In any definition of the word, humanity was a plague - perhaps not quite as unwanted as the Vorcha, or infuriating as Pyjaks but unwelcome all the same. In return for the council allowing the System's Alliance to continue their rapid advance across the Attican Traverse, human kind's military patrolled and policed some of the most dangerous frontiers in the galaxy - the divide between Citadel space and the lawless Terminus systems. Humans loved the adventure, the challenge, boldly colonizing the very frontier of civilization - a cutting edge into the dark and chaos on the other side. At least, this was how the Alliance sold it to their colony investors.
The reality was much different. Being so close to the Terminus systems, human frontier colonies were some of the unsafe colonies in the galaxy, but people still flocked there and people still invested. There were vast tracks of unclaimed and unexplored space here, and this was the center of humanity's industry. And of course, countless Alliance bases and the ever-present navy made most people feel safe enough.
She'd been a navy brat all her life. Born on a ship, a carrier transporting troops to a base out on the edge of the terminus, she was even delivered by medical personnel in Alliance uniform. Her father had many posts across this region of human innovation throughout her life - moving from place to place wasn't so bad, they always kept her father's company together and it was more like having a mobile family than having no roots, no home. There never was much trouble - what foolish pirates would try and raid an Alliance base, after all? They would risk incurring the wrath of the second largest military in Citadel space, after the Turians.
One night, when she was only fourteen years old, it happened. She was wrapped up warm in her bed, the cold nights of this barely habitable world seemed to penetrate even into their climate controlled dwelling. There was an unusual clanking sound from outside, muffled footsteps and voices. It wasn't uncommon to hear odd noises late at night in a navy base, so she turned over and tried to sleep. The banging grew louder. Sitting up in bed she frowned and tried to peer out the small window beside her bed, squinting into an impenetrable darkness. Darkness. Normally there were lights on in the compound twenty four seven as people worked in shifts, constantly coming and going at all hours of the day. The faint glow of specially dimmed flashlights cut through the dark in jerky swoops. A krogan in battered amour loomed alarmingly close to her lookout. Her breath halted - the massive creature looked out of place in a human compound where all the doors were made with people not much more than six foot five in mind. This beast was at least two foot proud of that. His lips were pulled back in a snarl, revealing the broad grinding teeth of a hardy plant eater, but threatening all the same. A couple of batarians, with their odd faces crammed with too many eyes and nostrils, were standing before him. They were carrying assault rifles, pistols strapped to their hips. She spotted another batarian using an omnitool, crouched down beside an electrical systems access point. They'd hacked the compounds energy supply and cut it dead, she realised, as she heard nothing but silence. The climate controls were offline. No wonder she was breathless -she'd assumed it was just fear wracking her body, rending her gasping for air. But no, the freezing, oxygen poor air was finding it's way in through the vent system and she was feeling light headed. Stumbling back from the window she thudded down onto the bed, and scrabbled down onto the floor on hands and knees. Remembering the emergency drill routine perfectly she rummaged under her bed and her fingers quickly grasped to a small metal box. Pulling the box from under the bed she opened it, deftly unlatching the catches and removing an oxygen pack and a facemask. Once the mask was secured over her face and a steady supply of air was flowing through the oxygen enrichment pack, she hurried over to the other side of the room. Flinging open the doors to her wardrobe she grabbed a cold weather envirosuit. She wondered briefly whether the others were doing the same, or were they slowly asphyxiating to death in their sleep? Hypoxia was a serious threat if the climate regulation systems were locked down. Perhaps these intruders had no idea they were slowly killing the occupants of the base. Or maybe that was the idea.
Once she had secured herself in the warm, soft environment suit she set about phase three of the emergency drill – once you had made sure you were safe, go check on others. Opening the door of her room, she tiptoed across the hall and lightly knocked on the opposite door.
"Mum?" she called softly, opening the door a crack. She heard the soft wheezing of someone starved of oxygen in their sleep. Hurrying clumsily to the side of the bed, she shook her mothers arm whilst at the same time trying to fish out the oxygen mask from under the bed.
"Mum, mum wake up. The life support is offline. Total systems failure," she said urgently in the sleeping woman's ear. Sharp blue eyes snapped open, but her mother knew better than to bolt upright in a panic. She lay calmly, breathing deeply to draw as much oxygen into her lungs until her daughter delivered the oxygen enrichment apparatus to her. Securing the mask over her face, her mother slowly sat up and glanced around.
"It's pitch black... Megan what's going on?" she asked gently, trying not to worry her daughter but at the same time feeling a horrible closing panic grip her throat.
"Why haven't the backup generators fired up?"
"I don't know mum… there's … I looked out my window, there's batarians, and a krogan. One of them was using an omnitool. I think they hacked the systems… I … I don't know." Megan shuddered, trying to shove away the one word crowding her mind over and over – slavers. The word didn't need to be said. Her mother picked up a small pistol from the bedside table and gripped it tightly. Once a military woman like her husband, Megan's mother retired to the weapons maintenance team after her leg was crippled in action, but she still knew how to shoot a pistol with terrifying accuracy.
"Come on sweetie, let's get going and see whether everyone else is-" a deafening bang cut off whatever she was going to say. The woman and the girl cowered in fear, as more banging rang through the building. Metallic clangs, a steady rhythm making it's way closer and closer. They retreated to a small bathroom, and hid in the shower unit, cowering in the corner. Megan's mother held the pistol aimed steadily at the door.
"Wake up sleepy heads! Come on, move it, form a line you dozy sacks of flesh!" a voice barked, harsh and unfamiliar. Megan could hear people begin to protest and young children whimpering and wailing sleepily, but a sharp snarl or bark from one of the slavers quickly quieted them. Megan was shaking now, pressed up against her mother. At least she was warm in her envirosuit, but it wouldn't do anything to protect her from physical harm. The banging sound became deafening and her mother pressed her hands against Megan's ears, more concerned to protect her daughter's hearing than her own. The door slammed open, and two batarians burst into the room, one held a leashed varren who lunged and snarled, salivating in excitement. They held assault rifles, but not the clean well-polished Alliance Military standard issue type weapons. No, these were ugly brutes of things, their parts cannibalized from other weapons and thrown together in a hasty fashion, the projects of a grizzly tinkerer between raids. The bayonet attachments gleamed in the dim light, blood staining the blades crimson.
"Where are they you stinking creature?" one of the batarians yelled, booting the varren in the rump. The animal yelped and snarled but quickly turned its snout downwards, huge creepy eyes staring around the room. Suddenly it leapt forwards, snarling and barking like a deranged dog. The batarians moved, hefting their weapons.
"Get up! Move it!" the first one shouted, ramming the butt of his gun against Megan's mother, slamming her shoulder into the shower tiling. She hissed in pain and pointed the pistol straight at the batarian, but she daren't pull the trigger. If she killed one of them, they would more than certainly take out their anger on her daughter.
"Boss! We got a fighter in this room!" the second batarian yelled over his- her- it's shoulder. Megan had never been able to tell the difference, never come into contact with these strange aliens often enough. A looming figure appeared in the doorway, the krogan from outside. He looked even more enormous in the too-small room. Growling, he sneered at the two humans cowering on the floor.
"A cripple with a pistol, how cute," his rumbling voice reverberated in his massive chest, rebounding off the metal walls. Reaching forwards he lifted her mother up with one giant, clawed hand. The solid muscles rippled in his arm under thick hide. Krogan were nothing but sinew and leather, Megan thought.
"What do you do, human?" he growled in her face, narrow red eyes glaring at her.
"Weapons maintenance," she replied, keeping the fear out of her voice. Megan couldn't help but admire her mother's resolve, but wished so desperately her father was here to put a bullet in the Krogan's skull. The krogan laughed, a deep guttural sound that was anything but amusing. Megan winced as the batarians grabbed her arms and yanked her to her feet.
"We won't get a good price for a tinkerer with bad leg. And you're too old and used up for the … specialist market," he snarled, prodding her breasts with his claw. He tossed Megan's mother aside like a ragdoll and she hit the floor hard, knocking the wind from her.
"Mum! No! Leave her alone, she can work!" Megan thrashed in her captors grip, but they were so much stronger than her and easily pushed her towards the door where a line of terrified base personnel was filing down the hall.
"Mum!" her scream echoed all around the metal walls, but the sound of a gunshot drowned out even her cries. She squeezed her eyes shut, not wanting the image of her mother's limp, dead form burned into her memory. Instead the sound of bloody gurgling as her mother choked on her punctured lung would play inside her head over and over for the rest of her life. She joined the line, not resisting when the slavers cuffed her hands behind her back and linked her up to a chain that joined the whole line of people. Briefly she wondered where the soldiers were – but this was only a small maintenance facility, a rest point for patrols that scoured the skies of the Attican Traverse. If they'd tossed aside and shot her mother for simply pointing a pistol at them, what had they done to the few guards and soldiers posted here on watch? She daren't think about it any more, and she submitted to a mindless plod, left foot right foot. She looked at no one, staring at the ground, knowing it would probably be the last time she set foot in human territory.