"Sign it."
Standing across from me was the man in charge of the Normandy's supply, demanding that I put my signature on documents stating he had provided the ship—specifically, the landing party—with everything necessary.
"No."
"Sign it, I said!"
"No."
I was completely calm, while my interlocutor was slowly reaching a boiling point.
"Captain, I am ordering you!"
"Oh, go fuck yourself!"
I couldn't take it anymore; this conversation had begun to weary me. My outburst drew the attention of all the port personnel nearby. A few Turians even started looking at me with disapproval. Well, of course—I was just a Captain, and standing before me was a Colonel from the supply service, and I was telling him where to go.
"How dare you speak to a superior officer like that?! I'll have you..."
"Go fuck yourself! What's on my manifest? An M35 Mako! Where is that fucking Mako, fucked in every orifice?! Where is it, I'm asking you?! Why isn't it in the cargo bay, and why am I supposed to sign for it?! I'm asking you, you staff-room bitch!"
Biotics flared around me, and I took a couple of steps forward. The Colonel took a couple of steps back.
"My roster calls for a landing platoon! A platoon, which means ten to thirty people! Where in this landing party did you find even ten people?! There are THREE! And that's including me!"
The Colonel opened his mouth to say something, but I didn't let him, continuing to shout without a hint of embarrassment. Better to air the dirty laundry, as they say, than to end up in the shit they were trying to drown me in. Especially since I knew exactly what was waiting for me.
"Where is the armor?! Why was the landing party only issued old standard armor?! And to hell with that, but according to your goddamn documents, there's armor listed with the EAM suffix! And for your alcohol-soaked brain, let me explain! E—Enhanced! A—Modified! M—Universal! Where in that scrap heap did you see EAM?!"
"Captain..."
Anderson's voice sounded behind me.
"Captain Anderson, sir."
I snapped to attention and saluted him. Our ranks were technically the same, but I was N7—essentially special forces—while Anderson was a Navy Captain, which is a bit different; if equated to ground ranks, he'd be a Colonel. Plus, right now he was the Captain of the ship, and I was his Executive Officer.
"What's all the shouting?"
"Sir, this spawn of Batarian vomit wants me to sign the acceptance act, while ninety percent of what's listed in that act is missing. This reeks of sabotage, or maybe even treason..."
The Colonel winced.
"Well, why the hell are you shouting? Just don't sign it."
"I'm not signing it, but this condom is demanding it, pulling rank and making threats. I just snapped. He fucking thinks his rank is going to scare me."
"Alright, Colonel... we won't be signing any of this."
"But..."
"When there's a landing party, and everything else on the list, then we'll sign. Otherwise..."
Anderson spread his hands.
"...and yes, just so you understand, this conversation has become public knowledge, and I will be forced to file a report stating everything as it is."
"Do what you want, I still don't have any of it!"
He gave a mocking smirk.
"Well, if you don't, you don't..."
I shrugged.
"...sir..."
I turned slightly toward Anderson.
"...I suggest we ask our Turian comrades for help. Those militaristic asses definitely always have a stockpile of everything necessary. I think they wouldn't refuse a chance to rub our supply officers' noses in it. Of course, they won't give us new models, and they won't provide a landing party, but they'll definitely find an armored vehicle."
"Hmm..."
"Don't you dare! That would be a disgrace!"
The Colonel was practically foaming at the mouth.
"Do we look like we give a fuck?"
Anderson and I asked the question in sync.
"Fine, I'll find you that Mako! I'll find it! But not now! Right now it's just a test flight anyway and..."
"Listen, you don't seem to understand something..."
I took a few steps toward the Colonel and, without a wind-up but infusing my muscles with biotics, struck him squarely in the stomach, making him double over.
"...we aren't in the civilian world where you can say 'I'll do it later' and maybe nothing serious happens. We are in the motherfucking military! I'll fly out of the Citadel and get an order saying a distress signal has been received, the heading and objective have changed, and what the fuck am I supposed to do without a landing party, a Mako, armor, and weapons?! Am I supposed to answer my superiors the same way you're answering me?! 'I'll fly there later'?"
"I..."
"Shut up, you rear-echelon rat!"
A short strike as he began to straighten up, and he was doubled over again.
"Listen here, you trembling wretch. Our departure is in two hours. That means in one hour, the Mako must be delivered to me, and the Marines must arrive, along with armor and weapons. If not, I'm canceling the flight."
"Shepard!"
Anderson raised his voice.
"Captain, I understand everything, but going on some unknown mission that's being hidden from me, but for which a Spectre is needed on board, with an incomplete landing party? I didn't survive this long just to die pointlessly now. However, you can say you're flying anyway, but then you'll be flying without me."
"Shepard..."
There was a hint of displeasure in Anderson's voice.
"What? No."
I looked at him with surprise.
"I finished my term long ago; I'm on contract now. Breaking a contract is an unpleasant thing, sure, but I have enough funds to pay the penalty."
I shrugged carelessly.
"No, really, I'm fed up with the fact that every assignment, I'm not only buying my own gear out of pocket because 'it's not authorized,' but I'm buying it for my subordinates too. Why am I forced to go looting time after time just to sell pirate weapons to buy decent rations and guns?"
"Shepard..."
Anderson's voice began to sound weary.
"Captain, I respect you..."
I looked at him intently.
"...I respect you a lot, and if only one thing from the list was missing, I might have just grumbled but signed that goddamn document. But not when they won't even give me the bare minimum! They staffed my landing party with two people! Two! We have a fucking Spectre on board! And they! These desk rats! Just wave it off? 'Oh, we'll look like fools in front of the Turian Spectre? So what!' Is that it?!"
"Shepard."
Steel entered Anderson's voice.
"Sir?"
"Sign it."
"Negative, sir! If you want to, sign it yourself, but I won't hesitate to file a report against you. Furthermore, the moment you sign, I'm going shoreside."
Anderson frowned, but I truly didn't care whether I continued serving in the Alliance or not. I had sufficient income, thanks to my dead daddy—may the earth be broken glass mixed with boiling oil for him. He left such a mess that it took me a couple of years just to sort it out.
Well, "sort it out"—I was helped in sorting it out, which landed me in the debt of a very ambiguous individual. Good thing that individual already has everything they want, and I, along with the corporation I inherited, am like a curious pet and a useful, but not unique, piece of property to them.
"Fine! I have three more people for the landing party! Но that's it! I don't have the required ten people!"
"And where are they? Along with the armor, weapons, and Mako?"
"There is no Mako and there won't be one. Weapons and armor are standard only. This is the Citadel, not an Alliance military depot where everything is supposed to be! And then some, just for the sake of having it!"
The Colonel was clearly not lying.
"To hell with you then... But I'm not signing that everything was issued. So the report will list everything I didn't get."
"Fine, to hell with you too!"
"Excuse me..."
A Turian approached our group.
"...I overheard you were having some supply issues?"
"Yes, sir..."
I nodded, noticing the rank insignia on his armor. Overall, he was roughly the same rank as me, and the Turian hadn't done anything wrong yet, so I decided not to vent my anger on him for "eavesdropping" on a very loud conversation. After all, I had made it loud specifically so it would be heard.
"Well... if your supply officer signs a few documents, we can transfer an old Groom to you. It's been in mothballs since the incident at Relay 314, and it's already slated for decommissioning, but..."
"That old junk?"
The Colonel looked at the Turian with bewilderment.
"Sign it."
I looked at the Colonel, who looked at me with confusion.
"But..."
"Sign it. The Groom is a troop transport; it's not new, of course, but we don't even have that right now. Besides, Turians have always been famous for the reliability of their military tech, so I'm more than sure this transport is in excellent condition."
The Colonel hesitantly took the documents from the Turian, read them, and signed. Twenty minutes later, a troop transport was delivered to us—one that might come in handy, or might not. Though, considering the canon, it would definitely come in handy.
Of course, in the canon, they managed without it, but as the saying goes among transmigrators: trust in the canon, but keep a six-barreled machine gun and a tenfold supply of ammo for it. Well, at least that's what I say, and it's the only reason I'm still alive.
Another twenty minutes later, three girls in Alliance armor arrived. I met them in front of the airlock to the ship.
"Sir, here are the documents."
A redhead took a couple of steps forward and handed me the papers. My eyes nearly popped out of my head.
"Shepard?"
"Yes, sir!"
She snapped to attention.
"Namesakes, then..."
I drawled with some thoughtfulness.
"...and with you are Orimura and Lee. Why did they want to kick you out of the Navy?"
"Sir, the former commander wanted to use his position to get us into bed, sir! We broke his legs and tore off his dick, sir!"
Shepard stood at attention.
"Hmm... strip."
The girl's eyes flashed dangerously; she flinched almost imperceptibly but held herself together.
"Sir, permission to ask a clarifying question?"
"You already asked it, but I'm feeling generous today, so I'll allow one more."
"Should I strip at a stripper's pace or a military one?"
"Military. We don't have much time."
Without another word, she began to undress right there in the docks, in full view of everyone. I must say, the looks being thrown my way now were not the friendliest.
"A-a-as you were."
She froze after the upper part of her armor was removed and fell at her feet, her hands already reaching for the undersuit.
"Well done, you passed the test. You follow orders—within reason—and you only ask relevant questions, so you'll do. I hope your friends are the same?"
"Yes, sir!"
"Excellent. Then get dressed and get on board. Don't go far; we're heading straight to the cargo bay. You'll be meeting the rest of the so-called landing team."
"Yes, sir!"
She straightened up and, grabbing the pieces of armor she had managed to take off, hurried onto the ship. Her subordinates followed her, casting very complex looks my way. However, the hatred that had appeared when I ordered Jane to strip was no longer there.
"Right..."
I checked the documents and nodded thoughtfully.
"...it seems everything for my department is loaded—well, what could be squeezed out of those assholes running the Alliance warehouses. Part of it, as usual..."
I winced.
"...bought with my own funds. Well, that's fine; as soon as we're on combat missions, I'll recoup the expenses."
I thoughtfully massaged my earlobe.
"Yes, I suppose it's time to head on board. Pressly, can you handle the rest? I need to sort out the landing party before departure."
"Yes, sir... and be careful. The girls might not understand your approach."
"I don't need their understanding..."
I shrugged carelessly.
"...the main thing is that they follow orders. Beyond that, they can hate me all they want. After all, if they hate, it means they're alive... it means there's someone left to do the hating."
I hurried onto the ship.
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