specialdelivery.2

SUCH BELOW IS AN AUTHENTIC SLICE OF FANFICTION.

ANY DUPLICATE DISPLAYED NOT HERE WILL BE FOUND TO BE PIRATED.

specialdelivery.2

"ARASHU'S DEPARTED"

specialdelivery.2

SASV Normandy SR-1, "Not Quite" Eden Prime

Installment 3

The expanse amounted to complete darkness. Appearing in the window above her bunk, it seemed to pass them, distinguished only by the appearance of pin lights sliding passed the sight through the glass.
Braith perched at the edge of her bed, looking up at it. She cupped her chin, lowering her gaze to her immediate surrounds, and picked herself off the bed—to head to the terminal off the interior bulkhead of her cabin.
Taking the keyboard out from the desk, she entered a command for the cockpit.
"Joker," she said after releasing the carriage return for the pilot, "…Where are we?"
"Citadel's behind us, Commander," came the response in a man's friendly voice over the inner cabin's speaker, "…You wake up only now?"
"Yeah," she kneaded her cheek—on which existed an old itch of a scar, "…Is the captain through your area?"
Fatigue was noted in her tone. "Yep," proceeded Joker's curt reply, "…Just left to check in with Adams down in Engineering…You should probably get ready soon, Commander…"
"I'm late, I know…"
"It happens."
She could almost hear the eyes rolling in his head.
"Come down, Commander. You may head him off in the battery if you're quick enough…I'll give him a heads up to meet you there."
"Thank you, Joker."
She was supporting herself on her arms, brow tilted downward as she emitted a long breath of air from her nostrils.
"…I owe you a few beers."
"Is it dreams again?" He wanted to know, his voice a little more with private concern between the two, "…Or is it the collar this time?"
She felt the metal collar on her neck without realizing she had done so.
Braith stood upright, passing fingers through her hair. "Yes and no," she revealed, unhappy to give any culpability to either collar or dreams about Skyllia and what happened there. "I'm not getting enough sleep this week. I think that's all, Joker…After the captain's content with the reorganization and new living arrangements he's requested, I should be better…Hopefully get some more shuteye."
"I have some meds you can take to sleep, Commander. They're standard ration…I know you've gone through yours from the Doc already..."
"I'll be all right," she declined, "…But thanks, Joker."
"Suit yourself, Commander. Over and out."
The comm clicked off.
Advancing with her dressing, Braith hurried to get ready to go meet the captain.
She breathed out as her bra caught on the mechanical brace supporting her spine. Removing the strap from the hook, she arranged herself upright.
She did not bother to check any mirror for how she looked.
She located her boots and put these on...Braith knew where everything went…How to sort it all together…She'd been programmed for years by force of routine and habit…
Shuttling her fingers through jet black tresses, her fingertip nicked softly upon the metallic collar she had allowed her hand, in its drift to rest on her upper trapezius muscles, to alight on.
Maybe one day soon…She thought to herself.
The emptiness she felt in her head was the result of that collar, but she knew her power was there, somewhere…
Muffled, cut off from her by the inhibitor she wore surgically attached to her spine…
Moving to the doors, she stepped through—into the Normandy's Mess, by the unlocking panels' parting for her code.

Braith located Captain Anderson inside the Battery as Joker promised she may, …Good old Joker, she thought.
She abandoned her stride and stood at parade rest just on the grill passed the Battery doors, sliding shut behind her presence.
Captain Anderson was bent above a computer screen discussing in muted tones the readout with a fellow crew member, Lieutenant Kaidan Alenko.
He straightened his back to see her as Kaidan did, acknowledging Braith with a salute to his temple—and a perfunctory blush to his cheeks—while the captain appraised her late appearance. "There you are, Commander," Anderson greeted her jovially, all aside, "…I was wondering when you'd join me on the rounds."
The old man had an easy smile…when met by her.
Braith came together with her stiffened fingers and temple—out of respect as well as protocol—then dropping her arm next to rejoin her hand behind a svelte, uniformed figure.
"We've picked up a passenger today from the Citadel," Anderson carried on, coming out from behind the computer console to join Braith in escorting her out the doors, "…Nothing to worry about," he appended—as Braith caught a look from the Lieutenant Alenko.
She arced a black eyebrow, slit through one tip by a scar of white flesh.
"A turian," heading toward his office instead of Medical—which would be his next stop from the Battery, "…This way…His name is Nihlus Kryik…" As they descended a stair, passing the long-term sleep pods, they turned right at the bottom. "He's decided to join us for a few assessments, regarding our care of the Normandy…Simple procedure per the Hierarchy's conditions, Commander…"
"'Simple procedure'…Captain," Braith intimated, "…there is nothing standard about Turians, Sir." Anderson quit her standing before the entrance—on the inside of the office and cabin space—walking toward his desk, taking a seat into his leather chair.
He produced a motion with his dark-skinned hand for her to sit in the seat on the other side…
Compliantly she occupied the opposing seat…
"Setting the door to 'Private'," he told her aloud so she would be informed, "…I've asked for quiet on the matter I'm about to share with you…Quiet of the crew, Shepard," he relaxed into their informal rapport behind the closed doors now. "No one's to speak of it inside the ship, much less without the Normandy walls…"
She sat stiffly erect in her seat.
"We've been selected," he paced himself—as if to choose his words would take some wile with Braith, "…to acquire something from a place called Eden Prime," his dark eyes among the white sclerae flicked to hers unsettlingly, "…Nihlus is required to be among our crew as a matter of…request," he applied pausingly. "Agent Kryik is representative of not only the Hierarchy, but the Council…"
"A Spectre," Braith hissed, "…He's Special Tactics and Reconnaissance for the councilors…This must be something big."
"It is," Anderson guaranteed as he cleared his desk, setting report dockets aside. Sliding out a keyboard beneath the top, in short order he pulled up a layout topographically of a big colony, which appeared in the space between them: Eden Prime.
There were ranges, lakes, terraformers over long passages of railway connecting cities to one another.
The stereoscopic hologram reflected its green glow off their faces, "…Eden Prime," "Old Man" Anderson resumed, "…A group of miners stumbled on something, something important to the advent of Humanity's climb into the galaxy, Shepard." His voice grated on, "…A beacon…One of the beacons likely belonging to the protheans, or so Nihlus—including the Council—believes…" He spun the map, it centering on a singular location—just beyond the westernmost city on the hologram.
"Is it…Is it operational?" Braith posed with wonder, staring through the visual at him.
Captain Anderson nodded.
"No wonder the Council wants 'in'," she dropped her eyes to the holo. "An intact and functional beacon could mean leaps in science and…"
"Correct," Anderson cut her off. "And will likely be an attraction to pirates, other enemies that have gotten wind of it, Shepard. We need to get it out."
"Of course, Anderson."
He leaned forward—the green on his chin from the holo intensified, and so did his gravity. "Your collar, Shepard…It will be off for this mission…We're not taking any chances."
"It will?"
"There is one other reason Nihlus is with us, Shepard…"
"Me," she voiced—with trepidation.
"You've been selected for Spectre nomination." He presented unhappily, "…I don't know why…Typically it would be considered an honor, but I feel this is tainted somehow…The Council has been notified that Nihlus Kyrik intends to evaluate you to become the first Human Spectre—ever." Braith tipped backward until she came into contact with the rest of her chair…Shocked. "I felt the same way," he pronounced—gauging her reaction. "I don't like it, Shepard…You're not Spectre material. There is nothing about you that would make you the obvious choice—Alenko should have the nomination…He is a far better selection over you, if you don't mind my honesty here."
"I appreciate your honesty, Sir," Braith meaning it.
Anderson growled in his chest. "Shepard, I'm not trying to be a jerk. I know what and who you were before the Skyllian Blitz!"
He slammed the heel of his fist into his mouse pad, then pushed back abruptly.
Standing, he began a pace-around behind his desk chair, "…You—back then, before what happened!…You would have been the right candidate for the Spectres, dammit!"
"That is the past, Sir, " she allayed him. "What's done is done…This is obviously a farce…I won't accept it—"
"Like Hell you won't…"
Anderson trained down his chin.
After a moment, he looked squarely at her face.
"In a way," he confessed gently, "…It worked out for my aim—to make you a part of my crew…But had you not done what you did…"
He held her gaze solemnly.
"…Poul would never have dropped you from his roster for the Little Bastard."
"Things happen for a reason, Anderson," she returned, a tug in the backs of her eyes. "I'm grateful you believed."
"And I have never regretted it," he declared resolutely. "This is your opportunity to prove out a new course…Shepard, don't screw it up."

*COMPOSITION IN DEVELOPMENT. EYEBALL IT FOR THE SAKE OF UPDATES LATER.*

specialdelivery.2