A/N: In Destiny, the only military title I've seen is Commander Zavala's. Then there are people like Lord Shaxx who are Guardians but with titles of nobility. As such, I think that Guardians' titles are whatever they were in past lives, not actually related to their current job. After all, a commander has far fewer subordinates that Commander Zavala does as a member of the Vanguard. I would also argue that Guardians don't really seem like a real military, but more like a militia without proper ranks.

Of course, rank does show experience you had in your prior life, giving it some use. However, treating rank as the defining factor of Guardian organization seems backward to me. That's why General Williams reports to the Vanguard, and not the other way around.

If you disagree, please tell me why, and how Commander Zavala is only a commander and not a higher rank.

A Meeting of Minds

General Williams struggled to advance through the cloud of poison. The air on this planet was already thick enough to swim in. The wizards (which somehow remained mobile in the methane-leaden atmosphere) only made it harder by filling the air with their poison. Once he was finally out of the smog, he found the offending wizard and grinned. "C'mere, you bastard. Judgement is at hand." Williams leapt into the air and pulled out his New Monarchy shotgun. At the apex of his jump, his Light rewrote his momentum, catapulting him even higher, right into the wizard's face. He pumped the handle and pulled the trigger. Some of the pellets were wasted on shields, but the rest dug into the wizard's face, pulping whatever passed for a brain in its head. The entire thing cracked and fell apart like strange glowing dust.

Below Williams, a tangle of Thrall howled at him, swiping the air in anticipation. He fingered a knife, pulling it from his belt and tossing it through the eye of the Thrall directly below him. As he landed, Williams took a swipe at the Thrall that had taken the dead one's place. Before his knife was free of the corpse dust, Williams was on the move, sliding underneath a third Thrall's swipe. He leapt again, digging his knife into a fourth Thrall on the way up. With an aerial bound, William's aimed his throwing knife for the Cursed Thrall at the edge of the group.

He landed in the empty space the Cursed Thrall had cleared, tossing his throwing knife into the bravest of the remaining Thralls. There were few enough now that he could aim his throwing knife, headshot a Thrall, and have it return to him before the next Thrall could attempt to swipe at him. It was methodical, yet stylish. Pull the knife from his belt. Bury it in a Thrall. Pull it out of his belt. Stab another Thrall. Repeat.

Once the area was clear, Williams tapped his helmet, telling his Ghost to start broadcasting. "This is General Williams to all scouts. I encountered a group of Hive headed for the large city to the south. Hostiles are eliminated, but be advised that Hive are definitely interested in the large city. With the data we've recovered from overridden settlements, it might be better to send a signal to the locals so that we can coordinate defence. I want all assets to head back to the scoutpost so that we can do an inventory and discuss starting combat ops." Williams cut the link and swung onto the Sparrow materializing beneath him. He hit the throttle, glad to be on the move. Within moments, he was gone from the scene.

"Attention Jack Harp. I am Admiral Fedorian, and the message you heard earlier was a prerecorded first contact message. If you and your compatriots would be willing to board the Fierce Deity, we can begin to exchange information and learn about each other." The message was accompanied by the largest of the Turian ships's hangar bay opening, beckoning Jack's fireteams' ships inside.

Over the comms, Eva chuckled. "Harp. Harp! Your last name is now Harp!"

Ben remained silent as Jack nodded to himself before saying, "Yes, Eva. We'll discuss my new name with the aliens aboard their ship." Jack pushed the throttle and accelerated toward the Fierce Deity, his compatriots following close behind. The Fangs of Nyx slipped through some sort of barrier and into an atmosphere filler hangar. Banking, Jack turned his ship so that he could leave in a hurry if he needed to. In front of him, Eva and Ben did the same. Then, all three ships descended at the same time, settling on the mostly empty floor. "We don't want to startle our hosts by transmatting. Instead, let's actually use the ramps for once." Ghost transmitted Jack's instructions before triggering the door. It took a moment, but the wall groaned down into a ramp, clanging onto the metal floor of the hangar.

Jack grabbed his favorite weapons off the rack before heading to the ramp. He slung The Swarm off of the shelf and onto his back before loading six shells into the Invisible Hand M7 and nestling comfortably against his leg. Lastly, he turned to the pride of his collection: a gun that he'd devoted most of his life to finding. And the Vanguard wanted it destroyed. That was why he'd never told them about it. It was a marvelous weapon, and they were too short-sighted to realize that. Rather than letting some other Guardian find and destroy it, Jack had been searching for it his entire life. He'd read historical documents and trekked all across Old Russia to recover it. He'd saved it, rescued it from the hands of the Vanguard and their bumbling policy of destruction.

Jack lifted the Red Death off of its pedestal and relaxed as the weapon's familiar contours slipped into his hands. Turning, he stepped onto the ramp and then out of his ship.

Captain Sequivus wanted to scratch his plates, but that would be seen by the creatures descending out of their ships. The first thing he noticed was that they were bipedal. Their legs were bent the way an Asari's were, and the creature on the left even had mammaries like an Asari or a female Quarian. In fact, they were all covered in full-body suits like Quarians. Sequivus understood that there were several perfectly good reasons for that, but the resemblance was still startling.

The second thing Sequivus noticed was the clothing. Even though the craft were identical, the clothes the creatures wore were incredibly different. The one on the right was covered in the thickest armor Sequivus had ever seen. The one on the left seemed to be wearing a flight suit with lots of hoses and breathers and cloth to cushion impacts. At least, Sequivus couldn't think of another reason to wear a hooded cloak on top of the suit. Both of those, Sequivus understood, though he questioned the colors the creatures wore. (Maybe they saw in a different part of the spectrum?) The creature in the back, though, was wearing a really weird looking helmet with a spike. Was headbutting a common practice in their culture? Would Sequivus be expected to headbutt one of the creatures? Were they relatives of the Krogan? If that was true, then why was it also wearing robes? Robes offered no protection from bullets like armor did, nor did it help when turning sharply, like a pressure suit did. Was it a status symbol? Were the robes supposed to be fashionable? Because if they were, then the aliens were clearly barbarians with an underdeveloped understanding of what looked good.

The third thing he noticed were the weapons. The pilot had a massive rifle slung across its back, almost taller than it. Sequivus guessed that it was a sniper rifle or some kind, but that begged the question of why anybody would bring a sniper rifle onto a ship. The gun in its hands looked pretty ancient, with chipped flecks of paint and even an actual magazine. There were even knives strapped onto the armor. Sequivus couldn't understand why anybody would use actual metal knives when an omniblade could be flash fabricated very quickly. The monstrous sniper rifle almost seemed like a joke on the short pilot, considering how outdated the rest of its arsenal seemed to be.

The soldier, on the other hand, looked like a monster bred for life on Tuchanka. Its armor more closely resembled that of a walking tank than any sort of personnel defencive suit. And it had the guns to match. A giant pistol that looked like it could shoot fighter planes out of the sky. A shotgun that would snap a Krogan's arm. And was that a rocket launcher strapped to its back? Was it supposed to encourage the Turians to negotiate?

But that was nothing compared to the robed one's weapons. The shotgun on his hip was much sleeker and less terrifying, the machine gun on his back was infinitely better than another rocker launcher, but the gun in his hands screamed danger. It looked . . . hungry. Hungry and vicious. Unsafe. Liable to go off at any moment. The gun's barrel was covered in a splatter of red. Sequivus didn't know what the red meant, but it probably wasn't good if it was on a weapon's barrel. After all, the other thing attached to the weapon's barrel was a giant knife positioned like some kind of bayonet. Who used a bayonet on a gun? If your guns could shoot straight enough to hit the planet, you shouldn't be close enough for knife work when using a gun that large, and pistols were too small to support bayonets. To require a bayonet on a gun that big would require an insane military doctrine or absurd fighting style.

Sequivus stepped forward and raised his talon in the traditional greeting. The cloaked one matched his steps and tried to emulate the greeting, but it seemed to have trouble bending its digits properly. Sequivus appreciated the gesture nonetheless. "I am Captain Sequivus, the commander of this vessel, and I welcome you aboard."

The aliens shifted, moving their guns around. This was the moment of truth. Were they going to shoot, or were they going to speak? After two and a half eternities, the robed one finally made noise. Sequivus didn't understand it, but a moment later, an orb of blue light materialized next to the alien and started pulsing. Sequivus was glad that his troops were disciplined enough to not just shoot at the combat drone, especially when it started speaking Turian. It even provided a flange. "Greetings captain-commander. I am Jack, the leader of this fireteam."

Sequivus's mandibles twitched. That was impressive. The aliens had rigged a translator not just to Prothean, but then to Turian as well. It was almost too impressive. Captain Sequivus whispered into his comm, "I want CyberSpecWar to look over our firewalls. However they got a working translation, it probably wasn't the most benign. But be discreet. We don't want to alert them to what we're doing." Sequivus waited only long enough to hear a confirmation before speaking to Jack. "May we escort you to guest quarters so that we can get to the Citadel to meet more formally?"

"I'm afraid that that won't be possible, captain-commander." The alien's voice was smooth, like an Asari trying to convince somebody to come to bed with her. "We are responding to a distress call, and time is of the utmost importance."

"And I empathize with your distressed, but there is a protocol, and a reason for that protocol. You will be treated well, and your ships shall remain untouched."

Jack shook its head. "Captain-commander, please. Be reasonable." And there it was. Be reasonable. Spirits protect Sequivus from politicians, because, apparently, these aliens had them too. "In a situation such as this, every moment matters. Already, we have deviated from providing assistance in order to avoid confrontation with you. I am sure that," was all that Jack could say before the drone stopped translating and started speaking in the alien's language. Jack turned and responded in kind. A moment later, he said, "Excuse me. We are receiving a message from our men. Perhaps this will convince you to let us bypass protocol. Ghost, play message."

The drone spun and began to display a holographic message. There was another alien, this one wearing the pressure suit and cloak combo. But that wasn't what Captain Sequivus focused on. The city in the background was familiar. It was a city on Irune. These were the invaders after all. And Fedorian had let them onto his ship. Captain Sequivus pulled out his sidearm and pointed it at Jack's head. He pulled the trigger and watched the alien attacking his people crumple to the floor.

A/N: I AM GOING ON HIATUS. Yes, I know that I just cliffhangered you, but some stuff has come up, and with my already slow writing speed, I won't be able to make anything new for a while. I do have a lot of plans to implement, providing you your doses of mystery, intrigue, romance, hot alien sex (because let's be honest, that's the real plot of ME), and, of course, Commander Sheperd kicking butt, but I just can't do anything right now.

If that makes you mad, I do give permission for you to continue this plot without me. Let me know, and I'll forward you my plans and so on. You don't need to follow them, but do give me credit.

I'm sorry. Last Ride of the Valkyries, signing off.