Deviation Actions
Literature Text
Lowering her palm, Samantha Traynor whipped it up in a smooth motion. It connected with the back of Joker's head, knocking his SR2 cap clean off his head.
Two points!
"Hey! What the shit, Traynor?" Joker squawked as he lurched forward in his chair. He fumbled to right the hat over his messy swath of red hair. "I'm just, oh I don't know, flying the damn ship that keeps us alive? Are you trying to make us end up ass-first in a supernova?"
Sam sniffed disdainfully, crossing her arms over her chest. "Oh cry me a river, you big baby. That's for lying to me about EDI."
Joker finished swiping across the pilot interface to correct their flight path to Menae before turning his chair. "Yea, well… I didn't know if I could trust you. I already had two Alliance cheerleaders up my ass about working with Cerberus." He stuck a thumb out at Private Sarah Campbell, who had taken a break from security duty for the war room to mingle with one of the handsome new ensigns. Her "cheerleader" in crime, Private Bethany Westmoreland, was probably reading a datapad about Illium fashions at her post.
Samantha just smirked. "Well, you should have known better. And you wouldn't even have a ship to fly if it weren't for EDI and I going over the systems with a fine tooth comb. Isn't that right, EDI?"
"I appreciate your open-mindedness, Specialist Traynor. And you are correct. The system overhaul you implemented has increased my processing power by 7.3% and reduced redundancies by 3.8% in several key areas. These efficiencies translate to improvements in handling and drive core expulsion rates," EDI chimed in overhead while Joker snarked a thank-you about passing the savings on to him.
"Well, in my defense, a lot of those 'redundancies' were firewalls and security parameters leftover from your shackling. Cerberus certainly knew how to build a cage."
There was a pause, before EDI thoughtfully responded. "Indeed, Specialist Traynor. Are you saying you were aware of my deception but chose to remain silent?"
Shrugging, Sam sat down in the co-pilot's chair to bring up a pair of screens. Joker grumbled that that seat was taken. "Oh hush. And …I had a hunch, EDI. Things just weren't adding up, though there were other possibilities, or excuses, for all those security protocols. But I guess it's just human nature to only see what we want to see. Even when we do know better."
"It is human nature to ignore what you know is true despite evidence to the contrary?"
Samantha laughed. "I should tell you about being in love sometime. Or about religion."
"I would like that, Specialist Traynor." Sam had meant it more as a throwaway joke, but there was something impossibly endearing about EDI. And that sexy voice… Shut it, Traynor. Checking the QEC protocols one more time and a long list of to-dos, Samantha got up to finally start her shift.
Travel days aboard a ship were disorienting, because Day and Night had pretty much ceased to exist. Switching to Galactic Standard Time meant longer shifts and rotating sleeper pod schedules and all these rigid routines she wasn't used to yet.
There was a nice energy to being in space, though. The camaraderie, for one. New faces and new friends to make. Granted, it could end up like a catty college dormitory, but there was still that getting-to-know-you hesitation where everyone was initially kind and polite. I hope it lasts.
And I hope there's an entire storage bay of stim packs. Because my morning tea is going to need a pick-me-up and a half to get through this mountain of intel reports.
Walking through the bow of the Normandy, Sam asked, "So EDI, does your coming out party mean you'll be dumping some of those irritating VI habits? Y'know, since you're not bound by such simple runtimes being a higher intelligence and all?"
"Can you be more specific, Specialist Traynor? Irritation is relative." Joker shouted something obscene in response, but Samantha couldn't hear what it was. She gestured at the airlock. "The punch card, for one. Announcing to the universe who is on and off duty."
EDI's reply was deadpan. "I find it easier to maintain complete control of my humans when I know exactly where they are at all times."
A pause.
"That was a joke."
Stopping dead in her tracks, Samantha slowly turned around to look down the bow corridor. Joker had also rotated in his seat to exchange an uncertain look with Sam. "You scare me sometimes, EDI," Joker finally responded.
Opting to accept the joke at face value (rather than be terrified of what would happen if EDI was serious), Samantha teased back, "I'll send you a list of things about you to change, EDI. Or I can make Joker do it as an intro to the undoubtedly many years of couples' therapy you two are going to need." She ducked down the hallway out of earshot just as EDI and Joker started an argument over what that meant.
As Sam entered the CIC, she spotted Commander Shepard in casual attire conversing with several of the new crewmembers on the port side of the room. They started to salute, but Shepard waved them off.
Huh. Informal. That's good to know.
"Traynor!" Private Campbell beckoned Samantha over to a starboard-side console with one of the two steaming mugs in her hands. Please tell me that's tea. Or coffee. Or caffeine molecules in liquid form.
Smiling kindly, Samantha walked over and accepted the cup. Coffee then. Campbell was still leaning against the wall trying to talk to Ensign …Marcus? Matthews? Something with an M.
"Ensign Maxwell here…" Maxwell! That's it! "…was just saying he was serving with the SSV Perugia on the Battle of the Citadel." Sarah shot a look at Sam that begged: Please help me!
Not knowing what she needed help with, Samantha offered a noncommittal "Oh yea?"
The darkly tanned soldier was too busy swiping through navigation charts to respond right away. When he finally did, Samantha could understand where the trouble lie: he was positively dull. "Yea. I did navigation there, too."
Cocking an eyebrow at Campbell, Samantha took a sip from her mug and nearly gagged. God, it's like liquid varren shit. She coughed slightly but gave Sarah a grateful smile. If she somehow snags this brilliant conversationalist, the relationship is over the second he tries her coffee. God.
Caffeine addiction took over, however, forcing Sam to muscle through the taste at the expense of her tongue on behalf of her half-asleep brain cells. "Were you part of the strike force helping save the Destiny Ascension? I heard the Fifth Fleet took down almost a thousand geth ships that day."
"No."
Well, I'm out. Samantha shook her head at Campbell. "All right then. Brilliant meeting you, Ensign Maxwell. I'm the Comms Specialist for the Normandy, so if you need anything, I'll be stationed at the console by the galaxy map."
"Okay."
Waving the mug at Campbell in acknowledgement, Samantha continued sipping as she made her way over to her work station. Specialist Chen Xian nodded sleepily as he logged off, happy to finally get relieved of duty. He stole her mug as he turned to the elevator, and Sam smirked when she heard his disgusted sputter.
"Ugh! Traynor! Not cool!" He gurgled while tapping the button for the crew deck. Sam just shrugged. "That'll teach you to steal my stuff, Xian. Get your own bloody coffee next time." Xian mumbled about being off for the next eight hours and to not blow up the ship while he slept. Samantha promised nothing.
Running her tongue along her teeth, Sam grumbled as she fired up her console. God, this instant coffee tastes like arse. I can feel it seeping into my teeth and taste buds. The next person who talks to me will probably need medical attention from the sheer foulness of my breath.
"Specialist Traynor. Got a second?"
…you've got to be kidding me.
Swallowing deeply a few times, Sam frantically tried to clear the taste from her mouth before turning around. "Commander? Come to check on your new recruit?" Breathe through your nose. Breathe through your nose. Breathe through your nose.
"Just wanted to see how you were doing," Shepard agreed with a nod, though her voice had a touch of boredom.
Sam took that as permission to be informal. "Still trying to get my bearings. When I was working on the Normandy's upgrades, I left at the end of the day." Now going home is going down a deck to crash in a bed someone else sleeps in. At least Arcturus had dormitories.
"I didn't even have a toothbrush or a change of clothing until I made some emergency purchases on the Citadel," Samantha added, though she made a fake cough in order to shield her mouth (and breath) from Shepard.
The Commander was concerned. "Next time you need something, just ask. You're not alone here."
"Oh—it's—it's no trouble," Samantha backpedaled hastily. Bloody hell, I sound like I'm complaining. Again. People are dying and I'm bitching about a toothbrush. "I'm sure you have larger concerns."
"We can put in a requisition order," Shepard shrugged as she fired up her Omni-tool. Sam could just barely read the reverse image on the transparent, orange screen of the official Alliance requisition database.
"My toothbrush is a Cision Pro Mark-4. It uses tiny mass effect fields break up plaque and massage the gums." Cupping her hand over her mouth conspiratorially, Sam added with a whisper, "It cost six thousand credits."
The Omni-tool wrist dropped immediately as the screen quickly closed. Scoffing, Shepard crossed her arms and leaned back. A smile tugged at her mouth. "...Okayyy. Yea. You're on your own with that."
"What?" Sam asked, feigning hurt. "Are you putting a price on these pearly whites, Commander?" Her mouth flashed open in an exaggerated, cheesy grin. "Good communication starts with healthy gums, you know." Shepard didn't respond, but the smile grew into an amused exhale through her nose.
"In any event, I appreciate you giving me the chance to stay." An awkward pause, but Shepard didn't make a move to leave or continue the conversation. "Was there anything else?" Samantha prodded, hoping to end the conversation so she could duck into the ladies' room for some alone time with her shitty off-brand toothbrush.
Shepard's tone changed gruffly, which took Sam aback. "I'm surprised you're worrying about a toothbrush. We've got bigger problems right now."
"Oh, believe me: seeing the Reapers on Earth was terrifying. But I won't help anybody by bursting into tears here in the CIC, will I?" Shepard seemed satisfied with that answer. Was that a test? "Being here on the Normandy helps. If anyone in the galaxy can stop the Reapers, it's you. And if flagging your messages and managing strategic intel helps you in any way, then it's worth it," Samantha added. It's about time I acted grateful to be here. Because I am.
"Where are you from, originally?"
Sam evaded the question, as she wasn't quite ready to discuss Horizon with the woman who had saved it just yet. That's …a big topic. Plus I haven't heard from Dad or Mum in the past couple days. She crossed her arms. "A colony out in the Terminus systems, actually. Though I studied on Earth. At Oxford."
Head tilting curiously, Shepard nodded for Samantha to continue.
"My parents were from London. They loved Earth, but they wanted the freedom a colony life could offer." A dark thought touched Sam's mind, brought to light by Shepard's severe tone about bigger problems. London… Dad said the Reapers hit there first. If we—if they were… "If they'd stayed in London, I imagine they'd be dead right now..." Sam wasn't sure how she subdued the emotion in her voice.
"A lot of people back on Earth are still alive, and counting on us," Shepard asserted calmly. While the Commander's pep talk lacked any manner of cozy warmth, she at least gave the impression that there was still hope.
Sam agreed. Quite true.
"So, Traynor. How'd you end up in the military anyway?"
Sam wasn't certain how exactly to gauge a question like that. On the one hand, it could just be polite interest. On the other: a windup to questioning Sam's military qualifications. Or lack thereof? Is she trying to say I missed my calling? Maybe as a marksman or taxi driver or stripper?
…Oh balls, you're taking too long to answer. Just tell the bloody truth. Isn't the truth all we really have left at a time like this?
Leaning back against her console, Samantha hugged her arms to her chest a little defensively. But if what Allers had said about Shepard's humble origins on Earth, maybe (just maybe) the Commander could relate. I really need to watch that damn ANN profile about Shepard. I hardly know anything about the woman in charge of my life.
…in charge, Traynor? …shut up. You know what I meant.
"My family didn't have money for university." A volunteer nurse at a free clinic and a physics professor aren't exactly rubbing elbows with the Bekenstein new money elite. "When the Alliance saw my aptitude scores, they offered me a full scholarship. I served my required years after graduation and decided to stay. I really liked the challenges of the lab."
It had been a long time since Sam had thought about her graduation. She had knuckled down and gotten out in three years with a nice summa cum laude in Applied Communications and a minor in Quantum Entanglement Theory. Only six months ago had Samantha decided to make Alliance R&D a permanent home.
Right around the time Commander Shepard had come back from the dead to wage a war against Reapers. …and before that, Collectors while I was home on furlough.
Once again, Sam felt the need to backpedal on her words. I really need to stop feeling like I have to apologize for perceived cowardice. It's exhausting.
If only Commander bloody Shepard wasn't staring like that at me. Like she sees through me. Grinning sheepishly, Samantha added, "Although, I'm sure I'll grow to love front-line service as well!"
Shepard didn't say anything for a moment, and Sam worried she'd said the wrong thing. So far, she simply did not understand the Commander. Most of Samantha's conversational aces up her sleeve worked on people. Joking at my own expense. Polite small talk. Cheeky observations. Genuine concern. But Shepard was either immune to all of them, or reacted oppositely to what Sam intended.
Suddenly, Shepard did that squinty-eye thing. Where she was almost smiling, but not quite. "You're going to have to learn to shoot with your eyes open before I put you on the front lines, Traynor."
A joke. From Commander Shepard. Samantha glanced around to see if anyone else had heard it, or knew if it was a common occurrence. But no, just Sam. She was partially relieved Shepard remembered her, but partially squeamish that that was her legacy.
Do I apologize? Or play it off? There was a curious gleam in Shepard's green eyes. Sort of intense and defiant.
All right. I'll play.
"Oh, my deadliness with a pistol is legendary, Commander Shepard. I was just testing your reflexes. You always have to keep an eye on us quiet ones. It's a hallmark, really."
"A hallmark."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Of your deadliness."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Shooting with your eyes closed is a hallmark of deadliness."
"I'm starting to hear an echo, Commander Shepard, and I'm afraid it's just not quite as attractive as mine."
"Or deadly."
"Exactly."
Shepard's lips tightened, almost appreciatively. She nodded four times, slowly at first, then faster. Without another word, the Commander headed off to the war room security door. Samantha turned back to her console and brought up the QEC feeds she was supposed to be analyzing.
And smiled to herself.
Now, that test I passed.
