Congregatio
"Go fuck yourself, Palmer!"
A day old potato roll brushed past Lieutenant Palmer's well-hewn cheekbone.
"Oi, not the face!" He pawed at the crumbs clinging to his five o'clock shadow. "Feeling a bit touchy, are we? You shouldn't lie to your pals, Prudence. You let us believe your first name was Bridget for nearly an entire year!" He mocked a scoff, then cracked a smile.
Fitzpatrick's ruddy cheeks flushed brighter than usual.
"Hey, hey, settle down kids. Don't make me turn this ship around," said James, striding into the Normandy's mess hall. "For your información, you were the only one who didn't know."
"What?" said Palmer.
"Prudence is my middle name, you twat."
James picked up the roll and set it down on the table. "We all call her Fitzpatrick anyway, what difference does it make?"
"Thanks, Commander," she said, still rankled by Palmer's teasing. "I'm watching you, Palmer. Next time you're out pickin' up some asari floozy or a turian guy with a human fetish, I'll be following close behind with a copy of your last Alliance physical."
"No need to get nasty now, it was just a bit of banter," said Palmer as he finished off the last of his dinner.
James sat down with his tray, wedging himself between Private Santos and Corporal Kamau, who was slotted into her seat like a perfectly upright book. Her eyes narrowed to happy half-moons as she smiled at James with closed lips.
"Hey, Corporal, how's your night going? All set for tomorrow?" asked James.
"As much as I can be, sir," she replied. "I want to do my best to help those children."
"Yeah, me too. They don't deserve what's happening to 'em, not at all." James took a bite of potato salad and grimaced as he chewed. "Being orphaned by war is enough. Well, eat plenty and get some good shut eye. Can't hurt."
"Thank you, sir. You too."
James gave her a curt nod and turned to Private Santos. "Santos, how 'bout you? You good?"
Wide-eyed, Santos nodded nervously. "Oh—oh yeah, totally, sir. I, I feel good." His fork clattered to the table as it slipped out of his hand.
James chuckled, struggling to keep the food in his mouth. "Uhh, you sure about that, Private? You seem…tense."
"I've just never served with an N7 before, sir. I'm a little nervous. I'm not sure what to expect."
"You wouldn't be here if we didn't think you were capable, Private." He clapped Santos on the shoulder. "Relax, it's not that different from what you learned in training or aboard the Aurelius. This mission's just a little more…complicated. You're probably not going to be needed tomorrow anyway. We just need to be at the ready in case anything goes wrong with Ms. Lawson's intake."
"Understood, sir."
Palmer stood up and collected his tray and glass. "Santos, you gettin' cold feet, mate?"
"Me? No. Only a little nervous."
"Look, I know I like taking the piss, but I don't mess with the Commander. And not just because he's my commanding officer." Palmer's jocular tone faded away. "This fine gentleman is knowledgeable and capable. He served under Commander Shepard, if that means anything to you. I've been serving with him for over a year now and I can say he does not take his job lightly. You can be proud to be assigned under him."
"Why, Lieutenant Griffin Palmer…" James pretended to wipe away a tear. "I'm very flattered, but I don't butter my toast that way." Grinning, he waved his fork back and forth.
"Pardon? I consider our relationship strictly professional, sir." Palmer raised an eyebrow and swaggered toward the kitchen, his shoulders swaying back and forth in a confident roll. "Besides, you're not my type anyway."
"That's not what I heard!" Fitzpatrick yelled after him.
Palmer continued walking away and swung his arm up to flip her the bird.
"Hey, what are we all yelling about?" asked Kaidan, who had just rounded the corner from the elevator.
"Nothing. These kids are just messin' around." James swiveled his head toward the corridor. "Miranda not joining us?"
"Nah, she said she wanted to review our current intel. She thinks she can dig up more records on Montrose."
"Are we sure she isn't just some AI in disguise? I've never seen anyone work so much voluntarily. EDI excepted."
"It's just her way. She does take time for herself—she's just not much of a people person. She prefers quiet conversation." Kaidan took the seat that had been occupied by Palmer. "So FYI, I'm taking off tomorrow after launch. Headquarters wants generals and above to help plan a big summit. Things are…happening."
"Ah, I catch your meaning." James stabbed his fork into a chunk of steamed carrot and brought it up to inspect it, then set it down again. "I don't know much about galactic politics, but I do know it's high time we get our collective shit together."
"Primarch Victus has already been making the rounds. There's talk of making a more formal alliance with the turians, maybe even the krogans."
"Heh. I don't envy you."
"Yeah, me either." Kaidan shook his head and stood up. "I'm gonna grab some dinner, do you mind?"
"Be my guest, sir."
A glass smacked the tabletop. James looked over to see Fitzpatrick wiping her mouth with the back of her sleeve. "Say, Commander, where do you reckon all these kids are from? Terra Nova?" she asked.
"That's hard to say. I imagine a lot of 'em haven't even been reported missing. And the ones that have—maybe presumed dead."
"Makes it too easy to get away with, doesn't it?"
Corporal Kamau, who had been staring down at her tray, rolled a lone pea around with her fork. "When my parents died in the war, my younger sister was left all alone. I feared something terrible would happen to her. But fortune smiled upon us—we were able to contact a distant cousin. I do not know what we would have done if he and his wife had not agreed to take her in."
"Nia—I didn't know you have a sister. You never mentioned her. How old is she?" asked Fitzpatrick.
"Sanyu is thirteen. Fourteen in December. She's in Cologne right now."
"You must miss her an awful lot," said Private Santos.
"I do. But I need to send money home, and she's safe there."
"I imagine it isn't easy to be away from her. But you're doing the right thing, Corporal. You're taking care of her in your own way," said James.
Kamau let a small smile slip, the wide line of her perfect teeth showing through.
Lieutenant Palmer, who was passing through the mess on his way to the elevator, stopped in his tracks. "Kamau…you showed your teeth! I do believe that is the first time I've ever seen them! They're beautiful!" He made a cheeky chef's kiss with his fingers.
Corporal Kamau pressed her lips together and shrunk in her seat.
"PALMER!" Snatching the errant roll from the table, Fitzpatrick made another lob toward him.
"Hah, missed!" He slicked the hair at the side of his head with his palm. "Some gunnery chief you are."
Sidestepping the roll on the floor, Kaidan returned to the table, his tray brimming with a motley mélange from the galley: Jamaican style curry, buttered peas, a square of chocolate cake, and an extra-large heaping of potato salad.
James raised an eyebrow. "Wow, that's uh, a lot of food. Didn't catch lunch?"
"An elite team in the field? With calorie hungry biotics aboard? You guys get the best rations out of anyone in the Alliance right now." Kaidan shoved a fork full of chocolate cake into his mouth and closed his eyes.
Laughing, James shot him a sideways glance. "You've gotta be kidding me. No way a general or an admiral eats worse than boots on the ground."
Kaidan shrugged and took another bite of the dense cake. After he finally finished chewing, he gestured to James with his fork. "So, you up for that poker game? Cash that rain check?"
Glancing over at Kaidan's tray choked with food, James wrinkled his nose and felt his mouth go dry. "Nah, I think I'm headed up to quarters. Feeling like I need an early night."
"Gotcha. See you in the morning then?"
"Yep." James stood and made an informal salute. "G'night everyone. See you at 0700, sharp."
"G'night, Vega," said Kaidan.
"Goodnight, sir," his squad replied in broken intervals.
As he plodded toward the galley, James let out a long breath and rubbed his hand over his stomach.
An effervescent plume of bubbles rose to the top of the tank, but there were no fish to enjoy it. James' stomach felt about the same—a nervous upsurge churned his digestive juices in an endless swell—but he thought he'd made a passable act of hiding it during dinner. He'd maintained a veneer of good humor and friendly banter, and even managed to choke down a few bites of food before everything went upside down.
Pacing along the length of the aquarium, he clasped his hands behind his head. Tomorrow was the start of a new mission and there was a lot at stake. What's more, their success was highly dependent upon the actions of one person. Waiting for word from her would be like waiting to throw up—you know it's coming, but you don't know when, or how bad it's really going to be. In the meantime, you're stuck feeling queasy and uneasy. No, maybe that wasn't what he wanted to think about right now.
James watched as the tiny bubbles erupted at the surface of the water. Why was this aquarium still here anyway? Shepard's thorough neglect had killed the fish years ago; it served no function beyond animating a dead world. James would have to request its removal the next time they were docked on Earth.
To him, the captain's cabin was simply utilitarian. The soft bed, the ambient music, the built in leather sofa—he didn't care for any of it. It was a place to clean up after a long day and a place to lay his head down at night. Or, on occasion, a refuge for his anxiety. Somewhere away from the eyes and ears of his crew, who, in the morning, would need him to be cool and unflinching.
The pacing was making his nausea worse. James stopped and let his arms flop loose to his sides. He gazed into the tank, catching the pale, spectral reflection of his face floating in the glass, and the glint of his dog tags. He eased the chain off his head and held the tags in his open palm.
"Lieutenant Vega! Private April reporting for duty, sir!"
"Hey there, little soldier! I mean… at ease, Private."
"Oooh! What's that pretty necklace?"
"This? These are my dog tags. They tell everyone who I am and what unit I belong to.
"I want one!"
"I hate to disappoint you, April, but you need to be part of the Alliance to get these. Maybe when you're older, you can join up and have your own dog tags!"
"Mmmm, I have to think about it first. And ask Mommy's permission! She would be really lonely if I left her all by herself. Would I be able to come home whenever I wanted?"
"Well, not whenever you wanted. But yeah, you would be able to visit home. I go back to Earth sometimes. I have people there, just like you have people here on Fehl Prime."
Had people on Fehl Prime. His mouth tightened as he stared down at the tags and squeezed them in his hand. He'd left April and her mother to die. He'd given hope to all the colonists that he would return to save them, but help never came.
A long time had passed before he could see his commander's stripes without feeling nauseous. Everyone tried to tell him the choice he made was the right one, that it was an impossible situation to begin with. But he didn't believe any of them. It had taken the words of someone he looked up to make him consider that it might be true—someone who understood sacrifice, and the pain and the loss that came with it. Shepard didn't like to say she was a hero, but James saw it. Her heroism was defined by loss and loneliness.
He slipped the dog tags back over his head and pressed his hand to them. An N7 leads soldiers into the mouth of the enemy. This is the job. Dozens of enslaved children needed their help. They had no one fighting for them, and no family coming to find them.
He was going to save those kids, and he wasn't going to let anything stop him.
James' steadfast footfall came to halt near Miranda's station in the war room. Ensconced at her terminal, she was re-reading the brief she, James, and Kaidan had authored three days ago.
He waited for her to turn around. When she continued staring at her display, he lifted a hand to tap her on the shoulder. In an instant, Miranda spun on her heels and snatched his forearm, gripping it like a sword, and sent him to the ground in a swooping arc as his shoulder collapsed underneath him.
"OWWWWWWW! Jesus, woman! What'd you do that for?" James sat up and held his shoulder as he rolled his arm around in its socket.
"Oh bloody hell! My apologies, Vega." Miranda offered a hand to help him up.
He waved her off. "It's fine, it's fine, I can get up."
"My instincts kick in when I'm focused. Just my old training coming out."
"No shit!" he said sarcastically. "Where'd you learn how to do that anyhow? That fuckin' hurts."
"It's called yonkyo. Not part of standard Cerberus training, but I had some free time. I essentially compressed your radial nerve with the base of my metacarpal." Miranda wagged her pointer finger.
"Well it's effective. I gotta learn me some of that."
"So, what's going on? Did you want to talk about something?"
Still rubbing at his wrist, he replied, "I was surprised to see you were still up, actually."
"I don't sleep much. Especially before a mission. This one's a tad risky—I want to ensure I've got all the details right. We've only got one shot at taking out the mercenary base. Everything needs to be squared away. "
"Yeah, I get that." James scratched his head. "Hey—I, uh, just wanted to say—I appreciate your help, Miranda. This would be a lot harder without the inside track."
"Intel work is what I do. I don't need any special recognition."
"So I take it espionage was a standard part of Cerberus training, then?"
"No, not for everyone. Certainly for high level operatives, such as myself." Miranda turned to face him, leaning her backside against the console. "Frankly speaking, I don't recommend it. I'm good at what I do, but having that kind of reputation has a way of….following your around."
"Yeah, I can think of a few senior officers in the Alliance who wouldn't be too happy with that."
Miranda crossed her arms. "Mmm, let me guess—Admiral Mikhailovich?"
"Heh. You've had a run in with him before, then?"
"A few."
"To be honest, I can't say I was any different. But I like to think I've put that aside."
"What do you mean?"
"You heard about my mission at Fehl Prime?"
"I have."
"I don't know if you know this, but we had a Cerberus mole in the colony. Even after we figured it out, I chose to trust the guy. It cost me." James lowered his eyes and rubbed at his wrist again. "I lost most of my squad. It cost the lives of countless civilians."
"I'm sorry to hear that," she replied. "Cerberus operated in independent cells. We were cut off from the others."
"Yeah, that's what I was told." The dimness of the war room obscured his forlorn expression. "The whole thing just fucked with me for a long time. So yeah, I had a personal beef against Cerberus. But I didn't have a leg to stand on when it came to Shepard." Absentmindedly, he twisted his dog tags on their chain. "She trusts you. That's what it boils down to. And Kaidan trusts you. So I choose to trust you."
"Thank you, Commander. I'll be needing that trust if we're going to pull this off."
James nodded. "Anyway, that's all I wanted to say. I didn't mean to disturb you."
"Not a problem."
"G'night, Miranda." Turning to walk away, he stopped. He said over his shoulder, "I guess I couldn't sleep either."
"I'd say you should try, but I don't set the best example."
"Actually, you mind company? Think I might I do the same." James pointed to a terminal a few spaces over.
"Knock yourself out."
"Thanks."
He crossed behind her and logged into the terminal, pulling up the surface scans they had on file for Terra Nova. The war room was silent, save for the light tapping of Miranda's fingers on her console and the suffused hum of the Normandy's drive core permeating the floor.
"Sooooo….do you mind if I ask you a personal question?"
"That depends on the question."
"Are you and Alenko…." James narrowed his eyes as he let his sentence trail off.
"Yes? Was there more to that?"
"An item? Dating? 'Cause last time you were here, I got some pretty strong vibes."
Miranda didn't bother to look up from her work. "Vibes, you say? That doesn't sound very specific."
"Yeah, like I asked if you wanted to play poker and you both said no. Which didn't seem that weird. But Kaidan didn't return to the Shanghai after he left that night."
James' statement was met with stony reserve. "Let's just focus on work, shall we?"
"Oh, ok. Sorry if I was being rude."
"No problem, Commander."
Turning back to his station, he smirked.