Sinkiang, 2156
Major-General Mettius paced back and forth again. The human's room was crude by turian standards for a junior officer, let alone a garrison commander. And it was bedecked with all kinds of icons of the ideology or religion that these pink-skinned mammals were obsessed with. Mettius grimaced; the next time he heard a phrase along the lines of to "the march of history" or "scientific socialist imperative" he was going to shoot somebody. He had been getting intelligence reports for the past week since planetfall. The humans despite being heavily outgunned were organizing resistance and fighting a vicious guerrilla campaign that even his veteran soldiers were having difficulty suppressing. And this was despite the formal surrender of the colony and its small standing force.
Nobody seemed to need him right now. Odd, they had for the past 72 hours. He sat down awkwardly on the human chair and reflected on the campaign. It had started easily enough. Un- or lightly-armed vessels had shown up unannounced in Citadel space. Turian military universal translators could understand the panicked and confused radio chatter of the intruders but the foe could not. Growing weary of giving warning shots and unheeded threats the admiral had decided to shoot at the humans. It had destroyed many of them, but the remaining ships had charged rather than retreat, even throwing crude nuclear warheads at them. Many of these had been strong enough to break down shields and destroy a handful of smaller frigates. This had enraged Mettius' superior, a bellicose male who had been itching for a fight against an enemy easier to defeat than pirates or Batarian slavers.
Mettius frowned. These fellows cause more headache than a couple slaver fleets combined, and they refuse to surrender. Hell, ever since they got their hands on a few translators they've been trying to incite mutiny in the ranks! He wasn't sure if it was successful. The human appeal to the soldier's emotion couldn't have been ineffective though; Mettius had had some of those rations only the night before and it made him almost ill. Since planetfall ten days earlier his division had encountered heavy resistance and experienced hundreds of casualties, and that wasn't going to be helping morale either.
Leninism-Marxism, or whatever it was called, was going to be an issue for a while, thought Mettius. He did not like wanton killing but now figured it might be his only option as even those humans who had surrendered were growing rowdier each day.
His train of thought was distracted by a flashing vid on the screen his troops had set up. The face of his adjutant Captain Quarus appeared a moment later wearing a scowl deeper than the general's own. "Sir, we have a problem among our VIP prisoners" he said. "And why is that?" asked the general. "It's Williams, sir." Mettius tried not to get angry and failed. Williams, the garrison commander whose room he now used as a command post had been peaceful enough to surrender at the beginning. Since then, he had done nothing but raise hell. A hunger strike a week earlier had required medical force-feeding a few days later. After that Williams had encouraged a disgusting human tactic known as the "dirty protest" of not washing and smearing food and excrement on the walls of his cell. Even beatings and constant sleep deprivation seemed to only enforce the man's will.
Mettius felt his rage rising and tried to hold it down as he issued his next orders. After a pause he succeeded. "You know what, Quarus? Go see my second in command Colonel Tweta. She's in charge until I get back. I am going to go and talk to that asshole, and find out why he's doing it. Maybe even put a stop to it." Quarus saluted and the vid went silent. Mettius did an about face and marched with his bodyguards to the animal sheds now appropriated for VIP prisoners. Inside was Williams, the government Chief Administrator, and a 19-year-old female party secretary. The general's anger rose again. Williams would have to pay for helping the female's uncle, the highest Party member they had caught alive, to escape to the mountains where even now he organized resistance. His units were so effective they had earned him the nickname "The Ghost," and his proclamations circulated among all uncooperative humans.
The guards saluted him as he walked inside, and was ushered into the makeshift interrogation room. Moments later a bloodied and filthy Commander Williams was brought before him. His eyes shone with defiance as he broke the silence. "Ah, general, so nice to finally see you!" Mettius tensed. His rank insignia was foreign to humans; and the man had no universal translator until he entered the room. But he was a fast learner. The general responded.
"So, you filthy excuse for an individual, here's how it works: I want you to assist me in pacifying your pathetic outpost. Your Brotherhood is finished with their weak weapons. They have abandoned you. If you collaborate there may be a place for you in our Hierarchy. I'm not asking more than once, you varren."
For a moment Williams hesitated and made a strange gargling noise. Mettius became aware of its purpose when his eye was filled with pussy spit. As Williams was dragged from the room he yelled loud enough for the translator to get "I spit upon kings and tyrants! Our people will defeat you, imperialist dogs! You cannot stop the march of history!"
Mettius wanted to shout, to get up and tear the upstart mammal with his bare talons. But instead he sat. Soon after, he sighed. If this was what all humans were like, it was going to be a hell of a difficult fight.
