Jason Hough - Mass Effect - Nexus Uprising

Even the worst hangover of her life couldn’t keep the smile from Sloane Kelly’s face.

She stood, hands clasped behind her back in a posture expected of a security director, on a ceremonial platform erected inside one of the Nexus’s many docking bays.

Up until yesterday, the bay had been full of ships, each bustling with people and equipment, workers and staff. As the last-minute preparations were made, Sloane held one last briefing with her security officers, drilling down the procedures they’d all prepped for until she was confident they could enact them in their sleep.

An unnecessary test, Sloane knew. She’d worked damn hard to ensure her people were up to the ironclad standards of the Initiative, and they didn’t disappoint. By the time the last box had been ticked and the massive space station had been declared ready for launch, her teams were as rock solid as she’d ever hoped for.

Years of planning. Hours upon months upon years of work. Hundreds of thousands of applications, and the manpower needed to sort them all. Sloane had never seen the like, and all that focus and drive had been poured into one thing—the Nexus. Smaller than the Citadel, but more advanced and streamlined than anyone had ever thought possible. Even half-built, its corridors and wards folded down and locked in for launch, the gleaming station drew every eye. Once they arrived in Andromeda, construction would begin again, turning all the stripped-down parts of the Nexus into flourishing districts and functional docks.

But before all that, the Andromeda Initiative had to get underway. So here she was, standing on this platform with a smile she couldn’t shake—and a hangover throbbing behind her forehead. The pain of that indulgence was real enough. This wasn’t some kind of dream.

This was a goddamn miracle.

And she was its Security Director. Standing here with only one ship in the bay. The cavernous interior caused an enormous feedback echo she wasn’t used to, turning whispers into shouts and words into a distorted wave. As soon as everyone had said their goodbyes, the Hyperion would leave, carrying with it the human Pathfinder and his crew.

Jien Garson, founder of the Andromeda Initiative and awe-inspiring in her own right, stood a step in front of Sloane. She hugged Alec Ryder as if they were old friends, as she had with the other Pathfinders just before their ships had gone. Side by side with Ryder, Garson looked laughably diminutive, with the top of her head just barely reaching the man’s shoulder. Even Sloane stood taller—though that did nothing to alter Garson’s larger-than-life presence.

The two separated slightly, still clasping each other’s arms, and exchanged final good wishes.

Sloane couldn’t hear them clearly over the echoes, but she could read their faces. Garson, all hope and excitement. Ryder less so, but that was just his way. She’d never taken his aloofness to heart.

Funny to see them now, acting so professional and diplomatic. All business, unlike the previous night’s farewell party. Thousands of pioneers, plus twice as many more of their friends and family, had all gathered for one final hurrah before the mission began. The last night of 2185 ad. For those joining the Andromeda Initiative, it was the last night they would spend in the Milky Way.

By the time the Nexus arrived at its destination, all this—these people, their families, and all the problems in this galaxy—would be six hundred years in the past. Millions of light years in their wake.

Wild, when she really thought of it. Jarring, and a little frightening. Not that Sloane was scared . She shifted her weight foot to foot, caught herself and firmed her stance. Not scared, more like…

Anxious.

A new galaxy. A new start, for them and for her.

And as Security Director, Sloane would have far more influence than the grunt she used to be. Born too late to solve anything, strung out too far by old men in uniforms slinging around old grudges. And that was just the human side of it.

This time , she thought, things will be different . Decisions would be made better .

No more battle lines drawn between species. No more old vendettas, greedy piracy, no more Skyllian Blitzes. This time, they had a chance to do things right, starting with a station full of handpicked pioneers eager for the same dream.

Sloane wasn’t alone. All of the pioneers had signed up with a hope for something different. Something better. Everybody locked it down behind a veneer of pride, dedication to work, or just raw enthusiasm, but Sloane knew.

Leave it to a farewell celebration to crack that shit wide open.

Everyone had wanted a party that would never be forgotten. They got that much. Well, except for those euphoric moments that this party, like all great parties, had claimed as tribute. Sloane resisted the urge to rub her pounding temples. It wasn’t very professional to be nursing a hangover the day of the launch.

Not that I’m the only one.

Jien Garson put up a good front, but if she wasn’t hiding a pounding headache and burning gut, Sloane would eat her badge. Still, the woman was hard to read. She finally released Ryder’s arms and took her place beside him, not a shred of green around her proverbial gills. As she looked at the gathered leadership of the Nexus, all standing in a line beside Sloane, the overhead lights gilded her high cheekbones and tawny skin in shades of sheer glee. No sign of headache or exhaustion, not even a nauseous damper to the sharp gleam of intelligence in her straightforward gaze.

There was so much more to the woman than met the eye. More than Sloane had initially credited her for. Boy, was that a mistake. Whatever else the Council said, whatever else the private investors said, the Andromeda Initiative was her mission more than anyone else’s. Garson had proposed the idea and rammed it through mountains of resistance and red tape by sheer force of will. She’d even managed to convince Alec Ryder to join as the humans’ Pathfinder—no small feat, given his widely known obsessions to his own array of mysterious projects. By all accounts, Ryder had been a damn good asset before he’d lost his wife, leaving him on his own to raise two kids and whatever demons he carried over it.

Sloane had overheard committee members taking bets on whether he’d sign up or not. His N7 designation carried a hell of a lot of weight, but so did he. A few meetings with him told Sloane he wasn’t a man to be taken lightly. Given that Ryder now stood beside Garson—with something resembling eagerness, even—Sloane figured a few people were starting the journey a bit less rich than when it all started. Then again, she’d also heard his kids had joined the program. That had probably been enough to goad the man into the role. Or maybe the kids had. Who knew?

Kids or not, she had a suspicion Ryder wasn’t going to be as easy to work with as maybe the committees hoped. She didn’t have to be a mind reader to know he was impatient. All this ceremony probably grated. “Let’s get this over with,” he was often heard to say. “So the real work can start.”

Always more real work.

“Well,” he said, dusting off his hands and right on cue, “it’s time to go. So the real work can start.”