holographic map of the globe in real time wall to wall in the back of the room. Several communication consoles dotted the room with individuals feverishly working them and compiling reports. A PR group debated on how to increase morale without outright telling lies.
Mycerra had none of this at Haven 1. She hated she couldn't even claim a fraction of this progress at Haven 1.
"We'll get there." Deltano whispered to her. "We lack the resources they have here."
She inhaled. "We'll get there." She repeated numbly.
Just when she thought they advanced steps ahead of the other foot, this reminded her the other foot could destroy them in one step. Why did she try to fight the inevitable?
"General Deltano." A voice cut into her depression.
She looked up slowly at another turian, noting his tattoos, and unconsciously squaring her shoulders and standing up straight.
"Primarch Adrien Victus. You're the point of contact for Haven 1 for Citadel forces?"
Deltano snapped to attention. "Yes, sir."
Mycerra glanced at both men, choosing to stay silent.
"And this is Mycerra Colton, leader of Haven 1?" He gestured to her.
She nodded.
"Primarch Victus the highest-ranking member of the turian hierarchy." Deltano explained hastily. "He is Palaven, for all intents and purposes."
She nodded slowly. "Why are you on Earth, sir?"
"I am a soldier as well a reluctant politician, Ms. Colton. We share that, yes?" He looked at her knowingly.
Her brow lifted artfully. "I imagine that my portfolio is growing thicker by the day, sir. You are correct in that assumption. Unlike you, I had no enlistment on record. A military-like boarding school for 12 years. Best biotic tutor for five years. Seven years of training it by myself afterward. I heard much about your Cabals. It would be an honor to meet with them and compare notes."
"If any are alive, I'll take that into consideration." The Primarch said.
She paused. "I trust Earth has been kind to you."
"Kinder than the alternative of watching Palaven burn." His dual tones indicated a deeper grieving than his words presented.
"I empathize, Sir. Please don't let me take your time up when you wish to speak with the esteemed General here. He's great help. Wouldn't be here without him." She smiled toward Deltano and bowed out from the conversation and drifted over to the map.
Primarch Victus ordered Deltano to be at ease. Deltano delivered the brief report of affairs on the turians in the northern part of the city. They turned to Mycerra with her back to them intently studying the map and its numbers.
"I'm going to be traveling back to Palaven when the mass relay is repaired. The Quarians and Asari are working on it right now. The Mars Archive is an excellent reference that would have saved us a lot of time. Will you be joining us or staying on the planet?" Victus asked Deltano.
Deltano stood at ease. "I'm seeing this through, Sir. Then I will return home."
"Understood, General."
"Sir!"
"Vakarian."
"Word from London. They found Nihlus alive on the Citadel. He's at the hospital under tight guard and recovering slowly." Garrus Vakarian announced.
Deltano snapped to attention upon the arrival of Garrus Vakarian, Reaper Adviser.
"At ease, soldier." Vakarian said reflexively. "Best news I've heard since the end of the war, sir. We're going to arrange a shuttle to the Citadel."
"The casualties on the Citadel?"
Deltano excused himself from the conversation. The two men barely acknowledged his departure. He joined Mycerra in front of the map.
"What's it mean?" He asked her and gestured to the entire map and flashing, changing numbers.
She pointed out several major cities. "Reapers devastated these areas. The black spots. Negligible number of survivors reporting in. Vancouver and London…damnit. Those were Alliance strongholds." She breathed deeply.
He put his hand on her back. "Stay strong."
"I'm just thinking about the numbers- "
"Don't."
She leaned on him and hugged him. "So much death and destruction, Deltano. So, so…. much." She looked up at the map. The tears trickled down against her will. "Why? What purpose did it serve? Were we just ants to them? An annoyance? A science project gone wrong that they needed to space?"
"Sometimes it just is." He said quietly.
"It's not fair."
"Nothing's fair."
"Fucking reapers." Biotic energy welled in her hands.
He awkwardly placed his arm around her. "We'll remember them all, Colton."
"Yes. Yes, we will." She forcibly cleared her throat and wiped away the tears. "Will it ever feel normal again?"
"No." He whispered.
She looked up at him. "What was your normal, Deltano? It's not movie night, I know that."
He squeezed her shoulder. "Someday I'll tell you all about it."
She pulled away. "Let's go listen to Alliance lies." She regulated her breathing and happened to make eye contact with Primarch Victus and Garrus Vakarian. "What?" She asked thoughtlessly.
Garrus Vakarian walked off.
Primarch Victus stepped forward and held out his hand. "Good luck in your efforts."
"Good luck in your travels, sir." She shook it aggressively. "May the spirits watch over you."
He walked them to the door and their escort showed them to another building, this one in the process of having its roof installed. They advanced past several holographic stations showing the camp's layout, read outs of data flashing across holographic images. People gathered around each circular station discussing tactics in military jargon. Comforted by Deltano's presence, she followed the escort to the last one.
"Sir, Leader Colton of Haven 1 is present." The escort announced her.
Two heads lifted from the display to stare her down. She cringed from the collective attention.
A tall, thin balding man whose eyes looked like they've seen too much evil and darkness hooked onto Mycerra. He motioned her to step forward.
"Ladies are always welcome. Please, squeeze in." His voice radiated warmth.
She glanced at Deltano out of habit. "I'm afraid I won't be as technical speaking as the rest of you." She warned them.
They made room for her.
"A little cozy." She made herself as small as possible.
"Edwin Haestrom." The tall, thin balding one introduced himself.
She awkwardly extended her hand across her body. "A pleasure. Finally, a face to the voice and name." She pumped the handshake twice. "Onto business."
Haestrom made the introductions to each Alliance officer at the table. Unless the name was Hackett or Anderson, none of them clocked in her memory bank. She smiled at each person, listened to their briefings on the current situation, which cities were functional, and then they asked her about Haven 1.
She transferred the data from her omni tool to the holographic display.
"I'm not as organized as everyone here, but I know that camp inside and out. Ask your questions and if I am unable to answer, I can contact people who will know the answer. General Deltano is my security expert." She motioned behind her to the General standing as unobtrusively as possible against the wall less than four feet away. "He oversees the defenses of the camp. I trust him with my life. You should too."
"No disrespect to the General, but we want to hear you speak. Who is Hans Everhart?" Major Ahmed Ismail crossed his arms.
She chuckled. "He's day shift comms operator. Although, we'll have to add more comm operators soon. With all the relevant chatter crowding the waves these days, gathering information is easier. It should be easier than picking at the breadcrumbs for answers though." Her eyes scanned the group meaningfully. "Knows how to make people smile."
"No disrespect. His tone needs work."
"No disrespect, Major, if you got a problem with Hans, take it up with him. Otherwise, move the fuck on."
"I see where he- "
She breathed deeply and threw up both hands. "I get it. You think because Haven 1 doesn't have an Alliance leader that it isn't being run properly. Fact is not one Alliance group wandered our way after the end of the war. We contacted you- "
"I don't think that's helping." Deltano pulled her back from the table.
She unclenched her aching hands and dispelled the biotic energy.
"We'll be back in ten. After she's had fresh air."
"I'm fine." She breathed deeply. "It's fine. It's fine."
"Fresh air." Deltano told the group firmly. She cooperated with him, expected him to yell at her. He walked her out of the building and as far from people as possible. The escort stuck to them like glue, giving them a very spacious six feet in visual contact.
She tensed.
Silence met her expectations.
"Breathe." He whispered.
"Why aren't you yelling at me? Or something. Anything." She wrung her hands out.
He put his hand on her shoulder. "No one's perfect. Not even me."
Disbelief twisted her face.
"I know your pedestal grows with each week, but we all start somewhere." He whispered. "Although we should talk about your issues with the Alliance. Might become a problem if this persists."
"I'm a fuck up."
"It's finally catching up with you. Been running from the pain of it all by burying yourself in work. Taking care of everyone else but yourself. Adopting everyone because you have no one. Years of wanting something you didn't have and finally having it. Now you're worried. But you must be professional in there. For your people. For yourself. You owe yourself the opportunity to prove you're an equal to your sister, without the uniform."
His tones shifted from professional to concerned. Something else about his tones bothered her, yet she couldn't place it. She heard it, even understood it but couldn't place it. She realized she'd miss him when he did leave. Her chivalrous, professional shield – just going on with his life leaving her to deal with the politics people buried her in. The thought depressed her.
"I hate the Alliance. It was the only thing my parents cared about. The Stupid Fucking Alliance. Which couldn't even be there when it all went to hell. Who don't know how to share information."
"You can hate them. You can also swallow that hatred and move forward – for the sake of everyone else."
Putting herself together, she wrung her hands one last time and looked at the ground. Too ashamed to look the General in the eye, she swallowed hard. "So do I just say I'm sorry or…"
"You can tell him you don't appreciate him making personal attacks against your comm operator and he is to refrain from it in the future. In fewer words preferably. No swearing. This won't go away but you can smooth it over. Consider this a lesson."
She bit her lip and finally met his gaze. "Sorry for disappointing you."
"It won't happen again." He ordered.
"You're right. It won't. Because Haven 1 needs me to – to be the person that never fails, falters, or falls. Not publicly."
"Don't build that pedestal when you know you'll fall off it. Hold yourself to a standard. Be the standard. That's the turian way." He said calmly. "Are we prepared to go back in and speak with these people?"
She glanced over at the escort who refused to leave them alone.
"It's not helping we're being treated like prisoners." She nodded in the escort's direction.
Deltano followed the direction of her gaze. "The Alliance has standards they can enforce better. Doesn't mean that we need those standards or their level of distrust. We run Haven 1 our way, a way that works for us and the resources we have."
"Galaxy would have fished out answers by now." Mycerra muttered contemptuously.
"She's also five, cute, and intelligent. Best spy in the camp. Better than STG himself."
Mycerra chuckled. "Dravis stands out in a room full of humans. Naturally, she'd be more inconspicuous."
"Eight minutes have passed. We should try again." He held out his arm for her to take the lead. "We will be talking after this is all over."
"Yes, Dad." She mumbled.
"I heard that."
"Sorry. Yes, sir." She smirked.
"Better."
She swore his tones softened in a way she hadn't heard before.
Her mood shifted the moment she stepped across the threshold. She wove through the people crushed into the area, the room far too small for its purpose. She eased back into the spot Haestrom opened for her and looked right at the Major.
"I've been…. under a lot of stress lately, and I haven't talked to anyone about the stress I've been dealing with. I'm…sorry for snapping at you. It was…unnecessary. My apologies."
She fake smiled.
"Now, onward to the report you all apparently need from Haven 1. I expect the freeway of information to be open after today. I shouldn't have Hans working forensics on reports just to have a clear picture." She nodded to Haestrom. "Now, per our last conversation, Haestrom, I have a list of plans that Haven 1 will be undertaking."
She explained in detail the plans for the greenhouses, the medical clinic, the apartment complex, and the elementary school.
"Obviously, we don't have Alliance assistance or funding for these projects, but as the quarians can confirm, we have cleared the streets, a few lots of buildings that needed to be rebuilt. We protect the areas. We have a mechanic who's repairing one shuttle into perfect working order, and we have another shuttle lined up for repair. We have two greenhouses above ground. We have a third below ground, our first, one that was found in the early days. Someone's pet project. Along with a converter that doubled our crop output. The converter is helping us keep pace with the flow of incoming survivors, but it's not enough. The greenhouses are to compensate and will be an easy target by raiders and scavenger. Profiteers as well."
She pointed out the areas on the holographic map.
"Which is why when I return, we're starting construction on debris walls for both areas. We already discussed safety protocols and such. General Deltano can fill you in on that information personally. It's his baby, not mine."
"After her briefing." Deltano said to the expectant group. "She's worked days on this presentation for me to not disrupt her flow."
"Thank you, General. I appreciate the respect." She flashed the group a smile. "As we were. Population, we're looking at 1,005 people, with fluctuations of twenty people. Usually, the arrivals don't want to leave. A few we banished. I don't appreciate people who think that excluding the wellbeing of aliens is acceptable. Nor do I believe in treating people poorly. We share at Haven 1. There is no room for greed. We banished...to date…nineteen people. I have no intentions of lifting their bans or changing why people are banished. Nor do I care what any of you think about it."
She pulled up a number chart.
"We are trying to return 'normal.' So far, the efforts to instate 'normal' include movie nights, every Friday. One movie each night. Picked out by a different person each week. We make sure it's appropriate. The approval rating of Movie Night is at 99%. The 1% think that movies with violence is 'too much'. No one wants to watch stupid romances every Friday night." She glanced back at Deltano, remembering how absorbed he was in the pointless romance flick, Starlight Starbright, two weeks ago.
"Then there's letting the children and adult's embrace graffiti and art in all its forms. Chalk, paint, spray paint – whatever we can provide, if it helps, it helps. Approval rating on that is 73%. Enough people think it brings down the property values, but given that we're surrounded by rubble, I don't think property values matter. And no, I'm not joking. I wish I were."
She displayed several photos of the graffiti wall, the memorial wall, and the sidewalks littered with kids' drawings in chalk.
"Our cook has made efforts to respect all the ethnic food groups, but crops are limited. We've adapted recipes to mimic ethnic food choices the best we could. This effort is more of a mixed bag, 68% approval. Various reasons. Some saw it as disrespect, others were purists, and there were a few dishes that didn't quite meet standards. Either way, nutrient paste, made from all the crops and portioned out accordingly, is our main source of rations aside from Alliance rations."
She showed pictures of the greenhouses and their fledgling crops.
"We're currently at 70% rationing. If we absorb more survivors, we'll be strained and must drop it to 60%. The fresh nutrient paste, when combined with Alliance rations allow us to lift that number from 70% to 80%. Naturally, as the consolidation of camps continues and the cracking down on raiders and scavengers takes place, I expect the numbers at the camps will increase."
"Our medical records." She continued without a beat. "We've…lost three people. One because they gave away their rations in the beginning and starved to death. Already elderly, it didn't take long for death to knock. The other two were a mother…and baby." She caught her breath. "She gave birth to a stillborn and we didn't have the medical supplies to stop the bleeding. So, yes…three casualties, post-Reapers."
The silence broke only by someone shuffling their feet.
She showed pictures of the babies born in the camp.
"I'd like you to meet little Lamar, Mina, and Perseus. They're all healthy, resilient babies."
She flashed a picture of the entire group of kids at the camp.
"These are our most precious individuals at Haven 1. The future. The teaching VI and teachers that we do have are educating them the best they can. There was an attempt…a kidnapping that was prevented by Commando Vasa R'ila. We suspect their target was the biotics and Galaxy Portman. Galaxy Portman is a highly intelligent child, off the charts even, and the biotic children are at various stages of training their gifts. We believe this organization is behind it. They've been popping up around the city."
She showed a picture of the symbol that felt familiar to her.
"We know they're attacking aliens. We know they're pro-human, anti-alien, and they're connected. They have supplies that most camps don't. Shuttles that work. Weapons with thermal clips, so on so forth. We've been listening to the comms day and night. Compiling information, cross referencing, enough detective work to determine that they' existed before the Reapers. Obviously with more research and time, we can ambush them. Figure out what they want, exactly. We have the resources to do that."
Her eyes lifted off the symbol, her gut churning.
"Actually- "A human from the table over cut in. "You might be on to something."
He pulled from his pocket a dog tag in the shape of the symbol.
She reached out for it.
"Found it on a destroyed shuttle by the art museum."
She turned it over.
The name and ID number meant nothing to her.
"More evidence." She planted the dog tag on top the holographic table.
Haestrom picked the dog tag up off the table. "We'll launch an investigation with the authority of the Alliance behind us." He promised her.
She glanced over her shoulder at Deltano, then at Haestrom.
"Any questions?" She addressed the group. "Otherwise, my security expert will finish this presentation."
The group asked no questions and Deltano laid out their defense plan, complete with the number of soldiers, available weaponry, and defense tactics in place. He shared footage of raiders attacking the camp, the military and weapon training schedule that included most of the camp sans the incapable – physically and mentally.
"Best we can tell, the raiders and scavengers moved north predominantly in recent weeks." Deltano laid out a map of the city with dates and places marked. "The migration of people means the Alliance presence in the southern part of the city pushed them north, where there is no Alliance presence. The north, up to last week was primarily Haven 8, 9, 11, and several smaller camps with an average of 50 people or less. Two of the camps fell to raiders, the survivors fleeing to 9 and 11. We're working the rest of the smaller camps to convince them to join the Havens. No success."
Mycerra watched the table as the report was laid out. Everyone listened to Deltano, showed him a degree more respect than her. Fair enough, given that she snapped with little provocation. A small part of her believed his military service played a part in the deference shown.
"We believe, with evidence, that the organization behind the kidnapping attempt and the assaults on the Citadel races may be motivating the unification or simply using that as a distraction while they continue to carry out their missions."
"You can't be mad about this, Sierra. We needed the money."
"She was our daughter! She won't even speak with us unless it's over dinner. I don't even know where she works, Alffie."
"We knew there was a trade. You said the pregnancy was rough. You almost died giving birth."
"I changed my mind. I'm going to tel- "
"You can't. If you do, they'll come after us." Her father, Alfred Colton sounded terrified. "We signed away all the rights before she was even born. By law, we're the ones who'd go to prison. The government would deny their existence."
Mycerra snapped out of the memory.
"Colton, you have anything to add?" Deltano asked her.
She looked at all the faces narrowed on her. "No, I think that sums it up." She lied, mouth dry.
It wasn't until they returned to Haven two hours later that she pulled Deltano aside. The cook ignored their existence.
"I was born to Alfred and Sierra Colton. My sister, Pacyra Colton, was born four years before me. During the pregnancy, my mother had been in an area dusted with eezo dust. I was born a biotic." She whispered and paced back and forth in the walkway. Deltano leaned on the pantry door. "I – I thought that symbol looked familiar. Now I know why."
She swallowed hard and clenched her hands to keep them from shaking.
"I was eighteen. Freshly returned from the Hobalt's Civilian Military Preparation Boarding School. People referred to it as Hobalt's for convenience's sake. Graduated high honors. My biotic tutor wanted me to stay on and tutor other students. I couldn't watch others be abused like I was, so I left. I showed up on their front doorstep. Needed a place to stay until I could find a job."
"Colton, you don't need to give me the details. A simple answer is acceptable."
She held up her hand. "I need to. You wanted me to talk about things. I'm talking about them."
"Fair." He relented.
"Mom and Dad never needed a security lock for anything. They also never accounted for the fact I'd be home that afternoon. My job interview didn't go well. Being a biotic was scary to people and the interviewer thought I'd scare away clients. I guess they didn't hear me enter. I heard them arguing in the study. Long story short, I hid while they left for their lunch date. I found the datapad in the safe with enough credits to buy a house and luxury car. They signed a contract with the organization. In return the organization paid for my tuition under conditions."
She stopped pacing and pulsed the biotic energy through her hands.
"I was studied, Deltano, while I lived at Hobalt's. Blood, urine, stool, genetic samples. All of it. I thought it was weird as a kid, but I didn't know better. I always took more tests than the other kids. I always had different standards than them, my biotic tutor aside. I was different and I knew it. There were other biotic students there too, but I was the strongest. They took the same tests as I did. I got the sense, from my biotic tutor, that if I didn't stay, my life would become worse. I left anyway."
Her right hand cramped hard enough she focused all the biotic energy through it instead, pulsing short, less powerful waves in rapid succession.
"The datapad was a contract. A contract that said I was Cerberus property until the age of eighteen, at which time I'd become legally my own person again. Legal guardianship, as far as the document was concerned, belonged to Cerberus from my birth to age eighteen. I never knew that. My parents never said a word."
The cook busied himself, but he failed to mask his own interest in her one-sided conversation.
"Cerberus. The organization's name is Cerberus. They were interested in biotics. Government backed. I joked with Hans about them being Black Ops, but…I wish I were wrong."
"Please spell that for me." Deltano asked politely. He tapped at his omni tool.
She spelled it out. The cook placed a shot glass of distilled moonshine in front of her. She downed it without a thought. It burned on the way down.