Blackwatch Special Forces
Callsign: Nomad One-One
Location: Space Station Steel Heart
Assignment: Explosive Ordinance Disposal
Tarquin
Tarquin sat quietly at the back of the chamber, letting his comrades with something to prove make the noise. In truth, something inside him did simmer with something close to anger – but it felt closer to disappointment. Shouldn't this be Blackwatch's hour? But that thought was selfish, so he kept his arms folded and his mouth shut. Vice, however, had not gotten the memo.
"General, with all due respect-"
"No good has ever come with a sentence that starts "with all due respect," snapped General Desolas, not even turning to look at the sergeant as he spoke. His eyes remained fixed on Captain Regis, who stood in protest alongside about a dozen others, Vice included. "Enough." Vice's mandibles shifted in silent protest, but he mercifully obeyed the general. Desolas inclined his head towards the captain.
"Speak."
"General, Palaven is burning," said Regis, in a tone whose neutrality was betrayed by a faint trembling. "This is the hour in which we are needed most. We should be looking inwards and forwards, not to other species and ancient slights."
"Noted. Sit down." The captain did not sit. The general took on a new stillness that made Tarquin look away for a moment. Wonderful. "That was an order, Captain. And it applies to the rest of you."
"Sir, I would appreciate the rationale behind this mission," said Regis, making Tarquin wince. We do not question orders. Tarquin understood the captain's sentiment – the world seemed to be ending after all – but to see a superior act in a way so … unturian … made something prickle in Tarquin's chest. It's not the captain's failing, It's the situation. Some people have a great deal to lose, after all.
Not him, though. Tarquin had only the one thing left, and it didn't truly interest him that much these days.
"If you treat this situation as if it is out of control and the rules no longer applied, Captain, it will swiftly develop as such." General Desolas's tone reminded Tarquin of the first heavy step of his father coming up the stairs after he had broken something or hit someone. It gave him that same inward thud. "Sit. You will be given the information you need, and sent where it will do Palaven the most good. I should not have to tell you this."
Captain Regis sat, and the motion rippled outward – slower than the general probably would have liked. For a moment, Desolas's gaze met Tarquin's. It might have been his imagination, but he swore Desolas's expression softened for a moment.
"You will be deployed via stealth frigate to the Kelphic Valley." Desolas turned around to the previously forgotten holographic display, zooming in on the orange sphere representing Tuchanka with a swift gesture. "En route, you will consult the older manuals on the appropriate disposal of explosive ordinance; while the basic principles behind our atomics have remained the same, some of the structural facets of our bombs have changed as the years have rolled by."
"Shouldn't this be handled by a dedicated EOD team then, sir?" asked Priestess. Like Tarquin, she had not stood when the others voiced their protests. Desolas accepted her question with something close to relief.
"Consider the environment. I will list the present hazards." Desolas placed his palms upward and moved the display eastward. "To the east, a vast array of krogan, presently infuriated by the UED, and with a long history against our people." He scrolled north. "To the north, thresher maws; to the west, zerg; and to the south, krogan zerg, who also ride thresher maws."
"We're gonna end up in the south," whispered Vice loudly. "I just know how this goes. I know how this always goes."
"To be blunt, I need experts who can also get in quietly and handle a wide variety of threats." Desolas took a moment to glare at his audience, lingering on Regis. "Blackwatch is the best, or so I am told. You do not improvise. So I am eager to see how you have planned for such an operation."
"Pop and drop with a stealth frigate," said Regis, to a chorus of assents. "Drop some digging equipment as well. Dig it up, disarm it, get the hell back to the real fight. Rules of engagement, sir?"
"Local forces include krogan, terran, and protoss," replied the general, coughing a little after the last one. "The protoss … will not interfere. They are, to be blunt, aware of what we are doing and would prefer we got it over with." Reading between the lines, I think they might be the reason we're doing this. Did the Primarch get a phone call asking to the effect of, "Why is there a nuke hiding under one of our beneficiaries' population centers?"
"The terrans and krogan are not to be contacted or engaged. They are presently sorting out their difficulties with one another that do not involve us, and hopefully never will."
"Faster we do this, the faster we get to Palaven," said the captain abruptly, casting a sweeping glance around him. Others gave him nods. Tarquin, too, when it was his turn. No need to make enemies here. "General, any further details?"
"One of our heavy cruisers will wait at system's edge to pick you all up once this is done." Desolas's mandibles twitched. "As you have … intuited … there will be a great deal more for you all to do once this mission is over. Board at 17:00 hours. Dismissed."
The teams dispersed immediately, most of them bound for the same exit – the same queue. Loved ones waiting for them. Most of the calls to Palaven and her colonies were being answered, just slowly. It would take more than a day of partial Reaper occupation to bring communications down.
Vice and Tarquin, however, made for a different exit. Well, Tarquin did. Vice just saw where Tarquin was headed and jogged after him, slowing down when Tarquin turned around and tried to make himself look less desperate.
"Can you believe this shit?" asked Vice as soon at they left the briefing chamber, well out of earshot of the already irritated general. "It's the biggest conflict in history, and they're sending us to make nice with the krogan. Why? They don't fucking matter."
"We have our orders," replied Tarquin bluntly. Vice cocked his head at this.
"Right. It's just input and output with you; I forget sometimes." Tarquin did not have anything to say to this. It helped that he knew the sergeant well enough that being met with silence only frustrated him and made him talk more. "Well, where are you headed?" he asked after a few moments of no reaction. Tarquin almost smiled to himself.
"The garden," replied Tarquin. "Nobody to call, and nobody calling me. And my stuff is squared away, just to have to haul it aboard when the time comes. What about you? Anybody you're worried about?"
"All I have left is dad, and he can call me if he wants to talk." Vice bristled momentarily, lost in some old slight. "Eh. Last I checked he was in Illium anyway, I think. Probably fine. Unfortunately. So, I guess I'll take a look at those damn manuals, because the captain will probably read them wrong and kill us all."
"You could come to the garden too, you know?" Tarquin wasn't sure why he said this. He instantly regretted it. But Vice only laughed.
"If the Spirits want anything to do with me after all I've pulled, they're fools. Plus, I'm sure you value your quiet time." Vice patted Tarquin on the shoulder. "See you downrange, Lieutenant."
Tarquin nodded back at the sergeant and then continued down the station's corridors, winding his way to the center. The people who passed him moved at a hurried pace, many of them speaking into omnitools or furiously swiping at it, checking news feeds. There will be time enough for that. Tarquin still had to see what everyone was going on about with that Duran character. All that mattered was what came next. That, and seeing that the dead are honored.
The thick bulkhead opened into the steel gray of the arboretum. The lighting here remained as artificial as everywhere else, but shone with a greater intensity, as befitting a simulation of Palaven's own sun.
The spikey foliage rose well past Tarquin's head and created a complete, if shallow canopy. He could hear water running nearby – always a welcome sound – and a spicy aroma wafted through the leaves. Tarquin followed a paved footpath dusted with fallen yellowed leaves, his boots scraping against them as he trod. He breathed in heavily, and then headed left into a small clearing. A circle of candles, some lit, stood at his feet.
Tarquin knelt down and activated his omnitool. With a click, it spat out a thin, furtive flame about half an inch and held it. He pressed it against a thick red candle, the waxed wick catching immediately. The smell of spice grew a little stronger. Tarquin shut his eyes.
What do you imagine the spirit of your family looks like? His father had asked him that once, just after his mother had died. Tarquin had not known at the time, but hoped that it smelled like mom. His dad, General Adrien Victus, famed even back then, had been quiet a very long time when Tarquin said that. Then he admitted, very softly, that he loved that idea.
And if you asked me that now? Now Tarquin envisioned a steel titan bearing his father's face, stern and looking down on him. The last Victus standing. A foundation of greatness. What will come of you, Tarquin? You look to us for guidance when it should spring forth from you.
Plenty of his comrades had, over the years, uttered in hushed tones how lucky Tarquin had been to come from such a line of heroes – especially Adrien Victus, whose ship had slain the Zerg Overmind. But all Tarquin felt was a weight, a crushing weight. He killed a god and saved the galaxy. I arrest volus and … carry their children on my shoulders.
Grief shot through him, sudden and unwelcome. Spend too much time in the company of the dead. Everyone else waited for their turn with their loved ones. All Tarquin could see were the faces of his parents, and he all he could hear were the voices of those he could not save.
We were equipped for counterterrorism, not rescue. What defense do you have against a psi storm? The fight goes on in the rest of Irune…
Tarquin lit another candle, for Irune must have a spirit; bloviating and conflict-averse, yes, but strong in its own way. Nature had made the volus soft, and they had done plenty to compensate. Give me guidance. How can I best save your people?
Soft footsteps sounded behind Tarquin. He stiffened, hoping he would be granted privacy. Instead, someone knelt beside him and lit a candle of their own, the orange of the omnitool flashing behind Tarquin's eyelids. Tarquin sharply inhaled and opened his eyes, ready to move elsewhere if need be – only to almost fall over when he saw General Desolas kneeling next to him, eyes shut.
"Sir-"
"A moment." Desolas raised a finger and kept his eyes squeezed tight. When he opened them, it was slowly, as if with great exhaustion. He looked at Tarquin. "Forgive me, Lieutenant. I know you prefer to be alone when off-duty."
"Sir?" Tarquin wasn't sure what to say – wasn't sure what was appropriate. The Blackwatch did not improvise, true, but he was not presently on duty. He had no parameters for a general deigning to speak to him. Doubtless the man had his own smaller garden where he could practice if he wanted.
Desolas paused, thinking. "It's … not a matter of favoritism, Lieutenant. It's a matter of responsibility. I was your father's commanding officer at Thessia, and I put him in harm's way. He performed magnificently, as I had hoped, but he was still my responsibility. With his passing, that makes you my responsibility."
"Oh." Tarquin did not know what to say to that. Should he be … flattered? Grateful? This was the first time he had seen the general in person since his father's funeral.
"Again, not a matter of favoritism. But you are here, and I wanted to make sure you are … well." Desolas shifted on his knees, as if uncomfortable. "You did not give me grief at the briefing. I should not have to thank my soldiers for doing their duty … but I am still grateful for that, at the least."
"I know better than to argue, sir." And if I speculate, I keep it to myself. "We will not fail you down there."
Desolas looked as if he desperately wanted to say something, his mandibles lowering twice as he almost opened his mouth. But in the end, he just nodded to himself.
"Good. Good. I … would like to speak to you again, once you get back. Blackwatch has already sustained casualties, and we have several teams in need of a leader-"
"I do not feel ready for that, sir," replied Tarquin abruptly, his heart suddenly pounding. They will see the name Victus, and they will expect greatness in our darkest hour. Do you feel ready, Tarquin? Do you? His family's spirit glowered at him with his father's face.
"You do not, perhaps, but it is up to your superiors to decide," said Desolas, some familiar steel sinking into his tone. "Perhaps you are dwelling on your father's accomplishments and how in the Spirits you could live up to them?" Tarquin did not bother to reply, only let out a sigh.
"Of course. Well, if it is of any assistance, Tarquin, I go to bed every night wondering the same damn thing."
Tarquin's head shot up at that, staring at the general in a new light. General Desolas did not smile, but something twinkled in his eyes.
"We are all standing on a foundation of greatness, Lieutenant, and turians years from now will measure themselves to the likes of us and wonder how they could match our strength at this dark hour, I assure you."
"Thank you, General."
"You are welcome." The general stood, inhaling the scent of the candles once more upon standing. "Sadly, this is all the time I have allotted for the Spirits. Palaven also demands my attention." He nodded once to Tarquin. "Good day, Lieutenant."
It became difficult for Tarquin to focus on prayer after that. He left shortly after the General did, returning to his temporary quarters in the upper reaches of Steel Heart, along with the rest of the wayward Blackwatch. In the bunk next to this, Vice furiously packed everything into a neat little duffle, sighed irritably, and then emptied everything again. He's even worse with his weapons. Tarquin could sense another argument with the captain looming in the future.
For himself, he took the time to get out his sketchbook and a piece of charcoal. He let his fingers skate across the surface of the paper, feeling relief in the solidity of the utensil against the page – something neither his father nor his squadmates had ever understood. Tarquin shut his eyes and let his mind produce the images it may. When he opened his eyes, though, all he could see were burnt bodies on burnt streets. He put the charcoal away.
"I'm gonna go get my gear squared away." Vice only grunted, staring venomously at a small collection of serrated knives lying in a heap.
Time did not pass quickly for Tarquin. His suit had been freshly repaired, his weapons reissued (with a duly stern warning not to lose them again, lest he dishonor the spirit of his unit and so forth,) and the frigate stocked with enough MREs to feed three platoons for a month. Hurry up and wait. A common military phenomenon. The charcoal and notebook came out again, and Tarquin did his best to draw cheerful things: flowers, sunshine, and antimateriel rifles. He took occasional breaks to try out the latter at the range, imagining that they were mini-Reapers and the like, rather than the vague silhouettes of krogan (which the rangemaster naturally vigorously denied.)
As he came out of his second trip to the range, someone stopped him. Priestess, sitting cross-legged atop a crate of MREs, eyeing him quizzically.
"Hey, Lieutenant."
"Hey, Specialist." Tarquin inclined his head. "How's Quercus? Get ahold of him?" Alive?
Priestess gave him a tired smile. Ah, good. "Says he's stuck on Taetrus with a bunch of protoss that turn invisible and carry scythes into combat. He was trying to play it down, but I think he was actually excited to work with them."
"He does have that axe collection," said Tarquin, remembering the sole time he had met the man. "He's probably happy that someone still believes in melee combat."
"And you don't have…?" asked Priestess, using more tact than Tarquin might have expected. He shook his head. "Right, I would have met her. Or him. Any family? They okay?"
"It's just me, and the people standing next to me." Tarquin returned Priestess's smile, suddenly tired. "I'll leave the extranet lines for those who need them. Only thing I need to worry about is the Hierarchy."
"You can worry about yourself, too, Tarquin." Priestess gestured to the stack of crates next to her. Tarquin shrugged and jumped atop them. The two sat in the firing range quietly for a moment, hearing the dull thuds of gunfire from inside the soundproofed rooms beyond them. "Nervous about Tuchanka?"
"Nah. Hear it's lovely this time of year." Tarquin sighed. "I'm more worried about what comes after. Never thought I'd see the day when contact with infested krogan didn't feel like a big deal." He gave Priestess a sharp look. "You think we should be on Palaven?"
"My heart says yes. My head says that we are spec ops, not line infantry, and that the krogan alone have basic foot soldiers that can stand shoulder to shoulder with the protoss and not shame themselves." Priestess chuckle as Tarquin cocked his head. "I know, I know, the Blackwatch is legend; we could do so much more and so on. But think past that, Tarquin. In a straight gunfight, especially against the Reapers, how much better are we going to perform than a standard infantry squad?"
"You have biotics," replied Tarquin, a little more accusatorily than he intended. Priestess just chuckled.
"Yes, I suppose. But I can't topple Reapers with them – the ships I mean. This is the Fleet's war, really. And aside from my biotics, what do we have that line infantry do not?"
"Experience and expertise. Survival skills in hostile environments. Medical skills. Bomb disposal skills. The ability to rapidly deploy and adapt to changing battlefield conditions." Tarquin paused. "…all of which would serve us well in Tuchanka, I suppose." He shrugged. "But I don't need convincing. The captain does."
"The captain will come around once we set down, I am sure of it. Tuchanka does a good job shaking people up, I hear." Priestess slipped from the crate and extended a hand. Tarquin took it and slid off the boxes. "Come on. Eat with me, and the others. We could use your company. And you, theirs."
With Priestess's help, the time sped up nicely, to the point Tarquin almost felt sad when he boarded the stealth frigate, Shade, alongside the twenty-three other Blackwatch operatives. He sighed as the airlock cycled and he strode through the door. Captain Regis waved him over from the helmsman's chair, his eyes blazing with intensity.
"I imagine you are as eager to get this mission over and done with as I am, Lieutenant," said Regis, not waiting for a response. "Good, good. Intel suggests that our flight path is strewn with anti-air turrets on the planet's surface."
"Our heat-emission system should nullify any krogan targeting protocols," said the helmsman, a slim turian woman with blue Palaven markings across her cheeks. "Short of the UED or protoss, this is the most advanced known stealth system in the galaxy."
"This path will take us over krogan zerg country," continued Regis, pointing to the glowing red layout before the helmsman. "Any krogan that sees us will, to be blunt, unlikely to pass that knowledge on to the clans proper. Regardless, we are to eliminate any witnesses we come across." Regis gritted his teeth. "Unless they are protoss. I hope that goes without saying."
"You might have to remind Vice," replied Tarquin, only half-joking. Regis shut his eyes and shook his head.
"Yes, quite. Well, Tarquin? You are my second; I would have your opinion."
Tarquin glanced again at the screen. Keeping away from population centers seems like a good idea. And no one fucks with zerg; it's unlikely we'll be seen.
"We are positive the krogan won't be able to detect us?" asked Tarquin.
The captain glanced to the helmsman, who nodded in the affirmative.
"Are the infested krogan growing any spore colonies?" asked Tarquin, trying his best to think of everything.
"Protoss have been burning all surface hive clusters from orbit," said Regis, but still looked impressed at Tarquin's foresight. "Good suggestion, though. We will rescan at the planet's surface to make sure nothing has cropped up since the last report. It's unclear how many of the protoss's garrison is still planetside." Regis grunted, and when he next spoke, it was with obvious venom. "Almost like they might have more pressing matters to contend with."
"I'm sure they don't like having a nuke under their feet," said Tarquin, not sure how else to keep neutral. Regis gave a little laugh and clapped him on the shoulder.
"Few do. Well, Lieutenant, let's do our families proud and make this quick. Palaven needs us. Helmsman?"
The helmsman nodded. "Buckle up – gotta go through the pre-flight check up." Hurry up and wait. Regis took a seat to the side of the helmsman while Tarquin retreated further down the bridge and strapped himself in between Vice and Priestess, who both gave him a grin as he sat down.
"You ever get your knives the way you wanted them?"
"Fuck off, Victus."
The frigate lifted off minutes later, to the combined relief of all present. Resentment simmered in the air, and it was hardly limited to the spec ops boys and girls. The flight chief and navigator argued animatedly before the galaxy map, the chief's finger continually stabbing at Palaven's system.
"…where we should be going!" But Tarquin caught little else.
"Attention crew and passengers," said Regis, his voice echoing over the intercom, "ETA to mass relay is twenty minutes, and approximately one hour until drop. If you're heavy infantry, head down to the armory ASAP and get strapped in."
"Lucky you," said Priestess, clapping Tarquin on the shoulder. Tarquin rose from his seat and proceeded to the elevator alongside a dozen other weary turians. Regis jogged in last, standing next to Tarquin and giving him a quick nod.
"I want suits on in five," said Regis to the assembled troops. "Guns loaded and checked by ten, and all lights green before we hit the relay. Understood?"
A chorus of "yes sirs" and "aye ayes" echoed through the elevator.
"Good. We'll be dropping before the cabals and the DMs. If there are hostiles at the LZ … well, there won't be when the second half of our platoon makes their drop. Understood?"
Another affirmative chorus. When the doors opened, the turians proceeded in what other species would have recognized as an orderly fashion. But I can see the urgency in how quickly we move, how terse we are when speaking. How many of them could not reach their friends and family? How many suspect or know the worst has come to pass?
It was not his place to ask. They might have been lumped together for this operation, and they might all be brothers and sisters beneath the 'Watch, but until they were blooded together, only Priestess, Vice, and the Captain were truly sib. And this is hardly the time anyway.
Tarquin had heard that the Dominion's marines could don their power armor in about a minute, assuming they were well-practiced. He had also heard that the Dominion's power armor needed to be literally climbed inside or built around the soldier in question, neither of which struck him as terribly efficient. For the turians and their hardened mobile exosuits, it was as simple a matter of turning around and stepping backwards into the waiting suit, which then closed around you, like a mother taking a child into her arms. Huh. I made myself sad.
Of course, from what he was also given to understand, the basic terran CMC suit was a mass-produced piece of crap that could not even repel basic gauss rounds designed for brainwashed former criminals to die in, while his HME was a glorious murder machine designed to excel in all conceivable combat scenarios while being piloted by the Hierarchy's finest, so perhaps he was being unfair to the terrans. It's not like I've ever met a terran anyway. He would have to ask one, if he ever got the chance.
The main time waster in getting the HME ready was checking all systems. The eezo core needed to be stable, and power systems needed to be evenly split between thrusters, barriers, and built-in weapons systems. The suit needed to be comfortable. And, most critically, the pilot's bowels needed to be completely empty before entering the suit. No exceptions!
Are the terran CMCs different in that regard? Hmm. Another question for the terrans. One unlikely to be answered.
Tarquin gave a grunt of satisfaction in seeing all systems green. He then stepped forward to the weapon racks with a heavy tread, feeling comfortable for the first time aboard Shade. After plucking his heavy three-barreled rifle from the waiting rack, he upgraded that comfortability to genuine contentment. Ah. I am ready.
Other suits strode about the armory in similar states of readiness, their vocoded voices emerging from their suits at a low register. The resentment turned to anticipation. The anticipation would soon turn to eagerness. And how could one not feel eager, with this much power at their fingertips? Sometimes Tarquin felt Vice was missing out. Not Priestess, though. She already had biotics to play with.
"Victus, with me," barked Regis, inclining a single armored finger towards Tarquin. "The rest of you, by the ramp in the hangar."
"Sir?" asked Tarquin. Regis pointed to the elevator.
"Helmsman is going to take us in. I want your help assessing the LZ before we drop." Regis paused. "I also thought you might appreciate the view as we go in."
"Yes, sir." Aww. Truthfully, it did excite Tarquin a little. He had never seen Tuchanka before, and might never again. And plenty of marines, bereft of aught else to do, would fight for a viewport whenever something interesting was coming into view. He had never quite managed to disown that impulse.
The elevator ascended. When it reached the bridge, two eight-foot-tall heavily-armored badasses strode out of it, drawing stares and eye rolls from the flight crews. Eh, they're just jealous. Besides, between sailors certified to fly a stealth frigate and a glorified infantryman, I think we all know who is really more valuable here..
But Tarquin would keep that to himself. He followed his captain to the bridge, trying to remind himself that he did not need to duck. Ceiling does look close, though. He made it to the helmsman without disgracing himself, however, and stood tall and proud next to his captain.
"Lieutenant, status report."
"Relay is clear of hostiles, sir. Straight shot to Tuchanka." The helmsman scrolled through the haptic display, images flying by with every deft swipe. "There was an automated warning that you missed: Reaper forces are hitting the Zerg Exclusion Zone and all other known zerg inhabited regions. We were advised to steer clear of infested areas."
"Which we are heading right into." Tarquin could not see Captain Regis's expression beneath his helmet, but he could just imagine him gritting his teeth. "We will have to make this quick. Intel reported no zerg presence on Tuchanka as of two hours ago and we have no reason to doubt them – damn things are pretty hard to miss. Might just have to bump up our timetable."
"And if there are Reapers, sir?" asked Tarquin, knowing the question had to be asked.
"Then we will just have to chance flying over krogan space, Lieutenant." The Captain sighed. "In that scenario, I would just hope that all sides involved would ignore the little turian ship flying around, and let us conduct our affairs in peace. How does that sound?"
"Like a plan, Captain." At least he put thought into it. We do not improvise after all.
"Coming up on the relay." The helmsman helpfully shoved away the brightest of the haptic menus so that the two of them could see out the viewport. What caught Tarquin's eye was not the relay itself, but rather the fleet surrounding it, all guns trained on the relay. Twelfth fleet. Ready to give the first Reaper that comes through a warm welcome and a cold burial.
Tarquin had no idea whether the forces present would realistically make a dent on the monsters he saw back on Irune – he was not privy to that combat data – but he could not imagine even the Zerg Swarm having a fun time of it coming through that relay. Five dreadnoughts waited with their broadsides at the ready from five different angles. Dozens of heavy cruisers bristled with cannons, while the space around them swarmed with fighters.
It's not enough, whispered something deep inside, something cold and heavy and sad. All gone soon. It's not enough.
"Approaching relay," said the helmsman, reaching for the intercom. "Crew, brace for jump. Thirty seconds."
Regis rested one hand on Tarquin's shoulder. The three fingers tightened around the shoulder. He's nervous. Had to be an unpleasant sensation. Not only was he stuck with a mission he did not want to be on, he was not confident about carrying it out. Well on the upside, he should be one cheerful bastard once we get back to Palaven, no matter how much we get thrown at us.
The ship shuddered as the mass relay enveloped it in its bubble. The world turned blue and twisted in short order, and Tarquin could not help but marvel at the light show. He could not recall ever witnessing it firsthand like this. The helmsman was plainly inoculated against the glory of such a beautiful display of azure, given she was more interested in her instruments, but for Tarquin … well, it reminded him of his first shuttle ride off-planet with his father. He had lifted his arms and hooted as his stomach flopped and the g's pushed him against the back of his seat ... but dad had just looked at him and said, "This will get old to you too, one day."
Tarquin half-expected the helmsman to say the same damn thing. Instead, she just gave them both the all-clear sign without even looking at them.
"Drift just under 2k, about as smooth as you can get without being a machine." The helmsman nodded to herself. "How long do you think this will take?"
"Drop off should only take under an hour, once you drop the digging equipment." Regis released his grip from Tarquin's shoulder and resumed holding the barrel of his Imperator rifle. "You're to run dark until we are done. Pick up should also take under an hour. But as for how long you will be in the Aralakh system?" Regis shrugged. "Depends how deep our ancestors felt like planting that bomb." The Captain gave a dark little chuckle. "If I were to hazard a guess, based on how angry they were at the time, they didn't dig it that deep."
"But that was centuries ago, sir," said Tarquin, making Regis turn on him. "Odds are, more has covered it since then. And besides, our ancestors never wanted the device found."
"I was making a joke, Lieutenant," replied the captain, coolly. "In truth, I suspect this will take about two days. Hopefully, the worst we will run into are wild varren or klixen, assuming the viscerators didn't eat them all."
"Coming out of the bubble, now." The Helmsman glanced up at Regis. "Final call rests with you, sir, but I am told that Reaper AA defenses are formidable. I would not count on this ship surviving entering anywhere within fifty miles of those things once we are in atmo, stealth system engaged or no. Be advised."
"I am advised," muttered Regis. The blue of the mass relay began to shrink and fade. "Let's see what we're up against."
The world snapped back into shape, revealing the vast array of stars the galaxy had to offer once more. At the center of their vision, and comparatively far less beautiful, blasted and gray Tuchanka lurked in the corner of the solar system like some wounded animal. No fires presently licked its surface, although that might have been because the krogan had left the Reapers with nothing to burn.
Something pinged once on the helmsman's screen. She swept it aside in irritation.
"Protoss observer," she said by way of explanation. "Just letting us know that, yes, there are protoss in the system and yes, they know we are here."
"When going through relays, how often do you get pinged by protoss?" asked Tarquin, actually leaning in a little out of sheer curiosity.
"Since last year, maybe one in three relays," replied the helmsman, making the captain and Tarquin exchange glances. "Since this war started? Every single one."
"If we are unwelcome here, I'm sure they'll let us know," muttered Regis, now sounding noticeably nervous. He extended a finger to the planet in the viewport. "There are ships in orbit."
"Terran battlecruisers," said the helmsman, bringing the terran vessels' readout to the forefront. "Directorate ships. Running a looping message."
"Play it."
"Attention all approaching vessels! This is Praetor Taldarin of the High Templar. These ships have been claimed on behalf of the Daelaam Protectorate!" boomed a deep and echoing voice. "Their crews are being held by Clan Urdnot pending release at Urdnot Wrex's word! Grave crimes have been committed by humanity here. Negotiations are ongoing. Regardless, their crews remain under the protection of the protoss. Anyone who opens fire on them will experience the wrath of the Firstborn!"
"The protoss are needlessly verbose," complained Regis, motioning for the helmsman to shut the message off, which she did. "If that were a terran speaking, they would have said something to the effect of, "Open fire on these ships and we will fucking kill you." And of course, we would have been just as succinct but nowhere near as crude."
"Truly," replied Tarquin, "the protoss will never reach our level of greatness by carrying on the way they do."
"I would expect that shit from Vice, Lieutenant. I thought sarcasm beneath you."
Tarquin shrugged. He hardly thought he came off as the fool in that exchange.
"Taking us down, sir." The gray ball of radioactive rubble, also known as Tuchanka, grew larger in the viewscreen. Soon, the ship descended through the upper reaches of the blue atmosphere, the curvature of the planet disappearing as they approached the dust-choked cloud layer.
"Estimated five minutes until drop," said the helmsman into the intercom. She glanced up at the two of them.
"We'll be going in the second round," said Regis, prompting a nod from the helmsman. He glanced at one of the haptic screens, and Tarquin followed suit. "Coming up on those turrets now. Is the stealth system active?"
"Active since we hit the system, sir."
"Good." Regis stopped looking at the haptic screen. Tarquin, however, looked at them a little longer.
"Design looks familiar," he said, trying to place it. Racks of missiles loaded on top of a rotating platform, with a thick square base. Pretty sure I've seen that in one of my manuals. Trouble was, Tarquin was also pretty sure it had not been under the entry for krogan. "Sir? We certain those are krogan missile turrets?"
Regis sniffed and checked the monitor again. Tarquin heard his breath catch.
"Protoss, maybe?" he said, uncertain. "No, they have photon cannons, I am being foolish. Helmsman?"
"Scans are not matching with known designs, sir."
"But I swear I've seen this one!" exclaimed Tarquin. He looked at Regis. "Sir?"
Regis ground his teeth. "Continue forward. The stealth system should carry us through, even if this is a more modern turret of some kind."
"Approaching drop zone. Two minutes." The helmsman removed most of the haptic screens, concentrating on her task. "Whatever they are, we're coming over them now."
Tarquin held his breath. A second passed. Two seconds. He and Regis stared at each other. After a few more lengthy seconds, Tarquin let out a sharp breath.
"I suppose-"
All of the alarms in the world blared at once. Crewmen shouted in alarm as their screens went red, and the helmsman frantically drew up the layout of the SAM sites.
"What? The systems are engaged, we shouldn't-"
"UED!" shouted Tarquin, suddenly realizing. "Earth missile turrets, they wouldn't be on record yet! And their stealth systems are … well…"
Regis took one look at the monitor, showing dozens of incoming, then back at the bridge filled with crewmembers who were certainly not expecting to land on Tuchanka today. Regis gave one hard nod, more to himself than anyone else, his entire armored head inclining forward.
"Fuck. I suppose the krogan co-opted them." He nodded again, this time to the helmsman. "Inform the crew to brace for impact. Try to land in non-infested krogan territory. Good luck, I hope we both survive the landing."
"Attention crew," said the helmsman, "we have been targeted by krogan-controlled UED missile systems. We will be making a crash landing shortly, assuming our barriers hold. Brace for impact and prepare for potential boarding action by local enemy ground forces."
Tarquin grabbed hold of a nearby rail as tightly as he dared. The crew, shouting only a few moments ago, fell dead silent. Outside, something gave a high-pitched whistle. Here it comes…
The ship shook only a little when the first missile vaporized on its barriers. It shook a little more at the second and third, a few seconds later. Maybe she can survive this? Then came the main barrage.
A blast of superheated metal ripped through the bottom of the craft as the barriers finally gave out and the UED's guided missiles worked their way through. Regis shouted something, but Tarquin could not hear it over the chaos. His vision blurred as bits of the craft were ripped away by G-forces, even despite the helmsman's desperate efforts to decelerate and reach the ground safely. Flames licked his armored legs, but mercifully could not touch him through his barriers. The flight crew … they are not as lucky.
The frigate shuddered violently, once, then twice. Tarquin could now look down at where most of the bridge used to be and see gray wastes of irradiated metal and dust. He looked up to see the bulk of the vessel beginning to break at its neck, the strain becoming too much. He glanced behind him. The helmsman had already been swept away like so many others, leaving only Regis. Their eyes met beneath their helmets.
"Jump for it!"
Boost. Tarquin dropped from the frigate, and felt a sudden great weightlessness as he left the speeding wreck. Then he felt a great weightlessness as he plummeted to Earth, counter-thrusters desperately engaging in a fruitless battle against gravity. Guess it's up to the legs. Let's hope we don't land on something sharp.
The ground came up hard and fast, but Tarquin did not land on something sharp. He instead landed on a hill of loose gravel, immediately sinking waist deep inside it. His counter-thrusters gave out as motion ceased, leaving him unharmed, relatively, but also stuck. Tarquin sighed and tried to wrench himself free, only to sink another half-inch, leaving his elbows scraping against the ground.
"Perfect." Tarquin was tempted to drop his weapon and try to pull himself free with his hands, but looking around, suspected that would be a bad idea. A rolling sea of noxious black carpet surrounded the base of the hill. Creep. Vice was right. We knew he was right!
The sound of something unearthing itself came from Tarquin's left. He desperately swiveled in place, sinking a little more as he did so, coming face to face with the yellow eyes and mandibles of a hydralisk. For a moment, it looked as surprised as he felt. Then it screamed, its form snaking further out of the hill it had buried itself inside. Tarquin gave it a taste of all three barrels, sending in spinning in a fountain of gore.
"This isn't the Great War, bastard," grunted Tarquin, watching the hydralisk's lengthy body roll down the slope and to the Creep below. "We know how you guys work." In groups, principally. All around him, the gravel began to hiss.
"Come on then!" shouted Tarquin, knowing his voice would not carry as far as his gunshots just did. "Come have a taste of Palaven!"
More bodies crested the stone around him. Zerglings shook off the dust and bounded towards him. Hydralisks poked their heads out, eyes centered on him. And, in the back, a krogan sporting spiked black mandibles crested through the stone like a fish from a wave, his bare feet landing surprisingly lightly against the gravel. Tarquin laughed as his barrels span up. Time to turn them all to paste. He activated his incendiary rounds with a flick of his eyes.
The first wave of zerglings disintegrated in a hail of eezo-infused metal. The first hydralisk to open his flaps swiftly lost them, his body pinwheeling down the hill in a spray of red. The krogan chuckled at the display and cracked his knuckles.
"Turian," he boomed in a rasping gurgle, making Tarquin pale. They speak? "Will enjoy this."
The krogan charged with a war cry that echoed in both the air and Tarquin's mind. Tarquin, hydralisk spines pinging off his barriers from behind, redirected his aim at the oncoming storm, never letting go of the trigger. Crimson blood flew from the krogan's face, setting it aflame, but the beast did not slow. Spirits, no! Tarquin braced his legs as best he could…
A deafening bang filled the air. The krogan's skull flow apart, and his flaming corpse fell backwards, sliding some way down the mountain. Radio chatter echoed in Tarquin's helmet.
"You stuck, Lieutenant? Hang tight – Captain's coming to get you." Vice's voice, mostly calm. Mostly. Tarquin swiveled again, just in time to catch a Zergling flying at his face. He caught it with his gun and flung it aside, just as his barriers gave out. Two hydralisks, almost within stabbing distance, closed their flaps. Tarquin levelled his gun, only for one hydralisk's skull to abruptly vacate its body. The other one, perplexed, glanced its companion's way. Tarquin squeezed the trigger and held it. The creature screamed and twisted, flailing its scythes this way and that before falling. The air temporarily fell still, except for the settling dust.
"Zerg! I swear to the Spirits, it's always the fucking zerg!" Regis barreled down the hillside, his armor already coated in dust and blood. He stood lightly atop the loose gravel and leaned down to Tarquin, one hand lowering to reach for his subordinate's gun. "Come on!"
Tarquin held on tightly to his weapon as his captain pulled it upward. Regis clapped Tarquin on the shoulder before turning back to the top of the hill.
"We gotta move! Follow the smoke trail and double time it, soldier! Vice, reposition yourself in range of the wreckage. Let's move!"
"Copy your last, boss," replied Vice, oddly snarkless. "Got more bogies coming out of the Creep, so make sure to take any shortcuts they can't. Not seeing any air bogies, so we might be okay."
"Yeah, but the rest of the team and the flight crew especially, is not!" snarled Regis. He knows it's his fault. Tarquin would stand up for him when the time came, but this turn of events could only be interpreted one way by high command. The two of them crested the hill of rubble to be greeted with a great plume of smoke. Deep below, weapons fire rattled through the valley, centered from the source of the smoke.
"This is Nomad One-One Actual to all Nomad units and Shade flight crew," called out Regis as they began their hasty descent, "we are in zerg infestation zone, repeat, zerg infestation zone. Infested krogan are converging on Shade's location. We are also in a thresher maw zone, repeat, they have access to thresher maws."
Vice knows. He always knows.
"We are to cut our way through the invaders and proceed four and a half clicks northeast to the bomb site," continued Regis, and Tarquin hoped this was possible. "Once we are at a safe distance, we will notify the heavy cruiser that we need digging equipment. We will complete the mission and go home. Stay sharp and stay close to the nearest heavy infantry. Over and out."
"How the fuck are we going to kill a nydus maw, sir?" asked Tarquin, hoping Regis had put thought into it.
"Hope it chokes and dies on the first sorry fucker it swallows," snapped Regis. "If you get eaten, just squeeze that trigger 'til the gun overheats."
Up close, it became terrifyingly apparent that not only were multiple figures sprinting across the ground around the crash site, the ground itself was moving. The earth churned with the beasts burrowing beneath it as well as atop it. Regis and Tarquin did not even slow. They just activated boosters and leapt, propelled by their suits, from the slope and atop the first disconnected part of the blasted hull.
"Weapons fire from the flight deck!" shouted Tarquin. "Biotics!"
Priestess and three cabals stood back to back, their arms alight with azure. A vorcha dropped from the ceiling only to get punted back out through it with a scream, while a hydralisk had its head abruptly turned around 180 degrees with a flick of the wrist from Priestess.
"Dropping in, sir!" Tarquin vaulted down from the ceiling, landing atop the body of a fallen krogan. He let rip with his gun, painting the walls red, yellow, and black. The flight deck, twisted and jumbled and coated in bodies, went still for the moment.
"Armory down below!" shouted Priestess, not stopping for anything. Tarquin loped after the cabals while Regis jumped down, only to swear and stop short as the metal peeled away beneath him. Another hydralisk forced its way through with its claws, mandibles spraying saliva everywhere. Tarquin stepped down hard with his boot. Just another overgrown bug.
The steel corridor sloped suddenly downward into a collapsed portion of the ship. Tarquin looked down and realized, to his dismay, what he saw below was likely it for survivors. Nine heavy infantry, standing back to back, in a pit of death crawling with zerg. Six flight crew, plinking away with their sidearms and trying desperately not to get hit by any hydralisks. Three designated marksman, all too aware that this was to be a close-range affair. And then there were the cabals. And the two of us.
"We fight our way up and out!" screamed Regis as the two of them dropped down the corridor "chute" and towards the firing line. Tarquin looked up at the skies above. Roughly a sixty foot climb up an unstable gravel and concrete surface. He looked down, only for the ground to begin to break beneath his feet. Fuck!
"Keep moving!" Tarquin fired into the ground, making it still, and then followed Regis, who began slamming the twisted wreckage out of the way with his gun, paving a rough path through the ship's remains. The remaining flight crew huddled behind the heavy infantry as they formed a circle and began fighting upwards, each step small and uncertain.
"Another krogan, coming up on the left!"
"Witch, up high! Polonium rounds!"
"Baneling swarm, coming in from the southeast!"
Banelings popped and burst in showers of emerald. Krogan screamed expletives at the turians as they tried (and failed) to get close. And the hydralisks sent shower after shower of quills at them.
One marksman caught a spine in the throat while her barriers were down. Her body went tumbling down the hill. A Shade crewman shrieked as something grabbed his leg and pulled him under. Regis sent a burst of weapons fire down where he once stood, and blood bubbled out but the crewman never did. And all the while, Tarquin's barriers became more and more taxed, while his gun took longer and longer to cool down.
"Halfway!" called out Regis. "Watch your step! Keep firing!"
"It's like motherfucking Thessia!" shouted someone, and Tarquin felt a stab at that. Is this what they went through? Did my dad watch? But it was a momentary stab; he had far more pressing concerns. Like the bellow of something huge in the distance. No, they have no ultralisks. No ultralisks here. Nope.
Regis was first to make it over the lip of the crater. His hands reached down and pulled the others up and out, one by one. Tarquin brought up the front, firing at the wave of flesh still angrily bearing down on them, gun steaming from the abuse. When the last cabal was hoisted up and out of sight, he finally turned around and pulled himself out.
"Keep going!" The others had already taken off, and Tarquin was eager to pursue.
"Captain, this is Vice," said Vice, voice nibbled by static. "Got uh, got a radio transmission from a ship above. Passing it along – jacking up the volume so you can hear it over the zerg."
"Attention turian crash survivors!" came the twang of a terran voice, "this is Admiral Matt Horner of the Hyperion. You have been shot down by krogan local defense forces, to which we are unaffiliated. They will not fire on us, but they are jamming our comms. Send up a flare or some kind of signal so we can home in on your location, over."
"Ignore them!" bellowed Regis. "They are not to know why we are here! We will finish this!"
Feet pounded against the earth as the ragged survivors struggled to outpace the death that chased behind them. For a minute or two, it seemed like they were winning, the heavy infantry carrying those who could not run anymore.
Then the ground shook. Then shook again. The world seemed to slow.
Two heavy infantry stumbled as a gaping circle became apparent beneath the ground, the dust and dirt falling inside its gaping maw. One luckless bastard fell into it, scrabbling desperately against the ground as he did. A yawning mouth gulped once and squeezed shut. Then it began to move. Thresher maw.
Regis shouting something, but Tarquin could no hear. The maw vanished beneath the soil, but Tarquin could still hear and feel the damn thing moving down there.
"Cap…in," shouted Vice, voice losing connection. "We've g….s inbound!"
No one paid him much mind. The maw gurgled beneath them, sending out a rancid odor from the shifted earth where it made its passage. Zerg hissed all about them, zerglings moving to make the surround while the slower hydralisks caught up. Tarquin became very still.
Ah. Here is where I die.
That made things very simple. He wondered how many zerg around him had come to the same conclusion. Tarquin held his ground and let loose, his chest plate opening to let the stored missiles fly, the rest of the mission be damned. Krogan flew backwards at the force. Zerglings and vorcha disintegrated. Hydralisks burrowed beneath the ground to avoid his ceaseless deluge. And Tarquin, Tarquin advanced, laughing, knowing the mission and by extension, himself, had failed, but also knowing this was his last chance to remove just a little more ugliness from the galaxy. He'd be damned if anything stopped him now.
The zerg line broke beneath Tarquin's advance, although he knew most of them had just shifted to the sides and rear. Nevertheless, to see them give way to him was … flattering. Exhilarating. This would be a good death.
The nydus maw broke the ground to his left, catching another fat falcon in her jaws. Tarquin lifted his gun skyward and squeezed the trigger until his gun beeped, clicked, and stopped firing. The nydus worm, infested krogan jeering from their straps atop her back, jeered at the poor turian below them. Tarquin screamed back at them, a death scream that sent chills down even his spine. The krogan bellowed something in their tongue. The thresher maw prepared to dive.
I'll rip you apart from the inside. His deeds would only add to the Blackwatch's spirit. His gun cooled. Tarquin was ready.
"Re…t. …pers inb…d." Vice's voice. The last he would hear. Tarquin took a deep breath. So did the maw. Then a beam of bright sunlight pierced the clouds above, blinding Tarquin. The nydus maw paused, as if starstruck … then its head began sliding from the rest of its body. A deep horn rang through the heavens.
A great four-legged shape, a pointed body, a wave of light. Tarquin saw the Reapers arrive firsthand, their scream of bass announcing their intention to cleanse the planet of zerg, something Tarquin had to concede was a worthy goal, frankly.
"Lieutenant! Tarquin!" Regis dashed up to Tarquin, shook him. Tarquin shoved him off, still staring, the bass echoing in his mind. The nydus maw fell in half, sending up a great gush of yellowish green liquid. Another Reaper crested a cloud up high, this one closer to them. It landed atop a nearby ruined hilltop, a plate opening at its center. With a chill, Tarquin realized something.
It sees me. Yet he could not move. Something ensnared him in place. Regis screamed at him to haul ass, Vice was yelling over the channel, Priestess was hollering instructions, yet Tarquin's blood pounded low and slow. Something burned inside the Reaper. Then it let loose, but Tarquin found himself flung aside.
"Victus, you damn fool," said Regis, the last thing Tarquin would ever hear him say. Tarquin fell on his back, getting a good view of Regis staring down at him, his own weapon cast aside. Then a wall of red light passed over the captain and faded. Where the turian had stood, now only embers remained. They faded quickly.
Something burst inside. The spell broke.
"Fuck fuck fuck!" screamed Vice. "Fuck – no!"
"Captain's down," reported Tarquin, his mind going cool and mechanical, a survival tactic he knew would not last. "Assuming command. Vice, send up a flare – mission's a bust."
"What?" shouted Vice, but Tarquin knew he would obey.
"All units, this is Nomad One-One actual. We are calling in the terrans for immediate evac. Vice, send up the flare."
This is your fault. Tarquin knew that. Part of it was because he had to inherit the mess from the captain now. And part of it is because you froze. Because you got a death wish and got confused when it looked like you might not get it.
But this wasn't the time. His training snapped into focus.
"Form a circle at the base of the hill, out of the Reaper's line of fire," called out Tarquin, and the others moved to obey, even as they bled from their myriad wounds, even as some wondered who the hell was calling the shots. "DMs, fire off your flares. Vice, get on our location."
"What's the ETA on those terrans?" shouted another fat falcon at Tarquin, but Tarquin had to wave them off. We both know I have no damn idea.
They formed a circle at the base of the hill, the last stand of the Blackwatch. Zerg, either pursuing them or fleeing the Reapers, it was not clear, barreled down the gravel slope after them. Some died quickly, coming to a dusty rest at the hill's base. Others died at the end of a fist or a bayonet, having weathered the storm of bullets just long enough to meet a more personal end.
The Reapers blasted out yet more notes of more bass as the fighting continued. Occasionally, a beam would sweep over the top of the hill, making the zerg scream, but it was unclear whether the ships were even aware of the turians' continued presence. Tarquin breathed heavy and slow, trying to focus on each squeeze of the trigger, each fresh zerg that sprinted, burrowed, or jumped at him. This is your fault. Victus.
Another blast of bass. A Reaper dropped from the skies above, this one burning directly beneath it. It landed with a thud, making the earth shudder. Then it took a step forward, towards where they were. It sees us. I know this.
Tarquin could not help but wonder what the thing was thinking. It had come to kill zerg, but found them. What ran through its mind?
But the Reaper took only one step forward. Then it shifted upward, a light shining upon it. What sounded like twanging guitar music sounded from the heavens.
"Yamato away!"
A blast of pure orange energy struck the Reaper full force in its "face." The thing staggered backwards, smoking. The familiar hammerhead figure of a battlecruiser broke through the cloud barrier, its spotlights shifting from the Reaper, to the battlefield plateau, then finally to their firing line.
"All right boys and girls, sit tight and wait for the evac chute." The terrans spoke over loudspeaker, a crude but effective counter to krogan jamming. "We're coming over you now. Joker, make sure you keep the other two off of us."
Something ripped through the air at high speeds. Another Reaper cried out. The terran stealth frigate. Something in Tarquin wondered if the terrans had arrived just to upstage them at every turn.
The skies turned dark, but that was only because the Hyperion now occupied the skies above them. With a kerchunk Priestess vanished into the heavens with a yell of surprise. Then Vice. Then three others, all of them into the waiting terran arms above. Okay. Think of a lie. Or some kind of excuse. With a grunt, Tarquin shot into the air, leaving the zerg-choked lands of Tuchanka beneath him.
The chute deposited him before a waiting crowd of … not just terrans. Elcor and asari watched as he fell to his knees, coughing, retracting his helmet and trying to come to terms with still being alive. A terran, black and gray fur adorning his face, watched him with a single raised … eyebrow. Yes, Tarquin remembered his manual on terrans, now.
"Admiral, we gonna get clear of those Reapers?" asked the eyebrow-raiser.
"Retreating into orbit, Jim. Commander Shepard says the bastards are staggered and the zerg are mounting a coordinated counteroffensive, of all things. We will be the last thing on their mind in a few minutes; I can see mawsign all over."
"Ain't this a hell of a day," asked "Jim," reaching out a hand. Tarquin stared at it incredulously. You can't pull up my battlesuit, terran. Tarquin stood of his own accord.
"Lieu – eh. Captain Tarquin Victus, Turian Blackwatch, classified operation," snapped Tarquin, pulling off a salute. "Requesting immediate return to Hierarchy territory to continue my operation!"
"Yeah. 'course you do." Jim just shrugged. "Sorry, man, but I got my own timetable here, and I'm damn curious what you people are up to." Someone pulled up a chair, and Jim sat on it, clearly intending to be there for a while. Another terran, orange-furred, pulled up her own chair and sat down, her body contained in some kind of glowing skin-tight suit.
"So, we're gonna ask you some questions, since we just saved your ass," continued Jim, before gesturing to his new associate, "and I'm afraid I just brought a really good fact checker, so you best be shootin' straight, you feel me?"
The orange-furred terran winked at him. A sinking sensation set in Tarquin's gizzard.
"Don't worry, junior," said Jim, smiling. "I'll go easy on you. I did know your daddy, after all."
Next Chapter: Liara
A/N: I am now writing at least 2k words a day as a new writing regimen. You may have noticed that one of my other stories has already updated twice in the last few days. Now this one updates. Expect this to continue unless I become seriously injured or ill.
It's well past time this series wrapped up. I'm sorry this chapter is not spent with more familiar characters, but we're going to have a big old Tuchanka union at long last. Expect more updates to come. Two thousand words a day. No excuses. I am six days in so far, and going strong.
