Snippet #2545441

The Skyllian Queen soared gracefully through space. Nearly 7 miles from her stately prow to the mighty engines at her stern, the ship was a marvel of Quarian and Geth engineering, the largest ever constructed. She had returned to the place of her birth, the galaxy-famous Rannoch Orbital Shipyards, where a million souls toiled day and night, synthetic and organic alike, for the glory of Black Star Trans-Galactic, producing hundreds of new starships every year. Floating, her engines on low burn, the massive liner drifted past enormous dock cradles where her two sister ships, the Attican Queen and the Terminus Queen were undergoing final assembly. Pinpricks of light, like tiny stars, flashed across their skeletal hulls as Geth assemblers welded the titanium supports for their ceramic skins. Standing alone, hands clasped behind his back, the man responsible for it all gazed out at this little slice of his empire through a docking port on the Queen's flank.

Standing at 7'2", Xander O'Tarin was an enormous, tank-like human, broad-shouldered and barrel chested. Flawlessly pressed black slacks and vest stark against the brilliant white of his high-collared shirt, the tycoon was immaculate in appearance. His hands, however, told a different story. Scarred, battered and calloused, they were hands that had seen hard work, clutched a blade, held a pistol. Hands that had killed on more than one occasion. The hands of a soldier and a mercenary. The leader of Black Star had not always led the life of privilege and power he enjoyed now.

Beside him, cradled in her birth, was a ship far smaller, yet almost as valuable as the massive liner she inhabited. The Freedom's Blade, a Blade-class stealth attack frigate, built in the tradition of the Human Alliance's legendary Normandy line. Sleek, crisp and dagger-shaped, the frigate wore the white and black livery of Black Star, the seven-pointed starburst splashed in matte black paint across her flank. Built for speed, maneuverability and stealth, she was beautiful, as much a work of art as a warship. Designed to slip unnoticed through enemy fleets, creeping past their defenses and ripping them apart with Casaba Torpedos before vanishing, her delicate, organic appearance disguised a deadly killing machine. But this Blade would serve a different purpose. Xander O'Tarin had taken great care in selecting her crew, and her commander.

The door behind him hissed open, and 18 figures filtered in. O'Tarin did not turn. The twin glass ovals perched on his large, aquiline nose were not simple spectacles, but smart lenses mated to the Queen's systems, feeding data from her cameras and databanks. Confirming the presence of his newest batch of SOD recruits. A motley band, assembled from every race and every corner of the galaxy, each uniquely talented in their chosen field. With Major Tarchus to keep them in line, and Commander Marshall to set their course and keep their moral compass clear, the old tycoon was confident that they would perform their duty. When the last of them had entered and assembled, he turned, removing the lenses and tucking them into a vest pocket.

"Officer on deck!" Maj. Tarchus barked, snapping her heels together and saluting.

"At ease, Major" O'Tarin chuckled, waving his hand dismissively "I'm not a soldier. But you are" he said, clasping his hands behind his back again, and walking slowly down the line.

"You are all soldiers. You have chosen, or been chosen, to serve the people of this galaxy. You have a long, hard fight ahead of you. I won't lie to you. Some of you may not come back alive. And we’re facing a dangerous foe. When Independance Day comes, the Turians are going to hit us with everything they’ve got. They’re not an enemy to be sneezed at, either. The Turian Hierarchy commands the largest military force in the Galaxy, and they’ve got centuries of experience behind them. But we have something they don’t. Those Turian soldiers, they’re fighting for a paycheck. For their masters. Masters they’ll never meet or speak to. You, and every other soldier of the Union, is fighting for more than that. We’re fighting for our homes, and our families, and our freedom. They think we’re peasent rabble, to be smacked back into place with a little show of force. They’ve underestimated us. They’ve underestimated our resolve, our commitment to our people and our cause. And it’s that commitment that is going to make sure that no many how many times they knock us down, we get right back up and hit back, harder. That’s the best advice I can give you: never back down, never doubt your convictions, and never let anything compromise who you are. You’re going to need all of that. You are a vital resource, a uniquely capable and promising fighting force. And you’re more than that: you’re an experiment, to see if what Shepard had was a fluke. If this kind of fighting force, in this kind of ship, has a place in the modern theater of war. We’re counting on you. Not just me and High Command, but every man, woman and child in Union Space. Good luck, godspeed, and make us proud” He stopped as he reached the end of the line. “Mister Marshall, you have the deck”

John Marshall lifted his duffle bag from the ground, and stepped out of line, turning to face his crew.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, I’m honored to be your commander. I hope to get to know each and every one of you better, but for now, we have pressing matters to attend to. Our current mission is time-sensitive. Once your personal effects are stowed on the ship, you will report to the conference room on the Command Deck, behind the CIC. I will answer any and all questions there. Dismissed” Marshall hefted his kit, and mounted the gantry leading into the ship.

“Alright scrubs, you heard the Captain! I want your shit in your quarters, your kit in the armory, and your asses in the briefing room in thirty minutes!” Tarchus snapped, stalking up the gantry after Marshall.

Kai’Saaya reached for her bag, but straightened up as she felt Xander’s hand on her shoulder.

“Daaad, not now” she whispered. The human smiled.

“I know, I know. But I’ll risk tarnishing your reputation in front of the others. There’s something I want you to have” He said, leading her over to a tool cart near the bay’s entrance. There was a small bundle of cloth on it, thick and black with intricate interlocking line patterns in the same golden-yellow as the stripes on her flightsuit’s plating. O’Tarin picked it up, and handed it to her. “If you don’t know what that is, well, than I’ve failed as a parent”

“It’s a hood. For an old enviro-suit” Kai said, puzzled. “Is this... mom’s?”

“No. This is older. From when the suits were still necessary. This belonged to your great-great-grandmother. It was my good luck charm when I was, well, you know. Now, I think you’ll need it more than I” Xander said. There was something wistful, and sad, in his eyes. Kai stared at the ancient fabric in her hands.

“Thanks, dad...” she whispered, unsure what to think.

“You should probably go. Be careful with that. You’re the last of the Saaya family. I want to see you give it to your daughter”

“Damn it, you old bastard, you’re being a stereotype”

“I’m just teasing you” he chuckled “now go! They’re really going to think you’re a princess if you hold up the whole ship”

Kai scowled, then ran for the gantry, scooping up her duffle as she went.