Chapter 5 - Deadly Consequences

February 22nd, 2201, 0121 hours — The Planet of Bahak — Slaver's Valley

Data Corruption… Automatic Reconstruction Failed…Data Corruption….Profile Reconstruction Required…

(First Lieutenant Lancelot Percival – Fifth Battalion, 104th Marines)

Mining Facility D6: Main Refinery

Ten Years Ago

"Ruiz! Have your squad lay down suppressing fire! Alexa, get a machine-gunner team up to the control room above us!" Percival ordered. "Kara, Sterling, on me! We're going to make a run for him!"

The two marines were currently in cover beside Percival, peering carefully over the conveyer belt. They glanced nervously at the batarian line. The slavers had really dug in, setting up gun turrets and barricades at the other end of the large room. Waves of spikes whizzed continuously over Percival's helmet as the slavers kept up an unrelenting barrage of gunfire.

Kara wiped away a line of sweat from her nose and nodded. "We've got your back, Lieutenant!"

The main refinery room was an absolute nightmare. The ceiling was dozens of meters above them and a mess of gantries ran like a spider-web above. Steam and smoke billowed everywhere from giant furnaces stationed along the sides of the room designed to melt down the ore brought to the facility. It obstructed Percival's vision and blocked sight-lines. Long conveyer belts bisected the massive room, feeding into the furnaces and hindering any forward movement by the company.

Worse, the furnaces gave off a tremendous amount of heat. Even with his armor's cooling tech, Percival was absolutely drenched. The room smelled like sweat, metal and death.

An agonized cry rose above the cacophony of gunfire and screaming. Percival poked his head over the conveyer belt that he was hiding behind to take a look. "Cormack, hold on! We're coming!"

A dozen entryways fed into the main refinery room. Percival had sent half his marines though them under the command of Second Lieutenant Alexa Volkov with the task of clearing out the hallways that snaked through the entire facility like a maze. He had taken the other half into the main refinery. His marines were currently spread out behind him, taking cover behind various refinery equipment and trading potshots with the enemy forces barricaded at the other end of the room.

Another cry of pain sounded. "Hold on, Cormack!" Percival roared. Sterling gave a shout of frustration and began to blindly fire his Revenant M76 over his cover, prompting Kara to viciously gesture for him to stop and wait.

Percival activated his comm. "Alexa, what's the status on the gunner team?" Without a solid overwatch advantage their chances of reaching Cormack were low. The slavers had a solid foothold on the other side of the refinery, and though Percival currently had the numbers he knew a charge was out of the question so long as the slavers had their gun turrets up and running.

"They need a few more minutes! They're meeting heavy resistance!" replied Second Lieutenant Alexa Volkov.

"Cormack doesn't have a few more minutes, Lieutenant," Kara warned. The female marine popped up and fired a burst from her Avenger at a slaver making a run for one of the downed marines ahead. It tore through his face and the batarian dropped as if his strings were cut. She dropped back down to avoid an incoming barrage from one of the slaver's gun placements.

"Drak Thaku! Drak Thaku! Drakon era vok ach to vola!" roared a batarian voice over the cacophony. It was followed by a volley of guttural grunts and cheers. The gunfire from the slaver line momentarily intensified.

Percival cursed and the three marines slumped down deeper behind the conveyor belt. "Sterling, what did he say?"

The machine gunner pursed his lips and though for a moment. He then turned to Percival. "Kill them all, kill them all… die today… and live forever," he replied. Kara gave a weak, despondent laugh at that and shook her head.

Percival cursed again. Cormack and a few others had been the first to enter the main refinery, and they had moved unopposed to the center of the room. When they had reached it, a hidden proximity mine had triggered, sending waves of metal spikes hurtling into the advance recon team. The other three marines were killed outright, but Cormack had managed to survive and drag himself behind cover. He was currently pinned down while Percival and the rest of his marines attempted to reach him.

Cormack was running out of time, and Percival was not going to lose any more of his marines if he could help it. He opened up his radio. "James, on my mark I need as many concussion rounds and overloads on those enemy guns as we can!"

"Perc, they've got too many guns! We can't keep 'em down for more than ten seconds at most! It's not enough time!"

"Just do it!" Percival roared. He wiped his brow free of any sweat that might fall into his eyes. He felt his hands began to shake in anticipation and fear, but he shoved it down. Percival turned to Kara and Sterling. "Get ready to run."

"Christ, there's so many of them!" replied the big gunner.

Percival peered over the belt. He watched as a lucky shot slammed into the helmet of one of the slavers, knocking him off of one of the gun turrets. It was now or never.

"James, now!" Percival yelled.

A wave of concussion rounds from the two platoons behind him slammed into the slaver positions, followed by several Overload charges that detonated among their gun placements. The concentrated firepower stunned the entire line, causing their fire to slacken momentarily.

There must have been a higher power watching over Percival's company because one of the gun turrets suddenly exploded from one of the Overloads, trashing the barrel of the large weapon and wounding its operator. The slavers must have been loading the spike rounds in that gun with old gunpowder. It was a stroke of pure luck, and in any event it was a good of a sign as there ever was one.

"Now!" Percival hollered. He vaulted boots-first over the conveyer belt. An inferno grenade flew from his fingers and landed among the front ranks of the slavers. It detonated and coated his victims in oily flames. The slavers screamed in agony and clawed at their smoldering, super-heated armor for a few seconds before dying.

Kara hurled a cooked fragmentation grenade towards another of the gun placements. It detonated above the head of the stunned slaver, blowing him to chunks. Unfortunately, the gun was still somehow intact. A few slavers began to make a run for the gun but Sterling cut them down.

Cormack was slumped upright behind another conveyer belt. Percival raced over, dodging renewed gunfire from the slaver line, and slid into cover beside the wounded marine. Cormack had two spikes in his abdomen and a third in his right thigh. All three wounds were bleeding profusely.

"Lieutenant?" Cormack groaned weakly. The marine fumbled toward Percival with a gloved hand. Percival grabbed it and squeezed it. Cormack's grip was weak.

"I'm here private, you're going to be fine," Percival promised. He smeared what little medigel he had left around the wounds. Percival was not medically trained, but he'd had plenty of experience dealing with spike wounds fighting the slavers. The medigel could stop the blood loss until they finished the fight and Percival could have a medic take a look at him. As long as Cormack didn't move and they could finish this fight quickly, he'd have a chance of making it.

Kara and Sterling slammed into cover beside Percival a moment later. Sterling raised his machine gun and began to lay down a barrage of suppressing fire. Kara let out a few bursts as well but the slavers intensified their fire towards the duo, forcing them to duck back behind cover.

"Looking a little pale there, Corms," Kara joked. She gave the wounded marine a cheery smile, but it couldn't fully mask the concern in her eyes.

"Fu… Fuck… you… Johansson," Cormack sputtered with a weak grin. The marine shifted in place to try and sit a little higher but the movement caused him to let out another agonized groan.

Percival reached for a morphine syringe but remembered that he had used his last one on Chakravar in the last battle. "Crap! Anyone have a morphine syringe!?

Sterling handed his over. Percival tore the cap off with his teeth, jammed it into a medical port on Cormack's thigh and depressed the syringe. Cormack gave an audible sigh of relief as the drugs flooded his system.

"You good, private?"

Cormack's eyes drooped sleepily. "Much better… I'll be okay, Lieutenant."

Percival cursed. The slavers had recovered and had resumed firing, pinning down the company once again. Cormack needed blood and he needed blood fast. "Hey! Stay awake! Stay awake!"

He slapped Cormack lightly on the cheek. Cormack's eyelids fluttered open and the disoriented marine started gazing around belligerently. Percival grabbed him lightly by the helmet and turned his head so that he was facing him.

Percival grabbed a nearby fallen Avenger and pressed it into Cormack's hands. He pointed at a small side entrance to the refinery room behind them. "You take this gun and you cover that pathway! You stay awake and you cover us, okay!? We're counting on you!"

His voice seemed to dispel some of the foggy haze that had overtaken the wounded marine. A bit of focus returned to Cormack's eyes and the marine gave his commanding officer a resolute nod.

"You got it, Lieutenant. I won't let you down."

Percival gave him a grin and patted him appreciatively on the shoulder. He then turned back to his other two marines.

"We can't stay here," Percival urged. "We need to finish this fight fast if we want to get the wounded out."

Kara slid a fresh heat sink into her Avenger. "What do you have in mind, Lieutenant? They've got a whole lot of guns left."

Sterling peeked his head up and did a quick scan of the enemy locations. "They're hemorrhaging bodies though. I think we outnumber them two to one at this point. If we get another concentrated volley from the rest of the company the three of us can do a push," he offered.

Percival nodded and re-opened the company channel. "Alexa, your gunners in place yet?"

"Yes Lieutenant. They've managed to get set up. I don't think the slavers know we have the high ground yet, they're waiting for your orders," SecondLieutenant Volkov replied.

"Great, I'm going to get in touch with Gunnery Chief Fairchild. We'll do a coordinated attack."

Percival switched back to the channel he shared with James. "Fairy, Alexa's got her gunners in position. Have the company fire one more volley and then we can charge while they keep the slavers suppressed. Make sure you keep their turrets clear as you run, and get a medic to Cormack's position!"

"You got it Perc! Give us ten seconds!"

Out of the corner of his eye, Percival saw the barrel of the Avenger that Cormack was holding shiver and then dip towards the ground. He saw Cormack's eyelids droop once again.

"Hey, stay awake Cormack!" Percival urged him. He slapped Cormack's face lightly, but to no avail. The marine was deathly still. Percival tried again but harder, and then held his breath. After a few tense moments, Cormack opened his eyes once more. The marine looked as pale as a ghost now, his skin looking clammy even amidst the suffocating heat of the furnaces. Cormack pulled off his helmet with a shaky hand and set it down beside him, then tightly grabbed his Avenger.

"My bad, Lieutenant. Was getting kind of bored…" he groaned weakly.

Percival grabbed the wounded marine by the shoulders and squeezed, hard. "You stay awake, you got that?"

"Yes Lieutenant, won't happen again," Cormack promised.

"Percival, the marines are ready!" James reported.

It was now or never. Percival gestured for Kara and Sterling to get ready. As one, the three marines moved into a crouch, ready to leap into action. Kara spit viciously on the ground beside her. Her eyes glinted dangerously and Percival could see the muscles in her jaw tightening as she prepared to follow him. Sterling on the other hand looked less composed. The big gunner was cursing haphazardly beneath his breath, his pupils were dilated and he was squeezing his weapon so tightly it looked as if he was about to bend his M76 Revenant in half.

Percival felt that familiar tug that so many marines felt when confronted with the potent arrival of the inevitable. He took a couple of deep breaths and tried to picture Gwen's face – tried to picture the last time they had been together without being in combat armor, fatigues, or without worrying about a superior officer catching wind of their relationship. It had been on Terra Nova, maybe a year ago. Percival had taken her to meet his mother and they had had a picnic out by one of the many lakes that Terra Nova was famous for.

It only took a couple of moments, but Percival felt the fear subside, only to be replaced with a determination to live so that he could share more such moments with Gwen and to save Cormack.

"James, now!" He yelled.

Before the first concussion round had even landed, Percival's boots were over the conveyor belt and he began to sprint towards the enemy line. He sprayed wildly at the first few targets who had begun to track him, disrupting their aim. The wave of concussion rounds and overloads came a second later, wreaking havoc among the slavers. Gunfire from above zipped past Percival's head to tear into the stunned slavers, buying Percival more time to clear to killing field.

Kara and Sterling followed behind him, scanning frantically through the smoke and steam and laying down suppressive fire on any slaver that eyed the trio. Armored boots began to clang against the refinery floor as the rest of the marines in Percival's company began to charge.

Percival ran straight towards the nearest gun turret. The slaver operating the gun had taken a concussive round and had been blown back several meters. He prayed to all the deities he knew for the gun to remain vacant.

A slaver sprinted for the gun but he was cut down by a concentrated salvo from Percival and his team. Percival vaulted over the barricade and leapt behind the firing controls. With a yell, he swung the heavy, tri-barrelled gun towards the enemy and depressed the triggers. A torrent of spikes flew out from the barrels, biting deep into the disheveled, bewildered slavers.

The six-inch long flechettes easily pierced through armor and flesh. Batarians were hardier than humans though and they could sometimes take up to half a dozen spikes before going down, but the slavers were now in disarray, their attention now being forced to split between the charging marines and the captured gun.

Slaver after slaver fell before Percival's fire and the floor of the refinery was soon running with batarian blood. Many slavers gestured and hollered at Percival, likely cursing him in their guttural tongue. Several disappeared into side passages, refusing to fight any longer. Sterling and Kara covered their commanding officer as he tore through the slavers. A trio of nearby slavers were quickly cut down as Sterling unloaded his Revenant towards them. Kara let out precise bursts from behind cover, exclusively targeting any slavers interested in the stranded trio.

The rest of the marines had finally made it across the refinery floor and had joined the fight. The battle suddenly shifted into a close-quarters brawl. The slavers had an advantage in terms of brute strength and their bladed armor, but the marines had numbers and tenacity. Furthermore, they were fighting to liberate the innocents that the slavers had taken. They fought tooth and nail, firing their weapons until their heatsinks ran out and then switching to knives, bayonets and even bare hands.

Eventually the only figures still standing in the refinery wore Systems Alliance colors. The floor was carpeted with slavers in their crude, bladed armor. The pungent odor of ruptured bowels and blood joined the heavy smell of smoke and gunpowder. It was oddly silent except for the odd human groan from a wounded marine. The slavers that had stayed had fought to the death.

Percival finally allowed himself to let go of the firing handles and slumped forward in exhaustion. His hands and arms were completely numb from the non-stop firing. He let out a huge sigh and wiped the his sweaty brow with the back of his hand.

James walked over and slapped hard him on the back. "I can't believe you pulled that off! This is going to be one for the books."

Percival gave a weak smile to his best friend and second-in-command. "James, get a medic to Cormack. Have a squad transfer the wounded back to the make-shift triage and get the marines ready to move. We're going straight for the slaves."

The marine nodded and handed Percival his water bottle. Percival took it and drank greedily. "He has a medic, don't worry. The slaves are probably deeper – down in the mining area-slash-landing pad. The slavers get the refined ore out using cargo-ships. Once we secure it and the slaver fleet has been knocked out we can open the doors and fly evac birds directly into the facility."

Percival grabbed his Avenger and checked it for damage. "I don't think the slavers are going to be looking to start another fight with us. Hope Admiral Octavian isn't going to leave us here in the stupid sand."

"Octavian will come through. We may actually wrap up this campaign by the day's end, be back on board by dinner-time."

Percival let out a huge sigh. He gestured for the rest of his marines in his squad to form up behind him. There were only five others now – Ducky, Kara, Sterling, Kane and Jazz. He glanced at the rest of his marines. Many of them looked as if they were teetering on the brink of exhaustion. Today had been by far the fiercest fighting the company had seen since the Slave Wars had started. It came with the heaviest losses.

"I hope you're right, James. We've lost a lot of marines. A quarter of our company is probably KIA at this point. We've lost the captain… Yogi… Miller is in a coma…. I'm not sure I can lose any more."

James looked at his friend. He had never seen the younger marine look so tired. They'd been in the same platoon since Percival was eighteen years old. He'd watched the fresh-faced marine quickly distinguish himself in an attempt to escape and eventually eclipse the shadow of his dead father, taking gunfire when he should have been taking shots in a bar with his friend after a hard day of classes.

It was in the eyes. Physically, Percival had grown bigger and stronger the last half decade, but his eyes had lost some of their innocent luster. Though they still lit up when he was happy, sometimes they stared a little too long, looked a little too unfocused.

James reached up and placed a hand on his friend's shoulder. "You're doing a fine job, Perc. You've made all the right decisions so far, and I have no doubt that without you, a lot more marines would have died. The captain would be proud."

Percival gave another weak smile. "You're getting soft, Fairy," he replied, reverting to the company's nickname for the diminutive gunnery chief. Percival readied his weapon and began to march out the refinery floor, headed deeper into the mining facility. The surviving members of his company formed up behind him in their individual squads.

James got the company into formation as Percival coordinated with Alexa's platoons. Their faces were haunted and every single marine was sporting some kind of armor damage or another, but their eyes… their eyes told another story. Each marine had a look of determination and James could see their gaze occasionally flicker with pride to the young Lieutenant leading them- even those who were five, ten, or even twenty years. They would follow him to the very end.

Percival turned back once more to James. "Not one more," he said.

The entire company marched deeper down into the bowels of the facility, absent the medics caring for the wounded. Lieutenant Alexa Volkov's marines began to trickle in from various side-passages to join their comrades and soon, Percival had the full company at his back.

The air became a lot cooler the deeper they went into the facility. It got darker as well. Percival shivered as the cold air rapidly cooled his sweat-soaked underarmor layer. He flipped on the tac-lamp on his Avenger and scanned attentively for any signs of possible ambush.

But the company followed the main passageway without incident. They soon came upon a large set of metal double-doors.

Percival gestured for the company to get into position, then for a squad to open the doors. The marines moved towards an old-fashioned crank handle embedded into the wall nearby and began to turn it. The massive doors slowly opened to reveal a massive, inky darkness. An apprehension began to fill each and every single one of the marines as they stared beyond the doors.

"We are so screwed," whispered Ducky. The marine stood side-by-side with Sterling, their former enmity now forgotten in the face of possible death.

"Stop complaining, Ducky. We're going to be fine," Jazz promised quietly from beside him.

Percival swallowed and tightened his grip on his weapon. He took a step over the threshold and into the darkness.

Percival heard a faint clinking sound come from the darkness beyond, then a slow, irregular shuffling. The lieutenant immediately signaled back to his marines. Rifles went up and the company went into full-alert.

"Percival, Danilovich found a lever. He thinks it's a power switch," James reported.

"Hit it…" whispered Percival.

There was a loud clang, then the hum of electricity which rose in a rapid crescendo. Lights installed in various corners of the room suddenly came on, illuminating most of the room in oily, yellow light. The room turned out to be a large cavern approximately the size of a football field. Mining equipment and numerous barrels marked in batarian script lay scattered haphazardly around. A large landing pad sat in the center and a set of blast doors were set directly above in the ceiling. A cargo freighter was currently docked on the pad.

But even more noticeable were the gaunt, skeletal figures huddled behind barrels and in the few remaining shadowy nooks and crannies of the room. Several shuffled out, gazing dully at the newcomers. They were clothed in rags and each of them had detonation-shock collars attached to their necks. Chains bound to their ankles prevented the slaves from running.

"James! Get the combat doctors in here, now!" Percival bellowed. "First and second platoons, gather them on the pad. Third platoon, sweep the room. Fourth, watch our backs!"

The marines lowered their weapons and leapt into action. Percival himself rushed to the first slave. She was a female turian. Her plates looked dull and thin and they had lost most of their luster. Her talons looked cracked. She was certainly malnourished.

He grabbed her gently and turned on his translator. "My name is First Lieutenant Lancelot Percival, I am with the Systems Alliance. We're here to help you."

The turian slumped into his arms and looked up at him with dull, glazed eyes. Her mandibles flapped weakly as she struggled to move her lips, but no sound came out. Her mouth gaped as she struggled to form words but still, no sound came out beyond a faint wheezing.

Percival's brow furrowed in confusion. "Miss, can you hear me?"

The turian weakly raised a hand and touched Percival's chestplate, resting a talon on the symbol of the Systems Alliance marines. Her dull eyes stared at it, but still she said nothing.

It was then that Percival noticed a line of surgical staples, starting at the temple and extending towards the forehead, just below the start of her fringe. He felt hot bile beginning to rise in the back of his throat.

Oh god… Percival thought in horror. No, they wouldn't. He gestured for Kane to come take the turian. The machine gunner obeyed and began to lead the turian to the pad where the other slaves were being gathered.

Percival stepped hurriedly towards the next nearest slave. This one was a gray-skinned salarian and conspicuously silent for one of his race. His large, black eyes were gray and listless and like the first slave he also looked thin and malnourished. Percival grabbed his face gently and tilted his head to the side. He too had surgical stitching.

What have they done to them?

"Lieutenant, there's something wrong with these slaves!" Jazz called out. A few marines echoed her discovery.

A marine with a red cross on her pauldron and a medical scanner in her hand made her way over to Percival.

"Lieutenant. Captain Alicia Finch, from one of the ad hoc medical companies. We've ran some initial diagnoses…" the combat doctor began. However, the rest of her sentence caught in her throat and she trailed off. She looked visibly distressed.

Percival laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "What's wrong with them, Doc?"

"The victims… they seem to have all had portions of their pre-frontal cortex altered. The Broca— the speech areas— of the brain were definitely altered, but I would need a stronger MRI scanner to give you the full diagnosis."

Percival stared at her. He felt sickened to his very core. "Do you mean they've been lobotomized?"

Finch sighed. "For lack of a better word, yes. Like I said, I can't tell you more without better scanning equipment, but it would appear that the slavers have operated on these victims – disabled their speech centers, made them more docile… In my experience, lobotomized subjects often exhibit regressed intellectual and emotional capabilities, becoming nearly infantile in the process. Though the practice was galactically banned more than a thousand years ago, some renegade factions do practice it and have even improved on it to create a domesticated and docile, but albeit unimaginative, working class."

Percival swallowed. "Can we heal them?" he asked. His features were calm but his blue eyes betrayed the immense about of pain that was starting to build up in his chest.

The doctor was quiet for a few moments. "The slaves can eventually be rehabilitated to an extent," she finally began to answer, "But based on my limited diagnosis, in my professional opinion it is highly unlikely that they will ever regain full functionality…"

Percival turned around and looked at the slaves that were being gathered on the pad. Several were starring with wonder at their marine saviors, but many more were apathetic and lethargic. They could understand basic directions from the marines but moved without purpose or emotion.

He should have felt hatred then. He should have felt anger. That was what a good, righteous person would do, right? Percival should have been cursing the slavers with every fibre of his being but Percival just couldn't. Instead, he felt tired. He felt an almost overwhelming wave of sadness.

Percival felt himself on the verge of tears. So much blood had been spilt by his company to get these people home, and now it wasn't even possible to bring them fully back. They'd only be bringing back shadows of their former selves. He had lost his Captain – the closest thing he'd had to a father since his real father had died in the line of duty. He had lost countless friends, some of which he'd known since he had started in the corps, and he stood to lose countless more.

He dug his fingernails hard into his palms. On some level he had empathized with the batarians. They had lost their homes and they had felt abandoned by the Council, yes, but this… There wasn't a single part of him that understood this. What the Council did or didn't do for them didn't justify what they had done.

Alexa, James, and a few of the other squad leaders approached the two officers. Captain Finch moved to explain to them what she had found, leaving Percival to stand in silence, staring at the floor.

Many of the squad leaders recoiled at the news. Ruiz threw up on the ground. Alexa simply took it all in stride, cursing briefly in Russian.

James moved away from them and approached his friend. "Percival, Alexa just got off the horn with the other company commanders."

Percival shook himself out of his self-pitying stupor and snapped back into the present. That is what his father would have done. That is what his Captain would have wanted. There would be time to grieve later.

"What's the word, James?"

"Victor company and a few companies from the 78th have secured their slaves and are waiting for evac. The fleet is still mopping up the rest of the enemy ships, but they should have birds down here in an hour, give or take. They won't risk a hot descent again, not when we've already reached the slaves. Whiskey and Yankee are still fighting to them. I asked about the state of the slaves the other companies found, they said that they were all malnourished but otherwise okay. Seems like what happened in this facility was an isolated incident."

Percival didn't know whether to curse or thank the cosmic universe for handing him the cruel fate of the slaves that he had found. "That's good news, maybe some good will come out of this after all. Did you get a headcount?"

"two-hundred-and-eleven," James reported. "And one more thing, Lieutenant.."

"What?"

"We got an update from triage. Cormack didn't make it."

Percival lifted his gloved hand and began to massage his temples, hiding the tears of frustration that were beginning to escape from his eyelids yet again. He had promised to himself that no one else would die, and yet he had failed once again to protect and to bring home someone that was counting on him.

He counted silently to ten as the doctor and James watched. It was another letter to write, but it could wait. All of it could wait until he had completed the mission.

Percival shifted the topic. He just had to get away from it all – just for a few seconds. He just wanted a few seconds away from the death of his friend and the state of the slaves. "James, there's a lot of barrels in here, any idea what they contain?"

"I had one of the techs look at them. Most of them contain liquid fuel for their mining equipment. Pretty volatile stuff. There's tons of raw ore and blasting instruments too, even some makeshift living quarters. Seems like they housed them where they worked."

One of the lights on Percival's comm. set suddenly flashed yellow, signaling a personal hail. Percival immediately opened it.

"First Lieutenant Lancelot Percival, acting commander of X-Ray company, what's the—"

The sound of gunfire and explosives came through the channel, accompanied by an overwhelming amount of that characteristic hissing that the slaver weapons made. A strained, panicked voice came online. "Percival! Oh thank god—We're under attack! Slavers have us surrounded and the captain is down!"

"Lieutenant?!" Percival stuttered. It was her voice, he'd recognize it anywhere. "Lieutenant! What's going on!"

The light for the battalion channel suddenly came on. "This is Second Lieutenant Guinevere Lockley, Zulu company, requesting reinforcements! We're pinned down by a large slaver force at the valley entrance! Captain Hitsugaya is down! I repeat, we're requesting reinforcements!"

James began to signal to the rest of the marines to form up. "What are your orders, Percival?"

Percival's personal channel came alive again. "Gwen?" he spoke into the comm.

"Percival, whatever happens, I want you to know that I don't regret a thing."

"Gwen?! Gwen!"

"Thank you, you were everything to me. I love you."

The channel was cut off from the other end after that. Percival stared blankly at James. His friend stood silently, waiting for Percival to say something.

"We…" he began. "We…"

So much blood had been spilled just to get those slaves home. Percival knew that it was their duty to do so, to lay down their lives for that cause. These were innocent people. Stolen from their homes, their friends and their families by the slavers to rebuild their once glorious empire. They had never asked for their pain or their suffering, and they had done nothing to deserve it.

Percival's blue eyes flickered to Captain Finch, to his marines, and then to the slaves currently waiting on the platform. He then thought of Woodhouse, of Cormack, and of all the other marines that he had lost today. All of them gone.

He then tried to picture a life without Gwen, without her smile, her laughter. He then thought back to the last conversation he ever had with his captain. He knew that the time had come for him to choose.

"James, leave a squad here to cover the ore freighter and to defend the slaves. Tell the triage unit up front to be on alert. We are not leaving over a hundred marines to die." Percival ordered.

Not one more

February 22nd, 2201, 0152 hours — Kite's Nest, Gunthel System — The Planet of Bahak

Data Corruption… Automatic Reconstruction Failed…Data Corruption…Profile Reconstruction Required…

(Malan Ghar'aran – Khar'shan Restoration Coalition)

In the sand dunes outside Mining Facility D6

The wind began to pick up, kicking up sand and swirling it around and around.

Malan was all too familiar with the sandstorms that plagued the surface of Bahak. They were coarse tempests that shrieked like a legion of banshees as they tore their way across the dunes. Some were so strong that it felt as if they were scouring the flesh right off your very bones.

The two batarians were currently lying flat on a large sand-dune overlooking the mining facility. For the last half hour, they had watched as small groups of their brethren had escaped the facility from various back-entrances and hidden passageways, fleeing the Systems Alliance marine liberators. These had been intercepted by the batarians, re-folded into the growing group of survivors and told of their plan to escape. The survivors all told the same story. The facility was lost.

There hadn't been another survivor for quite some time now. The two brothers had to act soon before the sandstorm picked up in ferocity and grounded them.

"The storm will mask our approach, and yours little brother," Revak grunted. The big batarian pulled on a pair of large, red goggles over his steel face mask, covering his four eyes from the onslaught of sand. He rose into a crouch and pulled his modified M-76 Revenant from his broad back.

"Once we have made contact with the enemy company guarding the valley's entrance, I will send you a signal. You can then proceed with the re-infiltration of the facility."

Malan looked at the two-score batarians crouched behind him. These would be the one accompanying him back into the mining facility. His brother would be taking the bulk of their surviving forces to engage the Systems Alliance company at the entrance. Hopefully, they would draw the majority of the Alliance troops stationed in the facility, allowing Malan and his tiny band of infiltrators to steal the ore freighter still parked inside and pick up his brother.

"Be swift and silent. Enter through the hidden passages and proceed directly to the freighter. Do not slow. The enemy commander will likely have left it guarded. Do not engage any more than you have to."

"Yes, brother," Malan nodded.

With that, the larger batarian got up and disappeared into the sandstorm followed by dozens of his surviving batarians and leaving his younger brother alone.

Malan waited and waited. The sand swirled around him protectively like a mother's embrace, cloaking him from enemy eyes. His fellow infiltrators were waiting at the bottom of the dune behind him. They knew that they would only have one chance to get this right.

Aside from the howling wind, there was almost no sound. Malan instinctively began to drift deeper into his own thoughts. He thought about a great many things. He thought about his family – now long dead. Unlike many others, Revan had been one of the few who had actually listened to Commander Shepard's tale of the Reapers and had believed her. When he had brought the news to his father, his father had laughed at him.

The then-patriarch of the Ghar'arans had called his son a frightful lamb, pointed to his mansion and to its high walls, to the Batarian Navy in orbit and to the legions of batarian soldiers on Khar'shan and laughed. Let the Reapers come, he had said. Let them taste the might of the Batarian Hegemony.

Revak had called his father a fool. He then took Malan and those of his father's household who would listen to him and they fled. His father cursed him for a coward even as he watched his eldest son walk through the doors of his house for the last time. They joined Captain Ka'hairal Balak on his ships and tried to connvince him that Kar'shan would fall. When the Reapers came, ruby light from the heavens rained down on the ancestral home of the Ghar'arans, rendering it a smoking crater before the first day had passed. It was only through Revak's counsel that Captain Balak could be convinced to leave the doomed system.

Revak and the other surviving members of the Batarian Navy had fought tooth and nail against the Reapers alongside Shepard. In that final, fateful battle on Earth, they had charged shoulder-to-shoulder beside Systems Alliance soldiers, Krogans, Turians. Hatreds of old between the various races had disintegrated as surely as their home had been. Malan remembered how towards the end, Revak and him had fought together against a legion of husks in an attempt to reach a doomed Systems Alliance convoy. Just as they were surrounded and all seemed lost, a brilliant red light had come out of the Citadel. The husks had shut down, leaving Revak and Malan to stare in wonder at their good fortune.

After the war, the brothers had felt betrayed when they had learned that no help would be coming to Kar'shan. The Turian Heirarchy was focused on rebuilding Palaven and their hard-hit colonies. The newly-formed Krogan Federation and the Geth and Quarian Syndicate immediately dedicated all their resources to rebuilding their respective homeworlds. The Council was a mess and the humans and asari had to not only deal with their own worlds, but also with a new sickness that had emerged on formerly Reaper-controlled planets they had termed the phenomenon.

All that the surviving members of the Batarian Navy could turn to were their fellow slaver brethren – large guilds that had spent the duration of the Reaper War hiding in the far reaches of the galaxy. They had emerged once the fighting was over with a plan – capture refugees fleeing from the aftermaths of the Reaper War to rebuild the Batarian Empire. In the beginning, Revak had argued against it, citing the newfound ties between the various races. None of them would stand should the slavers target members of any one of those races. The other militaries might have been decimated but they were still battle-hardened and disciplined compared to the slavers. He counseled them to be patient, to build on the good-will that the batarians had created with their part in the war. Help would eventually come, he said.

Eventually time went on and no help from the other races came to the batarians. Revak could no longer keep the restless slavers in check and they began to execute raids against refugee settlements. Slave facilities on various planets were created to fuel the rebuilding of their empire. The slaver guilds stopped listening to Revak and began to capture slaves and in doing so, triggered the ire of the mighty Systems Alliance.

Malan almost laughed in despair at how much grief would have been spared had more batarians listened to his brother. Whereas the Kar'shan Restoration Coalition – the pretentious name the leaders of the slaver guilds had given themselves – had opted to stay behind and defend their mining facilities to the last man, Revak had counselled them to flee and live to fight another day. When the idiotic Ferank brothers had decided to barbarically lobotomize their slaves even though their slaves were overall docile and hard-working, they had done so over the protests of Revak. In doing so, the Feranks had ensured that every last captured slaver would be facing a lifetime of imprisonment for heinous war crimes should they find themselves in front of a Council tribunal.

Malan had long strived to live up to his older brother. Revak always somehow made the right decisions. Malan never had the capacity to be that decisive. Ever since he was little, he had followed his brother. Even when Malan had finally joined the SIU, he had elected to serve under his brother's command.

His communications receiver suddenly crackled on, snapping Malan out of his reverie.

"Brother, we have engaged the enemy. Be prepared!"

"Yes, brother," replied Malan. The batarian gestured for his men to join him atop the dune. They watched as more than a hundred Systems Alliance marines emerged from the gates of the facility out into the sand. In the lead was a large, blond-haired human. Malan recognized the rank of First Lieutenant on his pauldron. Beside him was a smaller marine.

Malan peered at him through the sights of his Graal Spike-Thrower. It would be so easy to take him out now, so easy… But then he and his batarians would likely be set upon by the surviving marines. Without cover out on the dune, they would be overwhelmed. His brother would fall then, outnumbered by the Systems Alliance company he was attacking and the survivors of this company. The dream that was a restored Khar'shan would be lost on this god-forsaken planet, covered up by the swirling sand.

Once the marines were safely away in the distance, Malan made his move. Together, the batarians stealthily made their way back to the facility, down to a hidden door embedded in the side of the massive structure that fed into the maze of hallways within.

Revak and him had to survive, they just had to. Malan fervently believed that if anyone was capable of rebuilding the lost Batarian empire, it was Revak. Malan would do anything to ensure that Revak made it off this planet alive.

Be safe brother, I will be there soon. Malan promised.