In High Governor Carter's virtual office, she, along with the state Governors of New Carolina, sat in silence around the central circular table. A palpable tension filled the Drift as they anxiously awaited news.
Fifteen minutes ago in real-time, Captain Matterson confirmed the arrival of the alien fleet in the system. He had advised her that he was going to try and communicate with them again, hoping to avert a battle.
The radio silence conveyed to Carter that he had not been successful.
A skirmish was likely unfolding hundreds of millions of miles away, an arduous one given the Captain's lack of communication. Everyone in the room understood the stakes; all but one had military experience. So she followed their lead and waited in silence.
The sudden appearance of the Adjutant finally relieved the oppressive aura in the Drift. Its presence signaled that something had happened. The High Governor found it ironically funny; any news seemed better than no news at all for almost everyone in the virtual office.
"Captain Matterson is on the QEC Emergency Lines. Shall I patch him through?"
"Go ahead, Adjutant," Carter replied steadily.
A holographic window opened, allowing everyone to see the Captain. The older man looked worn, causing Carter to fear the news.
"Governors," Matterson greeted. "Apologies for the silence. It's only now that we've had a lull in the battle."
"What do you have for us, Captain?" Carter asked.
"Not good news, I'm afraid," the Captain replied. "The alien fleet has a rather skilled Admiral. They anticipated our plan and used that against us."
More holographic windows appeared, some displaying images, battle maps, while others played videos of the battle. The bulk of them, though, were written reports.
"They split their forces into four groups," Matterson explained. "Sent three of them as recon squads, so we proceeded to ambush them. However, they were waiting for us. They got our ships to gather in a specific area, then fired upon them. We lost three frigates and a destroyer. Their fusion plants went supernova before collapsing, leaving nothing behind."
Carter felt herself freeze. Four ships lost, and it hadn't been an hour yet. "Who did we lose?" she asked, almost quietly.
"We lost the frigates USS Glenn, Jemison, Whitson, and the destroyer USS Sigurd."
"Tell me you got the bastards back," Governor Alexis almost growled.
"After their salvo, they had cleared a rather large area of the field," Matterson said. "I used that and had all available destroyers jump to the nearest enemy ships. We destroyed five of them—three small frigates and two cruisers. We also crippled two other cruisers as well."
"We only got seven of their ships?" Carter asked.
"Take what we can get, High Governor," Governor Whitman said gently, though he looked rather grim.
"Unfortunately, that's not all," the Captain continued. "The earlier skirmish was probably just a feint. Fifteen enemy frigates broke off from their main fleet, traveling at FTL speeds. Our sensors pinged them earlier near the sector that had a wide enough channel in the asteroid field before they went superluminal once more." Matterson frowned. "I believe they are on their way to New Carolina."
A slight murmur filled the room. While some governors appeared relaxed, nodding as if expecting it, Carter couldn't put up the same brave face. She swallowed, feeling a dry lump in her throat as her hands moved nervously, fingers constantly fidgeting and interlacing, wringing themselves into knots. A gentle hand patted her virtual shoulder, and she glanced to her right to see Alexis giving her a slow nod.
"We've mobilized the MI, so we'll be ready for them," he reminded her.
Carter breathed out, imagining herself letting go of all the tension she had felt earlier. It didn't completely work, but it was better than nothing.
"Captain Matterson, what is the rest of the enemy doing now?" she asked.
"They've dedicated themselves to creating a new corridor to go through," Matterson replied. "I'm planning to inconvenience them as much as I can. I've also placed a task force behind the field, just in case I'm wrong, and the enemy frigates are on their way to hit us at the rear."
"Thank you for the report, Captain," Carter said. "Keep us updated. Godspeed."
Captain Matterson saluted before his holographic screen disappeared, leaving only the data he had sent in place.
"We'll send everything to the DNI," Alexis declared. "See if they can find something to help the captain."
Carter nodded. "I'll send a copy to the White House Station and prepare the Astral Tributes for the fallen," she added. After a moment, she sighed. "We lost almost three hundred people in less than an hour."
"They were prepared to lay down their lives, Carter," Alexis replied softly. "They are heroes."
"Yes, they are," she said. After another sigh, she shook her head. "When can we expect the ground invasion?"
"Could be anytime now," Whitman replied. "I suspect they will stop just outside the planet. Maybe even scan us to see where they can land. Once they appear, our patrolling RPDs will pinpoint their location for the planetary cannons to fire at them. If we're lucky, we can destroy them before their entry."
"And if we're unlucky?" the High Governor asked.
"Then we find out where they land," Alexis answered. "And let the local governor make them pay."
Carter nodded. "Keep me posted."
Commander Venatix grumbled while scrutinizing her map. So far, it seemed the Admiral was successfully keeping the enemy occupied, considering that the commanders of the fifteen frigates reported no signs of the enemy along the way.
In the end, it mattered little to her, given the alien ships' ability to teleport wherever they pleased. She half-expected them to materialize nearby once they reached the rather large channel in the asteroid field.
"What kind of timetable are we looking at?" she asked.
"Four minutes to the channel," Drayus replied. "Then we need a minute to reorient the whole group. After that, it's three minutes to pass through the corridor and straight to the planet."
"Have the navigators double-check the pathing through the channel," Venatix growled.
"They already triple-checked, Commander," the Lieutenant Commander said, glancing at her. "You don't like this plan, do you?"
"You have a gift of stating the obvious," Venatix muttered. "When we discovered this path the last time we were in this system, I expected the Admiral to use it as a passage for the whole fleet. Not to have us act like transport ships, bringing an invasion force to the alien world without any support whatsoever!" She paused before glancing to her left. "No offense, General."
The older turian chuckled. "None taken," he replied. "It's rather refreshing to see very vocal young officers."
Drayus twittered nervously. "General, forgive our Commander. Sometimes, she forgets herself and can get rather steamed."
"Relax," Oraka grumbled. "I'm old enough to know the difference between venting and insubordination. It doesn't help that she's got a point. While I'm not nervous about going through the gap in the asteroid field at FTL speeds myself, we are about to invade the alien's nesting grounds with just frigates."
"I wish I had your confidence, General," Venatix said, sounding a little sullen. "Any mistake in any of the calculations, and we'd drop out of FTL speeds, surrounded by asteroids, and easy pickings for any ambusher."
Oraka chuckled. "Commander," he began, "if there's one thing I've learned in my whole life, it's that I can't control everything, no matter how hard I try. So instead of needlessly worrying, I'll just be ready to act when things go awry."
Venatix looked at the older turian for a few more moments before slowly nodding. She then faced him and gave a sharp salute. "I'll keep your words in mind, General," she replied.
Returning the salute, Oraka watched as she turned and concentrated on her map, his plates flexing, displaying amusement.
After a few minutes, they finally arrived at the corridor. As the whole group decelerated to a stop, Drayus glanced at the Commander, and she took a breath. Upon her nod, the Lieutenant Commander shouted the order.
"To all helm officers, reorient towards the channel! To all navigators, you have less than thirty seconds for any final adjustments! All science officers, be ready to send any alert if you detect any enemy ships!"
Fifteen turian frigates acted in unison and coordination as they all began to turn towards the gap in the asteroid field. Some ships even adjusted their elevation from their initial positions.
In less than a minute, the ships swiftly arranged themselves for their next step in the journey before promptly vanishing once more in a blink of a blue light.
For a moment, there was stillness in the cosmos; it was as it should be. Then, the turian frigates reappeared. One by one, their front thrusters deployed fully to halt their momentum as they hovered over the garden planet, at least ten thousand kilokars away.
Every open holographic window displayed the same captivating sight. For the first time, the turians witnessed the home of their enemy with their own eyes.
"It's different than I expected," Oraka commented.
Venatix hummed in agreement. The VI-generated image of the world, using the EM readings of the system, portrayed this world as a somewhat strangely deformed planet. However, looking at it now, it appeared relatively normal.
It was an azure world adorned with swirling patterns of Palaven green and sandy beige. To complete the image, a swath of white haze in the form of clouds accented the entire surface.
Those familiar with the asari and salarian worlds recognized the planet as having slightly more water than land. The continents, separated into different landmasses, would pose a challenge to their planned invasion. However, it didn't diminish the world's beauty.
"Wow," Drayus commented softly. Then, his plates shifted, and his head tilted slightly. "Is it just me, or is there something... off about that planet?"
Venatix blinked, glancing at her XO before returning her gaze to the main holographic screen at the center of the CIC Room. For a moment, she wondered what Drayus was talking about until she finally noticed it.
It was the movement of its clouds. Normally dynamic and ever-changing, they appeared almost frozen in place. This unnatural stillness sent a shiver down her spine, alerting her that something was amiss. When they finally moved, though, the motion was not fluid. Like a vidgame that didn't have enough budget to animate scenes smoothly, the clouds seemed to stagger in place.
Venatix then noticed it wasn't just the clouds. She closed her eyes, shaking her head in disbelief. She counted to three, hoping to center herself, before looking at the image again.
She wasn't imagining it. The whole rotation of the planet was just… wrong.
"What in the—"
"Commander!" one of the science officers called out. "I've spotted alien fighters! Two of them!"
The main holograph screen flickered, expelling the eerie world and revealing the silhouettes of the alien fighters. Their sleek, oval bodies, with wings slicked back like talons, cast an unsettling mood in the air, especially among the turians familiar with their capabilities.
Although reports categorized them as support ships capable of deploying drones equipped with GARDIAN-like defenses or powerful shield emitters, Venatix recognized the true menace they posed. These fighters could also launch missiles armed with deployable spikes, acting as transmitters capable of infiltrating their computer systems.
While meticulous precautions were taken to isolate critical systems, Venatix did not want to test it. Not here, not now. The fifteen frigates each carried a formidable force of over a thousand soldiers, poised for the imminent invasion of the enemy planet—the fleet could not afford to lose even one ship until they made planetfall.
"Ready all GARDIAN systems!" she ordered. "Have Rolan, Letha, and Hanae try to distract it while the rest find our landing zones to drop the ground forces."
"Yes Co—"
"Commander!" a comms officer interrupted. "Vitola is reporting something! It's detecting an anomaly—"
Both the blaring warning sound of shield deployment and the jolts of impacts stopped the Lieutenant from speaking any further. Venatix's eyes widened. "Report!" she ordered.
"We've counted two impacts! Someone is shooting at us!"
"Have all ships scatter!" Drayus ordered at once, beating Venatix to the punch. "Someone pinpoint where the attack is coming from!"
"Quart, Salur, and Sanex are all reporting they're being attacked as well! They say it's coming from the planet itself!"
"What?!" Venatix asked in disbelief.
"Planetary cannons?" Oraka said, a hitch in his tone. "Reminds me of the stories during the Rebellions. Granted," he grunted when the ship jolted again, "the Krogan's enormous planetary cannons wouldn't have reached this far out of the planet," he finished.
"Irix's shields have overloaded! The shots are becoming more accurate and more freq—they are reporting impact to one of their forward thrusters!"
Venatix growled out a curse. "Time for stories later, General," she exclaimed. "All ships, move to the planet! Make entry to the land masses. We can regroup later!"
Even under attack, turian discipline bore through as the frigates made their way to the planet. While dodging enemy fire, fifteen frigates descended towards the planet, their entry marked by a steady glow of yellow and white as they forced their way into the planet's atmosphere.
It wasn't a routine insertion. Not by a long shot. While Commander Venatix had experience leading a force for planetary invasions, she had not faced an enemy that could attack their ships in orbit. To add to the compounding problems she and her group were facing, the strangeness of the planet did not stop at just its looks.
Alarms suddenly started ringing, and the holographic displays began to turn into static noise. Everyone on the bridge began talking loudly and rapidly.
"Sensors are malfunctioning!" one of the science officers declared. "There seems to be errors registering all over the place!"
"Our velocity decreased!"
"What—how?" Drayus asked.
"Don't know, sir! Compensating!"
"Do we have optics yet?" Venatix demanded.
"Nothing yet! The radio telescope seems to be working, but the data doesn't make sense! We don't—wait. Optical sensors are back!"
The holographic screen slowly lost the static, but the images they produced looked considerably warped and darker in shade.
"What in the spirits is going on?" Venatix asked blankly.
"I got it!" a science officer declared. "VI went through the data—we're likely inside a gravitational anomaly! Warn the helms officers! We might not be following the plotted course anymore!"
As if to prove the Lieutenant correct, once all the sensors stopped malfunctioning a few moments later, Venatix's breath was caught in her throat. In an instant, she realized they were much closer to the surface, hurtling at it at a much higher speed than anticipated.
The helms officer, thankfully, was on full alert because almost immediately, the ship jerked as it pitched upwards. Almost everyone in Aricus stumbled as the front thrusters went into full burn to arrest the ship's momentum.
"Brace!" Venatix ordered, though she felt it was unnecessary. Almost everyone around her grabbed onto something as everything around them began to shake.
Venatix watched the main holographic screen, her grip tight on her handhold, as her whole ship tried to right itself. Her jaw tightened as she saw land perilously approaching, her thoughts turning to her parents and her mate before the ship finally began to slowly lift away from a crashing stop.
Once the Aricus was righted and floating safely, just a few tens of kilokars away from the ground, every turian on the bridge seemed to just deflate. Other than heavy panting, everyone was completely silent. Venatix could only look blankly ahead, unsure of what to even think anymore. It wasn't until she heard an incessant beeping that she finally regained herself and slowly straightened up.
"Report," she ordered in a rather hoarse voice.
There were a few more seconds of silence from the crew before one of the comms officers spoke up. "Uh, yes, Commander. Rolan, Vitola, Letha, and Hanae are reporting in. They've managed to stabilize but are reporting being completely off from their initial path."
"How off?" Drayus asked, finally finding his voice.
"They are claiming from fifteen hundred to forty hundred kilokars."
"We're off by twenty, sir," one of the navigators spoke up. "Whatever that anomaly was, it diverted us from the planned pathway by a lot."
Venatix shook her head. "Any more traffic with the rest of the frigates?"
"Venari has just reported in," another comms officer replied. "Solia, Vetra, Gaius, Iunio, Quartus, Titus, Valken, and Nonus have also—wait."
Venatix went completely still, feeling a chill crawl up her spine as her eyes narrowed. It always seemed bad when a comms officer just goes silent after saying such an innocuous word.
"The Irix crashed into a city," the officer finally reported.
Venatix's eyes widened.
"What?!" Drayus demanded.
"Sir, the Irix crashed into a city," the officer repeated. "They were off by fifty hundred, and with the sustained damage from the initial salvo, they didn't recover their bearings fast enough. The crew and landing party seemed to have ejected before the crash, so they are likely alive. However, I'm no longer receiving real-time updates; all I'm getting is a recorded message."
"Task a group," Venatix ordered. "Anyone nearest will need to assess the situation, and see if they can evacuate the crew and soldiers out of that city."
"Iunio and Nonus are responding. They'll make a—Commander, they just reported alien fighters appearing at their location! They're firing some sort of multiple swarming rockets! Their GARDIAN systems are being overwhelmed!"
"Spirits damn these aliens," Venatix cursed. "Who else can assist?"
"Commander, we got similar reports from the other frigates."
"Proximity alert!" one of the science officers shouted. "I'm counting three fighters appearing in our sensors! I'm also detecting temperature spikes similar to missile launches!"
"GARDIANs are picking targets! Incoming!"
An alarm blared as the ship jerked slightly, small explosions blooming all around the ship.
"Commander!" Drayus called, sounding grim. "The helms officer and navigators are awaiting your orders!"
Venatix growled before turning to her left. General Oraka looked solemn, almost resigned in a way, as if he knew what she was about to say. The Commander clenched her jaw, and softly said, "General, we need to move away from the area and regroup."
Oraka nodded slowly. "I understand, Commander," he replied. He then shook his head twice before taking a breath. "We need to establish a landing outpost. Most likely near the city where the Irix crashed. Find a clear field. The enemy fighters will most likely not allow you to land, so we'll need to jetpack out of the ship."
Venatix glanced towards her XO, who immediately understood her intentions. "Helms officer, get us out of here!" he shouted. "Navigators, find us a place to drop off the troops near the city! All communications officers coordinate with the other ships to follow our lead!"
Once everyone was moving, the Commander glanced at the general once more. "I'm sorry, General," she apologized. "I know we planned to scout the world to check and see where we could locate their leaders, but I don't think we'll have the chance."
"Like I said earlier, plans don't always work out," Oraka replied. "Let's worry first about building a forward operating base nearby."
Venatix frowned. "That will take time," she said, shaking her head slightly. "I don't want to leave good turians stranded inside a strange city without support."
"The crashed ship had a thousand of my soldiers," Oraka reminded her. "Some of the best trained in the Hierarchy. They'll hold out and wait for us. Once we've got a stronghold, we'll join them and take control of the city and use that as our staging ground to occupy this world."
Venatix paused to let the older general's words wash over her. Part of her wondered if his words were more for assurance or if he actually had such unbreakable faith to the soldiers under his command. In the end, she realized it wasn't her place to judge. After all, she had a job to do.
"We'll get you that FOB, General. That, I promise."
Mark Shepard couldn't believe his eyes.
Just minutes ago, he and his mom had been in the living room, watching a large holographic screen displaying the High Governor giving New Carolina an update on the alien incursion. There was a buzz in the DriftNet when she reported the loss of Navy ships, but the call for a general mobilization of the MI due to a suspected ground invasion sparked a planetary conversation.
Mark had thought that would be it—a waiting game to see where the aliens would land. The topics broached were interesting, from speculation on a direct correlation with the newly discovered alien artifact in Shanxi to academic theories on how each side would fare.
In fact, Mark had been engrossed in a forum debate speculating on the aliens' technology. The discussion had leaned towards whether the planetary cannons would be enough to stop the invasion when everything suddenly stopped.
For a few seconds, the DriftNet fell silent, then exploded into a frenzy. Almost everyone started posting a channel link with warnings to brace themselves.
He did, yet it took him completely off guard as his eyes widened at the horrific scene in front of him.
"—one. Everything is just gone," the local resident of the city reported, her voice cracking, her camera aimed directly at the scene of utter devastation.
Twisted piles of rubble replaced skyscrapers. The streets were littered with debris, the air thick with smoke and ash. Fires had broken out, especially near the crash site, where the alien ship lay in pieces. Mark could discern shadowy humanoid figures moving about. Some were fleeing the scene, while others appeared to be gathering together.
He felt his hand being squeezed painfully tight. Glancing to his left, he saw his mother witnessing the utter destruction of the nearby city.
It wasn't uncommon for people to describe Charlotte Shepard as an angel. She possessed what many would call delicate features, accentuated by her long blonde hair and blue eyes. While the woman was honest, almost to a fault, she was one of the kindest and most empathetic individuals Mark had ever known—and it showed.
Watching the entire scene had shaken her. Her skin was pale and drawn, while her lips formed a thin line. Uncertainty clouded her gaze, and her hand holding his was clenched tightly into a fist. Mark could even see the fear trembling in her limbs.
"I can still hear the screams," the resident choked out, the sound of agony echoing through the chaos. "It's like I'm in hell. There are people still trapped in their apartments. They sound—oh, God. Why? This is the residential district. Why would they even come here?"
"Mark," Eva called. "There's an emergency announcement by Governor Calhoun."
"Play it," Mark whispered.
The image flickered, and the destroyed city disappeared. In its place was the hardened visage of Governor Calhoun of South Charleston.
"To the People of South Charleston," he began, his voice low but steady. "With a heavy heart weighed down by the unthinkable calamity, I stand here now struggling to comprehend the aftermath of such an unforeseeable tragedy. Minutes ago, an alien vessel crashed upon the west district of Peninsula, leaving a trail of destruction and devastation in its wake. The lives that were built there, the homes that were cherished, have been shattered in an instant.
"Even in the face of this tragedy, I know we won't succumb to despair. For I know the People of South Charleston, of New Carolina. We are the People of the Frontier, who freely choose to live on the fringes of civilization, far removed from the comforting embrace of the Inner Systems. We face adversities without fear, adapting and overcoming every challenge that comes our way.
"Today, I call upon that bravery. To the men and women of our state's Militia, I ask that you stand with your fellow man in this hour of need. While I mobilize the Mobile Infantry to act against the bulk of these invaders, Peninsula desperately needs you.
"I know that the task ahead will be daunting, but I have no doubt that with your unwavering courage, compassion, and commitment, we will emerge from this tragedy stronger than ever before. With gratitude, I say Godspeed. Calhoun, out."
The governor's visage faded, replaced by the general channel hub of the DriftNet. Forums were popping up, updating themselves, though most focused on the destruction of the west district of Peninsula. Mark didn't visit any of them. Instead, he gently placed his right hand over his mother's, patting it gently as he gazed at her steadily.
He didn't need to speak. She understood.
Charlotte's face reflected a mix of conflicted emotions. Her eyes were clouded with apprehension, almost pleading for him to reconsider. However, she didn't ask. Instead, she breathed out a sigh of reluctance and acceptance. She nodded, gently moving her own left hand over his right, squeezing it with reassurance and farewell.
Nodding, Mark slowly let go of her hands as he stood up, then walked up the stairs to his room. "Eva," he called, his voice low and harsh.
"I'm sending a message to Hannah of your plans to join the effort," his AI replied. "I'm also sending another message to Dave to ask him if he will be joining. I have also gone through the local Militia Network. It seems any volunteers from Ashley that wish to go to Peninsula are to meet at the Ashley Terminal."
Mark paused to digest that information before entering his room. "Is the West Terminal in Peninsula still operational?" he asked as he began to dress up.
"No," Eva replied. "The local Militia have announced in the forums that they have set up a hub to organize the volunteers and will provide alternative transportation."
"Thank you," Mark grunted as he put on his tactical belt, holstered his blaster, and checked on the power cells before placing them into their respective pouches.
As he grabbed his tactical vest, Eva spoke up. "Incoming call," she said. "It's from Hannah."
"Connect it," he replied.
"Mark?" Hannah's voice came through. "I've got your message. Be careful out there, okay?"
"I will," Mark said as he wore his vest. He moved to his study and checked his rifle and magazines. "Everything alright there at Summerville?"
"So far," Hannah replied. "There are no alien ships in our skies, at least. I can't say the same thing about the people at Oakhaven. I heard the aliens are landing nearby there, and the South Charleston MI has deployed in that location. How about in Ashley?"
"Dad said he saw two of the alien ships earlier," Mark said, pulling the charging handle of his rifle, checking the inside of the barrel. "They were far, though, and being chased by missile fighters. Still, he wore his armored suit and began patrolling the fields, just in case."
"I hope none of them reach us."
There was a slight hesitation in her voice that made him pause as he was filling his vest pouches with magazines. "Hannah, what's wrong?" he asked.
"Barbara wanted to help," she said in a worried tone. "She's piloting a transport ship to assist with the Militia logistics."
"I'll see if I can look out for her," Mark said as he slung his rifle across his chest.
"Don't make it obvious," Hannah responded with a small, worried chuckle. She then breathed out. "I know she'll be fine. And I'll be there in spirit, at least. I'll be connecting to DriftNet and assisting with data analysis. There's so much to sort through in the Peninsula network. Anyway, just be careful, okay? Love you."
"I will. Love you, too."
Mark descended to the living room and found his mother standing near the door, her hands nervously clasped together. After kissing her on the cheek goodbye, he left the house with steady steps, making his way toward his father, who stood ready and gazed at the fields.
The armor worn by the older Shepard resembled the powered combat suits worn by Armored Marines, although it was likely technologically a generation behind. As far as Mark could remember, his father purchased it directly from the same firm that manufactured them for the MI after his second tour, though he had to upgrade the software to his liking.
Evidently, the non-military versions were considered too 'safe' for his father's taste. They had too many limitations imposed on their servomotors and hydraulics, designed to ensure the safety of those who hadn't been extensively trained to use the combat suit.
Armed with his own M500, which he also bought along with the suit, Benjamin Shepard wouldn't have looked out of place among other Armored Marines.
Except for the color.
Mark still had no idea why his dad insisted on painting the whole thing silver and white. With the armor adding six inches of height and four inches of width, it made him stand out like a marble statue, contrasting with the more subdued, natural hues of brown and green in their surroundings.
"Are you going somewhere?" Benjamin asked when he noticed Mark's approach.
"An alien ship crashed on Peninsula," Mark answered. "They asked for help."
The older Shepard frowned. "Stay safe. Don't do anything reckless."
"You too. Keep Mom safe."
With nothing else needing to be said, Mark walked away, heading to the bus stop.
A stillness lingered in the air, a subdued mood that the young Shepard hadn't even noticed until a bus finally arrived, revealing Will. The usually cheerful expression on the man's face had been replaced by a blank, still look. He also wore a protective vest, with a blaster holstered at the center for easy access, prepared in case of an attack.
When the bus operator saw Mark, his stoic demeanor transformed into a grim one. "Ashley Station?" he asked.
"Yeah," Mark replied, pressing his palm on the payment tablet.
The bus operator paused for a second, confirming the transaction, before motioning for him to take a seat. "We'll be there soon."
"Thanks, Will."
Mark moved toward the back of the bus, pausing when he realized all the other passengers were dressed similarly—armed with weapons and wearing tactical gear. They greeted with simple words or nods; no one was in the mood for a chat. Mark joined in on the silence as the bus levitated and flew to its destination.
"We've arrived," Will declared as he finally made a stop. Mark felt his stomach roll in on itself as one by one, every passenger began to stand up to disembark. Before the first passenger could exit, the bus operator grabbed their attention when he said, "Take care of yourselves, alright?"
That broke the mood somewhat. Everyone stood still for a few moments before the passenger nearest the exit gave Will a small smile and a thumbs up.
When it was Mark's turn, he glanced at Will one last time, nodding. "Be seeing you," he said.
"Yes, sir."
The young Shepard smiled, realizing that Will remembered his promise. He then absently waved goodbye as he followed the man in front of him, assembling into a line.
The Ashley Station parking area was bustling with activity, the Militia having set up tents and cordoned passages to keep everything organized. There was a spattering of conversation everywhere, mostly subdued, allowing Mark to separate different conversations. Some discussed what had happened in the western district of Peninsula, while others seemed more personal, talking about family or loved ones in the city.
Mark could also hear the slight hum emitted by the presence of transport ships. A few arrived behind the organizer's main tent, hovering momentarily in the air. These were mediships—sleek vehicles with two forward wings curving downwards and a jutting, boxy rear that typically served as an emergency medical room for stabilizing patients before transporting them to hospitals.
If Mark had to guess, they had cleared space to enhance transport capacity.
One of them hovered in place, and an orange light emitted from the ship. One by one, people ascended to it, with crew members standing at the boarding-departure ramp, assisting those within reach. Once loaded up, the orange glow faded, and the mediship climbed high enough to resemble a small marble before disappearing as it made its jump.
Even with how busy everything seemed, or how many people were present, things went smoothly. It didn't take long until Mark arrived at the organizer's table. On the other side was an older woman holding a tablet, her fingers sliding on the glass before she glanced up at him. She blinked, then frowned.
"Name and cert level?" she asked.
"Mark Shepard, Twenty," he replied.
She studied him, eyes narrowing as if she didn't believe him. "ID?" she asked.
Mark didn't need to tell Eva, as the woman's tablet beeped. She gave him one final suspicious look before looking down at her tablet. After a moment, she blinked and shook her head.
"Sorry about that," she said. "Some underaged kid tried to get through here."
"No worries," he replied with a nod. "I guess the governor tugged on those heartstrings pretty well, huh?"
"A little too well, if you ask me," she muttered before shaking her head then coughing. "Anyway, let's see… given your extensive training, I'm confident that you would be a valuable addition to the First Squad under Militia Commander Reynolds. They could use the help as they are currently short-handed."
"The First Squad?" Mark inquired.
The organizer nodded. "They're tasked with going deeper into the city, nearer to the crash site," she explained. "With your cert level, you're qualified for urban combat scenarios. The rest of the squad should be around the same level."
Mark blinked before asking, "Are the First acting as scouts or vanguards?"
The organizer shook her head. "Right now, the Militia has been assigned to rescue operations," she said. "Find people trapped in buildings and get them out. Simple, right? The problem is that there are multiple reports indicating many aliens near the crash site, probably looking for their own survivors."
He frowned. "Basically, they could force a confrontation."
"Exactly," she agreed with a nod. "If you're not comfortable with that, I'm sure you'll be welcomed by the Third or Fourth Squads. Same duties, just further away from the crash site."
He paused for a moment, the frown still present on his face before he sighed. "How short-handed are they?" he asked.
"Enough to delay their rescue operations," she replied.
"I'll take the First, then," Mark said.
"You sure?" the organizer asked. "It's your first real deployment. I wouldn't blame you for opting for somewhere safer, at least for now."
Mark hesitated, his gaze distant for a moment. "I came to help," he finally replied. "And that's what I'm going to do. Where do I go from here?"
"Loading bay G," the organizer answered as she typed on her tablet.
A second later, Eva advised Mark that she received coordinates to the location. He closed his eyes to see a mental image of where to go.
"Got it," he said as he opened his eyes.
The organizer nodded. "I also suggest downloading the latest translation packet for the alien language," she added.
"Language packets labeled 'turian' have been downloaded as well," Eva announced.
"Thanks," Mark replied, acknowledging both his AI and the organizer. "I'll be on my way."
"Good luck and stay safe."
Mark nodded before leaving. Moving through the cordoned area, he finally reached the makeshift loading bays, which had been a parking space for the terminal. There, everyone else was waiting for their transport.
He tightened his hold on the rifle as he carefully navigated through the heavily populated area. The air was filled with nervous energy, with everyone around him displaying expressions of fear mixed with determination etched on their faces.
The tragedy weighed on everyone, and anger simmered just beneath the surface. Mark understood why. Everyone had known there was an invasion coming. They just didn't expect an alien frigate to come crashing down in the residential area of Peninsula.
So the Militia came in droves. Apparently, even those not of age were attempting to join. Mark wasn't naive enough to believe the Militia organizers could stop them all. While the idea of kids rushing toward danger was disturbing, the sentiment of everyone around him wanting to help was undeniably awe-inspiring.
As Mark passed by, he observed the uniformed platform marshals diligently tallying the Militia members. They efficiently organized them into groups of fifteen, directing each group to walk up to makeshift platforms marked by squares drawn from white tape on the floor. The members donned their brave faces, standing at the ready as they awaited transport.
That was why it felt jarring to Mark when he arrived at loading bay G, finding it almost empty. Mark counted fifteen people—including himself, all standing in a disciplined row, plus the marshal standing in front of them.
The volunteers were all notably older than him, making him feel out of place. Judging by their questioning glances, they felt the same. No one spoke their thoughts, especially with the marshal in front of them, looking rather resigned.
"Well," he began with a slight frown, "at least we finally got a group that will fill up the ship this time."
Apprehension washed over Mark. That didn't bode well. "Not many volunteers for the First?" he nervously inquired.
"There aren't many Militia with certifications above seventeen in Ashley," the marshal replied with a shrug. "Look at it this way, gentlemen. You're the cream of the crop. Now, all of you, here's your chance to turn around. Commander Reynolds would rather have fewer numbers than less commitment. Any takers?" He scanned the group before fixing his gaze on Mark. "How about you, babyface? It's not too late to go somewhere else."
Taking a calming breath, Mark closed his eyes for a few seconds before shaking his head. "There are people in need," he replied, meeting the marshal's gaze. "I can help."
Mark felt a slap on his left shoulder. Turning, he saw the man beside him with a toothy grin. "Big guts for a pretty boy," he said.
"Told you to stop gaying up the place, Wallace!" someone in the back shouted.
"I wouldn't know, Jayne!" Wallace shot back. "I ain't the one here with a girly name!"
"Fuck you say?!"
Laughter erupted from the group, and that infectious camaraderie eased Mark's tension. Despite the apprehension he had been feeling about their lack of numbers, he realized wasn't alone. It almost seemed silly that all it took was two men insulting each other for him to understand that.
"Transport's here!" the marshal shouted, commanding everyone's attention.
The mediship's hum finally registered with the group, prompting them to look up. Hovering above was their ship, the front ramp sliding open, revealing a trio of crew members waving down at them. Someone waved back, sparking another round of chuckles.
"Gather up on the platform!" the marshal ordered. Once everyone had assembled on the makeshift platform, he said, "The gravity tube is about to be deployed! Does everyone know what to do?"
"Yeah, we got it," someone besides Wallace replied, and everyone else piped up while nodding.
"Then you're all cleared to go," the marshal declared, giving everyone a solemn nod. "Godspeed, gentlemen."
As the marshal finished, an orange light washed over the platform. One by one, group members floated upwards, reaching towards the assisting crew members near the open ramp. Mark was the last one brought in, the ramp closing behind him.
One of them looked up. "We're clear!" he declared.
As the mediship ascended higher, Mark was led deeper into the cargo bay area, where metallic seats awaited. Everyone else had already taken their places. Spotting Mark, someone near the rear left side motioned for him to join. He indicated the last available seat, one that offered a small window.
The mood was brighter here than on the ground. There was more chatting, joking, and laughter. It remained subdued, but for Mark, it was enough. They were likely heading into the fire; every bit of comfort counted.
From there, Mark watched the terminal shrink beneath them. The tents and bustling people faded until all he could see were the farm fields of Ashley. He didn't want to imagine how he would feel if the aliens crashed their ship into this place, his home.
Then, when the ship jumped, the whole scenery disappeared, along with his doubts.