The Bridge Between
Chapter 9: Small Steps Forward
1158 hours, December 22th, 2186 CE
Deck 1, War Room, the SSV Orizaba
The holographic image of Primarch Victus flickered before Admiral Hackett, the turian's mandibles twitching with barely contained frustration. Even through the blue-tinted projection, Hackett could see the exhaustion etched into the Primarch's features—the same bone-deep weariness that had settled into every survivor's face since the Crucible fired twelve days ago.
"Another day without answers, Admiral," Victus said, his dual-toned voice conveying an entire species' uncertainty. "My people are growing restless. They want to know when they can return home, when they can begin rebuilding Palaven."
Hackett absently traced the familiar scar on his face as he considered his response. The war room of the Orizaba was empty save for him and the QEC operator who stood at a respectful distance, giving the leaders their privacy while maintaining the connection.
"I understand your frustration, Primarch. Believe me, I do." Hackett's gravelly voice resonated in the dimly lit chamber. "But the situation remains unchanged. The Crucible's energy wave didn't just target the Reapers—it corrupted any system containing Reaper-based code."
Within the confines of his projection, the Primarch began to pace. "And that includes our FTL drives. Yes, you've explained this before." His mandibles clicked in agitation. "What I need is a timeline, Hackett. Something I can tell my soldiers who are packed into ships designed for weeks of deployment, not months."
The admiral's gaze shifted to the tactical display behind Victus's projection. It showed their current position—a vast armada of ships from every species, drifting through the void. The display's edge showed a small blue dot representing Sol, impossibly distant without functioning FTL drives.
"Our best estimate puts us approximately a quarter light-year beyond the Charon relay," Hackett said, the words tasting bitter in his mouth. "With functioning FTL drives, we'd be home in less than an hour. Without them..."
"Decades," Victus finished, his voice hollow. "Decades of conventional travel."
The silence between them stretched, filled only by the soft hum of the Orizaba's systems. Hackett had given this same explanation to every fleet commander, every dignitary, every desperate officer seeking answers. The words never got easier to say.
"My engineers report that we're still weeks away from even attempting an FTL test," Hackett continued. "The Crucible's energy signature was... unprecedented. It targeted anything with Reaper code signatures embedded in the systems. Unfortunately, that includes technology we've been using since the discovery of the Mars archives."
The Primarch ceased his movement, fixing Hackett with sudden intensity. "And what of Shepard? Any word?"
The admiral's jaw tightened. The question he dreaded most. "No. Nothing concrete." He turned toward the viewport, where Earth's star was nothing more than a distant point of light among countless others. "Without the comm buoy network, we can't establish contact with Earth or any other homeworld. We're operating on emergency protocols, ship-to-ship communications only."
"She deserves better than this uncertainty," Victus said softly. "We all do."
Hackett nodded, vulnerability briefly crossing his weathered features. "Hannah—Rear Admiral Shepard—asks me the same question every day. I have nothing to tell her, nothing to ease a mother's fear."
The mention of Shepard's mother seemed to soften Victus's demeanor. "I've met Rear Admiral Shepard several times during our war planning. She has her daughter's strength."
"She does," Hackett agreed, his voice rough with emotion he rarely displayed. "And she'll need every ounce of it in the days ahead. We all will."
The turian's mandibles flared slightly—an expression Hackett had come to recognize as thoughtful consideration. "The real challenge won't be the technical problems, Admiral. It will be maintaining the alliances we've forged under fire. Peace is always more difficult than war."
"Agreed," Hackett said, straightening his uniform in an unconscious gesture. "Which is why I've scheduled a summit with all fleet commanders tomorrow, aboard the Orizaba. We need to establish clear protocols for resource sharing, medical priorities, and security measures."
"A wise precaution," Victus nodded. "My people will cooperate fully. The lessons of the Reaper War cannot be forgotten so quickly."
Stepping closer to the QEC projector, Hackett's face was illuminated by its blue glow. "Primarch, I want to be clear about something. The Alliance remains committed to the agreements we made during the war. Your people will not be abandoned, regardless of how long repairs take."
The turian leader shifted his posture, military precision returning to his stance. "The Hierarchy honors its commitments as well, Admiral. My engineers are already coordinating with yours. If there's a solution to be found, we'll find it together."
Both leaders fell silent, the weight of their responsibilities momentarily overwhelming. Through the viewport beyond the holographic display, the stars shone coldly, indifferent to the plight of the beings who had sacrificed so much to save them.
"We defeated the Reapers, Primarch," Hackett finally said, his voice carrying the hard-earned confidence of a veteran commander. "We'll solve this problem too."
Victus's expression softened—the closest thing to a turian smile Hackett had seen in weeks. "Indeed we will, Admiral. The alternative is unacceptable."
As the QEC connection began to fade, Victus raised his three-fingered hand in a gesture that bridged their cultural differences. "Until tomorrow's summit, Hackett. And... thank you. For everything."
The hologram flickered out, leaving Hackett alone in the war room. He turned to the viewport, his eyes finding the faint star that was Sol—that was home.
"We're coming," he whispered to the distant light. "Just hold on."
1743 hours, December 22th, 2186 CE
Deck 16, Engineering Labs, the SSV Orizaba
The fluorescent lab lights illuminated the cramped engineering space, creating stark silhouettes as Emily Cain unwrapped her ration pack. The smell of reconstituted chicken and vegetables—a generous description at best—filled the small area where she and Sparky had set up an impromptu dinner.
"You know," Emily said, poking at the gelatinous mass with her fork, "I'm starting to think the Reapers weren't trying to harvest us. They just got a taste of Alliance rations and decided to put us out of our misery."
Sparky snorted, nearly choking on her own meal. "Bloody hell, Em! Don't make me laugh when I'm trying to swallow this muck." The red-headed engineer wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "Though I reckon you're not far off. My gran's Christmas pudding could've been classified as a weapon of mass destruction, and it still had more flavor than this."
A smile crossed Emily's face, grateful for the momentary levity. These quiet moments had become precious commodities since the Crucible fired and the galaxy went silent. No mass relays. No FTL communications. Just the vast, empty silence of space and the gnawing uncertainty of what remained of Earth—of home.
"At least the coffee's decent," Emily offered, raising her mug in a mock toast.
"Small mercies," Sparky agreed, clinking her own mug against Emily's. "Though I'd trade it for a proper brew in a heartbeat."
Her gaze drifted to the star charts displayed on the nearby terminal. The calculations and trajectories were becoming all too familiar—futile attempts to plot a course back to Earth without functioning FTL capabilities. The Orizaba and the remnants of the Fifth Fleet had been stranded in this system for weeks, too far from Earth to reach it with conventional propulsion.
"My dad always said the Alliance would find a way," Emily said softly, her thoughts drifting to Geneva. "No matter how bad things got."
Sparky's expression softened. "Your old man's not wrong there. We're proper stubborn, us humans."
Before she could respond, the lab doors hissed open with a pneumatic wheeze, and Ryan O'Connor burst in, his red hair disheveled and his eyes wild with excitement. He clutched a datapad in his hand like it contained the secrets of the universe.
"I've bloody done it!" he announced, breathless and flushed.
Emily and Sparky exchanged confused glances.
"Done what exactly?" Sparky asked, setting down her fork. "And have you slept at all in the past two days? You look like something the cat dragged in, mate."
Ryan ignored the comment, thrusting the datapad between them. "The Kodiak shuttle drives. I've rewritten the damaged code segments and bypassed the safety protocols." His words tumbled out in a rush. "We can get the FTL drives operational again!"
Her heart skipped a beat as she took the datapad, scanning the lines of code. With a background in communications, she understood the basics, but the intricacies of drive core programming were beyond her expertise.
"Ryan, is this... legal?" she asked, brow furrowing as she scrolled through the modifications.
"Legal? Probably not. Genius? Absolutely," he replied with a crooked grin. "Look, the safety protocols were hardcoded to shut down when the Crucible fired. But if we bypass them and manually override the core containment parameters..."
Sparky snatched the datapad, her green eyes darting across the screen with practiced efficiency. "Bloody hell, O'Connor. This is either brilliant or suicidal." She tapped through several screens, muttering calculations under her breath. "The power draw would be enormous, and the heat buildup would be—"
"Manageable," Ryan cut in. "For short jumps, at least."
A spark of hope ignited in Emily's chest. "Could we reach Earth?"
Ryan's expression fell slightly. "Not with the Kodiaks. The cores are too small, the containment fields too weak. We'd burn them out halfway there."
"But the principle is sound," Sparky mused, still studying the code. "If it works for the shuttles, we could scale it up for the main drive cores."
"Exactly!" Ryan exclaimed, pointing at her triumphantly. "It's proof of concept. If we can get even one shuttle making FTL jumps again..."
Jumping to her feet, Emily nearly knocked over her half-eaten dinner. "We need to show this to Admiral Hackett. Now."
"Whoa there," Sparky cautioned, raising a hand. "This code breaks about seventeen different Alliance regulations. We can't just waltz into the Admiral's quarters with it."
"But it works?" Emily pressed, her blue eyes intense.
Sparky hesitated, then nodded. "In theory, aye. The math checks out. But we'd need to test it first, and even then—"
"Then test it," Emily insisted. "How long would you need?"
Ryan and Sparky exchanged glances, having one of those silent conversations that only engineers who'd worked together for years could manage.
"Two hours," Sparky finally said. "We can have a demonstration ready in two hours. But Em, don't get your hopes up too high. This is just a first step."
With a determined shake of her head, Emily's lips formed into a smile. "A first step is all we need. If we can make even one FTL jump, that means we can start finding our way back. We can start looking for survivors."
For the first time in weeks, something other than the crushing weight of uncertainty filled her. The galaxy had gone dark, but they might just have found a way to light a candle in that darkness.
"I'll prep the test shuttle," Ryan said, already heading for the door. "Sparky, I need you to recalibrate the core containment fields."
"On it," Sparky replied, gulping down the last of her coffee before following him.
Watching them go, Emily's mind raced ahead to what this could mean. If they could restore FTL capability, even in a limited capacity, they could begin the long journey home. They could start searching for the countless ships that had been scattered across space when the Crucible fired.
They could start finding out who had survived.
With one more glance at the star chart, at the tiny blue dot that represented Earth, it no longer seemed quite so impossibly far away.
2032 hours, December 22th, 2186 CE
Deck 2, Strategic Operations Center, the SSV Orizaba
Emily's heart pounded in her chest as she stood at attention in the operations center of the SSV Orizaba. The air felt thick with anticipation, the weight of the moment pressing down on her shoulders. Admiral Hackett's piercing blue eyes scanned the datapad O'Connor had handed him, his weathered face betraying no emotion as he absorbed the information. Beside him, Rear Admiral Hannah Shepard maintained a similar composure, though Emily thought she detected a flicker of something—hope, perhaps—in the older woman's eyes.
The silence stretched uncomfortably. She resisted the urge to glance at her companions. O'Connor stood ramrod straight beside her, his usual fidgeting notably absent in the presence of not one but two admirals. On her other side, Sparky maintained her professional demeanor, though Emily knew her well enough to sense the chief engineer's barely contained excitement.
"So," Hackett finally said, his gravelly voice filling the room, "you're telling me you've managed to get the Kodiak shuttle drives operational again." It wasn't a question.
"Yes, sir," O'Connor replied, his Irish accent more pronounced under pressure. "The code modifications bypass the drive core protocols that were damaged when the Crucible fired. It's not pretty, but it works."
"We've run three successful simulations," Sparky added. "The drive core stabilizes within acceptable parameters."
Hackett looked up from the datapad. "And how long until this fix can be applied to the ship's main FTL drive core?"
The question caught them off guard. She saw O'Connor's confident expression falter.
"That's... that's a different beast entirely, sir," he stammered. "The Kodiak drives are simpler systems. The dreadnought's core has exponentially more complex safety interlocks and—"
"What Ensign O'Connor is trying to say," Sparky interjected smoothly, "is that scaling this solution to a vessel of the Orizaba's size would require significant additional work. We're looking at weeks, possibly months of code rewriting and testing."
Hackett's expression darkened slightly. A knot formed in Emily's stomach. Had they disappointed him? Had they failed to—
"Well done."
The voice came not from Hackett but from Rear Admiral Shepard. Hannah stepped forward, a smile warming her stern features. "This is exactly the breakthrough we've been waiting for."
She turned to Hackett. "Steven, this means we can leave the ship."
Hackett raised an eyebrow. "The Kodiaks don't have the range to reach Earth."
"No," Hannah agreed, "but we're close enough to send one to investigate the Charon relay."
The room fell silent. Her pulse quickened at the mention of the relay. No one had been able to determine if the mass relays had survived the Crucible's energy wave.
Hannah continued, "Our allies are growing increasingly desperate to return to their homeworlds, Steven. Knowing whether the relay is operational—even if it's bad news—would at least give us a clearer picture of our situation."
Hackett's expression shifted as he considered her words. "How long would it take a Kodiak to reach the relay and return?"
Sparky stepped forward, quickly calculating. "The Charon relay is approximately twenty-two hundred light-hours from our current position. With the modified FTL drives operating at seventy-five percent efficiency, we're looking at about fifteen hours each way, plus time for reconnaissance and potential complications..." She paused. "Thirty-one hours total, give or take, sir."
Hackett nodded slowly, his tactical mind clearly weighing the risks and benefits. "I'm meeting with the fleet commanders tomorrow morning to discuss our long-term survival strategy. I suspect each species will want to send one of their own on this mission." He turned to Emily. "A Kodiak can accommodate how many?"
"Twelve human-sized passengers maximum, sir," she replied promptly. "Though that would be cramped for an extended mission."
"Very well." Hackett straightened, decision made. "Lieutenant Cain, I want you ready to depart at 0600 on December twenty-fifth."
"Yes, sir," she responded, trying to keep the surprise from her voice. Christmas morning. Somehow, that detail made the mission feel even more significant.
He turned back to the engineers. "O'Connor, Robertson—one of you will accompany Lieutenant Cain. Decide between yourselves who goes and who stays to continue work on the Orizaba's drive core."
"Sir," the lieutenant ventured, her voice steadier than she felt, "what exactly will we be looking for at the relay?"
Hannah Shepard answered, her voice carrying the weight of experience. "Damage assessment, primarily. We need to know if the relay is intact, if it's powered, if there are any signs of activity. The relays were built by the Reapers—we don't know how the Crucible affected them."
"This is reconnaissance only," Hackett emphasized. "No heroics. Get in, gather data, get out. Understood?"
"Yes, sir," Emily acknowledged, trying to keep the tremor of excitement from her voice.
"Dismissed," Hackett said.
As they turned to leave, Hannah called out, "Lieutenant Cain, a moment."
She paused, motioning for Sparky and O'Connor to go ahead, then approached the Rear Admiral with measured steps.
Hannah's eyes—so much like her daughter's—studied her with a mother's perceptiveness. "This is an important mission, Lieutenant. More important than you might realize."
"I understand, ma'am."
Hannah shook her head slightly. "No, I don't think you do. The entire fleet is holding its breath. Twelve days without FTL travel has everyone on edge. What you discover at that relay could determine whether morale holds or breaks."
The lieutenant swallowed hard. "No pressure then, ma'am."
A smile ghosted across Hannah's lips. "You'll do fine. Just remember—facts, not hopes. We need to know what we're dealing with, not what we wish we were dealing with."
"Yes, ma'am. I won't let you down."
Hannah's expression softened almost imperceptibly. "This isn't about me, Lieutenant. It's about all of us." She paused. "My daughter would have volunteered for this mission in a heartbeat."
The mention of Commander Shepard sent a chill down Emily's spine. The hero of the galaxy, missing since the Crucible fired. The woman who had saved them all, at a cost no one yet fully understood.
"That's... quite a comparison, ma'am."
"It wasn't a comparison," Hannah replied, her voice gentle but firm. "Just an observation. Go prepare, Lieutenant. The twenty-fifth will be here before you know it."
With a swift salute and nod, Emily headed toward the exit. She found Sparky and O'Connor waiting for her outside the command center. The corridor was mercifully empty, allowing them a moment of privacy.
"Well?" O'Connor asked, his earlier composure giving way to barely contained excitement. "What did the Rear Admiral want?"
She shook her head, still processing Hannah Shepard's words. "Just... advice, I suppose."
"So," Sparky said, cutting to the chase, "which one of us gets to go joy-riding to the relay with you?"
O'Connor and Sparky exchanged glances. The internal debate played out on both their faces—the engineer's desire to explore battling with the responsibility to continue their work here.
"I ought to remain behind," Sparky ultimately declared, though Emily detected the hesitation in her tone. "You're the Lead; I'm merely chief engineer. I can hang back and manage the team's efforts on the main drive core."
O'Connor looked torn. "I wrote the bloody code. Maybe I should—"
"Which is exactly why you should go," Sparky interrupted. "If something goes wrong with the shuttle's drive, you're the one who can fix it." She punched him lightly on the shoulder. "Besides, you deserve it. This was your breakthrough."
O'Connor's face lit up. "You're sure?"
"Don't make me change my mind, you cheeky bastard."
A smile spread across Emily's face at their exchange, grateful for their camaraderie in these uncertain times. "It's settled then. O'Connor, meet me in the shuttle bay at 0530. We'll need to prep before the representatives from the other ships arrive."
O'Connor nodded eagerly. "I'll be there with bells on."
"Please don't wear actual bells," she deadpanned.
Sparky snorted. "You two try not to break the relay while you're at it. We've got enough problems without you two making more."
The lieutenant's smile faded slightly as the reality of their mission settled in. "Do you think... do you think the relays are still operational?"
Sparky's expression grew serious. "Honestly? I don't know. The Crucible seems like it was designed to target Reaper tech, and the relays are Reaper tech. But they're also the backbone of galactic civilization. If they're gone..." She didn't finish the thought.
"We'll find out tomorrow," O'Connor said, his earlier enthusiasm tempered by the gravity of their task.
"We should all get some rest," Emily nodded. "Tomorrow's going to be a long day."
As they parted ways, her thoughts drifted to Commander Shepard. What would the hero of the galaxy do in her position? Face the unknown with courage, she supposed. Make the hard decisions. Carry the weight of expectation without buckling.
No pressure, indeed.
0014 December 23rd, 2186 CE
Deck 11, Junior Officer's Quarters, the SSV Orizaba
Emily couldn't sleep. She lay in her bunk, staring at the ceiling of her quarters, her mind racing with possibilities. The relay could be intact, operational, ready to reconnect them with Earth and the rest of the galaxy. Or it could be damaged beyond repair, stranding their allies in this cluster indefinitely. Or worse—something in between, teasing them with the possibility of home while remaining frustratingly out of reach.
With a sigh, she swung her legs over the side of the bunk and stood. If sleep wouldn't come, she might as well be productive.
The corridors of the Orizaba were quieter during the night cycle, though "night" was a relative concept in space. Skeleton crews manned essential stations, while most of the ship's complement rested. Emily nodded to the few crew members she passed on her way to the observation deck.
The vast viewport offered an unobstructed view of the stars, and in the distance, the faint blue glow of Neptune. Somewhere beyond that lay the Charon relay, and beyond that, Earth. Home.
"Couldn't sleep either, huh?"
Emily startled at the voice. She turned to find Rear Admiral Shepard standing a few feet away, her silhouette outlined against the starfield.
"Ma'am! I didn't realize anyone was here."
The admiral gestured for Emily to relax. "At ease, Lieutenant. I'm not here in an official capacity."
Emily hesitated, then moved to stand beside the admiral at the viewport. They stood in silence for a moment, both gazing out at the distant stars.
"I come here to think," Hannah finally said. "The view helps put things in perspective."
Emily nodded. "It's beautiful."
"And terrifying," the older woman added softly. "All that emptiness between us and home."
Emily glanced at her companion. In the dim light of the observation deck, Rear Admiral Shepard looked tired—not just physically, but soul-deep. The kind of exhaustion that came from carrying too much for too long.
"We'll get back," Emily said with more confidence than she felt. "One way or another."
A small smile curved the admiral's lips. "That's the spirit." She turned to face Emily fully. "You know, I've read your file, Lieutenant. Top marks at the Academy. Fluent in quite a few languages. Commendations from your previous postings."
Emily felt her cheeks warm. "Thank you, ma'am."
"I'm not flattering you," the Rear Admiral said bluntly. "I'm telling you that you were chosen for this mission because you're qualified. Not because you happened to be in the right place at the right time."
Emily blinked, surprised by the directness. "I... thank you, ma'am. That means a lot."
Turning back to the viewport, the admiral continued. "My daughter always questioned why she was chosen for important missions. Always wondered if someone else might have done better." A hint of melancholy crept into her voice. "She never fully understood that she was chosen because she was the right person, not just a convenient one."
Emily didn't know how to respond. Commander Shepard was a legend—comparing herself to the hero of the galaxy felt presumptuous at best.
"I'm not saying you're her," Shepard's mother continued, as if reading Emily's thoughts. "I'm saying that doubt is natural, but don't let it undermine your confidence. You're ready for this."
"Yes, ma'am," Emily replied, standing a little straighter.
Checking her omni-tool, the Rear Admiral nodded. "You should try to get some rest, Lieutenant. The big day will be here before you know it."
"You too, ma'am."
A wry smile crossed Hannah's face. "That's an order I rarely follow these days." She gestured toward the door. "Go on. I'll stay a while longer."
Emily hesitated, then saluted crisply. "Good night, ma'am."
As she left the observation deck, Emily cast one last glance over her shoulder. Hannah Shepard stood silhouetted against the stars, her gaze fixed on the distant blue dot of Neptune—and beyond it, Earth.
Author's notes:
I hope you all are enjoying the story so far! I'm also uploading on AO3 if you'd prefer to check out the story there.