A/N: So... it's been a little while since I felt justified in writing an author's note here. I kept with it, but work on CE2:R was not exactly flowing. Didn't have the creativity to keep new chapters queued, and didn't have the desire to do more than copy-edit (no matter how the first draft of a chapter ends up, it needs love haha).
Anyway. I'm back in the groove. There should be some wild chapters coming up, especially now as we get into the final draw of, well, this whole arc.
Thanks for your support.
xxxx
Chapter L – Reaper
Crystal Castles - Vanished
xxxx
Five Mark Twenty-fives bearing down on me.
It had happened before. Illium. Five Mk.15s had packed up on me, sent me running since I couldn't fight them off myself. Kaira had pushed them back and gotten me out before I died. That was when I lost my right hand.
This time, I was alone.
Alone against machines I despised, that carried so many of the same runtimes and the same metal mask that I donned. The fear that no matter how hard I tried, I was no better than the bladed killing machines. But I could die. The processes that should have left me terrified ended on their own accord.
I charged.
As my biotic blades scraped along the side of one machine, the rest moved out of the way. Even the one got away with scratches. And so I spun around to face the five, but there were only three including the one with cuts along its side. Two more behind me. I could hear them. Red binary interference. No, I could feel them. Circling me. Getting ready for a move. I knew if I stood there I would be dead, struck with twenty different blades with no chance to fight back.
So I struck first. Threw myself into a biotic charge right towards the machine I had already marked, my blades forming over the distance travelled and driving into the joints of its upper arms as I tried to strike the most vulnerable part, maybe even hit the power core along the way before the corridor blast knocked the machine back. Then I spun, instinctively blocking with my left blade as a second Mk.25 rushed from behind. It staggered back as I shoved away, but two more were coming from straight ahead.
I thrust my right hand forward, capacitors discharging into a biotic field that momentarily pulled the two machines towards me before blasting back, sending several dead Broker troops tumbling away with the machines.
About then, the fifth struck my back. Four blades drove into my kinetic plating, the tips stopping moments before the shielding cracked. The resulting nova knocked the attacking Mk.25 back long enough for me to spin around and start forward. Screaming as I swung. Right, left, jab, upwards. I was coming unhinged. The machine was backing away, struggling to block each blade as it came down. My blue blade tore through its shoulder once. The second time around I sent the tip through the eyeport. I spun on my heel, started circling the remaining four machines as they tried to keep me at a center. But I was moving. Keeping them corralled.
This wasn't Illium.
God dammit, this wasn't Illium. I had no Kaira to back me up or to hold my hand. I probably let out another scream as I lunged forward, sprinting half the distance towards the next Mk.25 before I threw my shoulders forward again. Still in transit, I dropped to my knees. Slid along the dock and came out of the corridor with my left arm around the machine's legs. I yanked them right out from under, sending the Mk.25 falling to the dock face-down as I spun around, back on my feet, and drove my right blade through the power core slat on the back. A crackle. Another machine dead.
Then another hit me. Slammed into me with its shoulder, sent me rolling across the dock. Wasn't until I got back onto my feet and had an eye on all three hostiles that I felt the hot sting against my shoulder. I glanced down to a line of blood coming through the Assassin armor. Medigel applied and I kept moving.
Seemed like I could have kept moving. Then all three charged, three different directions bearing down with blades drawn back. Seemed like I never moved so fast in my life as I parried the first and second while I managed to get my boot into the chest of the third and kicked it back. Well, kicked the machine and pushed myself back. Trying to get some distance from the cluster of blades. Take them on one at a time.
The three machines must have been connected somehow. They knew not to let that happen, and moved on me as a collective unit. Charged right at me. And I lunged right back in with my biotic blades still formed. Shoved into the center Mk.25 and caught it off guard with my right blade. Drove right into its shoulder with the point. Sparks flew as I heaved it back, letting it tumble as I ducked another set of blades swung at my head. So I struck low, crippling the machine at the knees and then rolling back out of the way as the third pounced.
I nearly got clear, too. But there was the undeniable burn that sprang up on my right leg as I came back onto my feet. A slash that split the armor open clear from hip to knee in an arc that would have been perfect if it wasn't a blade running along my leg and fast sending blood to the surface. I couldn't even tell how bad it was.
There were still three machines facing me. Yeah, one was down to three blades and another crawled along with broken legs, but they were still up and running.
So I did something they didn't expect. I charged at the healthy Mk.25. Crashed into it with my right blade raised and my left following and finding a home in the eyeport. I had to deal with keeping its flailing blades at bay, but it soon slumped back and I had to go about avoiding a series of slices aimed for my head and I ducked back to a safe distance.
The machine with busted legs was the next target. I charged, covered ten meters in a biotic flash and jumped over the machine in time to avoid its welcoming slashes. Then I was on its back, both my blades driven between armor plates and cutting into the power core. Sparks indicated death.
I brought my blades back up, knowing I would need to fend off the last Mk.25. But it was already on top of me, an arm drawn back. I deflected the first blow. The second. I tried to move away from the third swing as both my blades were down.
Then I felt the force across my face. Between my eyes, diagonal across the bridge of my nose. I was already diving back in with my blades drawn, even as I could feel blood flowing and tears springing forward. Parried another three-blade attack and drove my blade right through the eyeport.
As the Mk.25 shuddered and collapsed to the deck, I stumbled away with my wounds fresh fast and bleeding. I couldn't tell how bad any of the injuries were. Only out of the fight could I start to assess, but I knew my armor was wrecked – and medigel was depleted. I started stumbling towards my bike. No pain since all the receptors were already shut down, but I could feel the blood gushing out the gash on my nose.
So it went with face injuries.
The Mk.25s had laid short waste to the Broker docks. I looked around as I stumbled my way back to the hoverbike, scanning for some sort of scrap that we could use. Hell, I didn't even see the fancy AA turrets we had delivered. Nothing but bodies and a fire starting on the far side of the dock – likely some power generator overheated. The flames were starting to get real high as I slung a leg over my bike.
xxxx
Well, it wasn't long before I was back on the Ortona, back at the helm standing next to Jarka. Patched up for the time being, and in casual wear since I couldn't salvage my last set of Assassin armor. It had irked the doctor something fierce that I wouldn't lay down for a while.
It had taken a lot of medigel and synthetic blood.
"We should have… let's see, if Maya's route works, we should have a clear path as far as Illium." The pilot explained as he ran through haptic panels. "Are you certain it's worth the risk?"
I snapped back to the cockpit, shaking my head for a moment and looking out at the trees ahead of the dry dock. "Yeah."
"Last chance or not, we make that fucker hurt." Delina added, not much more than growling from the end of the bridge behind us. Leaning against the wall as she inspected one of her revolvers.
Jarka didn't seem so sure as he looked from the arms specialist back to me.
"Alright. Relay the message to the rest of our little band." I nodded once and was ready to head off. Maybe scrounge some armor.
"Yes, commander.. there's ah, there's one more thing." Jarka began, looking away and fidgeting in his seat. "Sanya sent me a long message regarding these… stations she believes the Contractor has set up."
"How far out of the way are they?"
"Relatively close. A jump before Illium, and we should be able to evade any retaliation."
"Worth a look then."
"I understand, but what if…"
"Then I'll have a good talk with her."
"Adequate by me."The Salarian nodded and spun around to get started on haptics.
I finally pushed off of the co-pilots seat and turned to head back down the bridge. I was limping. Tried not to, but I did anyway. Delina shrugged, holstered her pistol and then started out next to me. We were silent nearly to the end of the bridge.
"Five Mark twenties, huh?" The old commando asked, watching me from the corner of her eye.
"Yeah." I replied, tender as I pressed the medpatch over the bridge of my nose.
There was a tug as the Ortona lifted from the ground.
"I remember the last time you got into that many of 'em."
I flexed my right hand where we could both see. "So do I."
"Either you're better than you used to be, or those machines are a lot fucking worse." Still not looking over, she barbed. "I'd put credits on the second."
"I guess so, being how even your fancy little grenades can take them out."
"Hey, I didn't have that kind of shit before. That's a case where I got better."
I snorted as we walked around the holo-projector in the combat center. Headed for the stairs down to the hold. The place was empty except for the two of us. Figured everyone else was in the mess.
"Think about it." She continued, barely holding off a grin. "I've had nearly two centuries to stay sharp. What were you doing again?"
"Don't give me that crap. You're getting old now."
"Yeah fucking right."
"Which is going first? Eyes or the stable grip? Or do you forget who you were trying to aim at?"
"Hey, why don't you piss off?" The arms specialist shoved me half playful as we started down the stairs. "I'm so far from old it's not even funny. You know I'll be 325 next year, right?"
"There something special about that?"
"Damn right. That was the first model of accelerator sniper. The Yiana 325."
I shook my head.
"I had two at one point. Both shot straight as a damn relay, but they ate up shaver blocks."
Again I shook my head.
"What?"
"I just can't get over how old you are."
"Fuck you!" Delina waved me off as she headed towards the lockers on the starboard side of the hold.
I chuckled as I headed for the stack of crates on the opposite side of the hold. No telling what all we had – a lot of it was still left over from TIER. Armor, weapons, rations. I was mostly interested in armor since we had the second two covered for the time being. We were out of assassin armors – in my fit, anyway. Most of the sizing was adaptable, but there were limitations. I started digging, right away finding a few sets of heavy TIER armor.
Not far from what Jakur had worn.
I kept digging, moving past the heavy armor crates and into a few spare weapon parts – even a few light rifle sights I didn't know we had. All kinds of neat stuff. A few boxed Vindicators. More Shedder shotguns. But no more armor. I was about to give up and try to make one of the heavy armors work when I caught an eye on something at the very back.
A decent sized black crate. Too big to be a single set of armor folded up, but I recognized the TIER emblem so cleared away a few more things and got to an ID tag. Started reading as I heaved the crate all the way out. Set it down on a nearby box.
TIER Internal Manufacturing
Armor Type: Heavy
Production Run: 1 of 1
Armor Name: Reaper Berserker
Internal notes:
-Artifact armor reassembled with modernized parts and a harmonic pair of power cores (radiation-to-user reduced to acceptable levels.)
-Kinetic plating network.
-Internal medical systems.
-Spinal/neural connective link.
-Prototype Benz-Graflan motor linkage replaced original armor servos.
-ODS (Orbital Deployment System) equipped.
-Special order for Jack Trinder.
Test results:
-Run time: unknown (power cores reached 20,000 hours in initial testing)
-Maximum load: 3000 kilos (note: actual capacity may be higher; inadequate testing weights.)
-Kinetics durability rating: 55 (out of 100; A61 gunship shields rate 100, Mechanized Assault Armor designation "Doomsday" rates 65.)
-EMP resistive
I clicked the crate open, the lid lifting back and exposing the dark grey chestplate. Dark grey, metallic. Smooth, rounded features. In the crate the armor only folded so much and the chest and shoulders were exposed. Heavy armor, alright. Thick plates and a hexagon weave underneath. Looked straight like a scaled-down Reaper.
"Hey!" Delina yelled out. "What you got over there?"
"Armor." I shook my head as looked the chestplate over one more time, wondering why Trinder – why Azarith – had built this armor and then stashed it away in a corner of the Ortona even off of inventory lists. Was it additional insurance in case the worse came to pass? Or was there something wrong with it? Faulty in some way?
Curiosity and excitement got the best of me. I pulled the Berserker armor from the crate, realizing how heavy it was – especially behind the shoulderblades where the two power cores were. It was a far cry from Assassin armor. Heavy. Bulky. Even the fingers looked clunky – entire plates right up to the fingertips with protrusions covering each knuckle.
I started to armor up. Legs first, I started switching from slacks to dark grey armor. Standing there with half the set on it was starting to feel heavy as hell – whether that was the metal plating or the motor servos I didn't know. I could tell right away it was bulky hard armor, but strangely comfortable. Almost felt natural. I kept going.
"Wow. Where'd that come from?"
Delina walked across the hold and stopped four meters away. I looked up then and shrugged, mindful of my recent injuries as I pulled on the torso. "TIER, I guess. Retro'd Reaper armor."
"Shit. That looks serious."
I nodded as I clipped the chestplate down and started with the arms.
"And it fits you? Just like that?"
I hadn't thought about it too hard, but I did then. "Yeah. Really well."
The arms specialist stood there with her Striker rifle propped lazy over her shoulder. And the look of… well, I couldn't tell if it was jealousy or disgust. "Never seen anything like it. And I saw some shit during the war."
"I guess TIER only had one."
"And nobody told you?"
"Nobody. It wasn't even on our inventory list." I shook my head. About then I was starting to notice how heavy the full set was – even just standing there it felt like I was going to topple and then be stuck. With a struggle I lifted my right arm. Powered the armor up.
A dull whine as the power cores spooled to life, a jolt across the entire suit as it powered up. Then, with no warning, there was a stab in the back of my neck. Right below the collar. I stumbled forward and yelped. Fell to my knees. Red binary sprang up.
/
Alert: spinal link established.
External systems detected…
Creating overlap protocols…
Synchronizing muscle and motor servo movement…
Complete.
/
I rose from kneeling and flexed my shoulders, the weight of the Reaper armor gone. Actually felt lighter as I raised my hands, turning the armored fingers over and finding an awareness of the increased space I took up. It felt… natural. Maybe it was the spinal link.
Delina hadn't paid any mind to my falling down and was over reading the label on the armor crate. Humming to herself.
So I stepped forward, into the middle of the hull. Walking lightly and still aware of how my footsteps resonated. Not like Doomsday armor, but nothing like the silenced boots of Assassin armor. Then I stopped with my left foot leading and brought my arms to a boxers defense. Struck the air, two fast jabs with my right fist. Even then I could feel the added strength, the added potential, driving forward through the armor.
"Shit, it say here that armor weighs seventy-two kilos. That's like ballast armor. Hell. Most heavy armor is half that. Probably less."
"Yeah, but they don't have twin power cores."
"Sure, sure. Why don't you just remind me how it was a one-off production?"
I chuckled as I relaxed, shaking my arms out and going back over to check out the helmet I had left in the crate. Delina already had it out, turning over the gray metal and grumbling before she handed it to me.
Without putting it on, I looked it over once. Built solid just like the rest. Two round eyeports recessed into a nearly smooth faceplate. Smooth until just below the nose, where a mouth-wide section dropped back a centimeter to create jowls. The back was straightforward; longer than it was wide, a slight bulge at the back of the cranium where protected wires and oxygen hoses came up from the torso.
"Now I just wanna see what this can do." I laughed as I headed back towards our lockers.
"Hell yeah. I need to know how much damage this Striker can do." Delina whistled as she looked over the Kavarshii sniper.
"Surprised you haven't torn it apart yet."
"I haven't figured out how yet. I'm sure I could more kick out of it."
I shook my head as I opened my locker, putting the helmet away and taking out the new Force gun. I hadn't checked it out at the cache, but it looked like some double-barrel shotgun. Except it was lever-action and the wide barrels had some sort of core suspended inside. I spun it around once and then aimed at the floor, down bone-white iron sights. It felt good in one hand.
"Ya know…" Delina started. "A little while before the Reaper War broke out, I got work on this recovery team."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah, and by recovery I mean we stole shit from the most guarded vaults and sold it on the black. Paid well, but a lot of us died each time. Fifty percent survival was usually pretty good." She shrugged. "Anyway, one of the things we ended up 'recovering' was this old-Earth rifle. Some cartridge-firing thing. I didn't recognize it, but it looked a lot like that Force gun. A hundred million credits, split three ways."
"What'd you do with that many creds?"
"Hell, I retired from the recovery business. Bought new armor. This armor, actually. Tucked the rest away on credit chits. Thought it would be safe on Thessia. Reapers ended up destroying the cache, but whatever. Credits are overrated anyway."
"Until you run out."
"There's no such thing as out of credits, Jacko. You'll always have a way to rake 'em back in. Believe me."
"Uh-huh." I shook my head as I put the shotgun back in the locker.
"You'd have to be dumb and in a real pit to take on Viola's type of work, but you're still making credits."
"My type of work…" Viola started as she descended the last few stair-steps, "…Is keeping Lancer credits worth more than what we need to stay afloat."
I chuckled silently and took out the Kavarshii assault rifle. Disintegrator. It was almost as interesting as the mess Delina had gotten herself into.
"Hell, you know what I'm talking about. I don't care what part you had in it, my point still stands."
"Oh, it does." Viola didn't seem very offended yet. "Did you ever have a part in that world?"
I raised my brow as I looked through the holographic sight of the Disintegrator aimed at the back of the hold.
Delina laughed it off. "Hell, I never needed to pay anyone."
"Just relied on your charm?" I quipped as I lowered the rifle.
"Yeah. That's right."
Viola snorted as she shook her head. Her low-cut armor in full effect as she stood there with folded arms. "Not to interrupt your bickering, but I came down here to talk credits."
"Yeaaah…" Delina drawled as she slammed her rifle back into the locker. "Fuck that. I'm outta here."
The heavy adept watched over her shoulder as Delina tromped off to the Armory.
"So." I rubbed my hands together as I sat back against a worktable. "We nearly out of credits again?"
"No." Viola turned her attention back, then came over and sat next to me. Arms relaxed by her sides. "It's about the Contractor."
"Yeah?"
"Yes. I think I figured out how he was able to lever the Council so abruptly. How well do you keep up with the galactic stock market?"
"Enough to know it's pretty bad."
"Right, but slowly getting better. Post-war depression, struggling corporations, and changing markets. On the galactic scale, I would be mild to say the market has been unsteady. Stocks change hands in minutes."
"But the Contractor don't have a part in that."
"Well… he does." Viola paused long enough to run a hand over her mouth. "I've been watching the stocks, and a percentage of every major company has stopped moving. These stocks… They're all owned in different names. I didn't think much of it at first, but a few days ago I had a hunch. With Maya's help, I tried to authenticate ten or so of these people."
"Yeah?"
"Every single one was a spoof. Somehow… The Contractor's been working his way into our very economy. If he wanted to, he could crash the entire market and plunge us into a worse depression than the one of 2052."
I gave her a blank look.
"I - In your Earth history – think the 20th century Great Depression."
"So pretty bad."
"When multi-planet supply lines are involved, yes. Very bad."
"Huh." I shook my head slowly as I stared at a flat-folded cargo buckle in the middle of the hold. "So is there anything we can do?"
"Right off… no. I needed to check with you first."
"About what?"
"Well, with a little bit of time and more of Maya's help I may be able to start undermining his influence."
"Try. It's probably only a matter of time til he turns that on us."
"He may already have in coercing other three Spectres to hunt us down."
"We're still here."
"Agreed." Viola nodded slowly as she stared blank at the floor centimeters from my feet.
"That it?"
"I -" She started, jolting her gaze up. "There's one more thing."
"Yeah?"
"I'll be blunt about this: I'm worried about you, Forrest."
I fought off the temptation to roll my eyes and waited for her to continue.
"You – well, we're all edging closer to destruction, but you've come too close to the black divide too many times lately. If we lose you now… there's no TIER anymore. It would be permanent."
I nodded slowly and then half-lying agreed. Kept the bitterness down, almost wished to have space from…that. From the one night on Zavalon. Didn't really seem worth getting shoved off a building before, then getting a cold shoulder later. "Yeah. I know."
"I wonder if you really do." Viola scoffed quietly and bowed her head. "Delina said you're just the way you were before."
"Pfft. That's not true. I'm a commander now. And I can't uplink with a Reaper."
"You know what I mean." For a moment there was the hint of a smile. "I don't want our commander to die. Not again."
I didn't say anything since I didn't want to lie. So we sat there in silence.
Several seconds passed, ended only by Jarka on the intercom. "Relay jump is two hours and forty minutes out. Space is clear for the time being, and we're synced up with the rest of the strike force."
xxxx
So there we were, the four of us, Riva, Sam, Torr, and myself, sitting two on each side of one of the two tables in the mess hall in near silence and none of us really looking up from our datapads or in the Vorcha's case the design he etched in the handle of his tech blade. Me, I was looking through a whole info packet on Illium. The new state of Illium under the Contractor's thumb. The jump point to strike the Terminus and take us out.
Yeah, right. Trying to tame Illium had gone about as well as bringing law to the rest of the Terminus. Since any mercenary troops would get tracked down and wiped out, they had switched to unofficial bandings. Guerilla warfare that kept Contractor troops isolated in the big cities. Scared to go out. It wasn't the marshal law I had half-expected. Illium was tougher, evidently.
Still, it didn't look good. More and more hostiles were massing there, especially in the badlands. One sector especially, west of Nos Astra, was a hub for Contractor gunships. A base maybe. I didn't know exactly, and no intel runners had gotten close enough to get a full sitrep.
I glanced up and over to my right. Riva. She wore her assassin armor all the time. Looked like any other Lancer armor… except for the inactive Kavarshii hard shield clamped down over her left forearm. Strange contrast, really, the bone-textured module that took up at least half of forearm before exposing the black armor hand. I'd yet to see it activated, but at the very least it would take a strain off of her biotics.
Without saying a word I looked back to the datapad in my hands. At least in the palms of heavy Reaper armor. I could almost feel the edges of the tablet.
"So, Sam…" Riva started, setting her datapad down so it didn't make a noise. "You joined TIER as… communications originally?"
"Originally, it was something like that." The girl with the black eyepatch over the right side of her face nodded. "After the war, rear-support comms repairs went total belly-up. I probably could have stayed in the Alliance. Maybe become a field engineer or something dumb."
"But you didn't."
"Nah Riv. Three years in the Alliance was so enough. Like, you wouldn't believe the regs and paperwork. I remember a ten-page form we had to fill out just to get off of dock in a yellow zone. Which was basically any colony."
"And TIER?"
"I dunno, I thought it was the same as Alliance at first. Brass and shuffle and pretty much awful. Then I got a field assignment." Sam chuckled under her breath. "It was fantastic. Four days tracking down slavers on some moon, pretty much unsupported, no real parameters… Well, that was also the first time I got to rock the Doomsday armor."
"I suppose you didn't stay in comms much longer after that."
"No way. I got moved to a front-liner. It was so awesome. Got more important missions, got a better shop to work in, got better… well, like everything. And TIER stuff was pretty awesome to begin with."
Through this I was staring at my datapad. Half reading about the Wreckers, or so the little gang of Turians called themselves as they snuck around Illium, found Contractor outposts, waited for the Contractors to go out on patrol, then… well, made themselves at home. Theft generally ended with arson. Since it was against the Contractor, I saw zero problem.
"Wait." Sam added loud enough that I looked up, but she was glancing to the ceiling and pointing loosely over to Riva. "Sanya was telling me something… like… don't they only issue leather armor to commandos who went through training?"
"That's true." The younger Jackson nodded.
"But you -"
"Never made it to basic. Those leathers weren't mine."
"Yeah, I totally shouldn't ask this. Where'd you end up getting them?"
"On the Illium black. I thought… I thought at one point of taking a set of Rana's." Riva was quiet for a moment. "I wouldn't come to terms with the thought of taking anything of hers with me. And I left to gain my own space, not stay under her protection. That and… well, I couldn't crack through the trackers she set on her backup armor."
Sam laughed. A short, quiet laugh. "She meant for you to take hers."
"I think that was her hope. I know she had an inkling of where I was headed."
"You ended up with us. That's pretty awesome."
"Not just the Lancers." Riva chuckled, and a moment later elbowed me in the armored ribs.
I stopped reading about the Wreckers and looked over to see Riva smiling my way, half grinning, and pretty obvious about the whole family reunion thing. I patted her on the back and went back to reading my datapad.
xxxx
So there I was, sitting on the lowered ramp of the gunship, feet dangling above the floor since the Lancer A-61 was docked and raised from the deck while the Ortona was airborne. And I turned the MR13 over in my hands, spinning the rotating shaver cylinders with my left hand and let my mind go blank.
I had a bad feeling in my gut. Unlike Torr, I said nothing, made no acknowledgement until I was alone there and could try and pin it down.
I couldn't. It was the nagging feeling that something would go wrong. What? Why? Where? My nerves couldn't tell me that much. Even Azarith, stripped of his Reaper shell, couldn't have made predictions. I knew that much from remnant runtimes that were just as much my own.
We were on a strong offensive, suicidal in the long run but we had time. Strike the stations Sanya knew were there, raze the bases on Illium, and then run like hell. Aside from the usual, I couldn't see where things would go wrong. No reason for the bad feeling.
"Commander." Maya began soft from the Gunship's bay speaker, quiet enough that she could have been kneeling behind me. "We received an information packet from the Shadow broker."
Soft or not, I still jumped, sitting there silent for a moment and staring at the back wall of the frigate cargo bay before holstering my pistol. "What we got?"
"Increased Contractor presence on Zavalon, particularly around the weapons cache and former Shadow Broker dock." The AI continued still with no body for reference. "Also, his forces are starting to disperse from New Citadel."
"Wait, what?"
"According to the information we received, approximately half of the Contractor fleet has mobilized from the construction site."
"Oh no…" I thought I knew what that meant.
"The Reaper has not moved. It would seem that our attacks have provoked a response."
"Well, that's a little better. Long as we don't have to face 'em all at once we'll be fine."
"It makes our time in Council space much more risky. Many of the escape routes I had planned will no longer work."
"We can still pull it off, right?"
"We still have routes out."
"Alright. What else was in there?"
"A note." Maya stated simply, then continued. "It reads, 'You might have seen what happened to the Broker outpost on Zavalon. The AA cannons you brought made it out early – just an extra precaution. Looks like we're both in this war now, so I'll make sure good intel gets your way. Keep dealing it out. –Mitchell.'"
I nodded slowly, taking a few seconds to process. Didn't know who the Broker was, but I figured we were safe enough trusting… them. Ryan Mitchell had been straight-up with us at the very least. "Alright. Thanks."
"Of course."
We were silent then. I sat there with my hands folded, forearms on my legs as I leaned forward and stared at the floor between my toes.
"Maya."
"Yes, Forrest?"
"What do you think? Is this a bad idea? Storming like we are?"
"You are asking for my opinion on matters of tactic."
"Yeah."
There was a pause before the AI responded. "The odds are no worse than usual. Perhaps slightly better, since we have several backup escape routes at this point. Our crew has better weapons than any Contractor force, and we have a multi-ship fleet for any airborne engagements. Yet even with all of that, I have a strange… premonition that we are testing the strands of luck, as you might say."
"So I'm not alone in that bad feeling."
"No. But I have detected no mention of ill feelings from other crew members, including Torr."
"Maybe we're just nervous." I thought aloud.
"Reason would argue so."
"But if we're right…"
"I would rather not process that potential, Commander."
xxxx
