Chapter 2, wanted this chapter to be longer but I felt that it just had to end where it did for dramatic reasons.
June 30 2170 CE, Planet Mindoir, Location Unknown, 0238 Local Time
The howl of wild varren and other predatory species echoed throughout the forest. Damian Shepard had been running for his life for a good hour now, fumbling in the unfamiliar darkness. He knew he couldn't stop and rest, if he did he ran the risk of being attacked by wild animals and his only protection was his father's rifle. He could shoot, and had sometimes helped his dad with repelling attacks, but with no backup weapon he could only hope to take down one or two before he was overwhelmed and turned into a meal for some damn fishdog.
His mind raced, trying to figure out where he was. His omni-tool was back at home, he had no map, no compass, and the canopy of the forest was so thick that he couldn't even use the stars as a reference point. Whenever his mind wandered he would see his father's head splitting open like a melon, blood and gore peppering his room. He tried to arrest his thoughts but every time he did his attention would turn to the screaming of his muscles, the pain in his legs from having pushed himself too hard, forcing him to shift his focus for sheer survival and once more reviewing the death of his father and his only look at the killers.
He had set himself on getting his revenge an hour ago, and every time his mind drifted that desire was slowly nurtured, a ball of hate settling in his gut. His foot kicked into something hard and he tumbled, catching himself on a tree and pulling himself against it. He was tired, his body exhausted, and in spite of the dangers he just couldn't push himself to go further, he needed to rest. Damian shut his eyes, listening intently to the sounds of the forest, calling upon everything he was taught over the years about survival. Nothing stirred in the bushes, for the time being he could plan.
Damian analyzed his options: the slavers would make a sweep out here and in the cold of night his heat signature would stand out, his only saving grace being the large amount of predators making any such efforts difficult and, he hoped, more trouble than he was worth. He set his head against a tree, trying to plot out his course from his house, but to no success. He knew what direction he was going when he first started running, but after that it had become a blur, and these trees all looked so similar that he couldn't even trust he was facing the same direction anymore.
He assessed his surroundings, trying to figure out where to go. In the calm he thought he heard something, a low rumble like thunder, but it was not Mindoir's rainy season yet. These were the sounds of explosions, echoing through the forest and providing him direction. Soon however, the "thunder" was accompanied by yet another sound: the howl of varren. He turned just as sharp fangs and a thick, slobbering tongue came darting at his neck, he raised his arm in defense, giving the animal something non-vital to latch on to, his father's rifle flying from his grip in the process. Howling in pain, Damian scrambled for the rifle that had fallen just out of reach. He edged himself closer and managed to pick up the rifle just as another varren came charging out of the bushes. Damian fired a clumsy shot, the rifle bucking in his grip and nearly flying from his hands again, but by some miracle the round struck home, ripping through the animal's body and leaving it lifeless.
The other varren still latched onto his arm, striving to rip it off, Damian grabbed the action on the side of the rifle and braced the stock against the ground. With a hard tug he worked the bolt, quickly dumping the excess heat before taking the hold of the pistol grip once more and clumsily aiming his weapon at the animal currently mauling him. With some effort he manages to jam the still-smoking barrel of the rifle against the black and white scaled fishdog and pull the trigger, another round ripping through flesh and seriously wounding the animal, though not killing it. The force of the impact rips the varren free, and Damian uses his now free hand to quickly work the action on the rifle again before taking aim and firing a quick if clumsy shot, finishing the beast off. Working the bolt again he glances around, quickly setting the scope of the rifle to no zoom as his father had taught him and peering through it, eagerly searching for a target though finding none.
His immediate situation secure for now he sets down and rips apart some of his shirt, using the fabric to create a makeshift bandage, tying it tight enough to stay on his body but not enough to cut off blood flow. The wound was not that bad fortunately, his forearm had caught the teeth and by some miracle most of the arteries and veins were intact, though it was still incredibly painful to use and in any other situation Damian would seek the local hospital, though the best he could do was push on. He wasn't a soldier, the pain was distracting and he couldn't push it out of his mind, but he had to move on anyway, rifle held loosely in one arm as he walked towards the sound of explosions, still willing to fight it out in spite of his injury.
The smell of blood would no doubt bring more varren, so he had to keep moving, and in spite of the pain picked up his run again, driving himself toward the sound of explosions, and he hoped, towards his enemy.
June 30 2170 CE, Planet Mindoir, Primary Settlement, 0437 Local Time
"Move it bitch!" Farthan shouted at his newest acquisition before driving the butt of his sniper rifle into her back, careful not to strike so hard as to cause damage. He watched the streets carefully, the sounds of assault rifles firing in the distance still ringing clear. The resistance here must have been heavier than they believed if the fighting was still going on. He looked for the command shuttle and found it parked next to what had been this colony's waste management center. Although Batarians were the primarily represented race, he noticed smatterings of others: Turians, Salarians, a fair number of Krogan, and he thought he saw an Asari running past as well. The one leading this particular operation just happened to be a Turian by the name of Julius. Farthan marched up to the shuttle with his spotter to report on his success in eliminating the perimeter posts.
He walked past a few fellow Batarians and the occasional alien… he was shocked by the complete lack of vorcha on this raid, usually they'd be sent into where fighting would be thickest to soak up rounds in order to minimize casualties. He put the thought out of his mind as he went to report. He walked up to a Turian in mostly black facepaint, with only a bit of white along his mandibles who looked at him coldly and then pointed at the woman behind Farthan,
"I told you not to take slaves! We don't have enough room to deal with the outliers!" he barked.
"Personal matter, none of your damn business, I'm taking her with me, and I did what you asked. Now give me my credits so I can get off this rock," Farthan retorted. He did what he was paid to do, no sense sticking around.
"Fine, you want to keep the human then keep her out of the way. If she becomes a problem it's your problem. However, you're not leaving yet, as we've still got a battle to fight and I'm not letting you SIU guys take off. We need every man we can get to break this deadlock," Julius retorted.
"I did what you paid me to do, if you want me to stick around I want double the rates we discussed, with half in advance. That's in addition to what you already owe me. Not to mention salvage rights in our AO."
"Fine, whatever, but I expect to see your men in the thickest fighting. Oh, but you'll have to talk with the other guys in the area about salvage rights, can't promise they'll cooperate but I'll tell my men to back off."
"I have a way with words. And don't worry, we'll do our jobs as long as the credits clear. Speaking of, I believe you still owe for clearing out the perimeter." Farthan watched as Julius opened his omni-tool and made the transfer of 600,000 credits into Farthan's company account. He walked away and snickered to himself, he loved to negotiate with Turians in the middle of a battle, always so more willing to just give in to his demands rather than let people die who could have been saved if they weren't hanggling. He keyed into his company frequency,
"Hey everybody, we're sticking around a while, meet at the ship."
After a few moments Farthan faced his team. Though his ship was initially parked on the outskirts, he left a couple men behind to move it to the spaceport here after it was captured. Counting himself there were only eight of them, but all were the best in the Terminus, professional killers formerly of the Batarian SIU. They were all kicked out for one reason or another, but they all were experts at what they did. He and Chambak were the snipers, others filled out roles in demolitions, close quarters combat, first aid, and terror tactics as well. He pointed to Chambak and Lornan, the second being very good at breaking down the will of slaves.
"I want you two to stick around here and make sure this human whore doesn't escape. The rest of you with me, we're not done here."
"I thought the contract was just to take out the perimeter," spoke up his demolition's expert, a man named Chellish.
"Change of plans. We're getting an extra 600 grand to stick around plus salvage rights in areas we fight in to be split with those who help us. Needless to say, anybody other than us who walks into our AO dies a heroic death. Understood?" His team nodded their assent. Normally, soldiers getting left behind grumbled but these two seemed to relish their job, Chambak for reasons Farthan couldn't think about without his stomach turning.
"Alright everybody, move out."
June 30, 2170 CE, Planet Mindoir, Main Settlement Outskirts, 0753 Local Time
Damian Shepard laid at the edge of the forest, the main settlement not too far away. His arm still throbbed from the attack but the pain had improved. He was fortunate that he managed to make it through the rest of the forest without getting into more trouble, and the sounds of battle from the main settlement would keep most of the animals at bay. He was tired, having been up all night running and just trying to stay alive, he was also hungry, and otherwise utterly miserable. Only the desire for revenge kept him going. He tried to remember all the little things his father had taught him. Though those lessons had been primarily in stalking more feral prey, surely those same principles can be applied to animals with four eyes that walk on two legs?
He moved slowly, keeping low as he carefully examined his surroundings. He was fortunate; the main battle was on the other side of the settlement. Though relatively new, the settlement had existed long enough to expand into a respectable size, about as large as an outlying suburb would be back on earth. The prefabricated huts stretched out along a valley, tall mountains flanking along the southeast and northwest sides, nearly joining together in a V at the northeast corner of the settlement. The forest he was in stretched along the south side, with roads snaking along flat grasslands leading out of the valley on the northeast side and on the southwest side to reach outlying farms.
The slaver raid had landed mostly along the southeast and south sides, forcing people who wanted to flee towards the narrower route on the northeast. Though the forests predators kept most people at bay, a slaver raid was about taking as many people alive as possible. They would no doubt have more forces at the northeast end to catch anybody trying to flee along that road, with the mountains being mostly impassable without special equipment. This was also why the kill teams along the periphery were important, with the bulk of the attack pushing from southwest to the northeast they couldn't risk the perimeter settlers forming a militia and attacking them from behind, meaning Damian had the element of surprise. Of course, most of this was unknown to the youth who simply counted his blessings at being able to slip in undetected.
The young Shepard edged forward and, certain the coast was clear, made a dash for the nearest pre-fab unit. He found an open window and tossed his rifle inside before pulling himself up and into the building. It was a small grocers shop, many of them were set up along the borders were the outlying farmers could sell their wares without having to push their way into the main settlement which could some days become quite congested with various people going about their lives. He had gone into town on many occasions for schooling, or simply hanging out with friends and knew the area quite well. At the center of the city was the oldest building which housed the officials who ran the colony, it also happened to be the tallest construction. It only stood at four stories high, but it was visible enough to provide a handy point of reference, and an obvious sniper's nest.
Damian peered through his scope and sure enough, there was a Batarian perched up there, taking pot shots from his position. His instinct was to fire, but the lessons taught by his father kicked in, and he knew he had to wait. He had a target of his own, and while he knew that every crack of that Batarian's rifle meant the possible death of one of the defenders of the colony, he also knew that if there was anybody nearby and he was heard he'd have to run off and his own target would get away. He had a mission, and the mission came first.
He thought about the layout of the town and where to go next. His instinct was to check the shopping district where weapons were sold and hope that there was something left, but a part of him said that it might also be swarming with more raiders. In any event, if he did his job right he wouldn't need more than one shot.
He instead started marching towards the space port where he figured the slavers would have landed after the initial assault. He hoped that his target would either be there getting ready to leave or in the thick of the fighting. If he didn't find that particular Batarian there, the spaceport was on his way to the battlefield, so it would be no great loss and it also made it so if the fight ended before he could get there he might bump into his target on the way. The streets in this part of the city were mostly empty, save for the rare patrol that he easily slipped past. Most of the doors were unlocked, their owners having fled, died, or been taken captive. He realized that the space port was the most logical place for them to take their captives, though he didn't entertain any illusions of being able to liberate anybody. He had no armor, no shields, and no formal training; just his father's admittedly high quality rifle. He was fairly certain he was crazy for even attempting this revenge mission, but then he wouldn't be able to live with himself if he didn't try. Yet another lesson his dad had taught him: "If your mind is set that something needs to be done, you do it or spend the rest of your life wishing you had."
As he picked his way through the city, he noted how everything seemed relatively intact. There were the tell-tale signs of battle throughout: bullet holes, scorching from grenades, and the rare discarded weapon, but for the most part the buildings still remained in one piece. More gruesome were the bodies scattered about, almost all of them wearing the armor of the local Marine detachment. Every once in a while he'd come across the odd civilian, but he imagined most of the civilians not lucky enough to run away were rounded up by slavers.
He ignored the revulsion churning up inside of him to press forward ever deeper. His already slowed progress was slowed by even more patrols. He eventually had to stop, a large group passing through the street, and one he couldn't slip by undetected, forcing him to wait and hope he wasn't discovered. His breathing slowed, and he unconsciously held his breath as the group came by, chattering in various languages he couldn't understand. Without his omni-tool to translate for him he had no way of knowing what they were saying. He slowly raised his head to peek out the window of the building he was hiding in, trying to get a glance at the group:
There were eight of them, six Batarians, a Salarian, and a Krogan, all of them armed with low quality arms and armor. He watched them for some time, they had stopped and were chattering away about something, the Krogan apparently becoming agitated (or, maybe that was just how their language always sounded). One of the Batarians began to turn in his direction and the chattering became even more tense, he readied his rifle, ready to fight to the death if needed, slowly counting away the seconds.
He wasn't sure how much time had passed, what was probably only a couple minutes felt like several hours to him. The alien chattering had died down, and he chanced another peek: they were gone. He let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding and then dashed across the street, only to be greeted by the staccato of an assault rifle.
The shots impacted the ground at his feet, either as a result of the poor accuracy of the crappy weapons the slavers were using or an intended outcome Damian couldn't tell. He didn't stop however; and just kept going. A shout of alien words were uttered in his direction, but he just kept running. If he stopped he would either be killed or enslaved, he chanced a glance to his right and saw the group of aliens start to give chase. He immediately went over the mental map of the settlement in his mind: there were many alleys and different places he could go to at least break the line of sight, and the bulk of the Krogan meant he could at least lose the most dangerous of the pursuers quickly enough.
The slavers all ran out ahead, the Salarian taking a lead being the most agile of the group. Damian darted into and alley and quickly scaled a small divider linking two buildings together before leaping down and darting right, the Salarian still behind him and followed by the Batarians. He heard the Krogan shout and break off, but Damian knew the area well enough to avoid his route getting cut off. The alleys were all identical: brown dirt flanked by the angular walls of the pre-fabs raised slightly off the ground with struts that also helped absorb any unexpected seismic events.
Though there was a plan to the construction originally, various changes that had to be made during the initial settlement combined with unplanned expansions left the city a haphazard mess. This was deemed acceptable since defenders would be better able to set up ambushes in the event of an attack, a notion that has proven false by this recent raid. For Damian's purposes however, it allowed him to evade his pursuers without getting shot. One by one the Batarians fell, but the Salarian still persisted, occasionally firing a shot from a pistol in an effort to slow Damian down.
The young teenager leapt onto another section of wall, this one providing access between two prefabs and giving him a way to scramble up to the second level. He ran towards another of the pre-fabs and jumped a gap, not thinking but just trying to get away. He ran past patrols which then attempted to join in the chase, he had to lose these slavers quickly. Leaping across another gap he crashed into the second story off another of the structures littered about the landscape, darting quickly down the stairs and into a back-alley, leaping another wall and over the other side, rolling with the impact. He heard the sounds of footsteps behind him and closing fast, the unmistakable sound of that accursed Salarian slaver who was still on him.
Deciding on a different approach, Damian turned around and ran towards the footsteps, the butt of his rifle connecting with the slaver's face, staggering him backward before Damian re-oriented the rifle and fired at point-blank range. Being untrained, even this point-blank shot was not lethal, but it connected with the alien's shoulder, sending him flying back to hit a nearby wall, clutching the wound in agony. Without thinking Damian cocked his rifle and ran off, figuring a wounded enemy would slow down pursuers more than a dead one. Turning a few more corners he was gone, his pursuers far behind him now.
The boy looked around for a moment, trying to figure out his position, he saw the central government building still standing tall in the middle of the settlement. He had a vague idea of where he was, and his chase seems to have brought him fairly close to the spaceport. With a quick adjustment he made his way forward. Patrols on his route had gotten heavier than at the outskirts, whether as a result of his blunder or because of the proximity of the slaves he didn't know. Fortunately, they were still thin enough for him to slip by with a little ingenuity and a healthy dose of luck.
He looked around and slipped into the office space for the transit authority overlooking the spaceport itself. The slavers didn't bother to set up anything here, the space lacking in all but the most Spartan of necessities for the smooth operation of the space-port including a desk, a filing cabinet, and a computer with an extranet connection. The only attention to luxury within this office was that it was located three stories up, overlooking the spaceport itself… though this was primarily so that whoever was in charge here could physically see each ship coming in without having to leave his office.
This little room made for a good perch, and the space itself was unguarded, all the aliens focused on keeping an eye on the atrocities below. Damian thought he was prepared for anything, but what he saw when he looked out that window and into the large landing area below sickened him. Rows and rows of tiny cells were lined up, each with large life-support units on the side. Rectangular slits with bars on the sides were open, allowing those units to remain inactive when on a planet capable of supporting life. Peering through the scope of his rifle, Damian saw the faces of the settlers, most were strangers but once in a while he'd recognize one through the bars: a friend, a teacher, a shop owner, a local musician, all of them crammed with dozens of prisoners, more than he could imagine.
Each unit had been designed with the ability to accommodate up to 140 fully grown humanoids, though this was largely done to account for unit degradation, species requiring more than normal life-support capacity such as Elcor, or other events that might dramatically lower the maximum capacity of the life support unit. The cells were initially designed to hold prisoners in deep space facilities and to make transport easier, though it can't have escaped the minds of the designers that slavers might use these to hold their catch. Even if they realized this, they would have been shocked to learn that this particular group of slavers took the advertised capacity literally and crammed 140 people into a space that was expected to only ever be used for 25 people in a worst case scenario.
Aliens of various species, primarily Batarians with a few Krogan, Turians, and the odd Salarian mingled about below. They all appeared to be on alert, keeping a close eye on their cargo. Every so often a group would walk in with a few more humans and cram them into already overstuffed cages, while a squat Volus kept a running tally on a datapad. The sight sickened Damian, but he couldn't fight all of these slavers on his own. Even if he timed it right and started a slave revolt… there just wasn't any choice in the matter. He diligently scanned each of the Batarians, using the variable zoom scope to scan each face and determine their identity before moving on. None of them were his target, he continued looking around, checking the open ships which had a few crew idling about inside.
The minutes ticked by, he continued his diligent work. On the south end of the spaceport, to his right, he noticed another two Batarians looking around, one looked familiar, what was most interesting though was who they had with them. He recognized the form of a woman, they seemed to be hitting her and screaming at her. He remained transfixed, and as the woman's face revealed itself the sudden familiarity dawned on him: it was his mother.
December 25 2169, Planet Mindoir, Shepard family home, 0923 Local Time
"Damian! Time to wake up! We're all waiting for you!" cried out feminine voice from the other room. Damian Shepard rolled out of bed groggily, and looked at the time. He cursed what for a teenager is a horrifically early hour but managed to pull himself out of bed anyway. He quickly got dressed as his body rallied the energy he'd need for the day and stepped out into the living room, eager as his mind caught up to him and reminded him what the day was.
Sitting on a small couch was his father: looking like he was chiseled out of marble for some Alliance propaganda piece honoring heroes of wars gone by. Square jaw, hair close cut… the ideal Marine. His mother stood nearby, laughing with him at some joke that Damian never heard. Her hair was brown and fell halfway down her back, long and flowing. She always seemed to have a smile on her face, especially in the presence of family.
It was Christmas day, a day that had changed from its traditional Christian roots into a more secular celebration of family, life, and (some would jokingly state) commerce. All over Alliance space family members and friends exchanged gifts every year on this day, and the Shepard family was no different. A plastic tree was perched in a corner, resembling an Earth pine tree, and underneath small parcels of wrapped gifts lay in wait for the lucky recipient.
They each took turns, ripping apart the wrapping in order to discover what they had received: practical gifts for dad such as tools and parts for maintaining his rifle and the various farming equipment used to work the land, gifts of a more feminine nature for mom such as jewelry, and gifts befitting a teenager for young Shepard consisting of video games, not to mention updated star charts and astronomy books. The real prize for Shepard however, was a reproduction of Copernicus's famous work: On the Revolution of Heavenly Spheres. Though centuries old, it still remained a vital piece in the history of astronomy, and something Shepard himself had long sought. Though digital copies were easy to come by, a printed version was rare and, like the paper versions of all famous works, is considered collector's items and possessing it a mark of scholarship.
He spent the day with his family, going into the city and taking in movies, enjoying meals in restaurants, and otherwise having fun. What farm work needed to be done could wait: especially as 22nd farming had largely been relegated to supervising automated machinery that handled what would normally be labor intensive work, a human presence not being strictly necessary. Jokes, laughter, and just the general fun of a family on Christmas joining with those of other happy families milling about the colony brought a jovial atmosphere to the normally quiet backwater.
The hours ticked by, the sun moved overhead, and gradually the light gave in to darkness. The Shepard family returned home, enjoying a quiet family dinner consisting entirely of native grown food grown by their efforts. The next day it would be back to the normal routines for the adults of supervising machinery and making periodic adjustments when the hard work would cause the equipment to occasionally fall out of calibration. In a week Damian himself would have to return to school. However, none of these thoughts were on the mind of this happy family. And none of them dreamed that in six months this happy family life would be destroyed.
June 30 2170 CE, Planet Mindoir, Spaceport Transit Authority Offices, 1123 Local Time
Rage burned within Damian, rage at what these animals were doing to his mother, rage at how these animals could possibly do this to another sentient being. He quickly sighted one of the four-eyed bastards and moved his finger to the trigger, ready to kill him, and then his partner would die, and then his mother would be able to run and then…
…and then she'd be captured again and thrown into one of those cages. He wasn't sure why she wasn't in there to begin with but didn't particularly care, all he knew was that he had to help her somehow. The rational part of his mind slowly pulled him back from the rage and let him take an honest assessment of the situation, analyzing the slaver camp the way he would analyze the bodies in heaven.
The slaver force consisted of dozens of individuals, mostly Batarians, Krogans comprising the second largest group, and a smattering of others. If they didn't know he was running around the city by now they soon will, and if he fired it wouldn't take them long to track him. He might get away with one shot but with the second they'll pinpoint him, surround him, and either kill him or stick him in one of those cages. There was almost nothing he could do for his mother, but he couldn't just let these monsters keep her either.
He readjusted the rifle on his shoulder; he'd only have one shot. He looked through the scope, but the picture was blurry, tears rolling down his cheeks in defiance of what he was about to do. He wiped his eyes and aimed his rifle again. He forced himself to hold back the tears, keeping his picture clear. The crosshairs danced on his target, his breathing slowed as his finger wrapped around the trigger, he'd only get one shot, and it wouldn't be an easy one with those two Batarians moving around. He was also worried that he might end up triggering the reflexes on their barriers and spoil the shot, but there was little he could do about that except pick his moment carefully.
One Batarian seemed to beckon to another, and this gave him his chance. He focused his attention through the scope, his mother's face clear in his sights, the cross-hairs resting on her battered and bruised head as she sat tiredly from the abuse.
Damian squeezed the trigger.
So, reviews are appreciated! Just something to tell me people are enjoying the story and want me to keep going as well as constructive criticism.
