Mass Effect: Reaper Dreams

Identity Crisis

"The most courageous act is still to think for yourself. Aloud."

Coco Chanel

February 11th, 2188

Ashley Williams

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Kaidan's Ten was a hell of a run. The path was marked well, but much of it wound through difficult terrain. It sprawled six hundred meters across a sandy beach, another two hundred through a muddy cow pasture, and nearly nine hundred meters of the course zig-zagged through the forest on a trail hazarded by roots, nettles, and devils club.

The final hundred meters, which stretched across the border orchard, was pure exhilaration. Ashley burned the last of her reserves. She sprinted across the slick grass with confidence while the cold rain drove against her soaked t-shirt and running shorts. Both clung to her body like a second skin. The real skin, just underneath, was clammy and covered in goosebumps and sweat.

There was something special about the air on Vancouver Island, something rejuvenating. Perhaps it was the cool briny air that she liked the most, or the presence of the towering evergreen trees. Maybe it was the cries of gulls and eagles dancing in the wind, or the sight of orca crashing through the white crested waves of Quatsino Sound. Whatever it was, it suited her.

She passed the gate and began to slow, her side aching, her chest pounding. She jogged across the yard, transitioned to a walk, grabbed the porch railing and stretched, groaning as she lengthened her tired muscles.

Jean Alenko clapped. "Seventeen minutes and thirty-two seconds, wonderful!"

"Damn," said Ashley. "I thought I'd crack the seventeen minute barrier today."

"Not in this wind," said Jean. "Now, hurry up, get your shower, and get dressed. Your transport will be here in two hours."

Ashley was trying not to think about it. The thought of leaving this place shivved her in the guts with a cold blade. It was going to be difficult. She had to do a better job with this goodbye, a hell of a lot better than she'd managed with Tali. That whole affair was a fucking disaster, blubbering like an idiot on a Quarian Fleet channel that was sure as shit monitored by Alliance brass and probably the Council as well.

At least they weren't holding it against her, in fact, she'd gotten the call back to active duty only a few days after her com channel meltdown with Tali. Ashley reasoned that command must be pretty desperate for operatives, considering they were going to let her keep her rank, Spectre status, and give her a ship as well. What the hell was going on? Christmas had come and gone several weeks ago.

She toweled off near the door, discarded her running boots, and loped up the stairs, peeling off her wet clothes as she went. Seconds later, hot water poured over her slick skin as she was encompassed in a cloud of heavenly steam. As much as Ashley wanted to linger in the shower, she made short work of getting clean. She was in and out of the de-humidifier in under a minute and finished brushing her hair in less than three. Grabbing a robe in case Max was in the hall, she passed into her room to dress.

Her battle armor, which she'd spent all yesterday spit-shining, was arranged on the standup mount while her service and mess uniforms, both freshly pressed, were hanging from the garment rack. Disrobing, she pulled on her skivvies, checked the time, then pulled the service uniform off the rack and slipped it into a garment bag. She'd just pulled out her armor case and was preparing to pack it away when Jean entered the room.

She frowned. "Oh Ashley, I wish you'd get yourself some better armor. My friend Deborah is on the action committee and she's seen to it that the best gear is available in gender neutral, none of that metal boob nonsense."