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Sometimes, Vespa thinks it’s more work than it’s worth to be a captain.
Sure, the pay is good, and the job is fulfilling. Being on the field is a rush that you can’t get anywhere else in the galaxy, your crew behind you and the firefight just ahead. As a veteran— God, is she really that old now?— it’s easy to fall into line and salute, the Alliance flag hanging overhead as you tell your boys they’ve done a good job today.
But the paperwork. All the fucking paperwork. There’s contracts that need to be signed, recruits to look after, crews to assign and reassign, and then your own CO that you need to write another damn report for. These days, Vespa spends more of her time in her office than in active duty— something she detests even more as the years pass by and she’s almost forgotten how it feels to have her rifle in her gauntlets.
The doors to her office slide open as the whine of the Citadel fades out into a gentle background drone. She rounds her desk and sits in her chair while a distant thought bubbles to the top of her mind, reminding her that she should also request a new seat because the back of this one is starting to sound a little creaky. So much for being a veteran if this is all they get from the Alliance’s cheap pockets.
The monitor comes to life. Vespa sips at her coffee, expecting the usual to pop up on her screen: reminders, messages, all the little things that need to get done before she heads off to talk to the Councillor about whatever her crews have gotten up to recently. But instead of virtual sticky notes and blue bubble texts, there’s a giant warning on the monitor. It’s in bright-red text, flashing.
“Attention Alliance personnel,” it reads. “There has been a recent communication error in Navy channels. You may notice your inbox contains incorrect reports meant for another personnel member. Please re-direct these messages and report any issues that you may have experienced from this. We apologize for this inconvenience.”
Great, Vespa bemoans in her head. Just what she needs. She taps away at her keyboard and her inbox pops up. The thing is practically bursting at the seams with reports— there are names she recognizes like Commander Hornet and Lieutenant Lace, her primary soldiers who she does expect standard reports from, but there are also names that she has only very cursory knowledge about.
Most particularly a Commander Quirrel and Lieutenant Tiso. Vespa wracks her brain for who their CO is, only remembering after a few more coffee sips that it’s one Captain Iselda. Iselda is one of the younger Alliance captains, but she’s apparently proven her mettle plenty of battles. Bullet scars, saving civilians— that kind of thing. Vespa has spoken to her once, maybe twice, in her entire career.
Another sigh makes its way out of the captain as she realizes that it’s going to be that kind of day. Well, no use in complaining about it now. She mentally cracks her knuckles and then gets to brass tacks, opening the first of many emails.
Subject: Illium Mission Report
From: Commander Hornet
To: Captain Vespa
Captain Vespa,
Please find attached to this message a report of the SSV Alamo’s recent mission on Illium.
Commander Hornet
[MR1130_Illium_Alliance_Navy_SSV_Alamo]
The SSV Alamo landed on Illium at 0800 hours with the human dignitaries aboard. The mission went according to plan up until the dignitaries were brought to the asari traders, as per the mission brief. It was there that Commander Hornet and Lieutenant Lace discovered that one of the Asari traders were plotting against one of the dignitaries— specifically a Mr. John Wicklow.
According to insider information brought forth by a young, worried asari named Bretta, the asari trader was planning on poisoning Mr. Wicklow’s food and/or drink in order to take revenge against him due to a supposed lover’s quarrel. Commander Hornet stepped in before any conflict could take place while Lieutenant Lace apprehended the asari trader.
Bretta, the insider asari, has since expressed interest in working alongside the Alliance as an information broker, of a sort. She has proven herself to be trustworthy, as well as reliable when called upon. It should be noted that she is a jumpy sort, so that is worth consideration before signing any contracts with her. Regardless, she has acted as a friend toward the Alliance, as well as Commander Hornet and Lieutenant Lace by putting herself in harm’s way to prevent their injury, and Mr. Wicklow’s.
Recommendation is to interview Bretta and potentially pursue an information contract with her. This would not only strengthen asari ties to the Alliance, but also open previously unavailable information channels. Bretta is currently aboard the SSV Alamo and has integrated herself with the crew. The crew reports that she is amiable, if a bit shy.
Subject: Maroon Sea Mission Report
From: Commander Hornet
To: Captain Vespa
Captain Vespa,
Please find attached to this message a report of the SSV Alamo’s recent mission within the Maroon Sea. By the way, I’ve got a few tickets for the Quarian Troupe if you want to see it sometime. Just shoot me a message and I’ll forward those over— free of charge. Send your thanks to Mooshka.
Commander Hornet
[MR1133_Maroon_Sea_Alliance_Navy_SSV_Alamo]
The SSV Alamo received a distress call at 2100 hours, signalling to the pilot that a group of human civilians were being held hostage on an entertainment ship within the cluster. The SSV Alamo responded promptly to find that Cerberus members were holding the civilians at gunpoint, as well as a number of quarians who reportedly owned the entertainment ship, dubbed the ‘Quarian Troupe’— a kind of circus act. The situation was defused and the Cerberus combatants were disposed of with the help of the quarians, who previously worked in the Heavy Fleet of the Flotilla, though primarily on defense. Mooshka, the troupe’s leader, expressed his interest in joining the SSV Alamo’s return to the Citadel, which Commander Hornet affirmed would be allowed.
Subject: Fuck you
From: Lieutenant Lace
To: Lieutenant Tiso
Next time you stay over at my place, don’t leave your shit on my couch. My white leather sofa has grease stains all over it and I’m sending YOU the invoice for the cleaners.
Subject: Date night?
From: Commander Quirrel
To: Commander Hornet
Hornet,
Please excuse the use of official Alliance channels to ask, but my Omni-tool has been acting up and sending my messages to the incorrect people. I figured that mailing channels are sturdier than texts, so bear with my question before you tell me I’m misusing Alliance resources. (You can tell me after. Preferably while we’re on our date.)
The Warsaw will be docking at the Citadel tomorrow for around a day and a half before we set out on our next mission. I heard through the grapevine that the Alamo will be there, as well. If you’re not busy, it’d be nice if we could get together for an evening at one of the restaurants— courtesy of my wallet, of course. And it’s your choice where we eat. You know I always like whatever you choose.
Let me know before EOD? I’ll be waiting up :)
Love,
Quirrel
Subject: Alliance comms issues
From: Commander Quirrel
To: Commander Hornet
Test test test
Subject: Eletania Mission Report
From: Lieutenant Lace
To: Captain Vespa
Captain Vespa,
Attached to this email is a mission report from the SSV Alamo’s latest mission on Eletania. I would like to formally request that the Alamo’s crew is no longer sent to Eletania, on account of the anaphylaxis that Commander Hornet experienced after the mission’s completion that has left her out of commission for the next week.
Best regards,
Lieutenant Lace
[MR1138_Eletania_Alliance_Navy_SSV_Alamo]
The SSV Alamo landed on Eletania at approximately 0600 hours, prepared to investigate the human vessel crash site. Preliminary inspections revealed no signs of life. A total of eight bodies were recovered, ranging in ages from 22-49, both men and women who were all civilians. The ship appeared to be some sort tourist ship, advertising religious experiences in-line with early-era space-race fervour. The ship’s captain, as well four staff members, were found deceased.
Upon one final inspection, Commander Hornet discovered a sole survivor— a young man by the name of Sherma, who was aboard the ship in hopes of finding some kind of religious come-to. When the ship crashed, he reportedly rushed to put on an emergency helmet as everyone else “gaped in awe,” he said. His oxygen tank did not have enough to make it back to the SSV Alamo, which led to Commander Hornet lending him her helmet so he may survive the trek back.
This resulted in Commander Hornet inhaling the toxic fumes on Eletania. When she arrived back to the SSV Alamo, the ship’s medic, Lieutenant Lace, and Sherma provided her with first-aid. Sherma was uninjured during the journey, and only sustained injuries from his initial crash.
Sherma has requested a position within the SSV Alamo. Although he does not have the formal military training required to work on a high-ranking ship, this report recommends considering him as a potential adjunct medic, on account of Sherma’s prior medical training on Earth. He has since kept an eye on Commander Hornet and has personally taken to seeing her recuperation.
Subject: does this look infected
From: Lieutenant Tiso
To: Lieutenant Lace
does this look infected to you, quirrel thinks its fine but im pretty sure im about to go into septic shock
[attachment: IMG_12]
Subject: its not infected
From: Lieutenant Tiso
To: Lieutenant Lace
ok you never replied but it wasnt infected. just letting you know bcs im sure your concerned.
Subject: Asari contact
From: Lieutenant Lace
To: Commander Quirrel
Commander Quirrel,
Cmd. Hornet directed me to ask you to answer this question, even though she spends most of her off-duty time with you. Never mind that, though. Lt. Tiso informed me that on a previous mission, the SSV Warsaw came in contact with a famous asari collective. You would recognize them by their outfits. Glittery, bright. Mindfully-located tears.
Would it be possible for you to forward my contact to them? On a strictly professional level, of course. I need to speak to them about a potential Alliance-related issue. It’s of the utmost importance, I assure you.
Lieutenant Lace
Subject: Chasca Mission Report
From: Commander Quirrel
To: Captain Iselda
Captain Iselda,
This email contains the SSV Warsaw’s report on its recent mission to Chasca. If there’s any issues with the file, please let me know.
Best,
Commander Quirrel
[MR720_Chasca_Alliance_Navy_SSV_Warsaw]
At 1400 hours, the SSV Warsaw landed on Chasca. Preliminary scans revealed there was no sign of Cerberus researchers at the former Chasca colony site. Lieutenant Tiso performed a perimeter sweep while Commander Quirrel investigated deeper into the site. At the edge of the former colony site, Lieutenant Tiso discovered a middle-aged salarian by the name of Lemm who was studying old relics left behind by the colony’s now-deceased residents. Lemm reported that he was there out of ‘curiosity’ and had planned on leaving soon. He did see the Cerberus members leave shortly after he landed, as they initiated a firefight. They left approximately twenty minutes after wounding Lemm in the arm. Regardless, Lemm remained so he could get on with his ‘research.’
At the salarian’s insistence, he assisted Commander Quirrel and Lieutenant Tiso to a small Cerberus stronghold that was in the process of being setup on Chasca. The SSV Warsaw’s crew was deployed to flush out the Cerberus operatives, and was confirmed to have none left after initiating fire at approximately 1600 hours. Lemm was invited onto the SSV Warsaw for his return trip to the Citadel, although he continually asked to remain aboard so he could pursue further research alongside the Alliance. Recommendation is to allow Lemm to remain with the SSV Warsaw, as Commander Quirrel believes him to be an asset to both the Alliance and his crew.
EKIA - 14
KIA - 0
Subject: Protein Powder
From: Commander Hornet
To: Lieutenant Tiso
Lieutenant,
Quirrel told me I should ask you directly about the protein powder you use as I’ve been looking for a replacement ever since my favourite brand went out of business. Apparently, and I’m misquoting here, yours is somewhat sweet, somewhat savoury? I’m not sure what that description really means, but it’s intriguing nonetheless.
Could you forward me the site details about where you bought it? I’ll order a case— and I’ll get you one, too. On me.
Commander Hornet
Subject: Daratar Mission Report
From: Commander Quirrel
To: Captain Iselda
Captain Iselda,
Please find attached to this message a report of the SSV Warsaw recent mission on Daratar. Note that my formal recommendation comes alongside Lieutenant Tiso’s. Although it is unusual for an Alliance vessel to employ members other than humans, I highly suggest speaking to Swift before making any major decisions. He’s proven himself to be an ally, especially in such fraught times as these.
Best,
Commander Quirrel
[MR722_Daratar_Alliance_Navy_SSV_Warsaw]
The SSV Warsaw touched down on Daratar at 0600 hours. While the mission was not to begin for another hour, the on board Alliance researchers were eager to begin their work, and left the ship without informing either Commander Quirrel or Lieutenant Tiso. Both Commander and Lieutenant realized this approximately twenty minutes following their leaving, and set out to the research site where the scientists most likely would have went.
The researchers found themselves surrounded by a group of batarians, who were threatening to take the researchers as slaves if they did not comply with their initial demands to give them credits. Commander Quirrel and Lieutenant Tiso gave chase, although they were intercepted by a young turian who sprinted into the action and eliminated the threats himself.
The turian introduced himself as Swift— no other name. Although, he did mention his nickname on Palavan is ‘"Sprintmaster." His dedication to the researchers’ protection, as well as his concern for the SSV Warsaw’s crew, led Commander Quirrel to offering him a temporary position on the SSV Warsaw, as Swift had supposedly been abandoned on the planet after a mission-gone-wrong with his previous crew. Swift accepted with the knowledge that this would not be permanent unless Captain Iselda signed off on it.
Recommendation is to accept Swift into the SSV Warsaw’s crew as a permanent fixture following a number of Alliance training measures to assure capacity and confidence in his skills. Swift is a former sergeant with frontline capabilities, although he serves well as flexible soldier, as well.
Subject: open the file
From: Tiso
To: Captain Iselda
[file_11112454225_not_a_zip_bomb]
Subject: Please Disregard Last Message
From: Lieutenant Tiso
To: Captain Iselda
Captain Iselda,
Please disregard the last message sent to your inbox. That was meant for a Lieutenant Lace, who requested that I forward her a file from a previous missions she asked me to review.
Thank you,
Lieutenant Tiso
Subject: Book Rec
From: Hornet
To: Quirrel
Quirrel,
Didn’t receive your last email— is there a problem going on with HQ’s comms? Or maybe you just forgot. Either way, find attached a copy of my book rec chapter for this week as it seems you’ve got me reading consistently since my teenage years. Hopefully, you’ve never read 1984. I’m sure you have though, Books.
Yours,
Hornet
P.S. When’s your next shore leave? I’d love to see you soon.
[1984_Orwell_Chapter_1]
It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen. Winston Smith, his chin nuzzled into his breast in an effort to escape the vile wind, slipped quickly through the glass doors of Victory Mansions, though not quickly enough to prevent a swirl of gritty dust from entering along with him.
The hallway smelt of boiled cabbage and old rag mats. At one end of it a colored poster, too large for indoor display, had been tacked to the wall. It depicted simply an enormous face, more than a meter wide: the face of a man of about forty-five, with a heavy black mustache and ruggedly handsome features. Winston made for the stairs. It was no use trying the lift. Even at the best of times it was seldom working, and at present the electric current was cut off during daylight hours. It was part of the economy drive in preparation for Hate Week. The flat was seven flights up, and Winston, who was thirty-nine and had a varicose ulcer above his right ankle, went slowly, resting several times on the way. On each landing, opposite the lift shaft, the poster with the enormous face gazed from the wall. It was one of those pictures which are so contrived that the eyes follow you about when you move. Big Brother Is Watching You, the caption beneath it ran…
Subject: Book Rec of the Week!
From: Quirrel
To: Hornet
My dear,
I have the feeling even personal communication channels are jammed right now. Either that, or I’m being ignored. Then again, you could just be busy and I’m overreacting— most likely the latter, you’ll tell me. And you’ll be right, as usual (not that I mind).
Pride and Prejudice is a favourite of mine. Go ahead— call me silly and romantic, as you probably will. I have no shame in enjoying a good novel about the intricacies of polite British society, and how striking a perfect match was as much an artform as it was about love. Then again, I do just love a love story. Do you think me a Mr. Darcy? Or am I more a Mr. Bingley?
Knowing you, you’ll say I’m more of a Mr. Collins!
Love,
Quirrel
[Pride_and_Prejudice_Austen_Chapter_1]
It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.
However little known the feelings or views of such a man may be on his first entering a neighbourhood, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of the surrounding families, that he is considered as the rightful property of some one or other of their daughters.
“My dear Mr. Bennet,” said his lady to him one day, “have you heard that Netherfield Park is let at last?”
Mr. Bennet replied that he had not.
“But it is,” returned she; “for Mrs. Long has just been here, and she told me all about it.”
Mr. Bennet made no answer.
“Do not you want to know who has taken it?” cried his wife, impatiently.
“You want to tell me, and I have no objection to hearing it.”
This was invitation enough….
“It was a comms problem.”
“Look, I’m sure it’ll be fine. Your captain’s understanding, isn’t she? A few late reports shouldn’t worry her too much.”
Hornet presses her hand against the door to Captain Vespa’s office, dread coiling like a snake in her stomach. It’s been a while since she’s been this nervous before. The last time was probably the days leading to her N7 exam, those trembling times where she had to sit and wait in offices and cold, uncaring buildings, wondering when she’d get her results like some frightened mother awaiting the worst from a doctor. She was scared, then. But now?
Now, she’s petrified. Mostly for reasons that she'd rather not mention out of fear that she'll bringing them into existence if she even dares to mention it. God, how many of those personal emails did Vespa see? And which ones were they?
Quirrel rubs circles into the small of her back. The effect is almost immediate— the taut string of her spine, pulled back into a bow’s perfect arch, is calmed and loosened. She lets her posture relax minutely as trickles of tension release from her shoulders.
“It's okay,” Quirrel says. “C’mon. We’ve only got a few hours before wheels up. I’d like to spend most of it with you.”
It’s hard to argue with that. Hornet nods, pushing her hand against the door until it hisses and slides aside. Vespa’s office is revealed in slow-motion, the curtain pulling to show the veteran in her desk as she sips at her coffee in a “Best Captain Ever” mug.
Standing beside her, hunched over the back of the chair, is another woman. Her face looks like it was pulled straight from a fashion magazine, perfect lips and arched brow painted onto an elegant face. Her ponytail is almost violent the way it perches atop her head, slicked back. She glances up from the monitor and locks eyes with Quirrel. The Warsaw’s commander freezes.
“Commander Quirrel,” she ambles. “Looks like I found where your reports went.”
Quirrel immediately jumps into a salute, fingers crashing into his forehead as his back straightens. “Captain Iselda, ma’am, I assure you I was unaware of the Alliance’s comms issues. If I was, I would have reported directly to your office.”
Captain Iselda— ah, Quirrel’s CO. It’s good to finally have a face to match a name, Hornet thinks as Iselda waves a hand and rolls her eyes.
“At ease, soldier. Blame the stupid IT boys. This affected more than just official channels, but also personal ones. Everything’s screwed right now.”
Quirrel’s hand falls. “I figured. My inbox has been suspiciously empty for the past week.”
“Mine as well,” Hornet adds.
Both captains sigh loudly. As if sisters, they both throw their heads back and begin to bemoan the inadequacies of the Alliance’s many communication channels and how much easier it would be if everything was more streamlined, although neither of them have any formal suggestions as to how that can even be achieved. All the people in this office are soldiers, through and through— not exactly technical experts. Well, except for Quirrel. He could probably come up with a solution.
Vespa pushes herself up from her desk. She fetches a stack of papers from her printer and hands them over to Iselda, who takes them with a thanks.
“We’ll have to go old-school for a bit,” says Vespa. “I would have messaged you about it, but I’m sure it would have just gone to someone else.”
The balloon of worry in Hornet’s stomach immediately deflates, a pin to its side popping it completely. Of course, she had nothing to worry about. Her position isn’t in jeopardy, her reports technically went through, and all is fine and dandy in the Alliance once again. Vespa didn't see anything she didn't need to see.
But before Hornet can let her defenses fall, the commander smells a lingering danger in the air. Vespa’s gaze drifts over to her and Quirrel. It’s only then that Hornet belatedly realizes that they’re standing a bit too close together to be friendly, shoulders nearly brushing and hands hanging in that empty space with fingers twinkling outward to one another’s. It’s all too obvious, not unlike a sniper in black armour on a snow-covered hill.
Shit.
“Your message about your relationship status change must have also went missing, Commander,” Vespa says. “Yes?”
Hornet clears her throat. “Yes, ma’am. Of course.”
Vespa nods. “Of course. Then again, Quirrel isn’t in your CoC, so it’s technically not required of you to report on it.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
In the corner of Hornet’s eye, she spots a new photo on her captain’s desk. It’s one she hasn’t seen in a long time. Encased in a golden frame, a worn picture sits; two women smile side-by-side with a small child in between them. One of the women is heavier-set, broader— she wields a grin like a shotgun and points it directly at the camera lens. The other woman is thinner, leaner, a whiplike thing that forces herself against harsh gales to stand tall. And the little child between them smiles brightly. Her hair is as white as the clouds, and her shirt has Alliance logos all around the front. She looks happy.
“You know what you’re doing, I hope. Dating in the Navy is rough business.”
“Always, Captain. Just don’t go making it Citadel gossip, please.”
Vespa barks out a laugh alongside Iselda’s soft giggle. The two trade paper reports and chatter amongst themselves as Hornet and Quirrel continue to stand sentry near the door. They’re waiting for the exhale. Their lungs are full, fit to burst.
“Get out of here, lovebirds,” Vespa says without looking away from her papers. “You’re dismissed. Go make the Alliance proud and keep your hands to yourself while on-duty.”