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Milk Run 2
VWS Cartographer, Explorer Corps
Log Date 147, GS 498
Captain: Veddan Banar
Location: Virmire Orbital Stardocks, Virmire System
On the rare occasion the
Cartographer found itself docked to some orbital shipyard or another, the crew often piled into the ship's recreation room slash mess hall slash briefing room for some lively debate, and this particular day was no exception. Almost the entire crew was present - not that that was saying much, given the crew was a measly ten people.
Today, the topic of conversation was the Lystheni, and the exorbitant government effort that went into establishing intelligence listening posts in their territory even when Virmire was on the brink of economic collapse.
Unfortunately.
"And I get that, but what I'm saying is, they were never a threat, in the military sense. Hell, the Explorer Corps could have taken their navy in a fight, no need to get the First Fleet involved," Matron Tem'valla was explaining. "It legitimately is spies and covert cells we should be worried about - if we're going to be worried about them at all, when the Rachni are still pacing about in our front yard - and the listening posts
will help deal with those problems."
"Yeah," Bikks added, wagging a finger in the air. "And don't forget all their inevitable mad science projects. Those mines we turned up in Tonvael probably aren't the only derelict stations they erased from their maps."
Banar frowned at the salarian ensign. "You're probably right, but what makes you think they have 'inevitable mad science projects', though?"
"Speaking as a salarian, sir, it's because we all have mad science projects." Bikks answered as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Over by the kitchen counter, Raow simply nodded agreement.
"For my part," the communications officer said, taking a tentative bite of his freshly heated meal, "I'm trying to figure out a way to hijack the Rachni's telepathic communications, so I can become the all-devouring king of stars."
After receiving a lot of flat stares and silence, he shrugged. "It's a stretch goal."
Igann, the ship's 'chief surveyor' and sole non-Asari female, took her own opportunity to speak. "Back when I was at VUS, the chemistry lab was above the geology lab in complex four - one time, the fire alarms went off in the middle of a practical assessment, because some salarian chemist got together with one of his buddies from engineering and tried to make a… uh, it had a stupid acronym. F-L-U-F or something? They set half the floor on fire."
"FOOF, probably!" Matron Tem'valla said with a smile. "It burns everything. Got my hands on a canister when I was fighting with the Kabrin Raiders. Heh. Fun times."
"Yeah!" Igann nodded rapidly. "That's the stuff. Yeah, when I said it set half the floor on fire? I don't just mean the stuff on the floor, like desks and stuff. The floor itself. It was literally raining molten plastic in my lab. Complex four was closed for
six months, they had to rip up and replace three whole floors."
Abayle looked apprehensively between the three salarians in the room. "You're not going to do anything like that on my ship, are you?"
"I think you'll find it's
my ship." Banar said pointedly, before turning to his salarian officers. "And if you do, you're all fired."
"If those hyperactive maniacs unleashed FOOF on this ship," Chief Engineer Kadeb said, "we'd be too dead to worry about getting fired. Sir."
Whilst Bikks mumbled something about not being hyperactive under his breath, the first officer, Orrorm Paet, who'd spent most of the impromptu crew gathering looking down at his dataslate silently, spoke for the first time. "I wouldn't be too worried about us breaking out the violently reactive chemicals right now, sir. We can't afford them right now, not on our salaries with this crisis going on. We also happen to live on this ship, and the general rule of mad science projects is 'don't start fires in your bedroom'."
He paused, still reading off his dataslate.
"Back to the original point, though - keeping an eye on the Lystheni might be important, but I personally disagree with the assessment that it was important enough for the government to prioritize and spent
that much on, even when the economy was starting to crash."
Tem'valla turned to the first officer with a critical eye, and took a deep breath.
Banar sighed. Much as he appreciated his crew and the effort they put in, they had an alarming habit of getting… agitated. An unfortunate side effect of being crammed into a glorified bathtub with nine other people for far too long at a time, really.
Still, as long as they did their jobs, he couldn't really complain about a little bit of shouting every now and then.
==<>==
"Fly for the Navy, they said…" Abayle complained. "It'll be fun, they said. All we ever get is milk runs, though. It's such crap."
Banar couldn't fault her impatience. Flying escort wasn't exactly the most entertaining of missions, and Abayle Therossa was the kind of pilot who was restless at the best of times.
"Like, what are we even supposed to be doing, anyway?" she continued. "We're one corvette. If any of these ships get attacked, what are we going to do about it? Catch a torpedo with our flanks? Can't exactly do that more than once. I would know, I've tried."
A worried frown crossed Banar's brow but Tem'valla held a hand up reassuringly. "It's alright, Captain. She was a jet jockey back then. Doubt she could pull it off in a corvette."
"Doubt!" Abayle yelped, indignant. "I've been flying since before the captain was born and you think there's a maneuver I can't pull off? Pah. Some friend you are."
Darkness filled the room as a larger craft passed over the
Cartographer's viewport, casting the room in shadows. "Also, what kind of escort mission gives the escorts a strict timetable and lets the VIPs just swan about like they own the place? We're like, seven ships back from the front, how's that helping anyone?"
The reason for that, of course, was that the transports were but a stone's throw from Virmire and if any of them encountered hostiles here there would be a great many worse problems to worry about. Helmsman Therossa knew that, of course, but griping was her way of coping with not being allowed to throw the ship around like a child's toy and whoop in excitement.
Luckily for the rest of the bridge crew, once they left the Virmire system Abayle would have a lot more room to mess about, so long as she kept the ship vaguely on course and allowed Raow and Igann to do their jobs, something she was usually willing to go along with. She'd even get a chance to fly around in atmosphere again, provided she didn't ram the ship into an asteroid first.
==<>==
The trip to Assilia was as eventful as Banar hoped, which was to say that sweet merciful nothing happened the entire time. With the exception of Abayle's excessive good-natured griping, which dwindled away to nothing as even she eventually tired of the sound of her own voice, it was a blissfully silent trip.
No hostile ships, no rogue asteroids, only one 'near' collision (Abayle had laughed at the computer's definition of 'near' and buzzed the transport in question so closely they had to mute the collision alarm to avoid going deaf) and not a technical malfunction in sight.
The last, and, to a degree, most exciting part, had been the final run on the planet's surface. The landing sites had been chosen well, picked out years in advance by experts from the FDO, and orbital infrastructure hung above the planet, providing a lovely little staging ground for the first of the landings.
Yet despite all of that, some big-wig had requested a exploration vessel to take a last-minute look at each of the landings sites and make sure there was nothing dangerous waiting for a vessel full of hapless colonists to arrive. Banar had thought it unlikely they would find anything, and he was relieved to find he was right.
As Abayle pulled the ship up into orbit, the captain slouched a little in his command chair. "Alright everyone, that's the last scan site. Another textbook photo operation, great jobs all around."
The rest of the crew on the bridge mumbled their own agreements. "Here's to hoping our next mission's a little more exciting, eh?" Tem'valla added. "Maybe not as exciting as Resurgent Grace, though."
Abayle, in flagrant violation of aviation safety, twisted in her chair to face the rest of the crew. "Aww, what was wrong with Resurgent Grace? We swooped in, saved the day like half a dozen times, rescued a bunch of Quarians, and pissed off the Rachni something fierce!"
Tem'valla sighed and cradled her head in one hand. "Yes, but we also
nearly died far more times than I care to count."
"Yeah, see? Exciting."
"Yes.
Too exciting."
First Officer Paet turned to his captain and shrugged. "For what it's worth, I kind of like the milk runs."