There were distinct benefits to being a war-hero and the first SPECTRE -Probationary or otherwise- for your entire species. One of those was getting your hands on good supplies and equipment when you needed them, another was quality intel, but the most valuable one -which Cassie had already taken advantage of several times since she’d started hunting for Saren and the Warmaster- was the infinitely valuable, never-sufficiently-appreciated, always-in-short-supply backup.
Of course, the Alliance could hardly deploy a battle-fleet to attack Noveria on her say so, and she wouldn’t go and ask them for that either. Ignoring the decision of the Council -her immediate superiors- and going behind their backs to pull in a fleet was guaranteed not to end well. Sure, they might approve of her leveraging any resources that she could get her hands on to accomplish her mission -a hallmark of the SPECTRE branch, and something they were expected to do-, but they probably wouldn’t be quite so pleased that she was opening vulnerabilities in the Citadel/Alliance defenses.
In fairness, she was willing to admit that they likely had a point about all that. She still thought it would be better to drop a big fucking hammer on Virmire, if only to over-run the damn place before they could destroy any information or material that could make or break this damn hunt, but she wasn’t blind to the risks inherent in that particular strategy. The Warmaster wasn’t a fool, and it was certainly possible that the report about Virmire was a trap, or bait, and she’d never be able to live with herself if her demand for space-borne firepower resulted in another Eden Prime.
So, instead, she’d made a few calls. She had plenty of friends or family in the upper echelons, after all, and even more people that owed her sizeable markers. Which had resulted, in the time that it took for the Normandy to finish resupplying and for her to finish acquiring a few more equipment upgrades for her fireteam, in a quartet of N6 commandoes -with their own Mako- appearing on her proverbial doorstop. Commandoes that now stood before her, fully armed and armored and lined up for inspection.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” she started, folding her hands behind her back. “Admirals Hackett and Shepard have informed me that the four of you only have one last task to complete before you’re ready for promotion to N7 status. A high-risk combat operation in enemy-occupied space against superior enemy forces ought to do the trick, and fortunately for all of you I have one such situation close at hand.”
She paused for a moment, letting her eye trail along their line of matte-black battle-plate, taking in the type and detail of their loadouts. A Fury, a Paladin, a Slayer, and a Demolisher. A dangerous quartet by any measure, especially if they were used to fighting together as a unit. Which they were, based on the little information that she had been provided. Good.
“You will be attending the full briefing with my strike-team in the morning, but in brevis, we have an STG signal on the emergency frequency mentioning Saren and the Warmaster from the planet of Virmire, Hoc System of Sentry Omega. Our orders are to investigate and, if possible, eliminate or capture the two VIPs. I’m sure I don’t need to explain to you that the situation will be fluid, but that’s the basics. Now, head down to the cargo bay and get some rack time. It’s going to be thin on the ground for the next few days.”
The four of them snapped off crisp salutes -with not a hint of hesitation or surprise at being volunteered for what could very well amount to be a suicide mission- before turning as one and filing out of the briefing room with the very same sort of silent grace that she herself moved with. She watched them go, the door hissing shut behind the last of them, and let out a slow breath through her nose.
N6s. Four of them, on the cusp of N7. Hackett had to have pulled some serious strings to get them detached from whatever they’d been working on and onto a transport fast enough to rendezvous with the Normandy…or they’d already been in the area for something else entirely. She wouldn’t care to gamble which, if she was going to be honest. But their presence made the Normandy ground team significantly more dangerous and flexible than it had been, giving her the ability to field three entire squads of specialists if needed, plus the handful of marines that her ship carried for security.
That was going to be one hell of a boon when they reached Virmire, because something -the sort of something that she’d come to learn was the future nudging her gently- was telling her that she was damn well going to need them. Which she could have guessed ahead of time, really, given everything that she’d pointed out to the Council, but having some paranormal confirmation, even if it was vague and lacking in any detail at all, was always nice.
…she did wish that she had more information, though. She’d never been fond of taking herself, or her subordinates, into a fight without having as much intel as possible, and this time around she had -essentially- zero intel. And while she certainly had the firepower -metaphysical and physical alike- to handle most issues that she could imagine, she didn’t doubt that there were plenty of issues that she couldn’t imagine.
But she wasn’t going to torture herself over it, that wouldn’t do her any good, nor would spending the intervening hours coming up with scenarios that more likely than not wouldn’t come true anyway. Instead, she was going to get back to her quarters to her little found-family, and she was going to spend the night with the people that she loved being happy.
With that thought firmly in mind, she made her way out of the briefing room towards her room, a bit of pep in her step as she considered the conversation to come. With Tali and Ashley expressing their willingness to be courted a few days ago, she and Liara -mostly Liara, if she was going to be honest- had come up with something in order to help the four of them grow a bit closer with one another. Which mostly consisted of nights watching old films or simply sitting and chatting, usually with increasingly-comfortable cuddling and still-tentative but eager kisses.
She couldn’t help but think of the first such night, when they’d talked about their dreams and aspirations, about what they wanted to accomplish with their lives.
Tali, unsurprisingly, had been laser-focused on spreading the healed immune system she was benefiting from to the rest of her people and taking back their lost homeworld, and it was clear that she wanted Cassie’s help to do all of that. Which she’d be more than willing to offer, if given the opportunity and the ability. She wanted to help the quarians survive just as much as she did the krogan.
Liara wanted to prove her theories right, and make sure that ‘all of those matrons and matriarchs who expressed a certain degree of amusement at what they called my absurd, outlandish, and childish theories have front-row seats at my awards ceremony. It will require a very large auditorium to fit them all’. Which, Ashley had remarked dryly, meant that she wanted to rub the noses of every stuck-up bitch that had mocked her for a decade or two.
Liara had pretended to be wounded by that, of course, all while not even trying to deny it, and the resulting laughter had felt good and gentle teasing had felt so very natural.
Ashley’s dream hadn’t been much different, at it’s heart. She wanted to redeem her family’s name, and rub it in the faces of the people who’d tarnished it to begin with. Wanted General Williams to be remembered for more than just being the only human officer to surrender to an alien force. Wanted the entire galaxy to hear the name of Williams and think of legends and heroes, not cowards. Not that her grandfather had been a coward, he’d fought until the turians had started bombarding the cities of Shanxi from orbit instead of actually fighting his troopers, but sadly all-too-few people in Alliance space cared about the fact that he was trying to save the lives under his command and protection.
Everyone has supported that, of course, because everyone agreed that what her family had been through was absurd, offensive, and simply cruel.
And when it was her turn, she…didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know how to really explain what it was that she desired, and she’d been forced to -blushing faintly, and feeling like a helplessly confused teen again- simply say that she wanted to live up to the legacies that she carried and to spend the rest of her life happy with the people she loved. A dream that would, and did, sound childish on it’s face…but all three of her listeners knew that it was truly anything but. She had a lot to live up to just in regards to the T’soni and Shepard names. When it came to the Force? To Jean and all of its other Hosts?
It was one hell of a weight to carry, a lot to live up to, but each and every one of them firmly and honestly declared that they believed Cassandra could live up to it. A weight that seemed all the light as a result, along with her heart.
As the door to her quarters hissed open and she stepped through them to, she smiled at the sight of Tali and Liara exhancging soft kisses, Ashley watching and eagerly waiting her turn. A crooked finger had the brunette marine scrambling to her feet and into Cassie’s embrace, and as Cassandra claimed Ash’s lips with her own, she reflected that this was a beautiful start to fulfilling her dreams.
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“…has confirmed the count, ma’am.” Pressely wrapped up, gesturing to the holotank -currently depicting a verdant world completely surrounded in crimson icons. “The dreadnaught is on the far side of the planet, fortunately, from where the STG signal is coming from, but there are nearly two-hundred geth and batarian ships, mostly frigates with a relative handful of heavy cruisers, in orbit. We’re gathering as much data as we can, of course, but we won’t be able to send it anytime soon with those damn fighters swarming all over the place. We’re lucky enough that we didn’t get caught coming through the relay.”
Cassie hummed in acknowledgement, leaning forward over the holotank with her hands braced against its rim, eyes flicking from icon to icon as she took it all in. Two-hundred ships. A geth dreadnaught. Fighter screens thick enough to make a stealth approach a coin-flip even with the Normandy’s IES systems running hot. Whatever Saren and the Warmaster were doing on Virmire, they didn’t want company, and they’d brought enough firepower to discourage anything short of a Citadel battle group.
Which, of course, the Citadel hadn’t been willing to commit. Though, she had to admit, the squadron of cruisers that she had requested would probably have been sunk within minutes at most after jumping into the system, unless they’d managed to jump back out just as quickly. Even a force sufficient to fight a dreadnaught would have been quickly overwhelmed by all the frigates and cruisers that were present.
“Well, at least they haven’t spotted us. Never thought I’d be so happy that geth ships don’t have windows on them. Plot us a course that avoids any of the batarian ships in orbit and takes us towards that STG signal. Hopefully, they’re still alive. If they’re not, maybe we can at least find whatever intel they managed to collect on this place.” Cassandra finally sighed, shaking her head and pushing back from the table. “Best speed, if you please, Mr. Pressely. We weren’t exactly drowning in time before, and somehow I doubt a fleet of this size is gathered together lightly, which means what little time we had before is probably shortening rapidly.”
“Aye, ma’am. Plotting now.” Pressley’s fingers were already dancing across the holotable’s controls, the lines of his face drawn tight as he carried out the duties of his station in a way that there hadn’t been much call for since the Normandy was first launched. “I’ll have Joker take us in low and slow over the poll, circle around from the northern hemisphere. Less traffic up there.”
“Good.” She straightened, rolling her shoulders to work the tension out of them, and gave the holotank one last hard look. Two hundred ships. A dreadnaught. And somewhere down in that swirl of green continents and blue oceans, an STG team that had been desperate enough to send a message through heavy jamming. But…why was the team still alive, if they even were? A force of this size could annihilate them easily, could have prevented them from even landing in the first place, so why hadn’t they?
Two hours later, as the Normandy breached the atmosphere over the frozen northern poll of the planet, the crew watched with worried eyes as almost the entirety of that same colossal fleet broke orbit and made its way through the Relay.
“Sweet mother of all that’s holy,” Pressley breathed, his voice barely audible over the soft thrum of the Normandy’s engines. The holotank’s projection shifted in real-time, crimson icon after crimson icon blinking out of local space as ship after ship slipped into the relay’s grasp. “Where the hell are they going?”
Cassie stood very still, watching the exodus, her hands braced against the holotank’s rim hard enough that she could feel the metal edge biting into her palms. Only the dreadnaught and a dozen geth ships remained in orbit, now, and as good as that was for her mission, she was terrified of what that fleet intended to do.
“We’re too far for a message drone to get to the relay in time to hide amongst all the other transits. How much data can we trim down and fit into a transmission without giving away our exact location?” she asked after a moment, and there was a moment of consultation amongst the bridge crew before it was agreed that a single ten-second burst of data with limited text would be safe enough. An image of the holotank, a readout on the ships making up the fleet, and a simple statement: "Enemy Fleet. 200+. Departing Virmire. Destination Unknown.”
The transmission went out the moment Pressley confirmed the burst was compressed and ready, the briefest flicker of energy that Cassie could only hope would slip past the geth sensors in the chaos and massive energy blooms that were the fleet’s transits. She watched the timer count down to zero, watched the data be sent, and watched as the remaining ships did…absoloutely nothing.
“It’s been sent, Ma’am.” Pressley confirmed, his shoulders relaxing slightly as some of the tension went out of them, a tension dropping out of many around them. “No reaction from the dreadnaught or it’s remaining escorts. I don’t know if they noticed or not, but either way, they don’t seem to be coming after us.”
“Small mercies.” Cassie sighed, running a hand through her hair, before shrugging slightly. “Keep taking us in, there’s nothing we can do but hope they’re not playing possum and pray for the best. Look for a drop-zone for the Makos at a good distance, the fireteam will scout it out and make sure it’s safe before we try to land the Normandy.”
“Understood, ma’am. I’ll keep you updated. Are you heading down to the cargo bay?”
“Yes. We won’t mount up just yet, there’s no point in sitting in the Makos until we’re actually going to be dropping, but we’re going to be geared up and ready.”
A pair of salutes saw them parting ways, and within a handful of minutes Cassandra was downstairs with her fireteam and the N6 squad, who were all eyeing one another cautiously and curiously from opposite sides of the bay.
“Cas…Skipper, what’s the word? Heard something about one hell of a fleet.” Ashley practically pounced the moment she stepped out of the elevator, eyes bright with curiosity, and Cassandra nodded in confirmation.
“Two-hundred plus ships, ninety-nine percent of which just jumped out of the system. No known destination. We sent a warning of as best we could, but they’re going to be someone else’s problem for the time being. Joker and Pressley are looking for an area for us to drop in the Makos. We’re going to scout out the source of the STG signals and see what’s going on before we call the Normandy in for a landing. ETA unknown, but make sure your gear is all squared away. You know how it goes” she responded, looking around at them all as they smiled or smirked or laughed. Hurry up and wait was the great universal truth of every military, and the waiting always came to an end at the most inopportune moment.
True to that universal truth, the wait stretched far longer than Cassie would have liked. She used that time wisely and productively, of course -she always did, always had to- by moving from one knot of soldiers to another, checking gear and making small talk. Gauging the temperament and atmosphere with her people with the training-honed instinct of a woman that had led soldiers into battle more times than she cared to count.
There was some tension, perhaps unsurprisingly, between the two groups. While not everyone in her fireteam was deployed directly with her as frequently as others -Garrus’ sniper talents wouldn’t have come much in use in the tight quarters that they’d been fighting in thus far, and Kaiden was…frankly a lesser biotic that herself and Liara, never mind his migraines- they had been with her for weeks at this point, and everyone had started to become rather tightly knit at this point.
The N6 team were, likewise, clearly tightly knit with one another. Unsurprisingly, of course, they’d been serving together for no small amount of time, and under some pretty intense circumstances as well, according to their files. That was just as good as her own fireteams closeness with one another, the closer and more attuned to one another a unit was, the higher their success rates and the lower their casualties and injuries.
The problem was, there was no such familiarity between the two squads -understandably, of course- and nothing in the way of time to change that fact. Of course, she could deploy them separately -she’d pretty much intended to do that already, really- given the brevity that everyone would be working together, but…ahh, she was stressing pointlessly. Everyone involved would do their duty, with skill and with aplomb, and they’d communicate just fine in the effort for the course of this singular mission.
If the N6s stayed with her for the long-haul, then they could see about some proper bonding time after they survived whatever disaster was inevitably looming on the horizon. Something she rather doubted would be possible, though, and with good reason. If they survived, they’d be promoted, and having four N7s -five, if she counted herself- on one ship was quite frankly a gross waste of valuable military resources. There were never enough special forces to go around, and even fewer that had reached the coveted pinnacle of the Alliance’s N ranks.
So, with that determination in mind, she settled into the comfortable routine of double-checking her gear and getting ready for what would doubtlessly be one hell of a fight.
“Commander, we found a drop point about fifty miles outside of that STG signals’ point of origin. There’s also triple-A all over the place, you’ll need to take some of it out before the Normandy can get closer.” Joker’s voice came over the intercom fifteen minutes later, and Cassandra resisted the urge to roll her eyes heavenward as she waved her subordinates towards the waiting Makos. Of course there was triple-A everywhere, why wouldn’t there be? This was an evil secret base, defenses only made sense, and unfortunately the Normandy’s stealth was meant for space, not for atmosphere. Which meant that whoever was in charge of those AAA guns probably already knew that they were here, which probably meant things were going to get a bit complicated.
As if it hadn’t already been so far.
“Alright boys and girls.” she voiced through the comms as she slipped into her own Mako and settled behind the wheel, rolling her neck on her shoulders slightly as she settled herself into the seat. “You heard the man. We’re going to disable those anti-aircraft batteries on our way in so that the Normandy can make landfall. Get ready for drop, make sure your weapon systems are online and your gunners are ready.”
Confirmations flowed back from each pair of drivers and gunners in turn, voices crisp and steady, and she took a half-heartbeat to feel satisfaction at the cadence of it all, before reaching out to lay a hand on Ashley’s shoulder and squeeze it gently.
“Alright, girls, lets get this settled. The sooner we wrap things up with these bastards, the sooner I can take you all home to the farm.” she said aloud, just for the three of them, soft sounds of curiosity and excitement and satisfaction coming from each of them. Tali, in particular, seemed particularly excited, especially when Liara -gently, understandingly- told her that the Shepard farm was large enough and well-guarded enough that she would be able to go without her suit as much, as often, and where-ever she so pleased.
Then the bay was opening, the Makos were rolling forward, and the investigation into Virmire’s secrets had begun.
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Garrus Vakarian was still, at times, prone to shaking his head in bemusement and no small amount of bewilderment at the strange changes his life had experienced since the moment Eden Prime had been attacked by the geth. An event that had put him on the trail of a treacherous SPECTRE and his batarian co-conspirator, a trail that had led him to Cassandra Shepard herself.
It had been strange, even awkward, at first, serving under a human. And one that he’d never even met before, at that, no matter how much he had heard of her and no matter what stories he’d seen about her feats. Her fondness for conversations and philosophical debates -which, he had to wryly confess, he was quite sure his father would have actually called ‘teaching moments’- had also come as a surprise, never mind how firmly she had pushed for the crew and fireteam to intermingle and interact.
He’d never served with or under someone like her, not in his time as a Legionnaire and not during is service in C-sec. It was unusual, to say the least, but he couldn’t say that it was a bad thing. On the contrary, he felt…good here. Successful and, in spite of some admittedly understandable tension and mistrust from just about everyone except Shepard, quite welcomed. And even that tension and mistrust was virtually gone at this point, the crew following the example that their commander set with an ease that was frankly inspiring.
It was really even more appreciable, that welcoming and closeness from and with Shepard, when one considered the fact that she clearly had some sort of relationship being built with Ashley and Tali, in addition to the one that she already had with Liara. Not to mention the relationship that she had with Urdnot Wrex. It would have been all too easy for her to bench him entirely, or even refuse his offer of assistance from the outset, but she hadn’t. Oh, he certainly wasn’t her first pick for her fireteam, and he could understand the many good reasons why, both tactically and for more personal considerations -he was a decent infantrymen, but he was a sniper, and they’d not exactly been in open terrain very often so far, and of course she wanted to keep the people she was entangled with close when it wouldn’t compromise the mission’s success- but she’d hardly left him scratching his carapace in orbit all the time either.
Now, he was essentially leading one of the two sub-squads in the Normandy fireteam -three, if the temporary Alliance commandoes were included-, which was one hell of a thing, given that the squad consisted of an Alliance marine and a battlemaster that was nothing short of ancient and had more battle-history than most Hierarchy legions. Who, it just so happened, was a personal friend and close family ally of Shepard’s. But it was Garrus she had trusted to lead the team, Garrus she entrusted with the maintenance of the Makos, and Garrus who had been trusted to act as the commander for one of them.
A pseudo-plasma blast from one of the geth defensive turrets vaporized a few cubic meters of water instantly as it splashed down beside his APC, the near-miss eating a tenth of his barriers, a fact that made him grimace unhappily. Fortunately, he didn’t have to say a word about it, because Wrex, Williams, and whoever was the gunner for the third Mako coordinated their fire and vaporized the turret before it could charge up another, more accurate shot.
“That’s the last one in this area. Joker, do you have a window for the Normandy now?” Shepard’s voice came through the comms, and a moment later the pilot -perhaps the most talented that Garrus had ever seen or heard of, which almost made up for his…everything else- confirmed that the Normandy had a clear way in and out of the AO, though he added that they’d need to take down more towers if they wanted to do anything other ban be fish in a very narrow barrel for the enemy ships still in orbit if they had to bug out fast. “Alright, we’ll worry about that later, then. For now, all units advance to the STG signal source. Joker, keep back until and unless I call you in. I don’t know if this is a trap, but if it is I want you out of range and free to maneuver.”
“Yeah, roger that, Commander. We’ll loiter a few miles out and keep a close eye on the remaining robots in orbit, let you know if they start getting twitchy. Good luck.”
Garrus dipped his mandibles in acknowledgment of the comm chatter, even though Joker couldn’t see it, and let his talons tighten on the Mako’s controls as the three APCs accelerated forward across the muddy, sodden ground. The terrain here was a nightmare of half-submerged ridges and shallow lagoons, the sort of place where a vehicle could founder if its driver wasn’t paying close attention to every shift of the suspension and every flicker of the topographical readout on the dash. Not to mention, geth troopers could be -and had been, at times- lurking behind every outcropping, or even in particularly deep bits of water.
Fortunately, paying attention was something he was rather good at, if he liked to say so for himself. A rather important skill for a member of an investigative police force like C-sec, and an out-and-out survival trait for a soldier. Spirits knew that a lazy or oblivious soldier very quickly ended up being a dead soldier.
The Mako’s suspension groaned beneath him as he guided it over a particularly nasty ridge, the readout flashing amber for a half-second before settling back into the green. Beside him, Wrex made a low rumbling sound that might have been amusement, or might have been the krogan equivalent of a sigh. Hard to tell with the old battlemaster, sometimes, the other man could actually be remarkably enigmatic when he was so inclined.
When he felt like talking at all, which was up in the air on any given day.
“Driving like my grandmother, Vakarian,” Wrex grunted, and yes, that was amusement. “and she’s been dead nine centuries.”
“Driving like a turian who’d rather not have his APC stuck in a swamp, you mean. These things aren’t cheap.” Garrus flicked his mandibles even as he rolled his eyes, having long since gotten used to the old man’s attitude when it came to caution. Even Shepard wasn’t entirely immune to his grousing and griping. “Think of it this way. If we got stuck, Shepard would never let us hear the end of it. I don’t want to give her that kind of ammunition, do you?”
Wrex’s answering laugh was a low, rumbling thing that filled the Mako’s cabin, and Garrus felt one of his mandibles twitch again in response. Mostly because he was still, for however familiar they’d become with one another, working on being able to identify when the massive old krogan was laughing with him versus laughing at him.
“Smart turian.” Wrex’s massive shoulders rolled in something that might have been a shrug, the movement making the seat beneath him squeal softly in protest -stressed nearly to it’s design limit, human soldiers not typically reaching the bulk and weight of an armored man of Wrex’s size-, as he panned the turret around to look for potential targets. “You’re right, she’d do exactly that, and as amusing as it would be to watch you deal with, I don’t want to miss the chance for another fight because we’re digging ourselves out of a damn puddle.”
“I’d rather we avoid too many fights in general. I don’t know why those ships in orbit are ignoring us, and I’m not complaining, but I’d rather not advertise our location any more than we have to. I’m not particularly interested in getting disintegrated from orbit by that damned dreadnaught.” Garrus remarked dryly, avoiding a particularly abrupt outcropping that was suddenly jutting out of one of the sea stacks they were weaving their way through.
“Feh. Weak. There’s nothing like fighting your way through an orbital bomardment.” came the scoffing reply, before yellow skin stretched in a wide grin and red eyes gleamed. “Then again, maybe we’ll get lucky and those frogs will decide to pick a fight for some reason. Always fun to smack around a salarian, and them being STG would just make it even better. Heh heh heh.”
Garrus didn’t think that picking a fight with the same STG regiment they were here to look for and, ostensibly, help was the best idea, but he was also pretty damn sure that Wrex had no interest whatsoever in being told that, and wouldn’t listen to him even if he did say it. So instead, he kept his mouth shut, watched the proverbial road, and found solace in the fact that -whatever else one might say about her- Shepard was a reasonable woman who wouldn’t let anyone pick a pointless fight, no matter how she or they felt about certain…historical events.
Besides, they were all going to have bigger problems to worry about then krogan-salarian relations and anything related to the damn genophage.