Technophiles

The Fleet of Nomads

"All the other races say that sailing the void is an adventure. Something grand, to get off your homeworld, your colonies, and launch yourself into the unknown. It becomes a lot less grand if your ships are centuries old. If they fall apart, your entire species dies. It becomes a lot less grand if there is no homeworld to return to." -Anonymous Quarian

oOo

The dull, rattling thrum of ancient ship engines reverberated through the crowded spaces of the starship Yara. It was an old ship, a turian cruiser built nearly a full century ago, acquired through a junkyard dealer friendly to the Migrant Fleet. Despite its nigh-horrific age, the Migrant Fleet looked upon it fondly. It was not as fast, nor as powerful, nor did it have the electronic warfare suites of modern warships, but it got the job done. It certainly packed a punch, its weapon systems upgraded by the Quarian race's natural preponderance for tinkering. Guns and torpedoes did damage, no matter what opponent the ship would be facing. Advanced targeting suites were unnecessary: the Yara was often simply linked to one of the Fleet's more advanced ships, and shot at what it was told to shoot at. It also had the greatest engines money could buy... forty-five years ago. Given to the Yara as an extraordinarily lucky Pilgrimage gift, they were top of the line equipment for a solid decade. They were, at the moment, rather outdated, but the Fleet could do nothing to rectify this.

Captain Cael'Sanar vas Yara stood at the helm of the bridge, three-toed feet spread wide on the pitted metal surface of the deck, hands clasped neatly behind his back. The whooshing hiss of electrical torches sounded behind him as various members of his crew repaired internal wiring or welded metal plating back into place. A Quarian starship was a place of constant activity, its crew constantly in flux, fixing internal systems and performing the duties that would get it through one more day. Quarian ships were old, almost always second-hand and never freely given. No one liked the Quarians. No one cared. So be it. It simply meant that their species must always be in a state of unpredictability. It was always uncertain which system would fail due to its ancient program finally coming apart, or the fatigue of metal failing. No one aboard the Fleet knew what would happen tomorrow. Here there were no certainties. But, somewhere deep down, Captain Cael'Sanar suspected the Quarians would have it no other way. They were a species that loved a challenge. No amount of work was too much. They all revelled in their duties. He would have it no other way. There was no species as close knit as his, and he loved every single one of them for it.

He knew every member of his crew. Yuna'Xinis wanted to become a doctor aboard one of the liveships. She studied every extra-net article and ancient print book she could get her hands on every night, helped by any of the ship's officers or crew who knew anything about biology. Currently, she was the Yara's doctor, as well as an internal repairman, food inspector, and welder. All crew members had to take several jobs. Raas'Giess was one of the navigators, and wanted to develop a program that could get Quarian starships past Geth sensors. He had a crush on Ceeni'Haaman, one of the Migrant Fleet Marines that guarded the bridge. Captain Sanar laughed internally over that. He knew everyone's little love interests. He knew every single thing that happened aboard this ship. Every person, every wire, every single ancient system and weapon.

Currently, the Yara was on routine patrol on the edge of the Migrant Fleet, making certain no undesirables came too close to the main Fleet. The conglomerate of Quarian starships had recently had a run in with the human terrorist organization Cerberus, resulting in a great loss of life. Sanar snarled in his masked helmet. Terrorist bosh'tets. Humans were new in this galaxy. There were a few ships in the Fleet older than humans had been involved in interstellar space flight. They were a relatively non-problem species for the Quarians. The three previous Council races and the Fleet did not get along well. The Systems Alliance just... didn't really care. Cerberus though... All of them were bosh'tets and could go rot in whatever hell they spawned from. Cerberus was bad. Systems Alliance didn't care. There was, though, a third human party. Commander Shepard. Sanar found it humorous and darkly ironic that one man could be counted as a faction, but Shepard could. He helped Quarians wherever he found them. He helped everyone wherever he found them. Admiral Zorah's daughter was with him on her Pilgrimage, and helped him stop Sovereign. A good man. Of course, he had died... or so everyone had been led to believe. He was back now, and there were rumours swirling that he was actually a Cerberus agent.