While waiting for word from Nagato on when they'd be clear for departure, Cal busied himself with his omni-tool, syncing it with the Raven's systems so he could better inspect the ship, and the crew. True to Nagato's earlier statement, the crew was indeed multi-racial, which suited him just fine—he didn't fight and survive with other species throughout the Reaper war, just to hate them for being aliens. After he finished inspecting the dossiers, he headed up to the bridge, directly ahead of the CIC; after serving aboard multiple Alliance navy crafts, it still felt weird with this layout, serving in the rear and looking over everyone instead of in the thick of it. But hey, if Shepherd could do it then maybe there was something to this command layout. His boots clanked across the grating on his way to the bridge, and as the sounds came to a halt, the chair turned around to introduce him to the pilot.

She was a Turian, her face slightly more flat than the straight, angular faces of males. Bright orange patterns adorned the carapace of her face, and it looked like she had lines of fire on her face and not just ceremonial face paint. "So you're the new commander of the ship," she said. "Pleasure to meet you, and you came all this way to." Smirking a bit, Cal simply shifted his stance and said, "What can I say, I'm an upfront kind of soldier. You're the pilot of this ship then?" She stood up to formally reply, snapping a salute as she said, "Pyrha Danatos, I'm your pilot for places a shuttle just can't take you."

Given she was a Turian, he knew it was a no brainer that she was military. Or, still was technically; the Turian Hierarchy was largely one of the most militaristic cultures in the galaxy, aside from the Alliance perhaps. Every member of their society was expected to serve a minimum rotation in their military, regardless of gender, and it was something that made them a damned effective fighting force. "Where'd you serve?" he asked her. "Was previously part of a wing of fighters, the Steel Talons," Pyhra replied. "Apparently, if you fly well enough someone starts to think you're good at piloting frigates, because after several sorties they pulled me out and dropped me into a ship like this. After that well...with the war over and things quiet and peaceful, I started work on rebuilding before they reassigned me here."

Casting a glance over his shoulder, Cal mused, "Guess we've all been reassigned. Glad to have you aboard Pyhra. Looking forward to seeing you fly." At that, she chuckled and returned to her seat. "Oh, don't worry Commander," she said cockily. "She may not be a fighter, but I'll make her dance." As he turned to go, Cal added, "Like a leaf on the wind." She turned her head back to glance at him and said, "What?"

"Oh it's...just a line from a really old movie back on Earth. But it's a good one," was all Cal said, before heading back towards the CIC.

It took another half hour, before the ship was ready for departure. When Nagato gave him the all clear, Cal's only response was to say, "Then the word is given. Set course for the Charon relay, and from there the Armstrong Nebula." After that was issued, Cal stood at the helm of the CIC, above the galaxy map as it displayed the now chartered course. Taking a breath, he opened his omni-tool again, connecting himself to the entire ships intercom. "Attention, this is Commander Cal Ashburn to the crew of the SSV Raven. I don't know how much of our mission, if any of it, has been shared with you. But to ensure there's no illusions, I'm going to be transparent on our assignment; an Alliance outpost in the Armstrong Nebula of the Skyllian Verge has gone silent, and initial evidence that was sent before they went dark, suggests Reaper involvement."

He let that hang in there air for a moment, before continuing, "Our mission is simple: go in and scout it out, determine what happened. If there is a Reaper, we will not engage but retreat immediately, and send in the cavalry. Anything less than a Reaper, we proceed and investigate up close." Nagato glanced at him, and it was clear from his expression that he was worried about Cal sharing the Reaper suspicion. Cal understood it, being a special ops soldier himself. But the truth was that he was leading this ship and her crew into what may very well have been one of the more dangerous threats they'd ever encounter. He was basically asking them to risk heading into Hell itself. He needed to be honest with them, or they'd never trust him. He wouldn't know until later, if his gambit paid off.

As the ship sped off through the Sol system for the relay, Cal called a meeting with two other members of the Raven's crew, whom according to their records, were the away team. Or, field team, he supposed. One was a human, the man of equal height with Cal though a bit more muscled. The other was a Salarian, his tall, elongated body clad in the usual hard-suit armor of his species. Both turned to face Cal as he entered the briefing room, the human giving Cal a suppressed grunt, the Salarian a subtle nod of the head. "So, this is the new human Specter," the Salarian said. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance," he said, before extending a three fingered hand. "Kandum Illus. Salarian Special Tasks Group. I've been assigned to your ship for the mission." Cal gladly shook the offered hand, and replied, "Did they give you any clue on what they were going to assign you for before my little announcement?" It was a stupid question honestly, given that Salarians in general always tended to be in the business of information, and the STG groups in particular, made a habit of knowing things before anyone else. The question still made Kandum smile—at least what passed for a smile among Salarians with the wide, narrow lips—and reply, "They told me enough. I'm your technical expert; if or when you need a door cracked open or something set on fire, I'm the...what is that human saying? 'Go to guy?'"

"You got it right," Cal said. He turned to the human, snapping a salute to the man, one that was promptly returned. "Lieutenant Jordan Michaels, sir," the man said. "Part of the 34th Brigade, 9th Frontier Division. Not an N7 like yourself," he added, with a small grin, "but I'll still kick ass when needed. Though, not sure how much help I'll be if a Reaper's present." Frowning, Cal shook his head and replied, "Like I said, if we see a Reaper on scanners, we're evacuating to FTL immediately. Ground insertion will only happen if needed." That seemed to relax the Lieutenant some, a slight sag in his shoulders that betrayed some of the tension he was holding. Cal couldn't blame him for it, honestly.

War itself was a nightmare in general; the tension felt between firefights, waiting for a bullet to break the silence. Overwhelming, kaleidoscopes of emotion when the fighting happened, and it was all you could do not to forget orders, positions, and friends even as bullets went flying by so close you felt them. But war with the Reapers...that was a nightmare in Hell itself. The monstrous, mutated—or in some cases, mutilated—bodies of sentient beings rushing at you. Seeing the Batarian born Cannibals eating the fallen to grow armor, the screams of Asari Banshees as they'd charge forward with razor claws and biotic fire. Fallen comrades turned into troops sent against you, making you hesitate and wonder how much of your buddy was left behind those eyes... And still, it all just paled to the sight of those gargantuan ships, stomping across the field of battle with mechanical legs and trumpeting cries that made your legs turn to lead.

No, Cal could not blame his fear at all, and could only quietly hope that this was something as trivial as pirates.

Moving to the central table of the briefing room, Cal tapped a console on the side, feeding information from his omni-tool and bringing to life a holographic image of the target planet. "Antibaar," Cal explained. "Part of the Tereshkova system; seven years ago, after the Geth were pushed out the system and the nebula itself, the Alliance set up several outposts to keep an eye on things, provide early warning if needed. During the Reaper war, they were repurposed to serve the same function but for Reapers instead, and now they've been used to help keep an eye out for pirates. The outpost on this planet, is the one that went dark. Franklin Outpost, it's located close to Antibaar's equator." The image was replaced with a schematic layout of the base itself, starting with exterior shots that showed a few buildings, a shuttle pad, and the communications array. "It's meant to be home to forty officers, mixed between soldiers and technical staff," he continued, giving the other two an idea of what they were meant to investigate. "The outpost itself is located on mesa, which was meant to work for them...and works against us, since that takes away visual cover."

"Shouldn't be too much of a problem," Kandum said. "The Kodiak dropship, it's equipped with similar stealth tech to this frigate. Dropping in under radar should be feasible, and so long as we can avoid visual detection, such as during a night insertion, that should work in our favor." Nodding, Cal replied, "Hopefully, though I'll talk with our pilot about insertion maneuvers. Depending on the state of the outpost itself—i.e., if it hasn't been blown to hell—we're to make our way here, to its command and control building. Communications controls should be there, and we can use them to patch in with the Raven, and relay back to command."
"What about survivors?" Jordan asked. "If we find them, we're to pull them back to the same destination for triage; we're going to be sent down with a medic as well but consider them a non-combatant for this operation," Cal said, causing Jordan to frown. "So, we're babysitting while we do recon?" he said, shaking his head. "If it helps, they'll stay in the shuttle," Cal said. "Once we're deployed, I'll have the shuttle fall back and maintain minimum safe distance while circling the outpost. We sound the all clear, and they come in with support, especially if we have wounded on scene."

That seemed to be the right answer, drawing a nod of agreement from Jordan. Kandum in the meantime was busy on his omni-tool, looking through old reports that Cal could only assume had ties to the STG. "Anything to add Kandum?" he asked. "Just a possibility that may help reduce the odds of this being a Reaper," he said. "There have been a number of reports from other STG cells operating in this region that have reported an uptick in pirate activity. Some fairly recent, in fact."

"Any details on who?" Jordan asked. "Nothing definitive... or at least, nothing indicating a singular group. It's been a mix of human mercenary groups, and remnants of Batarian pirates or their Hegemony," Kandum said. "Oh god please not again with the Batarians," Cal groaned. "They all but got wiped out by the Reapers. They should be focusing on rebuilding, not pirating..." Kandum simply shrugged and said, "We all return to our own normal, Commander. But, conjecture on this matter achieves nothing. We need more data, for a concrete answer."

"And on that," Cal said, "we agree. Prep for insertion gentlemen, our ETA is going to be in roughly fifteen hours, and I'd rather we use that time to prepare our gear as opposed to waiting for the last minute." The other two saluted and filed out, leaving Cal alone to muse on the mission itself. So many possibilities of what had happened...and all he could do was pray for the lesser evil.