Chapter 16: Expect More Unexpected

A/N: The music poll is at the top of my FFN profile! There are like 15 or so entries, so... this is technically a run-off poll. The top five most voted on will be placed in a final poll in the next update.

Sarria

They looked uncanny in person. Like Asari painted in browns and blacks. She'd seen mock-ups of how asari 'males' would look, according to the sensibilities of the other Council Races, but human males certainly fit the bill the most. Broad shoulders, angular features, shorter crests (or, manes, she supposed), some of them extending around their faces in manicured style, or wild growths. The females were just as curious. It was only as Sarria began to approach the military formation 'welcoming' her onboard the Indomitable, that she noticed the tufts of hair over their eyes, or the lack of facial tattoos. The great variety of faces, colors, sizes, and all of it trimmed away by the bulk of their armor. These were not parade uniforms, or the flashy officers' wear she'd seen during Drescher's demands. In fact, it looked nothing like the armor of the human soldiers she'd seen battling for dear life on that accursed planet. Not the dirty and dated vests of militia and underfunded defense forces. These soldiers were clad in flexing plates, showing only hints of the cloth fatigues beneath. Still primitive compared to the hardsuits most Council Forces wore, but still effective, evidently. And just the perfect amount of menacing. In terms of diplomatic shows-of-force, it ranked rather highly in Sarria's mind. And yet, she still found them almost cute in appearance. Like little baby Krogans in power armor.

The Asari contingent was doing a reasonable job of looking brave in the face of overwhelming firepower, at least. Her bodyguards, a cadre of Asari Huntresses, were as stoic as ever. The translator tech, however, was looking spooked, and Sarria couldn't say that was without reason. The shuttle ride to the Indomitable had put the size of the Super Dreadnought into terrifying perspective. And as they walked through the block of human soldiers, the dread at the back of her mind came to the forefront. There weren't going to be second chances at this.

At the end of their trek stood a line of (assumedly) stern-faced human officers, dressed in bleach white, and headed by the surprisingly short Admiral of the Human Fleet. In person, Admiral Drescher's aura of supreme confidence and righteous indignation was almost comical. Had she not entirely bested a numerically superior Turian fleet, Sarria would have found it funny. She stood at just a hair over a meter and a half, dwarfed by the other human officers on her flanks, and rather short even for an Asari. Her eyes burned directly into Sarria, like a wildfire stuffed in a bottle. It was enough to give even the seasoned diplomat pause, if only for a bare second, before she smiled and bowed her head to the Admiral she stood a full head taller than.

"Admiral Drescher." Sarria rose again to her full height, looking down on the human.

"Ambassador. I trust you found your way safely." The sharp consonants and gritted vowels of this Human's speech were represented masterfully by her translator. Like an Asari in need of a lozenge.

"I did, thank you. Your ship is most impressive, my full confidence is with your crew." That one caught the humans off guard. For a fraction of a second Drescher's eyes widened in what the translator described as surprise, before returning to her default expression.

"I'm glad our forces have inspired security, Ambassador. But, why don't we drop the pretenses here. You know I am not a diplomat, so there must be some ulterior motive beyond chatter that you are here to pursue."

So flustering didn't work. Sarria scolded herself for thinking such a weak tactic would do anything but lose social capital. "...I see. Well, Admiral, I am here because I represent the Council Races and their continued well being. That extends to your Turian captives. Despite the illegality of their actions, they are still citizens of the Turian Hierarchy and the Citadel Council, and we would appreciate at the very least some assurance that your facilities are-"

"-suitable for pirates and war criminals?"

Sarria winced. "I would not be quite so harsh in describing those soldiers, but yes, Turians have complex needs that Levo species may not be able to easily meet."

"Due to their genetic chirality? Luckily, it seems that your Turians brought with them ample food supplies for occupation. Besides, there are-" The Admiral caught herself, and transitioned into a pause for thought. "Other methods we possess to feed them, if required."

Sarria nodded, taking the easy answer with grace. Of course, there was a hint there. Had they encountered Turians before? Alternate chirality life forms? It was obvious that Humans had been spacefaring for some time, but perhaps for far longer than most first contacts ended up being? Or was it simply alluding to a darker solution? Finally, a loose thread had shown itself, and now Sarria could do what she did best. Unravel.

But not yet, of course. Pull too harshly, and the whole weave is destroyed. Better to take one's time, to tease out secrets they think too minor to care about. "Well then, Admiral. I am satisfied. Though, I was hoping to arrange a further concession, as a show of good will, I would be willing to take up lodging on your vessel to-"

The Admiral held up a hand. "Do you think I'm stupid, Ambassador?" Sarria's mouth twitched, before opening. Drescher cut her off. "Let me rephrase that, Asari. In the long and storied history of my species, 'ambassadors' have been two things. Diplomats, and spies." The human ground that word out. "Now, I will make no presumptions on the nature of your mission, for I do not wish to begin another… diplomatic incident... between our people. But letting you wander on board my ship, even escorted, even restricted to a small wing of a deck, would be a gross breach of security. Even your presence here is merely tolerated because of my-" She paused, before putting a finger to her ear. And then turning her back. Sarria wondered if such an action was a pointed insult, like it was to an Asari or Batarian, or if it were a sign of trust, as it were to a Salarian, or Turian. The Admiral gave a look to another officer to her left, and the man shouted, a call responded to by the entire assembled force behind Sarria. The call was being carried by various leaders within the formation, who, with precision and utmost speed, cleared the space of troops. Which left Sarria and her party with the cadre of human officers.

Then, the Admiral turned. "You wanted to see more of this ship, yes? An escort will arrive shortly that will convey you to a diplomatic center. There is a friend of mine that wishes to meet you."

Sarria let that wash over her for a moment. "I… I see. Well, if I can be of service, I am happy to assist you, Admiral. This wouldn't happen to be your Ambassador?"

The human's look darkened. "If only it were... Regardless, you ought to be the one to speak with them. I've received an update from navigation, your ambassador will be arriving within the hour, I do hope this occupies your time. Goodbye." And then, she left, along with all but two officers assigned to babysit.

Sarria quickly retreated to the safety of her bodyguards, who looked about as worried as she felt. Why she always got assigned the irritable and justifiably upset was something she was taking up with the Diplomatic Corps. As for Drescher's accusation? Well, it was a sharp way to put it, but not exactly something she could deny. And it was yet another hint about the nature of this species. Pragmatic, warlike, and hiding something. The cool veneer covering scars of some kind. A massive intraspecies war? The Turians had suffered something similar in their history, though long before the discovery of combustion engines or combined arms. The Unification Wars not counting, of course. As monumental as those Birds like to make it sound, it was barely more than a slap fight between colonies that had more souls than guns. The Krogan civil wars were legendary in civilized space, but those were the Krogan, a species practically designed for conflict. These humans seemed social and refined, rather than barbaric deathworlders. Soft and squishy, seemingly no aptitude for biotics, no hard metal shells, no claws, no gargantuan brain eating away at their lifespan. They were like the Hanar, unassuming and cute. Except these humans had vessels that dwarfed the Destiny Ascension, or even the super dreadnoughts that the Krogans had only thought up during the Rebellions.

It was only a short wait for her escort. Three gigantic humans clad in an intimidating hardsuit approached, and waved her team to follow without speaking. There were rumors among the Turian ground forces, rumors of some kind of power armored special units they used to bolster their defensive line. Apparently they weren't just rumors. Weapons and explosives were sticking precariously to their suits, colored white with red stripes bleeding down their arms and legs. How could those cute little humans fit in something so large?

The behemoths weren't forthcoming with answers, and Sarria had no intentions to ask them. Thus, the escort was quick and silent. The metal men thudding almost preposterously soft to her ears. There was a lift, which moved near imperceptibly, taking her party deeper into the superstructure. They encountered no other humans on their walk. No soldiers, or sailors, just utilitarian corridors painted white and gunmetal grey. What was odd was the blatantly reinforced nature of these corridors. Unlike even the most military minded of Turian vessels, these walls were marked with structured supports and imposing bulwarks every couple meters. Sarria was no shipbuilder, but even she could tell it was excessive. She could tell that they were being routed around things, avoiding more sensitive areas of the ship, and that didn't particularly bother her. She just hoped Humans had more artistic sense than Salarian engineers.

After perhaps 30 minutes of walking aimlessly, her escort stopped, and positioned itself before a door. One of the escorts spoke: a deep, powerful voice that thrummed in her ears, even through the translation aids. "Step into this room. When you are ready, press the green button on the table." Sarria couldn't tell which human cared to speak, so she mumbled an indistinct thanks and walked to the door, which opened for her.

The room was spacious, yet otherwise spartan. The same harsh white light that lit the corridors was present here, along with the promised 'table.' A wide conference table, circular, with a central lighting element at its center that reminded her of a hologram emitter. Well, at least that's familiar. Her team followed suit, filling out the space that, at least for a moment, wasn't occupied by unfriendly guns. After a few well deserved moments of rest, a light began to blink green near her position on the table, and she pressed the button quickly, expecting her promised diplomat.

The first thing that told her she was wrong was the split jaw.

Jourdai

As they followed the waypoint on the tablet, it became obvious that things were heating up in the bunker. Humans were scurrying about in the light, speaking in tongues the weary band of Turians couldn't understand. The shadows felt heavy on them, lurking like the furry rodents hiding in the smaller crags. But Jourdai kept his talons sharp. And their captive's device was still pointing them in the right direction. At least until a marine from the 1401st Winged Infantry had a bright idea. "They probably still have our weapons and armor, right? To study them? Couldn't we just take them back?"

The group was moving through a near pitch black area of the bunkers, and at once stopped. The conversation had been going on for minutes now, just a bunch of sharps moaning about their missing equipment; some of it customized outside of regulations, some of it containing collections of sensitive pictures for people back home. After a while, Jourdai had simply tuned it out. Until now, of course. "Do you think that would be prudent, given our current state?" He directed the question at no one in particular.

Another soldier, emaciated and marked with the facepaints of a rural colony, spoke up. "With all this activity, they may have discovered our escape, right? If we had our weapons, we could fight our way out. If the hostage taking doesn't work, of course." Jourdai was like to agree. He could feel the exhaustion seeping into his bones. The usual pool of biotic energy coursing through his veins felt like puddles, and he could see it in everyone around him. Slack mandibles, drooping shoulders, pale skin around the eyes. The artificial muscle in those suits would help us move about. The combat stims as well. But, I wasn't in command.

Everyone turned to Bedas, and for a moment, there was silence as she glanced about her soldiers. Slowly coming to the same realization I had. "Jourdai, ask the human if it knows where our equipment is held."

"With pleasure." He tapped the cube, and with a dull pulse the air took on a static quality. "Human? Do you know where our equipment is?" Jourdai intoned.

The human, for its part, was quick in his reply. "I know of where{specified items}located. It is guarded by {aquatic forces} on the way. Are we going?"

Jourdai shook his head to the affirmative, before cursing. "Yes, mark it on this device." He offered the slate, and with a few taps a new chevron marked the position. The human had become near docile in the hour or so since its capture. It's breathing had slowed, and the constant presence of two of the rescued infantry had kept it mostly silent. Jourdai had been worried that this human would run off, or try to lead them into a trap, but all signs had (literally) been pointing them to the exit, after some application of the scanning function of the cube. Just leaving it in the presence of lettering, while on, would map a holographic overlay of it's approximate meaning in Turian. It was remarkable tech, especially for these primitives, and he was glad he'd taken it off his captors. However, there was nothing pointing them towards this location. This part of the complex was nearly deserted. Solitary humans walked alone, or in pairs, oftentimes armed with their bulky rifles, and armored in plate and armored cloths. Every time he saw these humans, it made him question their ability to resist so brazenly. Yes, their weapons were often impressive. Jourdai has seen too many of his fellows scythed by lasers or melted by plasma to not believe that. But they only managed to protect themselves with these rags. Some better armed and armored opponents had been discussed around campfires and in makeshift barracks on the surface, not like the demonic force that had demolished his own Kabal, but still equipped with shields and better armor. In any case, down here it was more of the same. Equipment better suited for militia than a true army.

The true complexity eluded the Kabalim at the moment, but further pondering was halted by the soft beeping of the slate in Jourdai's hands. They had arrived.

The massive corridor that acted as the bunker's main pedestrian artery traversed perhaps three or four kilometers, with hundreds of smaller branches peeling away in various directions along its breadth. Near the entrance, the long corridor widened, and bulkheads started to appear, bulwarks against intrusion and explosive force that were, for the most part, unguarded and insecure via the vent system. Luckily enough, for the Turians at least. The armory was just next to the closest of the bulkheads, and thus was still accessible to them without crawling through vents. Unluckily, four primitives were also there, conferring amongst themselves. These did not look like the common militia Jourdai had grown used to fighting. They were covered in hard plate and articulating servos that glinted slightly in the harsh white light of the corridor. And, of course, they were armed. Bulky slug throwers either hung forgotten from slings, or held comfortably.

Hidden as they were behind the unfinished maintenance crawlspaces, the Turians were only in a slight rush. The longer they spent hidden and unarmed, the more likely someone would find the mess they'd left in their escape. After the hour or so of alternately running, crawling, and hiding, someone would be checking on their cells any moment. This had to go fast.

Luckily, Jourdai had a plan. Starships were like bunkers in many ways. The primary one being this: fires could kill them if they were not dealt with instantly. Bunkers, unlike spaceships, didn't have an easy way to deal with it. Cutting off ventilation was difficult, and sucking the air out with the handy dandy vacuum of space wasn't an option. That meant, if there happened to be a conspicuous lack of other anti-fire safety features, they'd need to divert people away from the other nearby locations to put the fire out, which would give them enough time to force their way past the bulwarks by way of the vents.

Locating a decrepit pass-through near the first airlock was the easy part. The rest? Evidently, fire suppression in human bunkers could be defeated with a wrench. The old halogen bulbs in the space burned just hot enough for an ember. And the piles of papers and boxes haphazardly thrown in the room sure looked like tinder. The fire started quickly, and the Turians waited patiently for the smoke alarm to pop.

Funnily enough, it was a patrolling human that first alerted the guards at the armory. A panicked militia stormed up to the group of four jawing guards, shouting something that sounded urgent. Easy as that, two of them shouldered their rifles and ran for the fire the Turians had started. Another ran into the armory proper for whatever reason, the last becoming pale and stony at their post, their rifle hanging by their side. The Turians under Jourdai's command waited for a minute. A long, impatient, talon biting minute. A fire alarm went off, and they jumped into action.

Distracted by the alarm suddenly blaring from the intercom, the marine had turned to the armory entrance, and away from the flimsy side panel the Turians were hidden behind. Three ground pounders from the 135th raced towards the human, their wrenches raised, before tackling the human in one fell swoop. The marine's cry of alarm was cut short with a meaty thunk, but Jourdai didn't see that himself. He rushed towards the armory with the rest of the group in tow, hefting the primmie pistol up, towards the human beginning to operate an intercom. Jourdai didn't blink, he just squeezed the trigger. The guard had time to yelp in surprise before the stolen weapon bucked, and the primmie's face disappeared in a cloud of gore.

"Clear!" the Kabalim clipped, quickly filtering around the racks of human weapons, shaking off the ear-splitting roar of the magnum in his hands. The space was cluttered with guns, shell casings, and tech junk that wouldn't have looked out of place in a suit rat den. There was a partially disassembled assault rifle, its integrated scope dangling softly from the body of the weapon by several loose wires. Wait, dangling? Hadn't the hostile just entered? The sharp cry of a human question came from far within the armory, its overfilled shelves blocking the view. There was another human hidden. The several Turians within the room looked at each other briefly, and then to Jourdai. A probing screech came from the hidden human. As if it were unsure of what had happened. Jourdai flexed his mandible inwards, a silent gesture that emphasized stealth to his comrades. And then, they crept towards the voice.

The cluttered ground made following that order harder than it seemed. Spare casings littered the place, as did wire and metal scraps. If Jourdai were back in basic, assigned to keeping this armory in battle conditions, he'd probably be spaced for treason. The thought brought him little comfort, as he crouched at eye level with gleaming, angular weapons. A messy armory, with spotless weapons. These primies confuse me…

Surprised him, too. As their missing human turned a corner and tripped right over the turian commando, knocking him in the face with the fire extinguisher the human had been carrying. The soldier screamed, and started beating at the turian's face with the heavy red canister, until Jourdai brought up his guard, and gathered biotic strength in his fist. Either the human hadn't noticed the deep purple glow, or figured battering down the Kabalim's guard would end the display faster. In anycase, a shot rang out, annihilating the human's upper torso.

"Fuck!" The newly made corpse clattered over the Turian, coating him in the human's blood. The smell was horrific, and with the gathered biotic energy, the corpse was shoved off with a resounding thump, and a gag from Jourdai. The smell of iron was utterly overpowering, but he shook it off just long enough to give a nod of appreciation to the soldier wielding a human scattergun.

Jourdai didn't linger on the corpse for all that long. He wiped what gore he could from his face, and pulled himself to his feet. "All clear?" He asked the room. A chorus of chirps to the affirmative sounded, and he flexed his mandibles in relief. No more combat, at least for a few short minutes. "Send a team to link with Bedas, the rest of you start arming yourselves! You," He motioned towards the scattergun wielder, "You'll make a sweep with me for any of our combat gear-"

"I've found some of our gear!" Came a voice from the far end of the armory.

"Then use it! Rotating watch, now!" The few Turians that hadn't managed to find weapons in their time securing the armory ran off in search of their gear, while those well armed took up watch, waiting to be relieved for their own chance at armor. The order was a relic of the Turian school yard, for games of flag tag and other pseudo-war games the Hierarchy oft encouraged. That wasn't to disparage the order's effectiveness. By the time Bedas and her force had returned, the motley crew under the Kabalim's command had slipped back into their harnesses and armor, dented, dirty, and often partially disassembled, taking up defensive positions around the corridor leading in.

Smoke had deposited on Bedas' lower eye carapace, and had coated her in a heavy layer of ash and errant pieces of paper. "The fire will keep them occupied, for now at least. Our human pointed out the primary comm link to the entrance, ideally we'll catch them by surprise. You're relieved, find something to wear." Jourdai nodded curtly and scurried off to rearm. As he traveled into the deep parts of the armory, it became clear just why the humans had kept the front so messy. There simply wasn't room to store things neat. In the bowels of the room were rows and rows of stripped armor and arms. Blood spattered and ruined beyond operation for the most part. The neat rows reminded him of a trophy room in a disturbing way. The stripped claddings of battle shining dimly in the light, where dirt and grime and gore hadn't robbed them of that quality.

In the furthest reaches of the room lay the functional armor. Work tables were set up here, with tools and equipment at the ready, working to dismantle and study. Terminals for notes, flat pads similar in make to the one their captive used as a map. The workings of a primitive reverse engineering operation? Had Jourdai more time to spare, he might have ordered his forces to rig explosives and deny this knowledge, but his men were far more important to him than some preliminary technology reports, and the raw materials for new research were already rotting above his head. The thought of information security being his primary concern was a relic of precapture protocol. His men's lives mattered most of all.

Still, Jourdai took a precious minute scanning the rows for his personal armor, and managed to find it, almost entirely untouched by prying hands. The purple and grey bands about the shoulders and torso made it easy to distinguish, and, compared to the others it was in near pristine condition. Tools laid about it, as if it were just about to be dissected. Containers of what must be cleaning solution and a pile of dirty rags. The humans continued to confuse. Why bother with my armor? Was it the biotic enhancements?

In any case, he had no extra time to waste. He pulled the armor on and sealed the helmet, relishing the sight of his HUD more than he'd ever thought possible. Or maybe that was the auto-injection of pain killers, saturation sugars, and a shit load of caffeine and other stimulants. Suddenly, the Kabalim felt like he'd just found the meaning of life, and he shook his head to clear away the sharp euphoria. As Jourdai found his way back to the front, he found his comrades preparing for the second stage in their plan. Several of the stronger escapees were busying themselves with ripping the vents from the walls, and funneling their fellows into them. Their maintenance worker hostage had been bound and bundled into the room, along with two other newly acquired humans, wearing what appeared to be firefighting equipment.

Bedas was in the process of armoring up, a soldier from her original squad having deposited a set of armor a size or two bigger on her. Smoke was starting to leak in from down the corridor, chunky black smoke that forced his auto-respirator to kick on. Some of their number weren't lucky enough to have working ones, and it very much showed in how eager they were to push through the vents. Bedas herself had attached the helm first, before nodding in the Kabalim's direction.

"Lucky bastard. They cleaned it for you too?"

"They were just about to rip it apart, so I think I got lucky. What's the plan then?"

"Push the vents, capture or kill anything in our way, hopefully find a way to get the hell out of here. Weapons you secured will come in handy. Shouldn't have expected less from a kabal…"

Jourdai took the praise gracefully. Kabals were something of pariahs in Turian social circles, and in society at large. What praise they received from outside their close knit circles were treasured, if almost always in secret. "Thank you, Beda-"

There was a crash behind them, and the sound of human shouts, along with the booming of human weapons thundering down the corridor. The Turian officer turned, a grim expression on her face. "Some of our men volunteered to hold off the firefighting crews. They thought it may serve as a distraction for the Humans, might even get them to open some of the bulkheads..."

Jourdai said nothing. They'd been injured, and had volunteered to not slow the rest down. Such sacrifices were best left unspoken. Jourdai hoped their spirits found their way swiftly.

An echoing shout from down the vents brought him back to the action. "The way is clear Commander! We have control of the guard post, and are securing the next vent!" There was a staccato of cheers from the remaining men, as Bedas approached to shout back, maneuvering around the formed line in front of the vent.

"When you reach the final bulkhead, wait for the rest of us! Take prisoners!" Shouts of affirmation echoed back, satisfying Bedas, who turned around. "Double time then! Let's get a move on!"

The line on this side of the vents slowly shrunk, as newly armored turians trundled through the unfinished vents. Behind them, the sounds of combat only grew in size and scope, and the alarm shifted from a calm urgency, to an angry blaring. Jourdai knew an intruder alarm when he heard it. Finally, it was his turn. Only Bedas was left behind him, busying herself with the charges that would destroy the bulkhead controls, and the vent system along with it. The way would be sealed behind them both, assuming humans preferred bulkheads to fail shut. Jourdai gave her a nod, before clambering into the shaft.

Immediately, Jourdai understood why it had taken so long to push through. Unlike the various mud pits and hell holes the Kabalim had found himself face first in, the metal here was flat and without traction. He found himself scrabbling up the vents, prying for purchase on what few rivets and seams could be found. Sometimes he lamented his lack of Asarioid ankles. He'd get to use his talons to dig into the metal, rather than have them suspended off the cool panels by his ankles. But, he made due, and after a minute or so of effort, pushed himself out of the vent, and into the 'airlock' between the first and second of the bulwarks. It was a scene of violence already cooled. The checkpoint station was already covered in red blood, the humans stationed there already piled in a far corner, their weapons repurposed or thrown in separate piles. Unlike before, however, there was no line to clamber down the hatches. Only the muffled report of human guns echoing down the vent system for a brief moment, before falling silent. The look he gave one of the soldiers standing by asked the question for him.

"Our first party just made it in, they'll be opening the doors for us any second now…"

Right on cue, a whirring mechanism began to pull and groan, as the bulwark began to move. Some assorted cheering rang out, only for it to be interrupted by the clattering of a series of small metal tubes. The cheering died in everyone's throats. "Helmets!" Jourdai screamed, as a series of blinding flashes filled the room with thick smoke and strings of confetti. Only a lucky few in the room had their helmets on, most finding no need in what was supposed to be a secure location. Thus, the flashbangs worked wonders. Even Jourdai found it difficult to think after them, his auto-dimmer having absorbed only part of the flash, and none of the noxious fumes that were making it almost impossible to breathe. That super soldier must have broken his filtration system…

Belatedly, Jourdai raised his weapon, shaking the daze from his mind, just in time for the butt of a rifle to knock them into the bulkhead behind them.

Aulgar

Aulgar wasn't sure how he was alive. The deck was sparking and steaming, corpses were still littering the ground, and his hands wouldn't stop shaking. There was a dull droning in the back of his head, that told him one of his eardrums was shot. And the ring was still looming. Floating serenely in the depths of interstellar space. Was it their base of operations? Whatever it was, to be seen at such great distance it must be enormous. And for such an elegant superstructure, these pirates had either the engineering prowess of Prometheans, or they'd found someone else's techno marvel.

Given the state of their ships, before they'd been reduced to ash, it could be either. Or perhaps even a first contact. That didn't much appeal to the Provisional Senior Captain. First contacts meant paperwork, dealing with the Subjugation Commission, and a long, hard look into the private affairs of commanding officers. That wasn't going to fly with Aulgar. Sure, Subjugation Committees sometimes offered land and pensions to those who discovered primitives. Most of the time, they find some fault within the command staff and have them demoted, or put on pirate patrol indefinitely, so they can stuff their own mouths with the riches.

Briefly, Aulgar considered just blasting the last remaining ship to space junk and leaving. The report would read: 'Encountered heavy pirate resistance, enemy destroyed.' And Aulgar would live out the rest of his days as a Senior Captain, and why not add an Asari harem to the daydream as well? There was no way he was getting out of this, so he might as well do his duties as an officer well.

"Try and find out if… whatever those bastards are can speak Batarian, dispatch the Xexis with an escort to the unidentified object, take one of the cruisers. Stay on high alert, soldiers!" And there was no response. On the under-officers and the rank and file, confusion had screwed onto their faces, their many eyes turning to their direct superiors. From the Seniors, most of them anyway, there was a stony contempt. Aulgar hadn't expected a rallying cheer or the like, but utter silence? One could have popped their eye out and not uttered a word in this.

The Senior Weapons Officer finally spoke up. "Aulgar, end the charade! The battle is over, we must vote to instate a permanent position for the Captaincy-" .

The newly Senior Comms Officer, Bifarki, bit into the tirade. "There is still an enemy floating right outside this hull, Senior Officer!"

"All the more reason to instate an officer with the support of this crew!"

A chorus of voices took umbrage with that particular request, most of the senior officers shouting in support, while a minority bellowed in outrage. The under-officers, however, were a stony silent. They knew it was not their place, and they feared reprisal, no matter who won. Perhaps they ought to.

Aulgar gave a look to his old station. As much as he loathed his newly former position, he hadn't entirely hated his men. Really, he was almost surprised he didn't. He had heard every story under the stars from his fellow officers about the disobedient and stupid soldiers they commanded. How they failed to respect their underlings, and routinely disciplined them for minor faults and errors. How his 'fellows' often complained of secrets and fears of daggers in the back that Aulgar had never once considered at his own station. As the shouting reached a fever pitch, he noticed the many eyes of those subordinates. The fear and worry in their hearts, and also the disdain. The impotent rage they felt, being talked over. Ignored. Treated like slaves and suit-rats. And Aulgar smiled.

"Enough!" The speaker on the Captain's console still worked, thankfully. There were a few cursory jabs delivered among the quarrelers, but all fell silent. Perhaps it was simply habit that kept them in line for that brief moment, but he could tell the moment wouldn't last. So, his voice boomed across the deck. "Under-Officer-of-the-Deck Sorbitar, I have not seen you give your opinion on the matter?" There was a puzzled second, and briefly Aulgar prayed he hadn't gotten the tech's name incorrect.

"It is improper to speak on such matters, Senior Captain."

"I have given you permission. In fact, I have given all of the officers on this deck permission. You are all of great skill, given that you have won this battle, thus, you deserve input on this decision." Almost all of the Senior Officers began to protest at once, but sometimes a coup only needs the threat of an Under Officer revolt to get cooler heads to prevail. Aulgar's grin became predatory as the original Weapons Officer led the efforts to calm the Seniors. "Continue Sorbitar, I wish to hear your opinion."

The soldier still looked hesitant in his speech, but there was a newly made glint in his eyes. That of ambition. "I did not see any other Deck Officers able to take command in the heat of battle, but if there are those who deem themselves worthy now? Let them stand a vote. With all Officers of the Deck."

Aulgar had a reputation on this ship as an officer who respected his Minors, there was no chance in hell that the newly enfranchised Officers wouldn't vote him in. And everyone knew it. Aulgar slipped off the Captain's platform, approaching that annoying Weapons Officer with his teeth practically bared, only two of his eyes bothering to look at him. "Do you think those terms are agreeable, Senior Officer?"

His lower eyes looked down, before meeting Aulgar's gaze again. "I don't think it will be required, sir."

Aulgar nodded, about to order his previous instructions continued, when an Under Officer on comms interrupted. "Senior Captain, we are being hailed."

Aulgar rolled an eye, stalking back to the Captain's platform. "By who, Under Officer?"

"The unidentified ship, sir."

Another cacophony, though this time it was the sound of his crew getting back to work. Aulgar cut through the din with clarifications, "Are they using a registered IFF?"

"No sir, but they're using the correct protocols for communication, specifically for allied Batarian forces. Nothing on ship identity."

Aulgar took a seat in his chair, and pondered. "Are they sending this to all the fleet?"

There was a pause, as Comms conferred with Sensors. "... No. Just us…" How the hell did they know we were a flagship? The Ellerika was a standard heavy cruiser configuration, no different from the others in the fleet in all but station. How had they known?

"InfoSec, have the hail secured, and isolate the signals to the main screen alone. I don't want a security breach, understood?" The Senior Officer shrank from Aulgar's gaze as he gave the affirmative, but his Minors looked energized. Good. Aulgar spent a moment composing himself, and took a breath. "Put the hail through."

In moments, the visage of *whatever* these creatures were filled the screen. They were aliens, which, honestly, shouldn't have surprised anyone. The hulking figure wore a large, vaguely triangular headpiece wreathed in bronze and silver, that covered its head down to a series of metallic protuberances, defending its oddly shaped jaw. Two sets of seemingly prehensile structures clung tightly about a central upper maw, the teeth erupting from the menacing flesh only barely visible. It was horrifying. It reminded Aulgar of old witch tales carried all the way from Khar'shan, of men with eyes swapped for mouths when they disrespected wandering old witches on summer nights. But Aulgar had seen true horrors in his time, and a monster made real was far down the list of nightmares he'd seen first hand.

However, this beast was full of surprises as well. It's Jaws flapped and undulated, and perfect Serg'Fesh Batarian emanated from them. Not in the manner of instant translation either, but fully natural speech. "Batarian. I present you the Covenant Super Carrier Shade of Ablution, and her Fleetmaster, Gorz' Dazmee."

It's procession of undulations ended, and with it the deck as a whole let out its breath. Aulgar regarded the thing, and chose his words carefully. "I am Senior Captain Aulgar of the HV Ellerika, and the Navy of the Batarian Hegemony. Vessels under your command have engaged in piracy and direct combat against the People's of the Hegemony, and following cessation of combat, will be tried and punished to the extent of the law. Do you wish to surrender yourself and your crew?"

"Do I wish? No. But to preserve the lives of my crew, I will do what must be done. Would it be possible to be placed in contact with your commanding officer to organize the surrender of a military force?" Aulgar balked in silence. If this one could prove they were an organized government, they could in theory demand honorable surrender. And Aulgar's comms boat certainly had a connection to the Admiral that could be utilized. Given that the fleet's presence here was already a shade under-authorized… this creature knew he couldn't follow.

Giving pirates an "unofficial execution" wasn't exactly unheard of, but that was against ships that weren't roughly equal to the displacement of his entire fleet. Just because that 'Super Carrier's hadn't participated in the fight didn't mean they couldn't pull something else out of their ass. Aulgar wasn't willing to bet more lives today. And certainly not his own life.

Aulgar steeled himself as he looked upon the beast again. "It wouldn't, Fleetmaster. I think you may know why."

The creature hummed, crossing its arms over a chest adorned in bronze. A hardsuit was evident below the hunched neck, but the screen cut off beyond that. "I appreciate your force of will, convincing your fleet to jump blindly into the night after a foe. You are certainly unlike the other pirate hunters your Government has dispatched. Cunning. Your superiors can't possibly appreciate that…"

More than this thing knew… Aulgar scoffed, and fluttered his eyes. "The commiseration is appreciated, but this is not important right now, you are still under arrest. Your men must be made to render-"

There was a halting bark that the Captain interpreted as laughter, before the creature silenced itself. "This vessel is of far more value than what slaves you may procure from it, Senior Captain. And, judging by the movement of your vessels, you have discovered an even greater prize." The thing turned in its seat, motioning at the blurred image of the Ring displayed above the Sensors Deck, as if cognizant of its presence. "You have seen it too, I hope?"

"The Ring?"

"The Halo, yes. It is a monument to the beauty of this universe, don't you think?"

Aulgar regarded the ethereal ring floating in space. Glinting off what little starlight intercepts it in the void. "I suppose I'll need to see it up close to believe it. You were heading to this structure, did your kind make it?"

Another laugh. "If only we had been so endowed with knowledge. It is Forerunner, come into existence in the eons before our time."

"You mean Prothean?"

The beast thought for a moment. "No, I do not." There was a minor commotion on the deck which Aulgar silenced with the touch of a button; though that did not stop his own curiosity from peaking. It continued, "The Halo is… a place of significance for my people. We have been searching for decades, and now at the hour of its finding, I have been defeated. I wish to go to this place, Senior Captain. To step on sacred soil. I offer that you come with us, and in exchange, you will learn of this Ring's secrets."

Aulgar shook his head. "To plunder Promethean relics, any relics, is improper. Illegal, more importantly."

"What is improper, and what is best for you and yours, so often intertwine Senior Captain."

It was Aulgar's turn to laugh. "You would sell your Sacred 'Halo' for your safety?"

The beast hummed. "On the Great Journey, even the greatest sacrifices are Temporary…"

Author's Note:

...

Wait, when was the last time I uploaded?

...

...

Oh Fuck

Yeah, its been awhile. School plus work plus pandemic plus The Big Sad (TM) meant that while I've been working on and off on this for maybe the past year, like half of it was done in the last two months. Aulgar's entire section was done in the last week. When is the next update coming? God knows. Sorry to say I have no real plan, but it could be anywhere from next month to the next equinox. If you're actually here reading this, thanks for sticking around, I appreciate it bruv. Have you got comments or reviews? Leave them please! It keeps the pencil sharp! Not that I'm actually writing with a pencil or anything.

But don't go yet! Sections of this fic are being rewritten to accommodate a major retcon. Well, not super major aspects, just the timeline of events. Instead of the fic being 100 years after the end of Halo 3, it is now more like 50 years. Why? I guess I liked 50 years better. The story on the whole is not likely to change all that much. Some dates and offhand comments are prolly gonna get changed a bit, and perhaps some old characters will be inserted here or there. That's about it. If you spot any screw ups (like me mentioning 100 years instead of 50, stuff like that), please hit me up so I can fix them. Thanks!

One last thing! The music poll is up on my FFN profile! There are like 15 or so entries, so... this is technically a run-off poll. The top five most voted on will be placed in a final poll on the next update. So, y'know, expect that when Hell freezes over.

Hope you had some Happy Holidays!

-Turtle