Interloper Rewrite: Chapter 39
Ilos: Part II
Wasp-waisted geth fighter shrieked across the sky in pursuit of a swept-winged Trident. Their chin mounted mass accelerators flashed; bright bolts leapt out to lash across the Alliance fighter's rear to raise little pinpricks in the ash-grey paint. Something flared in the fighter's left engine pod and its nose dipped precipitously groundward. It didn't get a chance to hit the stony soil of Ilos. The pinpricks in its back became torches, then bright gouts of blue-white flame. The Trident came apart in an ear-battering explosion as its fuel cells ruptured and then burst. The debris showered the ruins of the world that hadn't seen the tread of mortal feet in almost fifty thousand years. Until we'd brought war back to Ilos. I tore my eyes away from the fight in the sky. There was more than enough fight left on the ground without getting lost in the battle I had no chance of effecting. Meters away, a small pod of Geth probed around our flanks. They picked their way carefully over the mossy stubs of long fallen statuary, singular eyes waving back and forth across the open courtyard that separated them from my hidden position halfway up a tower that had fallen in and been swallowed by creeping vines. I gripped my rifle and thumbed the tac channel, alerting the fire team of Marines off the Valley Forge of the Geths' presence. I received three double clicks in response, the signal that they were fanning out to get into ambush position. Three. Where was our fourth trooper? My stomach flopped and my eyes darted about. The Geth were too close to risk making a call over the radio. But if our rifleman had taken a hit, or heavens forbid there was a geth Leaper about...
But then my eyes caught a flash of dirty blond hair moving slowly forward further around the courtyard. With a sickening lurch, I realized our missing Marine was lining up a shot on a lone Geth trooper that had separated from the pack. The Marine hadn't seen the rest of the pod. I hazarded a glance at the rest of the fire team creeping forward at a crouch, then back to the Marine. If he opened up now, he wouldn't just end up getting himself surrounded and killed, but he'd tip the Geth off before the rest of the team had found their position. Resolved, I slipped from my perch and moved forward. The Marine crouched down on one knee; his Lancer propped up in a groove left by tumbled stones in a waist-high retaining wall. I stalked forward on what I prayed were silent steps. The Geth were so close now, even the sound of him recognizing me might be enough to warn them. I held my breath as I reached within arm's reach of his shoulder. The Marine tensed, ready to fire and panic rose, thudding in my chest. I lunged. My left hand caught him under the armpit and dragged him backward, my right clapped over his mouth to stifle a cry of alarm. The man struggled in my grip, but did not fire.
"Where's your helmet, Marine?" I hissed acidly in his ear. She struggling stopped. He turned his head slowly to look at me, then guiltily to where his helmet lay discarded, the neck seals broken. Classic maintenance failure, if the infantry manual lodged deep in my Omni-tool was to be believed. But the battlefield was no place to launch into a lecture on the importance of servicing your equipment. I flicked my head at the approaching pod of scouting Geth troopers. The Marine's eyes boggled as he realized his near mistake. I let him go. The tac channel clicked again. The team was in position. I signed the orders to get in position and counted down on my fingers. The last finger went down. The Geth never stood a chance. The last one fell to a burst of the unfortunate Marine's Lancer. I rounded on him, schooling the frustration that threatened to creep into my voice. "What's your name, Private?" I asked, noting the single chevron on his shoulder. He dragged a gloved hand through curly hair in a motion that I'd seen many times before.
"Michael, um, sir. Private Michael Garrow. Thank you, sir. For saving me back there, I mean. Didn't see those other ones." He shifted awkwardly on his feet. My heart caught in my throat; he was just a kid.
"Fall in, Private Garrow. And keep your helmet on. I don't want to have to save your life again." I picked the broken helmet up off the floor and ran my Omni-tool over it. The glowing orange hologram settled on the telltale snapped pin in the clasp and a small jet of Omni-gel welded it fast. I thrust it back into his hands. As he snapped it back in place, my own helmet chirped.
"Deputy, status report," Commander Shepard ordered.
"Another pack of snoopers split off from the main body, Commander," I responded quickly, "all downed. Looks like they're starting to fragment. Ready to keep moving forward."
"Good to hear, Liddle," Shepard responded. She let lose a fatigued sigh, "I think you're right. According to Tali, the Geth rely on their network for higher level tactical processing. We must be punching enough holes in their command net to put the hurt on their brainpower. Keep your fire team moving forward and watch for more movement on the flanks. Sending coordinates for a rendezvous just outside visual range of the power surge in the ruins."
My Omni-tool pinged and a small orange globe popped up on my HUD, pointing the way deep into the ruin complex. A fire had started between us and the rendezvous point, the overgrown corpses of long dead buildings touched off by the Trident crash. Moving forward would be difficult. But we were winning the fight. Saren was almost in reach. "Coordinates received, Commander."
High above the ruins of Ilos, out past the shimmer of the planet's thin skin of atmosphere, titans clashed. The battle in space, started as a system wide hurricane of swirling skirmishes, was rapidly consolidating down to its terminal conflagration. The Geth cruisers and frigates still in the fight arrowed in towards the planet, Alliance ships hot on their heels or else moving to intercept. Between this rapidly collapsing shell of battle and the mottled ball of the ancient Prothean stronghold hung the clipped oblong of the SSV Valentina Tereshkova. On the deck of the carrier's combat information center stalked the fleet's admiral. Admiral Olmos straightened his uniform as he completed his circuit. Slowly, he removed his glasses and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. To the men and women directing the barely contained chaos of the battle that roiled outside the sturdy steel bulkheads, it was a familiar, comfortable ritual. Olmos put his glasses back on.
"XO, how goes the fight?" he asked, raising his voice just enough to carry over the sound of incoming damage reports, chatter from the outbound bomber squadrons harassing the Geth flanks, and flotilla captains coordinating their hit and run attacks on the larger remaining Geth cruiser-weights. He'd served under fleet officers who like to bark orders, put their stamp on a battle, even as it drew down to a matter of mathematical certainty. Not Olmos. He had faith in his captains and division commanders. Even now, as the brawl came down to knife fighting range, there was little impact that his input could impart on the nature of the beast.
"It goes well, Admiral," his executive officer replied from where he leaned in close to the holotable. Saul could stare into the tank all day and watch the little orange arrowheads that represented his ships flitting about. The blasted thing made the Admiral's eyes hurt. "We've got the toasters by the balls. If they have balls. Either way, it'll be a laser fight soon enough, and we've got them outnumbered three to one. Casualty reports coming in now." The taller, white-haired man straightened and brought over a datapad. The admiral took it and rubbed at his eyes again. The reports scrolled by; ships, fighters, crew. The cost of war.
"Hmmm, we got off lightly," he set the pad down and looked into the tank. Red icons winked out as an enemy fighter wing broke from their fellows and slashed across his combat air patrol. The pilots in the CAP made short work of the unsupported attack. More, larger icons died as Alliance ships singled out their counterparts and unleashed hell on the insectoid menace. In the upper corner, the symbol for the SSV Istanbul joined them in oblivion. All throughout the shrinking combat, fury was being unleashed on an unimaginable scale. Not that this thrice damned table would show that. As he watched, the battle shifted, Geth curling away from the fight, first in singles, then in clusters.
"They're on the run, sir!" a junior officer called from the communications station, "Frigate captains are requesting permission to pursue."
The CIC crew looked to their commander with baited breath. For a lot of them, this would be their first combat operation, and their Admiral had handed them a victory. At least to those who still stood. Olmos eyed the seemingly retreating enemy, trying to discern the enemy commander's intent, if these thinking war machines even had something so vulgar as a commander. He took of his glasses slowly, deliberately. He was so very tired. He looked at the little red icons. Fleeing, wounded, but still deadly.
"Request denied. Let them run. Pull in the fleet. I want a tripwire of frigates, 50th Flotilla, here," he drew a line through the hologram with a finger, "recall the bombers for refit and rearm, and launch shuttles for search and rescue." He put the glasses back on and allowed himself a small smile. "Give yourself a pat on the back, ladies and gentlemen. We've won this one." The CIC broke out in cheers as the tension of the day long fight melted into jubilation. The youngsters clapped their neighbors on the shoulders. Saul stood beside him, relief easing the creases in his face. "Get that Spectre down on the ground on the horn," he muttered to his XO, "Let her know that the enemy is gone and we will be sending down additional support shortly. Also, I want her story. Seems she knows more than us on just what the hell this is all about."
Before the Exec could reply, there was a triple beep from the sensor station. Olmos' attention snapped over to the Lieutenant bent over their readout with wide eyes. "Quiet!" he barked, his words cutting through the din, "Lieutenant Dow, report."
The dark-skinned officer looked up in alarm, worry written on his face. "The Relay, sir. It's lighting up. Something's coming through, something big."
"Bring it up on the board!" Olmos ordered. The holotable image of the fleet positioning dissolved, replaced by a projected image of the blazing ring of the Mu Relay. As the crew watched, ships began pouring through. Geth ships. Ten, twenty, thirty cruiser weight ships, flurries of frigates and...
"My God," Admiral Olmos cursed.
Smoke filled the ruins. The fires started by the fighter crash had been whipped up into an inferno that raised a great pall to the sky. More than once our advance had been thrown into disarray by the ancient concrete shattering under the heat of the licking flames and spraying stone fragments pinging across the path. The fighter itself was pitched, nose down, in the courtyard up ahead.
"Why we gotta get so close to the fire, Deputy?" one of my fire team asked. Her voice was casual, not the kind of tone the Normandy crew would have taken with an officer. But then again, I wasn't a real officer. "Seems to me we're liable to get ourselves done extra crispy we keep going this way."
"Because, um, Corporal," I responded, flicking my eyes to the Marine's name on the tactical display that played at the edges of my helmet, "in case you haven't noticed, this place is a maze. Footage from our eyes in the sky shows that unless we want to double back and risk the tunnel entrance a ways back, the cut this downed Trident made on its way down is the only way forward."
"Besides," Private Garrow chimed in, "the way the winds going, we're liable to become smoked brisket before we ever get grilled." The Private left off with a little chuckle, clearly pleased with himself.
"Yes, thank you, Private Garrow," I replied.
"Yeah, thanks, Gallows," the Corporal, Alinta by her name plate on my HUD, sniped back. Garrow's face reddened at the flurry of scoffs that followed.
"Focus forward, Marines," I cut in. The Trident was just around the corner, and beyond that Commander Shepard should be waiting. The heat this close to the burning section of the ruins was rapidly increasing, driving my suits cooling systems into action. The wind had indeed shifted. Smoked billowed across the path, obscuring the weird, undulating forms of the pre-Prothean statuary. The roar of the fire as it greedily consumed the desiccated growth, mixed with the cracking of exploding stone, swallowed all over noise. I motioned forward and raised my rifle. Two of my team scurried up into the smoke. Moments later, they gave the all-clear signal, calling us forward. Private Garrow and I crept forward, into the coiling embrace of the wall of smoke. The thick, near-opaque blanket descended around us, turning the world an ashen gray. The statuary shapes loomed out of the murk as we passed, transformed into featureless obelisks. Up ahead, the baleful glow of the fires turned the smog a frightful orange threaded with the blue white flames of burning eezo. "Sitrep on locating the breached wall."
"Working on it, Deputy," Corporal Alinta relied, "I can't see a thing in this soup." Alinta's indicator weaved ahead, giving the fire a wide circle. "Barrett, you seeing anything?"
"I think it's a little lighter over here," Barrett replied, "yeah, I think I see it. Wait, what the hell?" His voice cut off with a crackle. The tactical link fuzzed with the white noise of active jamming. Immediately my pulse started pounding. I checked my motion tracker. More static. I turned around and signaled Garrow to take cover and watch for enemies. The Marine nodded, stooping and backing up towards one of the nearby statues. As he brushed up against the amorphous shadow in the smoke, it moved slightly. Then, three red lights winked on. The pillar-like statue unfolded, shifted until it loomed over Garrow. The Geth Prime's central light eye glowed to life.
"Garrow, get down!" I yelled, hoping the sound would carry over the sound of the fire of the fire. My rifle came up and I fired as the other Marine dropped to the deck. The bright strobe of my battle rifle lit the smog, striking sparks off the massive AI platform's kinetic barriers. Elsewhere in the smoke, more gunfire flashed. The Prime finished its startup sequence and leveled its arm mounted cannon. There was a stutter of fire that knocked the weapon aside, its blast thrumming just over my shoulder and setting off screaming radiological alarms. Garrow came up in a roll, dodging the Prime's attempt to stomp down on his prone form. He loosed another volley, this time tracking rounds up its side. The Prime swung round to face him. I advanced, hitting the shields around the Prime's head until my rifle vented. I ducked another blast from the cannon and came up with my Omni-tool extended. I fired off a malfunction macro. The massive gun grafted to the Prime's arm cracked open and emitted a thick gout of steam. It whirled in response and swung its weapon down like a club. Something exploded against its back, throwing it sprawling. I ducked aside and saw Garrow up on his feet again, the silvery disk of a grenade in his hand. He threw another grenade at the Prime, shattering its kinetic barriers. I pulled my Stinger and fired the crimson handgun once, twice, three times into the platform's back mounted generators. The casing cracked under the assault. The Prime gave a warbling wail and exploded as its cooling and containment failed. Debris whirled past my head and pinged off my own barriers.
The static of jamming remained, as did the increasing rattling of gunfire in the smoke. I motioned towards the flashes. Garrow nodded and the two of us ran. Shapes danced in silhouette in front of the flames, indistinct and alien. A massive form locked in combat with a much smaller shape. The Marine gave ground as the Prime fired wildly. Garrow and I returned fire. The Geth reacted quickly and raised its gun in our direction. The Marine it was fighting leapt at it, grabbing on to the extended arm and dragging the barrel down as it fired. The heavy slug ploughed into the ground at my feet and threw a great gout of earth up to hit me in the chest. My feet went out from under me and a fell to the ground. Garrow advanced past me as I turned the fall into a sideways roll, his rifle ablaze. My roll stopped suddenly as I ran into something. Looking wildly around, my eyes fell on a prone human shape. I reached over and checked for a pulse. My gauntlet came away bloody. The body was missing most of its neck.
"I'm sorry, Barrett," I said, reaching for the downed Marine's grenades. Garrow and Alinta danced around the Geth as it whirled, seemingly unable to pick a target. I activated every grenade in Barrett's launcher magazine and pitched the lot at the Prime. Most of them landed at its feet, but a few managed to latch onto the thing's legs. "Disengage!" I hollered. My fire team responded sluggishly, turning and running from the Prime as it lined up another shot on their fleeing backs. The grenades went off, blanketing the Prime in a shower of earth. I let out a sigh of relief and clawed my way to my feet. The breath hitched in my throat as the Prime stormed out of the spreading conflagration, a third Prime at its shoulder. Their weapons glowed brightly.
"Deputy, Marines, duck and cover!" Shepard's voice crackled over the radio, cutting through the jamming. I hit the deck instinctively. Something flared brightly as I clutched my arms over my helmet, followed by a ground shaking crash. The Primes howled as the sound of roaring flames redoubled. I chanced a look up to see the Geth platforms pinned under the crumbled hull of the crashed trident. The billowing smoke parted to reveal Wrex striding forward. The krogan battlemaster was wreathed in a shimmering aura of biotics. They flared again as the ancient mercenary hauled down much of the prothean wall that the fighter had been leaning against. The oily green stone collapsed onto the flailing Geth, crushing them utterly. The jamming ended with a snap.
"...and did you have to destroy even more of these irreplicable artifacts?" Liara finished.
I felt a smile crease the tired features of my face. Even at this crescendo point in our pursuit of Saren, the Asari had her mind on the ruins' impact to archeology. The smile was chased by a pang of sadness. I stood, huffing and puffing, and helped Garrow to his feet.
"Perhaps you'd like me to let these Geth step on your little friend next time," Wrex rumbled. He dusted off his hands, making the motion a dismissive gesture.
"Enough," Shepard cut in, ending the conversation in a single barked command, "Whatever that energy spike was, it's just up ahead. Deputy, fall in." We followed Shepard out of the smoke and the air lightened again. With a start, I realized that I recognized the surrounding ruins. Up ahead, A tall spire erupted from the ground, winged by tall leaning pillars of stone. Extending from the front of the spire, a massive, boxy structure loomed over a ramp downwards. At the end of the ramp, heavy metal doors stood resolutely closed. "Gather round. Whatever Saren is doing, it's behind that door. Now, the 109th is currently taking up rearguard positions on our six. We might have the Geth on the ropes, but these ruins still crawl. Our job is to crack this ruin and put an end to this." She looked at each of us one by one, making eye contact with the members of the squad, my fire team, a pair of Marines I recognized off the Normandy.
"Those doors don't look like they're moving anytime soon, Commander," Kaidan noted. He was right, of course. In the game they had required a circuitous route all over the local ruins to unlock. The fact that the ruins still swarmed with Geth made the thought of tracking through them extremely unattractive.
"The LT's got a point; we don't have anything near the ordinance to bust through this thing," Ashley was the next to speak, "and don't think the 109th is going to be able to give us the several hours it'll take to chip away at it with what we've got. Several of us glanced behind us to where the 109th marines were playing backstop. The fighting had lulled for now, but they had already faced a renewed surge.
"Be that as it may, Chief, we're not the only asset in the field," Shepard gave us a smile and tilted her jaw up towards the sky. We followed her movements. A speck was rapidly growing in size as it cruised across the horizon. It looked to barely skim the tops of the ruins. Soon, the scream of overworked engines reached us. An alliance dropship, Ferro's Cleaver one by the markings, dropped neatly into the narrow clearing.
"Chief Ferro, I'm going to need a doorbell as soon as my team clears the zone," she called.
"Copy, Commander. I am armed and ready." One of the small ship's underslung missiles rotated into battery. We needed no further instructions. The team scattered, taking cover behind whatever we could find. "Knock knock." The 'Doorbell' jetted out from beneath the dropship riding a wave of searing blue light. It seemed to fly in slow motion as it crossed the short distance between launcher and target. Instead of the expected almighty crash, the warhead seemed to flatten and molded to the door's shape. The was a series of bright flashes and the sound of a derailing train, or that of a distant yet frenetic thunderstorm and the doors were replaced by a gaping hole rimmed in molten red. "Happy to be of service Commander, returning to Valley Forge for a refuel and rearming. I'll be back on station in twenty."
We waved the ungainly craft off as it rose up and away. As the transport rapidly became a dot in the distance, we turned our collective eyes on the gaping mouth of the tunnel network. It wasn't empty.
A tall, grey figure walked out from the tunnel. It took me a second to recognize the figure as Saren. The once proud Turian was now tall and gaunt, as if stretched beyond his natural size. Circuitry and reaper tech bristled from holes cut raggedly in his breast plate, and his face had an unhinged look to it. Literally as well as metaphorically, one of his mandibles stopped half way down his face. Shepard must have given him something to remember her by back on Virmire.
"Saren," She addressed the warped Spectre calmly, "Ready to give yourself up?"
The Turian chuckled cruelly.
"Give myself up? I think you're a little late for that. And far too late to hinder my plans any further. The Message has been sent."
Shepard's eyes narrowed. "A message? To who?"
