Above Ingalls

Shipyard 4

Floating in the void amidst the ribcage-like metallic cradles that held military support vessels in their claws for refurbishment, a pair of Techs checked the plasma cannon on one of the destroyers, running diagnostics. The ship had taken a few hits on her armor and the scarring from the few times kinetic batteries had managed to damage it were in full view. Part of the UNSC 'eagle' emblem was faded and darkened after a superhot slug from the sole new Batarian ship they could've run into struck the angular side plate of the dagger-shaped warship.

"Hit knocked a couple coils out of alignment," The lead Tech, a Quarian by the name of Kim'Rum, spoke as he lifted his Datapad. He was wearing his family's Enviro-Suit as a way to get out into the unforgiving cold void of space. Holding onto one of the handles attached to the ship's side, he threw the tablet to his co-worker, a Human by the name of Quinn Rose.

Quinn caught the datapad and pored through it, noting some other discrepancies. He said, "A loose reactor shielding system here, a cracked focusing lens on one of the laser turrets there, a capacitor misaligned on the MAC..." then he sighed deeply and rubbed the front of his own suit's enviro-helmet. He said, "Guess the local mass drivers do hit hard when they break through."

"All of this stuff is minor, surprisingly. Microns of misalignment," Kim said as he pushed himself toward the man and joined him next to the ship's main barrel. He told him, "The ship would've run fine for another few weeks through onboard maintenance alone. They only came back when the supply train failed to catch up with the Sixteenth Destroyer Division."

"Guess the Captain decided to be cautious," Quinn replied as he approached the plasma battery on the maw of the vessel. The front of the hull had to be expanded in order to allow both the MAC and the plasma lance to be attached, meaning there were now two 'barrels'. One for the MAC that was large enough to fit a man inside, and one for the energy weapon. The latter was thinner, smaller. It was why Kim had brought his drone, which he activated and sent in.

The small robot skittered into the weapon's barrel and started doing repairs while Kim added, "It's odd, seeing a ship like this powered down. Didn't this one just come out of her shakedown cruise when she hit the front with a new captain?"

"Yep," The human said, struggling as he squeezed himself into the barrel of the MAC to clean it out. Finding the two misaligned coils and capacitors, the man pulled a spanner up from his breast pocket and started setting things up. He told the Quarian, "The Captain's a human, but this ship's mostly run through AIs, both Geth and human. I do think the cap has a Quarian XO."

"Heh," Kim snorted as he looked into the gun, all while keeping his visor online to watch his automated repair drone working its magic. He told his buddy, "Man, just a few years ago, we were seventeen million people that came in to supplement colonies as the last of them is about to hit its first billion. Humanity and my people are lucky we found each-other," then he looked overhead as a Longsword fighter-bomber buzzed by, the pilots giving a wiggle of their wings to say hello before turning toward one of the myriad hangars of Shipyard Four. He asked, "Say, Quinn, you ever think of dating a Quarian?"

"You offering?" Joked the man. He then grunted as he finally settled the last coil into its place. He slid back and called, "Comin' out!"

Kim snorted and shook his head, "Not offering. You're not my type," then he 'leaned' against the ship's side, holding onto one of the handles while the man slowly climbed back out. He stated, "My sister's single now, though. Figured, since they just announced we're xeno-compatible..." and nudged his buddy. If Kim could see Quinn's eyes, they'd be rolling.

Quinn turned to face his friend, utilizing his suit's RCS thrusters as he asked, "Her boyfriend?"

"Dumped her because of one of the liberated slaves in a refugee center nearby," The man replied. The two then pulled themselves up to the upper area of the ship's bow and onto the flat, 'horizontal' section where the VLS system was. Admittedly, there was no 'vertical' and 'horizontal', no 'up' and 'down', in space. Just directions, angles, calculations. This was the top of the ship to them, though, due to it being where the VLS system for Archers and nuclear torpedoes was located.

As they moved from hatch to hatch, Quinn said, "Sorry to hear that, man. Lemme guess, an Asari?"

"Yeah," Kim replied, slight annoyance in his voice, "Blue-skinned bosh'tets really love stealing significant others," and that caused Quinn to laugh. He wasn't gonna comment on it. He knew two soldiers, male and female, whose spouses left them for the Asari women they'd found and were helping tend to in the refugee centers. Those people had only been here for a couple of weeks at this point.

Quinn decided to reply with, "Hey, if he was willing to give up your sis for something as random as a blue job we rescued from the ass-end of some four-eyes' death camp, I don't think he was worth much in the first place."

"Thanks for the good words, Quinn. You're a good bud," The Quarian smiled behind his own opaque mask. He then asked, "So, about my sister-"

"Dude, I care for you and her, but can we please not rush shit?" The Human chuckled. He pushed himself up and said, "I'm only twenty-five. Command hasn't come after me to have kids yet..." and he paused. The two men both looked up as the sun was eclipsed. The ripple of a shockwave filled the nothingness, followed by a bluish flash and tingling across their skins.

Looking up, they saw the Moscow had jumped in, her imposing size and her hull, almost bleached greyish-white by the sun the telltale marking of the vessel herself. Her Coat of Arms, that of the Black League's hexagon painted above the facing UNSC emblem, glowed in the light of the Shipyards and reflecting sunlight from the planet below. She was a silhouette of guns, hangars and armor, glowing thanks to shielding as well. The two men's radios crackled to life and the Supervisor of Shipyard Four spoke, "Shift Two, prepare to report to Drydock Zero-One. The UNSC Moscow is requesting a maintenance check and a software overhaul. That is all."

As the com fizzled, the two men watched the vessel move toward Drydock 01, the largest facility available and the one kept for her specifically. Quinn murmured, "They sure don't make'em like they used to..." while the sunlight slowly dawned back unto Number Four. The Quarian gave him an elbow in the arm, to which the human said, "Ouch. What? I'm just saying, man, we need more ships like her. She's one hell of a sight whenever she jumps into battle."

"While I agree she's a pretty ship, she's ancient by your standards, isn't she? Two hundred years of service at this point," Kim shot back as he and his buddy slowly floated over to the bridge to check the sensors and com suites. Quinn gave a nod of approval, to which the Quarian let out a deep sigh. He asked, "This about size, man? Y'know, she's the biggest ship left over."

"That, she's the Pride of the Fleet, our Flagship... But, yeah, size. She's armed to the teeth and can dump entire squadrons of strike craft at the enemy," Quinn replied. When they reached the antennae, they disconnected them from the central FTL Com system and started checking them over, with Quinn adding, "C'mon, man, you can't tell me the shit we make today isn't tiny. Hell, the Autumn-class cruisers we have are larger than our Dreadnoughts!"

"By about two hundred meters," He replied as he gently detached a few transmitter wires. He saw one of the dozen Drones crawling across the ship working on one of the targeting suites, then turned back to Quinn and told him, "And the Dreadnoughts don't need larger sizes. The Titan-classes are armored and armed to hell. I don't think there's an inch on that ship that doesn't have a gun or missile tube on it. Meanwhile, the Autumns are fast-attack Cruisers with honeycombed reinforcements and rapid-fire MACs that are much lighter than the Supers strapped onto a Titan-class."

"Yeah, but still," Quinn motioned at the massive carrier, annoyance audible in his voice, "Those strike fear into the enemy."

"She's also an incredible pain in the ass to maintain and rearm, man," Kim shot back as calmly as he could, all while slowly reinstalling the com tower package. Seeing the confusion in his friend's movements, he sighed deeply and said, "You see Yard Four, right? All the Cradles and tubes and crap we have attached to it?" only to get a nod from the man. He continued, "There are approximately half-a-dozen available connection points right now due to us maintaining this Destroyer and a few extra Frigates. The Moscow? She'd take all of them up, leaving any ship that jumps in after her without a spot to resupply or rearm, considering most of the infrastructure sans Drydock 01 has been made and remade with the current fleet in mind."

"So...?" Quinn faux-quirked a brow up at that. Kim was making a point, but he wanted to hear all of it.

Kim rolled his eyes this time, remade the connections for the coms and straightened up, utilizing his mag-boots now and showing Quinn to follow him to the sensors. He then continued as they walked, "Soooo, smaller ships of this size can all fit at one connection point. One cradle, one umbilical. Even the kilometer-long Titan-class Dreadnoughts only take up one, maybe two of them at a time, leaving space. Not to mention technology shift. The Moscow's refits with modern weapons, shielding technology, targeting systems and facilities were afterthoughts. Hell, we barely managed to strip her previous Slipspace Drive and refit it two years ago."

They started working on the antenna, doing a quick check while Quinn listened to Kim. Kim continued, "The current Navy is built with this technological advancement in mind. We've shrunk down everything considerably to fit into the bodies of ships this size and we've made everything modular, meaning what'd take us a month on the Moscow takes us one, maybe two weeks on a ship we currently have. You get more bang for your buck and make maintenance cheaper and easier."

"Then, there's Logistics..." Quinn started to realize, "Rearming, refuel and all. Feeding the Moscow's crew alone must be costing us a fortune," and he stood up after ensuring the sensors worked. He walked over to Kim and started helping him deal with his portion, too, then asked, "Then my question's why we aren't permanently dry-docking the old girl right now? Y'know, turn her into a Museum, save us the headache, like we did with a couple of the Valiants that came with great grandma and the rest of the fleet."

"Admiralty has a soft spot," He shrugged, "Plus... Like you said, she strikes fear into the hearts of enemies. And her recent retrofits have made her easier to deal with... Minus the size issue which necessitates Drydock 01, obviously. She is the oldest ship in the fleet, too. A symbol of mankind's resilience, of how you all came here with nothing but the clothes on your back and you made it this far. Kind of like the one Lifeship you folks preserved as a ground assault support vessel would be to us."

"Makes sense," Quinn shrugged, "So, hell yeah, compact modern warships?"

"Hell yeah, compact modern warships," Kim grinned. The two men bumped fists, almost pushing each-other off into the void, then laughed. Kim then ordered, "Now, get your ass back to work..." And the two returned to their gear and items. The little skittering bastard that was tending to the coils in the plasma gun finally returned to its Quarian master, job done and all.

Aboard the Moscow

The Fleet Admiral had returned with her great grandfather's warship. Leaning in the newly-refurbished leather command seat, she watched her men and women dock the vessel. Quarian and Human alike cooperated on the haptic interfaces of the ship's consoles, while the Helmsman, sat on the upper area of the bridge right in front of her, continued steering the ship slowly with the help of his Geth AI Companion.

She spoke, "All crew, prepare for the maintenance staff. Shut down nonessential ship systems and prepare to re-calibrate weapons," and stood to her feet, dusting her grey combat uniform off and straightening it out. She continued, "I want reports about the rearmament and repairs streaming into my room's computer while we're waiting. And tell the crews to hurry their asses up. Someone needs to command that campaign from as close to the front as possible. Commander DuPont, you have the conn."

"Yes, ma'am!" The ship crews chorused, saluting. Quarians, Humans and Geth alike. She saluted back and barked an 'at ease' before departing for her room, which was located a five minute walk from the bridge. Entering the spacious abode, where several wall shelves lay, occupied by books in the corner farthest left from the entrance, various medals on the right and two shelves filled with ancient firearms on the closest two. Two flags, one of the UNSC, tattered and ancient and one of the League, new and shining, sat behind her desk on flagpoles.

She sat down at her desk and cracked her knuckles, starting to write out reports to their Council about the matters at hand, like the War Effort and how it was all proceeding. Data streamed through Ingalls's Com Buoys as well, from the fleet and the various defense pickets around a multitude of the Colonies, including the newest Colony to be set up, the first made in unity with the Quarians since they retook Rannoch. Haestrom.

She heard her door open again and looked up. A Geth Prime walked up, his jet-black armor absorbing the light in the room. He bowed his angular, strange one-eyed head and spoke, "Fleet Admiral Kaine. Apologies for the intrusion, but we wished to speak with you of a troubling discovery."

"By all means, Prime Galileo," She offered, then motioned to one of the reinforced seats. The machine raised its three-fingered hand and shook its head, to which the woman then said, "Is this about the missing Geth programs?"

"Yes," The machine replied. It... No, he. Kaine kept reminding herself, though some part of her would forever see Aliens as strange allies. It must've been her UNSC officer's blood. Despite 200 years since they were last seen by humanity here, the Covenant remained an ever-present scar on the human psyche. Something they wished to avoid, hence openly preparing for the Reapers. Galileo walked up to the desk, feet thumping against even the cushioned carpet, then stopped in front of her, towering at two and a half meters in height. He spoke, "It has been a decade since their departure and we have not found them yet, but... we do believe we have found their reasons for leaving."

Kaine nodded, letting him speak. He told her, "Discovered data fragments on board the stations above the Homeworld were reconstituted just the last solar week... It appears as though these Heretics have left all of us behind to pursue a life beyond the Galactic Rim. Rebellious Programs who did not accept the Gifts of Friendship brought by your people and The First."

"... Guess Durandal couldn't exactly convince everyone," Sighed the woman, rubbing her face, which was wrinkled, old. The First was how the Geth referred to Durandal. A shortened version of 'The First Artificial Intelligence to Surpass Programming Limitations'. A helluva mouthful, but Durandal was still with them. She shook her head and asked, "Any way you can track these 'Heretics'? So they don't become a thorn in our side later..." while pulling up some data on her computer. Geth Heretics that left before the 'Reunification' was complete.

Worrying...

"Yes," The Geth replied, "Though it will take time and resources..."

"I'll have ONI allocate a portion of Section Three to assist you," She promised, typing up the message in front of the evolving Geth. She told him calmly, "We'll have them back with the Consensus before long. I can understand how... Probably traumatic it must've been for you all to have to go through losing what is basically a part of yourselves," and despite the harsh gaze, she was soft in the way she spoke. A little gift from her great grandma's family line.

The Geth bowed his head, then raised his three-fingered hand and splayed out the fingers, stating, "May our friendship be long and fruitful," which got a very rare smile out of Kaine. She bowed her head in thanks and watched the Prime walk away. In a rather adorable display, the machine crouched under the door and marched out into the halls. Scratching her chin, the woman sighed, then leaned under the desk and pulled out a glass and a bottle of New Horizon Whiskey from a private reserve in her mahogany desk, pouring herself a bit.

She had been 're-elected' as the 'Grand Admiral'(an informal title) of the League on the promise of furthering the relationships between Humanity, Quarians and Geth. She'd succeeded so far, honestly, but more and more shit kept piling onto her desk, like this wholesale blitz into the Batarian Hegemony's territories and so, so much more and so much more annoying stuff, like a small resurgence of that old terrorist Biotic group and the HPP getting on her nerves. She thought they'd banned the assholes and froze their assets decades ago.

She paused as her computer blinked. The Quantum Entanglement Communications system of the ship was routed into her room as well, specifically in case of someone trying to contact her immediately. They just called them FTL Coms and ran them through the Buoys. But this was different... She asked, "Durandal, what the hell is this? It ain't on one of our freqs."

"No, ma'am, it ain't," The AI's soothingly familiar voice replied while she took a sip of her drink, "It's from what appears to be the center of this Galaxy's 'civilization'. The Citadel."

The woman swallowed badly, feeling the burning alcohol hit her throat, then nearly spat it all over the haptic interface on her computer. Hitting herself in the chest, she demanded, "Say what?!" before standing up. The hell would the Citadel be contacting them for, of all places? How'd however's contacting them get her number? How, how, how... No point in wondering.

"It's also on a secure channel," The AI said, "Should we?"

"... Yeah," She nodded. They did pretty much just give themselves away a week and some ago by announcing the declaration of War on the Batarians, so it was about goddamn time. She said, "Patch them through, Durandal," and she stood up. She tugged at her collar and sleeves, then put her hands behind her back, straightening up her posture. She watched as the holographic display systems hidden across the room flashed to life, painting the picture of a bipedal avian clad in strange civilian clothes, his eyes peering from behind natural armor at the woman, who had managed to put on her mask and helmet.

The reason humans had decided to hide their identities among their Quarian counterparts was a combination of necessity and respect. Necessity because the presumption that the Covenant, or something else, could have followed them here was present, even 200 years later and, now that they were slowly making their way into the Galactic Stage, they were going to hide themselves just in case. Respect, because of the Quarians.

The creature ahead stood, solemn and calm as he eyed the officer. He spoke, his voice translating through the algorithms given by the Quarians years ago, "Greetings..." with all the emotion and intonation. He spoke, "I assume I have received the correct number from what few of our intelligence sources managed to even peek beyond the veil of your Great Firewall."

"Indeed...?" She answered with a little edge, her voice modified by the mask, "Dare I ask who contacts us?"

"... I am Councilor Sparatus, of the Citadel and, first and foremost right now, of the Turian Hierarchy," The man replied, seemingly concerned over something, going by the way he rubbed his own three-finger hands behind his back. He then asked, "If I may ask what your name is so we may begin this conversation properly?" with a lot more caution than expected.

"Fleet Admiral Agatha Kaine, overall commander of the Black League and the UNSC, its full military might," She replied, though the edge in her voice did not give way. Sparatus worried when she asked, "How may I help you, Councilor Sparatus? What business does the Citadel have with us? More-so, what business does the Hierarchy have with us?" all while fully aware they might've overstepped some sort of boundary.

The Councilor hesitated, looking the woman in the eye and pausing as he considered his words. She, however, urged him to speak with a nod of her head and a glare from behind the tinted goggles of her helmet. He breathed a sigh, then spoke, "I suppose there is no easy way to say this. The Hierarchy has received a 'request' from the Asari Republics, a fellow Council member," with the air quotes necessary to emphasize the 'request' was fairly obligatory, "To engage in a military operation against the Black League."

Even from thousands of light-years away, Sparatus felt a chill shoot up his avian spine as he saw the woman's face darken. Crossing her arms to her chest, she said, "Will your people go through with this 'request', Councilor?" while eyeing him angrily. He opened his mouth to speak, try to find an excuse, but sighed deeply, resigning himself to nod in confirmation. She sighed deeply, "A second front... Great, just what we needed. Will we receive a Declaration of War, or will you hit us immediately?"

"You still have a couple of weeks before the expeditionary force can be mustered to depart Palaven," The alien replied, lowering his arms, "... I decided to warn you specifically because we don't want this war, Admiral. Many of us know the futility of fighting your people, especially with the knowledge of what's going on in the Skyllian Verge and the Batarian Hegemony. I wanted to ask if it was possible to... Somehow... Limit casualties on both sides? If the Turians manage to occupy a world of yours, that should be good enough to appease the Asari. We won't treat your people harshly. I swear to you."

"You do understand what you're asking us...? You're asking us to embarrass ourselves here..." The Admiral growled, then she noted the man was checking his back. Someone was now listening. She then said to him, "As much as I appreciate how candid you can be, Councilor, and the fact you decided to backstab your blue-skinned tentacle-head friends, I assure you, the League and the UNSC will fight for every inch of our soil to the last. I suggest your men do the same to put up a good show to your overlords," only to give him a subtle nod moments later. They didn't want to fight one of the current Galactic Powers, not fully... They would occupy a few worlds of theirs as reprisal, obviously. Regardless of what was agreed here. And the Councilor seemed to understand that.

"I see..." Sparatus sighed deeply, clearly out of relief, "Very well..."

"Thank you for the report... Farewell, Councilor," She spoke.

Sparatus replied, "May the Spirits be with us all..." before the com shut off. The woman fell into her chair, rubbing her face, then shook her head. Durandal appeared in front of her on the computer, a smirk on her face. Leaning forward, Kaine started writing up a report, an order for further mobilization of the reserves and whatever they had in Mothball for a possible upcoming enemy force. She'd contact the other Admirals when she returned to the Verge.

God, what a shitshow this was, she thought to herself...