"Sign it."
Across from me stood the man in charge of supplying the Normandy—the one insisting I put my signature on paperwork claiming he'd supplied the ship, or rather the landing party, with everything we needed.
"No."
"Sign it, I said!"
"No."
I was completely calm, while my counterpart was slowly starting to boil over.
"Captain, I'm ordering you!"
"Go fuck yourself!"
I finally snapped; the conversation was wearing me out. My outburst drew the attention of every dockworker nearby. A few turians even started looking at me with disapproval. Well, no surprise—here I was, just a captain, telling off a supply-service colonel.
"How do you talk to a superior officer?! I'll—"
"Go fuck yourself! What's on my list as required? An M35 Mako! Where the fuck is that goddamn Mako?! Where is it, I'm asking you?! Why isn't it in the hold, and I'm supposed to sign for it?! I'm asking you, you goddamn desk rat!"
Biotics flared around me. I stepped forward; the colonel stepped back.
"My TO&E includes a landing platoon! A platoon—that's ten to thirty people! Where the hell did you find even ten people in my landing party?! There are THREE of us! Three, including me!"
The colonel opened his mouth to say something, but I didn't let him—kept yelling, not embarrassed in front of anyone. Better to air dirty laundry, as they say, than to end up in the shit they were trying to dunk me in. Especially since I knew exactly what was waiting for me.
"Where's the armor?! Why did the landing party only get old standard-issue armor?! And I wouldn't even care, but your goddamn paperwork lists armor marked IMU—and for your pickled brain, let me spell it out! I—Improved! M—Modified! U—Universal! Where in that trash did you see IMU?!"
"Captain…"
Behind me, Anderson's voice sounded.
"Captain Anderson, sir."
I snapped to attention and saluted. Technically, our ranks were the same, but I was N7—special operations, basically—while Anderson was a naval captain, which is different. If you compare it to ground forces, that's basically a colonel. And right now he was the ship's captain, and I was his executive officer.
"What are you yelling about?"
"Sir, this batarian-vomit-fed bastard wants me to sign an acceptance report while ninety percent of what's listed in it is missing. Smells like sabotage—or even treason…"
The colonel winced.
"Then why the hell are you yelling? Don't sign it and that's it."
"And I'm not signing. But this asshole is demanding it, leaning on rank and threatening me. So I lost it. He thinks his rank scares 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. If not…"
Anderson spread his hands.
"…and yeah, just so you understand: this conversation is now public knowledge, and I'll be forced to file a report stating everything exactly as it is."
"Do whatever you want—I still don't have any of it!"
He smirked.
"Then you don't have it, you don't have it…"
I shrugged.
"…sir…"
I turned slightly toward Anderson.
"…I suggest we ask our turian friends for help. Those militarist asses always have a reserve of everything they need. I don't think they'll refuse the chance to rub our supply officers' noses in it. Sure, they won't give us their newest models, and they won't allocate a landing party—but they'll definitely find an armored vehicle."
"Hm…"
"Don't you dare! That would be a disgrace!"
The colonel was practically spitting.
"Do we give a fuck?"
Anderson and I asked that in sync.
"Fine, I'll find you that Mako! I'll find it! But not right now! It's just a test flight anyway and—"
"Listen, you don't seem to understand something…"
I took a few steps toward him and, without a wind-up—but feeding my muscles with biotics—hit him square in the stomach. He doubled over.
"…we're not civilians, where you can say 'I'll do it later' and maybe nothing serious happens. We're in the goddamn military! I'll fly out of the Citadel, get an order saying 'distress signal received, flight plan and objective changed,' and what the fuck am I supposed to do without troops, without a Mako, without armor and weapons?! Am I supposed to answer my superiors the same way you're answering me right now?! 'I'll fly later'?!"
"I—"
"Shut up, you rear-echelon rat!"
A short удар as he started to straighten—he folded again.
"Here's how it's going to be, you trembling piece of shit. We lift in two hours. That means in one hour, the Mako gets delivered to me, and the troopers arrive, and with them armor and weapons. If not, I cancel the launch."
"Shepard!"
Anderson raised his voice.
"Captain, I get it, but going on some what-the-hell kind of mission they're hiding from me—one that apparently requires a Spectre onboard—with an incomplete landing party? I didn't survive this long just to die stupidly now. You can say we're flying anyway, but then you'll fly without me."
"Shepard…"
Anderson's voice carried displeasure.
"No, what?"
I looked at him, genuinely surprised.
"I've already served my time. I'm on contract now. Breaking it isn't pleasant, sure—but I've got enough money to pay the penalty."
I shrugged carelessly.
"No, seriously. I'm sick of it—every assignment, I end up buying my own gear at my own expense because, 'as you see, it's not authorized'… and then I buy it for my people too. Why do I have to loot every single time just to sell pirates' weapons and buy decent rations and guns?"
"Shepard…"
Anderson sounded tired now.
"Captain, I respect you…"
I looked him in the eye.
"…I really do. And if one item on the list was missing, I might have cursed, but I'd sign the damned paper. But not when they don't even give me the minimum! They staffed my landing party with two people! Two! We've got a Spectre onboard! And they—those office rats—just wave their hands like, 'Oh no, we'll embarrass ourselves 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 it signed, sign it yourself—but I won't hesitate to file a report on you. More than that: the moment you sign it, I'm going ashore."
Anderson frowned. And I truly didn't care whether I stayed in the Alliance or not. I had enough income—thanks to my dead daddy; may his grave be filled with broken glass mixed with boiling oil. He did so much shit I only finished untangling it a couple years ago.
Well—"finished." Someone helped me untangle it, and that landed me in servitude to a very questionable person. At least that person already had everything she wanted, and for her I was, along with the corporation I'd inherited, something like a useful but not unique asset—and an amusing pet.
"Fine! I can get you three more people for the landing party! But that's it! I don't have the ten you're supposed to have!"
"Then where are they? And the armor, weapons, and Mako?"
"No Mako, and there won't be. Weapons and armor are standard only. This is the Citadel, not an Alliance military depot where everything's supposed to be stocked—and then some, just because."
The colonel wasn't lying.
"Fine. But I'm not signing that I received everything. So the report will list everything I didn't get."
"And fuck you too!"
"Excuse me…"
A turian approached our little group.
"…I heard you're having some supply issues?"
"Yes, sir…"
I nodded, noticing the rank markings on his armor. Overall he was about my rank, and he hadn't done anything wrong yet, so I decided not to take it out on him for "eavesdropping" on a conversation that was too loud. Besides, I'd made it loud specifically so people would hear it.
"Well… if your supply officer signs a couple documents, we can transfer you an old Grum. It's been in storage since the incident at Relay Three-One-Four, and it's headed for decommissioning, but…"
"That junk?"
The colonel looked at the turian, baffled.
"Sign it."
I looked at the colonel; he looked at me, equally baffled.
"But—"
"Sign it. The Grum is a dropship—sure, not new, but we don't have even that right now. Besides, turians are famous for reliable military hardware, so I'm more than confident it's in excellent condition."
Hesitantly, the colonel took the documents from the turian, read them, and signed. Twenty minutes later, the dropship was delivered—something that might be useful, or might not. Though, considering canon, it would be very useful.
Sure, canon managed without it, but as is said among isekai drop-ins: trust canon, but keep a six-barrel machine gun and a tenfold ammo reserve anyway. At least that's what I say—and only because of that am I still alive.
Twenty minutes after that, three girls in Alliance armor arrived. I met them by the ship's airlock.
"Sir, the documents."
The redhead stepped forward and handed me the papers, and my eyes nearly popped out of my skull.
"Shepard?"
"Yes, sir!"
She snapped to attention.
"So, namesakes…"
I drew it out thoughtfully.
"…and you're with Orimura and Lee. Why were you about to get kicked out of the Navy?"
"Sir, our former commander tried to use his position to drag us into bed, sir! We broke his legs and tore off his dick, sir!"
Shepard stood rigid at attention.
"Hm… strip."
The girl's eyes flashed dangerously. She twitched almost imperceptibly, but held it together.
"Sir, permission to ask a clarifying question?"
"You already asked it, but I'm in a good mood today, so you can ask one more."
"Strip at strip-club speed, or military?"
"Military. We don't have much time."
Without another word, she began undressing—right there in the docks, in full view of everyone—and I should say, the looks I was getting weren't friendly.
"St-stop."
She froze after the upper armor came off and dropped at her feet, and she'd already reached for the undersuit.
"Good. You passed. You follow orders, you ask questions only when necessary—so you fit. Hope your friends are the same?"
"Yes, sir!"
"Great. Then get dressed and onboard. Don't wander off—straight to the cargo bay; you'll meet the rest of this so-called landing team."
"Yes, sir!"
She straightened, grabbed the pieces she'd removed, and hurried to the ship. Her subordinates followed, casting complicated looks at me. Still, the hatred that had shown up when I told Jane to strip was no longer there.
"Alright…"
I checked the documents and nodded thoughtfully.
"…looks like everything for my area got loaded—well, what could be squeezed out of those assholes running Alliance warehouses. The rest, as usual…"
I grimaced.
"…was bought out of pocket. It's fine—once we're on combat missions, I'll make the money back."
I rubbed my earlobe, thoughtful.
"Yeah. Time to head onboard. Pressly, you'll handle the rest? I still need to deal with the landing party before launch."
"Yes, sir… and be careful. The girls might not understand your approach."
"I don't need them to understand…"
I shrugged.
"…I just need them to obey orders. And if they hate me—let them. If they hate me, they're alive… means there's someone left to hate."
I hurried onboard.