Mass Effect is owned by THEM. You know who THEM are. BioEAWare...

New Edmonton, Mindoir, Magellan System, Voyager Cluster, 11 April 2170

"Happy sweet sixteen, sweetie." James Shepard smiled at his oldest daughter as Jannie Shepard sat in the ice cream parlor, sharing a banana split sundae with her father in New Edmonton, Mindoir's largest colony. Living out in the more pastoral regions of Mindoir where the farming communities sprung up like weeds, Jannie grew up a farmers' daughter, going to school during the days, and helping out around the house with chores and farm work in the afternoons. She was sixteen now; technically an adult according to Mindoir Colonial Law. She could quit school, get a job, get a rover, and even get pregnant. Not that she was interested in any of those things (except the rover), but the possibilities were endless. Instead, for her sixteenth birthday, what she wanted was to go to New Eddie to see a movie and just have a nice day off, one with memories and laughter. Her mother was back on the ranch with her bratty two younger brothers, so Jannie just wanted to get out of the house for a while, do something selfish like watching a vid in the cinemas, and enjoy not having to deal with her large family for a few hours. She loved them to death, but some days they made her want to tear her red hair out. "So, Blasto?"

"I wanted to make you squirm." Jannie smiled at her father as she ate another scoop of her sundae, relishing the treat. There weren't any ice cream parlors in Sanctum, the local hamlet near her family's ranch. She knew everyone in Sanctum, and for her birthday, she didn't feel like being accosted by dozens of people. She wanted to be surrounded by strangers, blending in, just some time where she could be... whatever she wanted. She decided to share the day with her father because she suspected he would enjoy the reprieve as well. "I... did want to talk to you about something now that I'm sixteen. Something important to me."

"Of course, Jannie."

"I... want to go Alliance." Jannie looked into her father's green eyes, seeing the older man a little taken aback. Her father held no love for the Alliance, which was one of the reasons he moved his family to settle on Mindoir when Jannie was but a toddler. "I know you don't like them for having to cater with the aliens and such..."

"Among other things." Her father replied softly.

"Among other things." Jannie agreed. "I've already been farming all my life, Dad. Nothing wrong with it, but I want to see what else I can be good at. Get out. See things. Get an education. Make a few mistakes and learn from them." That had him snort as he sat back in his chair and mulled it over.

"Way I see it," James Shepard began, "my issues with the Alliance are just that; my issues. I don't like them, but that doesn't mean you don't have to like them. This is your life, and you bring up a good point. We love you, we raise you, we teach you, and ultimately it's our job to let you go and see how we faired. Am I happy that you want to go Alliance? No." That had Jannie giggle. "But am I happy that you found something for yourself, something that you chose for yourself? That's you being you, and I'm proud of you for that. And I'll support your decision because I love you."

"Thanks, Dad." Jannie smiled as she went for another scoop of her sundae when the power went out while outside the parlor several strange loud coughing noises rattled the parlor's windows in their frames. "What was that?" The young woman asked, confused as the Shoppe went dark, illuminated only by the light of Magellan.

"I... don't know." The older man frowned as several people in the parlor made noises of confusion and a little bit of fright. "I don't think that's a normal power outage."

Outside the parlor, the alarms began to sound as dark leaves descended from the sky, loud and bulky as static lines were shot into the street, impaling into the plasticrete with harpoon-like heads. Jannie's eyes went wide as one struck the street in front of the Shoppe, cracking through the plasticrete as the cable that was attached to it went taunt.

A dark figure, armored and menacing, slid down the cable like a trooper, weapons and equipment festooned about his person as his heavy armored boots struck pavement with a solid thunk. The figure immediately moved from the cable, raising a weapon of some kind, Jannie's eyes going wide as he aimed it down the street, the sound of gunfire emitting from it as blue-shift sprawl ejected from the barrel with the sound of supersonic pulses of the weapons' activation. She heard screams coming from the street as the figure gained a companion, equally armed and menacing, just outside from where she sat.

And the figure turned towards her, and raised a similar weapon...

Nova Yekaterinburg, Therum, Knossos System, Artemis Tau Cluster, 21 May 2175

Alliance Frontier Marshal Samantha Lynn Collins shivered slightly as she listened to Petty Officer First Class Jane Catherine Shepard told her story in strong, fitful bursts, the evidence of a grieving heart that never truly healed recounting a day of horror and fear. It was clear even to her autistic mind how traumatized the woman in front of her must have been, surviving such an ordeal. How could another understand, unless faced with such a situation? How could one relate, unless one had undergone such an ordeal?

Because of Chief Shepard, Nova Yekaterinburg might have a chance, an edge.

"EMP Burst Bombs." Jane said, the redhead's voice filled with venom and ire, rage counteracting trauma. "That'll be the first strike, to knock out all the colonial defenses and disable most of the weapons and armor of any possible responders or militia. Then they'll deploy the shock troops for immediate pacification right into the heart of popular gathering places and locations, mostly to stir the locals up and corral them into easy collection points while goading any potential heroism to come out and fight. There will be crowd control weapons used, phasic rounds and gas shots, perhaps even mild nerve agents to subdue resistance and evasion. Ultimately," the Petty Officer shrugged, "they will set up a perimeter to where there is no escape, and then they will clear a city street by street, block by block, building by building." Jane blinked a few times, staring right at Sam. "I survived by doing nothing proud or selfless. I watched as I hid in a sewage pipe, seeing men and women dragged off the street, crying and begging. I starved in that pipe, too afraid to leave as I shivered in the shitwater and debris of trash and disease, making do with leftover water bottles that had been tossed away with little milliliters of water left over. That's my act of defiance, my brave story. Curled up in a little ball, hiding in shit, too afraid to move or cry."

Sam wasn't sure what to say to that, so instead, she placed her hand on Jane's shoulder and made sure she held the woman's eyes.

"Could be you just saved this colony, Jane." Sam was having a hard time focusing, her mind trying to absorb too much, too much to process. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to collect herself. One thing at a time, keep her thoughts on one thing at a time. "Now we know. Now we can do something about it. And that's because of you." The Petty Officer didn't seem to believe her. "Think I blame myself for what happened to Shanxi, why I survived when my parents were killed in the same kinetic strike that buried the school we were hiding in? Think I blame myself for all those women and babies in the House of Horrors? I did what I could, when I could. When it was time to make a difference, I did. It's a struggle, and I know all about struggling. Been doing it all my life." Shepard looked at her oddly, obviously not getting it. "I have to think there's a reason for it all; why I survived a kinetic strike, why I was never adopted, the years of lessons and conditioning to make me fake normality, to look and act like one of you. I'm here for a reason, and so are you."

"You really do believe that, don't you?" The redhead asked, her voice quiet, thoughtful. "God has a plan and all?"

"We all have plans. Mice and men." Sam replied, making Shepard snort. "Best part about being autistic is you never are sure if any of this is real, or just a really, really bad interpretation. Now," the Marshal took a deep breath, fighting off the urge to stare at everything at once, "we have a colony to save. With me, Chief?"

"Yeah, I'm with you." The Petty Officer replied, nodding her head, her face grim and determined. "Let's go make it worth something."

Master Chief Pretty Officer Stacy Valentino was quickly reviewing several maps of the local region surrounding Nova Yekaterinburg, trying to find anything that might resemble a safe location for the impeding raids and attacks that would be happening on No'burg in an indiscriminate amount of time. She figured that the Batarians would probably operate much in a similar manner as the Systems Alliance Navy would for the most part; gain control of the local battle space, develop a sphere of influence, set up a patrol and defense net while finding optimal locations to anchor a ship in a gravity well for fuel economy. That took time to do properly, and even a slap-dash job meant approximately two to three hours of maneuvers, coordination, fighter screen lines, and checking out blackspace where radars and thermal imaging equipment couldn't see behind, such as moons and asteroids. After that, there was deployment; gathering the men, fitting them with the necessary and proper equipment, briefing them on their mission, loading them up while prepping shuttles and vehicular craft that would take them down to the planets' surface. The higher echelons would be planning the whole operation while those things were happening; assigning sectors to teams and platoons, adjusting fields of fire to avoid fratricide events, limiting advances so as to not have two different platoons covering the same ground twice, establishing lane boundaries, downloading imaging maps with mission overlays for easier reference and dissymmetry... such things didn't just instantly happen. That kind of meticulousness was the difference between a success and a disaster.

She fought on Shanxi, she would know.

Stacy was gambling on a time; three hours plus change. She heard the exchange on the DSN line with Captain Rhys Llewellyn on the SSV Canberra, and knew what had occurred. The SSV Charger had sacrificed itself in a highly illegal attack reminiscent of a kamikaze attacks from World War II with the intent to slam into the Capital-Class Dreadnaught and have its core go nova. That would screw with astronavigations, LADAR, thermal registry, kinetic defense shields, communications... the works. And then the Captain had the audacity to fire a full exchange of missiles before the kamikaze attack, knowing that the slower missiles would take time to reach their destinations. He had blinded and silenced the Batarians after delivering a knockout blow to their biggest ship, and then he suckerpunched them while they weren't looking, letting the Minutemen missiles even the odds by having them hurl towards the vessels while their shields were down. Normally, a missile would impact against a ship's kinetic shielding and blow up harmlessly, weakening the shield but nothing else. With the shields down? Those same missiles would strike against a ships' hull, and there would be damage. Hull breaches. Decompression. Systems knocked off-line. Decks damaged and of limited use.

That would do several things, the least of them being slowing the Batarians down. The first few minutes would probably be chaotic as hell as static filled the external monitors while battle damage assessments were reported in. Necessary repairs or options would need to be engaged if something important was threatened, possibly crippling a vessel. Once the radios and the monitors went back on-line after the Eezo radiation died off, the Fleet would need to coordinate with themselves to assess their space-worthiness and battle-readiness, giving off an efficiency ratio pertaining to the mission at hand. It was hard to say what the fucking Batarians would determine an acceptable level of loss, whether they would go ahead with whatever they had planned or not. Turians generally didn't back down from a fight or retreat because of losses, but even they acknowledged a superior tactic or clever foe, giving grudging respect to a worthy commander and entered into cease-fire.

Batarians weren't known to do that. Sometimes they would absolutely clog the battlefield with bodies and losses, seemingly uncaring how bad the butcher's bill. Other times, they would cut-and-run when they met stiff resistance. It probably had to do with what kind of troops they had; conscripted militia or State-trained combatants. Batarians generally didn't care about their low-caste brethren populating the militias, practically armed rabble meant to soak bullets and wear out an opponent through attrition. Of course, that was the land warriors. Navy was different; those were all State Military Volunteers, mid- to upper-caste Batarians. Ones the Hegemony actually gave a shit about. No, the militiamen were poorly armed, poorly armored, poorly trained, hopped up on battle stimulants, and sent running and screaming towards the enemy like some Braveheart shit. The real Hegemonist soldiers and sailors were more ruthless, cunning, and deceptive, often coming up with nasty traps and Catch-22 scenarios that would catch one off-guard. Nasty fighters, nasty tacticians, and not at all above pulling out illegal weaponry to gain the upper hand.

Captain Llewellyn had bought them time, and did his best to even the odds with his reckless maneuver.

Val was looking at the mines of Therum, specifically the ones nearest No'burg, frowning. Sure, they ran deep; deep enough that squeezing about half of the colonial population was actually plausible if uncomfortable. But the issue was supplies and tempers. Being stuck in a sweltering cave that probably averaged around forty degrees Celsius on a cool day was asking for heat injuries within the first day, and tempers to fray even before then. Any water they brought or was available would probably go dry quickly, and she didn't doubt the fucking slugs would ensure a whole host of nasty surprises on that front; poisoning the well, sending explosives down to ruin the supply, the works. Food would go quickly, too. And a cave wasn't exactly living accommodations. Asking thirty thousand people to go back to the Stone Age and sit it out for a week or two would probably have thirty thousand dead colonists for a wide variety of reasons. Mostly grumpiness and hurt feelings.

Sending them off to the eight corners without a means of transportation, spreading them out to limit how many would be captured was also out of the question. First, they didn't have nearly enough vehicles. Second, Therum itself was a basalt-covered wasteland, with geologically active hotspots where lava gushed and spluttered onto the surface. Sure, it would mean the Batarians would have to spread out to capture some, ensuring others would escape, losing an eighth as oppose to a lot more. But, like with the mines, supplies would be an issue. Nova Yekaterinburg was practically in the North Pole, and everything south was hotter and more dangerous by a good deal. That was even worse than asking an angry mob to sequester themselves in a hole in the ground.

Relocation was a logistical nightmare. Evacuations were always messy, hard to coordinate, and almost never effective. First, No'burg was literally the largest habitable town in all of Therum, so much so that the next biggest one, Shablensk, was not even a thousand in population. There were a total of three other colonial villages in Therum after No'burg, and together they wouldn't even support a tenth of the population. Plus, those other towns had even less going for them in means of defense and supply. Might as well send the colonists running for the hills for all the good that would do.

No, the perfect place was No'burg itself.

That wasn't to say that No'burg was a good place to make a stand; far from it. There was just simply no other location to use other than the colonial spaceport. While it only boasted exactly two anti-space MAC guns for defense-related purposes, it did have them. It had enough space to hold the population, and enough supplies to keep them fed and hydrated for at least a decent period of time. That was a start. There were actually several compounds in which defensive stands could be fabricated, and the city itself was a rats' warren of twists, turns, and death traps. Honestly... they could tie down the Batarian forces and make them bleed badly. The container habitats were so haphazardly stacked and planned that trying to fly inside the city was an exercise in insanity, and trying to land troops in it would come with a heavy price tag. The residents themselves would also play a factor in their favor; a good number of gangs and crews existed in the blocks and corners of the favelas, and Stacy didn't doubt there were probably a few hundred smuggled or homemade weapons in case shit got bad. Miners were usually a hearty breed and generally didn't take shit from nobody. Drop a few Batarians among them, and the slugs were going to get the shit kicked out of them and curb-stomped for good measure. Add a few hundred armed Marines, a few NST teams, and possibly even the use of the Eldfell-Ashland Security goons, and you had coverage. Throw in a few vehicles for quick reaction, a few mining vehicles and equipment to block up some avenues of approach, dump some dirt for fighting positions and blockage, and the city would turn into a slaughterhouse.

The war was going to happen right in the streets of No'burg.

UT-40 Liberty-Class Erica Transportation Insertion Vessel, Orbit of Therum, Knossos System, Artemis Tau Cluster, 21 May 2175

He's the wolf screaming
lonely in the night
he's the bloodstain on the sta-a-a-ge!
He's the tear in your eye,
been tempted by his lie,
he's the knife in your back, he's rage!
He's the razor to the knife,
oh, lonely is our lives,
My heads' spinnin' round and round!
But in the seasons of wither,
we'll stand and deliver
Be strong and laugh ah-ah-and...

SHOUT! SHOUT! SHOUT!
SHOUT AT THE DEVIL!
SHOUT! SHOUT! SHOUT!
SHOUT AT THE DEVIL!

He'll be the love in your eyes,
he'll be the blood between your thighs,
and then have you cry for mo-o-ore!
He'll put strength to the test,
he'll put the thrill back in bed,
sure you've heard it all before!
He'll be the risk in the kiss,
might be anger on your lips,
might run scared for the door!
But in the seasons of wither,
we'll stand and deliver,
be strong and laugh ah-ah-and...

SHOUT! SHOUT! SHOUT!
SHOUT AT THE DEVIL!
SHOUT! SHOUT! SHOUT!
SHOUT AT THE DEVIL!

Systems Alliance Marine Corps Private Blake Bell was trying his best not to throw up from his crash seat as the UT-40 Liberty-Class Shuttle rocked and vibrated on its approach to Therum, feeling as if the vessel was going to rattle to pieces as the speakers blared the Crue. He had never been on a combat drop before, the holy of holy's among the Corps, and the joke was that a Light Jump Marine without a drop was as useful as a virgin on a Friday night. As the Shuttle bucked and banged him against his restraint bar attached to his crash seat, he was beginning to wonder if lying about his age to join the Alliance Military was such a good idea.

If his Chain of Command knew he was only sixteen, they would freak. Then they would probably kick is ass. Rightfully so.

"Better not puke on me, shave tail." Lance Corporal Antonio Vargas announced beside him in the crash seat next to his as the E-3 looked at the green Marine sitting right next to him, Onyx Helmet rattling against the seat and the bars as they re-entered Therum. It would be impossible to puke on Lancie Vargas; Bell was wearing his own helmet, all the Marines in full kit in case of atmo leak and decompression during re-entry. If he puked, he'd puke in his own helmet and probably drown in it. The Lancie wasn't looking for that kind of answer, though. There was only one acceptable answer in the Corps, after all.

"Sir, yessir!" The Private told his Team Leader, his first-line supervisor giving him the hairy stinkeye before returning to the ride, leaning his head back and enjoying the uncomforting feelings of the UT-40 plummeting onto a planet. Lance Corporal Vargas had two combat drops to his name, a tried-and-true Marine. Bell was as about as respected as a puddle of piss until he got that Drop Badge pinned over his heart. There was no award more coveted among the Marine Infantry than the Combat Drop Badge.

"Don't be too hard on him, Lancie!" Corporal Ernesto Mananas called out from across the shuttle, his tone playfully nasty. "He wore his red shirt under his armor." That got a few chuckles out of the Marines, while Bell did his best not to blush despite that his helmet would have disguised it anyhow. "Stick with me, shavetail, and I'll make sure you don't trip over your own feet and accidentally shoot yourself." Bell sticking with Corporal Mananas was a given; they were in the same squad, Corporal Mananas his Squad Leader. Why would he go anywhere else? He knew that they were ribbing him because he was the low man on the totem pole; just a shavetail among combat veterans. They went through the same shit and same ribbing as he was going through. He knew that they were doing it to toughen him up, to push him further and harder than ever before.

They were turning him into a Marine.

"Breaking into cloud cover!" Came the voice of Chief Warrant Officer Jeff Harbeck, the shuttle's pilot as the turbulence finally died away, the act of re-entry finally over. "ETA into No'burg is ten minutes, Roughnecks! Just got a quick word from some friends on the ground that a rally point is established. Looks like you're going to be meeting the Boss."

"Who's that?" Bell asked, wondering what the pilot was talking about.

"Dude, he's talking about the Marshal." Oh... he had heard about her, the woman who had cleared the House of Horrors and went and decked out her own traitorous boss! Took his job and everything! Scuttlebutt said the Marshal of Therum was as badass as they came. Blake wondered if he'd get to meet her. "Heard she knifed a Krogan!" Lance Corporal Vargas spoke up, his tone impressed. "Like... through the mouth!"

"Bullshit." Corporal Mananas snorted, obviously not buying it. "Krogans are running, rabid tanks. Seen one plaster a man against a wall. You could see the blood splatter from where he struck!"

"No shit! Buddy of mine is friends with one of the NST's down there, and showed him the pic!" Vargas reiterated, Bell's eyes going wide. "My homie Julio don't make shit like that up. He's an old Latino Rey from Neo Angeles, and if he says someone got a righteous kill, he won't foolin' around!"

"Just because he saw some pic with some chick with a Krogan laying down doesn't mean she killed it. Coulda been group effort!" The Corporal still wasn't convinced. "You'd have to be a tough-ass hombre to kill a Krogan solo!" To that no one disagreed. Bell had heard the stories; one-ton killing machines with bulletproof skulls and thick skin and muscles that could take a hundred round without dropping.

"I thought we were facing Batarians!" Bell pointed out, knowing only a little of what was going on. He remembered the Captain calling out the Red Alpha alert; a Fleet-wide signal indicating attack imminent. He had heard from the shouting Navy Chiefs and the Marine NCO's that it was a Batarian Fleet at least twice their size, and that they had come to reave Therum. That was all he knew.

"We are." The Corporal replied, his tone patient, as if talking to an idiotic child. "Krogan are on their last legs, shavetail. Batarians hire them out for heavy infantry work, claiming that they're trying to 'rehabilitate' them." Mananas just shook his head. "They're like mini-tanks, able to plow through defenses and defenders. I don't doubt there'll be a few dropped from those ships in case anyone's left to hold up a resistance."

"Pendejos gonna run smack-first into the Marine Corps fist is what's gonna happen!" Lance Corporal Vargas hooted. "We gonna get us some!"

"Yeah! Get some!" Bell called out loud, his heart pounding in terror. Oh God, what had he gotten himself into? He had joined so that his Mom could get medical benefits to help with her Multiple Sclerosis. Now he was going to do a Combat Drop on a planet about to be hit by Batarians!

The sixteen year old quickly began to pray to a God he hoped would listen. Any God would do.

Nova Yekaterinburg, Therum, Knossos System, Artemis Tau Cluster, 21 May 2175

"Sir! We need to hurry!"

Governor Adam Benson quickly got dressed as he looked over to the Eldfell-Ashland Security Guardsman that had knocked on his door, waking him up in the early Therum morning, Knossos still but a few minutes away from rising when he had gotten the word. The alarms had yet to be sounded because the Systems Alliance Marines were still landing to provide population control and dispersement of troop, but Marshal Collins had given a call to key personnel in the Colonial Administration and Government Buildings to perform normal lockdown procedures. The Governor was getting dressed out of habit, ready to head into the bunker that had been built into the buildings' basement, a thirty-person panic room that would sustain the population for at least a month. The bunker was meant for high-level government officials such as himself, his family, the Lieutenant Governor, her family, and a few of the Colonial Chambermen and their family. The Colonial Administration Building likewise had two similar bunkers for the same purpose. They had to be protected; they knew access codes and datapoints not only into secured hard drives for Colonial business and administration, but also financial data and account numbers. If one of them were tortured for information, the damage would be catastrophic. Likewise, their families could be used against them. Only Executive-Level Access Members would go into the bunkers. The rest in the Compounds, sadly, would be left on the surface.

"Is my family in the basement?" Adam asked the Guardsman as he finished buttoning his shirt, turning to face the man. "The Lieutenant Governor? The Chambermen?"

"All are on their way, Governor." The Guardsman replied with a nod. "Please come, sir. There isn't much time." Benson nodded as he followed the man through the hallway that represented the Governor's Wing, heading towards the elevator that would take him straight to the basement, in which only he and the Lieutenant Governor could operate. It wouldn't do to alert the others that something was amiss, and Adam supposed that they had gotten lucky, and that the attack had been early in the morning as oppose to the afternoon. Well, if it had been during the workday, he guessed that the miners would have been safely sequestered in the mines, or at least most of them would have been. He had no idea what was going to happen to them. Honestly, most of them weren't much better than the Batarians themselves; dirty scamps that had made too many poor decisions with their lives and were living at the bottom of the barrel. Many had signed on for the lucrative chance of striking it rich on Therum, but the poor bastards never read the clauses on the contract that explained that almost all the deposits founded were already owned by the Eldfell-Ashland Energy Corporation. Whatever a miner found was already ninety-nine percent owned by the Corporation, and the scamps would be getting pittances instead of riches. It was almost slavery except for the fact that the scamps had walked right into an EA Colonial Building and signed the contracts of their own free will.

No need to think about that now.

Benson boarded the elevator that had exactly two stops; the Governor's Wing, and the basement, selecting the 'B' option. The doors closed before the security guards that had woken up and escorted him to the elevator as they too would be left on the surface, though contingencies existed for the EASC Guardsmen. The elevator went down six levels into the basement, where the doors slid open to reveal a bunker with just one door.

Which was closed, and a good number of people standing in front of it.

"What's going on?" Adam asked, quickly spotting his sobbing wife Sylvia, as well as Lieutenant Governor Michelle Graham, who looked fit enough to chew through steel. Michelle looked at him with anger, though not for him.

"That motherfucker locked us out." His second-in-command replied, her tone fierce and spitting as she looked towards the blast door that was rated to take a kinetic strike, as well as the bunker. The door was sealed shut, with a helpful red icon over the middle of it to indicate that access was impossible. "He grabbed some of his cronies and lackeys, and shut themselves in!"

"Who?"

"Chief Whitaker."

Adam went silent for a moment, thinking that one through. Sam... had mentioned something just the other day about finding discrepancies about the Eldfell-Ashland Security Corps Chief of Police. Something about financial transactions that seemed to be a fair deal more than what he could sustain himself with his normally lofty paycheck. He had brushed it off at the time, thinking it unlikely, as the man had been vetted by Eldfell-Ashland to be reliable. Despite being the Marshal of Therum, she wasn't exactly allowed to do her job in either the Government or Administration Buildings, given only token authority due to the agreements that the energy corporation had with several key members of Parliament. Any internal issues were meant to be handled in-house while any external issues was under the purview of the Marshal's Office. Marshal Collins had picked up something about Chief of Police Marcus Whitaker, and had gone straight to him with her concerns, as she should have. He had dropped the ball, thinking it unimportant at the time.

Now they were all going to pay for it.

"I need to make a call." Benson told Graham, hoping his mistake wouldn't cost his family.

SSV Canderra, Orbit of Archanes, Knossos System, Artemis Tau Cluster, 21 May 2175

"Jump successful!"

Captain Rhys Llewellyn wasn't the only one to let out a subtle sigh of relief as the SSV Canderra shifted from blue-shift emissions to subluminal light speeds over the Gas Giant Archanes, less than an AU away from the last planet of the Knossos System. Going FTL in-system was incredibly dangerous, to the point that even the profiteering and the desperate were unlikely to do something that rash. Space, despite being mostly empty, was only mostly empty. Asteroids, comets, chunks of rocks, old munitions from wars ranging back to God knew when... it was the proverbial root sticking out of the forest floor ready to trip up the unwary and the inattentive. When vessels went FTL, sensors were all but worthless due to their superluminal speeds, going faster than light. FTL meant flying blind, armed only with a navigation point, aligning the vessel to said point, and then more-or-less rocketing there with no ability to change course or halt progress in the case of an emergency. If there was a hundred-meter rock in one's way when they went blue-shift, a vessel would hit it with the force of a multi-stage nuclear weapon, causing unknown amounts of damage to the ship. Just one tiny hull breach during FTL would have the vessel literally ripping itself into pieces, tearing everything inside into molecules from the inertia. Which was why people flew subliminal in-system to avoid collisions.

It happened from time to time.

"Give me Fleet status updates." Llewellyn informed his navigator, who was already working on his console, pinging IFF beacons that transmitted ship statuses to those with the encryption keys to read such information. It saved time in battle not having to rely upon some Ops Alley screenwatcher to relay the information via communications during the heat of the moment, not to mention if said ships' communications were down, or said screenwatcher was being boiled alive due to rapid depressurization.

"Reporting... twenty-three vessels, minus the Charger." The navigator looked up, nodding his head once. "All other vessels are reporting in, green across the board." Rhys grunted at that, pleased. They had just done a small fleet FTL in-system without striking an asteroid. That was damn lucky. "There are a few issues with some of the vessels due to minor strikes and collisions. Mostly minor atmo leaks and the SSV Explorer has a shield emitter that is malfunctioning." That wasn't too bad minus the emitter malfunction. The Corvette-Class Explorer might not be battle-worthy, depending on the severity. "We should get accurate assessments within the hour, sir."

"Good." So far, his crazy-ass plan had come off like a charm. But one could flaunt fate only so much before it came back to bite in the ass. "Have all vessels dump charge into Archanes, refuel their Heavy Helium at max capacity, and then strip the station of any and all supplies before sinking it to crush depth. We're looting the joint like a liquor store raid, and then we're denying Batarians access to easy resupply." That was just Standard Operating Procedure, and he was glad that the Khar'shanians were arrogant assholes. His first act coming out of the Relay would have been to secure the refuel depot to ensure resupply from the automated fueling station that scooped He^3 from Archanes and converted it into the Heavy Helium that all ships used for thrusters and faster-than-light travel. He wasn't about to continue the oversight the Batarians had. "Post deep-space recon probes with pulse emitters program to ping upon contact on LADAR, omnidirectional. They come in the area, I'm not going to let their fleet have the satisfaction of pinpointing our location."

"Yessir." The navigator complied, already sending the order out to the communications department. "Should we send a probe to the Batarian Fleet's location to assess their damages."

"Not at this time." Llewellyn sighed, deviating from normal maxim. "Let them think we rabbited, and the deep-space recon probes a clever decoy. We don't have the strength to win against them, even as damaged as they are. Have the CAG meet me in the ready room in twenty minutes for a series of long-term scouting missions. We're going to have to play foxes and hounds with the Batarians, hitting their scouting patrols and winnow their numbers. Every ship we damage and nullify will be one less we'll have to fight later, and one less to deal with when reinforcements arrive."

"But we didn't have a chance to hail for reinforcements." The navigator pointed out.

"No, but Arcturus monitors traffic feeds." Rhys replied, nodding his head. "Once they see that they aren't receiving traffic from the Knossos Relay, they're going to investigate. There'll probably be a trap at the Relay, a few ships to fire upon anything coming, but that'll give the Alliance an idea what's going on. Help will be coming, but it's going to take time. Our mission is to harass the Batarians and give our people on the ground what support we can for the foreseeable future. They aren't on their own, but we can't help them out, either. They'll fight their war, and we'll fight ours. That's the best we can hope for, and hopefully the good Marshal down there will piss off the blinks just as much as I intend to." The Captain of the Canderra looked at the display of the Knossos System, indicating where his Battle Group was, and the current alignment of the planets and Relay.

"Your move." He whispered to no one in particular.

Outskirts of Nova Yekaterinburg, Therum, Knossos System, Artemis Tau Cluster, 21 May 2175

"Alright, you apes! Listen up!" Senior Chief Petty Officer Royce Abraham Mason called out as Marines exited the shuttlecraft that was landing on the semi-hostile Salt Flats that surrounded the colony, the air already heating up with solar and geothermal heat. A full dozen UT-40's had already landed upon the surface to vomit out members of the Systems Alliance Marine Corps in numbers of twenty-five, sections forming up as the Non-Com addressed them with both his voice as well as the use of his communicator through his Omnitool so that everyone heard him. "Welcome to No'burg. Each of ya will be gettin' yer orders an' positions in 'bout fifteen seconds! The jackalope Batarians are still prob'bly strugglin' in space right now, so we have some time. Find yer positions, make some cover an' defenses, an' shoot anything with more'n two eyes. Do you get me?"

"We get you, sir!" Twenty-five voices thundered out as another section went out, dubbed Section Lima. That was already half the compliment of Marines from Battle Group Moctezuma already on the ground as two more UT's were descending from the sky. The emptied shuttles were already making milk runs to the other colonies and outposts on Therum to evacuate the smaller shanties towns as best they could to bring their populous back to No'burg, where the Alamo would be. Royce wasn't sure how Sam had gotten some miners to do so, but a few were already working some earthmoving equipment to dig trenches and build defensive positions through some of the avenues leading into the city, and blocking off others. Probably offered the blokes money and a ticket off this rock. It had been almost two hours since the Charger nailed the Dreadnaught in the chin, and they honestly had no idea what was going on in space. No'burg didn't support any kind of deep-space scanning equipment, and the No'burg Spaceport was lucky enough to detect re-entry burns. At best, they would have a ten-minute warning from the first signs of approach to when the ships arrived on-scene.

More shuttles came, more Marines and sailors landed, more were moved into the city.

Chief Mason continued with his portion of the mission, to direct orders and troops to their assigned locations as they moved in. Ordinance was off-loaded and sent to various locations throughout the city to aid the defenders in what would undoubtedly be some of the more congested and difficult spots in fighting, or used in areas more specific for its use. Captain Llewellyn had delivered extra arms, ordinance, armor, gear, equipment, and utilities from the Battle Group's armories, and Royce knew that this was a fight they could possibly win. Stacy had figured that No'burg would be the best location to fight the Batarians off, and sadly, the Texan had called it right; they would go where the people were, no matter where they were. Keeping them all together in one place was risker, but it ensured a better chance at defending them, too. Fighting in cities was nasty, but that was a two-edged sword they planned on using to their advantage. It was easily to bring the people to the city than move them to some location that may or may not be defensible and supplied. Add in the extra people that would be coming in from the other colonies, settlements, outposts, and farms, and the city would be stuffed filled with every worst-case scenario.

There was no better fight than today, no better day to die.

The Australian directed platoons of Marines and sections of NST's as men and women of the Systems Alliance Military double-timed it to their positions inside the confines of Nova Yekaterinburg, under the blanket of warning sirens howling throughout the city as the Public Address System announced the warning that the Marshal of Therum.

"Citizens of No'burg!" The voice of the Marshal announced over the loudspeakers, her voice echoing steel canyons and metal buttes, crawling over container caves and feet-beaten paths. "As I speak, a Batarian Fleet has arrived in our system, and I fear the worst. Fifty ships led by a Dreadnaught hang over our heads, coming with intent. Battle Group Moctezuma engages them in our defense, but our comrades are half their size and strength. The Batarians are coming, and they are coming for us all.

"And we are ready to stand and deliver.

"As I speak, Marine and Naval Security Team detachments are manning defensive positions throughout the city, ready to make the Batarians pay for every inch. This is our city, this is our home. It is not they who dictate our lives, but ourselves. They send reavers and reapers, raiders and rapers. They mean to take as many as they can, to profit from our misery, to sink us to the depths of their territories where freedom is a forgotten dream.

"The time has come for us to stand and fight.

"Those who are willing to fight for their freedom and lives, stand ready and together as we distribute supplies and equipment for the upcoming battles. The road will be long and fierce, but we can make it if we stand together.

"It is time to stand tall, to stand and deliver, from here 'till Kingdom Come."

- End, Arc II -

Author's Note: This chapter is more of a wide-view of what's going to occur; assembling the pieces before the fun truly begins. And plus to kind of touch what happens during events like this.

Shout At The Devil - written by Nikki Sixx, released on Motley Crue's Shout At The Devil album, 1983. The Crue is always an option!

Combat Drop Badge - Based of the Army's Combat Infantry Badge, every 11-series bulletcatcher I'd ever met gushed about getting what we Cavalrymen called 'Ralphie's Shooter'. This nickname comes from the movie A Christmas Story where Ralphie wants a Red Rider BB Gun. The CIB is a musket rifle with a wreath around it, likening it to a Christmas present of a BB gun. Thus the name. For a sci-fi story, I would think that a Combat Drop would be an equivalent.

Shavetail - Old Cavalry term for a new trooper, i.e. fresh meat. New horses that were brought into horse Cavalry had their tails shaved (length of service, literally!), thus the name.

LADAR - Radar actually stands for something, invented by the English in WWII to detect incoming aircraft. RAdio Detection And Ranging is the acronym. Light Acquisition Direction And Ranging will be the acronym for LADAR.

He^3 - Heavy Helium, a source of fuel.

One of my fans (Kudaria) asked me what an Asari Meldnest looked like, from Nihlus's message to Sam. I honestly hadn't thought of it, but I had planned on making it for the sequel A Fox Amongst The Wolves. Melding Couch and stripper polls included.

And just so you know, I have fully finished writing Where The Law Stands Tall. 6 months and over 200,000 words later, I created something that was both fun and endearing. And you will be introduced to the Final Arc: Libera Nos A Malo and the War on Therum.

Keep Calm and N7 On!