Aggressor: Rise of Man
Chapter 9
Departures
"Gentlemen, the Attican Traverse is a dangerous place. It is also our AO for the foreseeable future. That makes it our duty to be the most dangerous thing out there. We must be not only ghosts, but makers of ghosts. Our colonists are relying on us to strike fear into every alien beyond the Aquila Rift, that we might never see another Turian Hierarchy slouching out of the shadows to bring war to their peaceful shores. Our legend begins tomorrow!" - remarks made to the Far East Frontier Fleet prior to the Attican Campaign, Rear Admiral Akoni Kahoku
There was a blast of sound all around where Shepard had made his hiding spot. Bright lights blazed, blinding in its suddenness in the dim tunnels. The sound of blazing hot tungsten whickered through the air above Shepard's head. With a series of sharp twangs, bright holes appeared in the fuel bunker just over his right shoulder as the thunderstorm of battle continued all around him. All around him. Shepard's eyes flicked up. A dark figure in the tunnels behind where he'd hidden himself loosed long shards of light from an oversized handgun that barked like a hellhound. The flashes of the gunfire lit an impassive blank war mask, black in the darkness of the tunnel. The figure traded fire with both the mech platforms and the aliens who had previously been at their throats. The guttural voice of the first alien roared, the translator throwing up a lot of *unknowns* and *suspected expletive* warnings. The voice was getting closer. Shepard scrabbled around in the garbage at his feet, searching for a weapon. His hands wrapped around a length of metal pipe. He heaved it up, preparing to swing it like a baseball bat at the first thing to come walking past the fuel bunker.
There was a sudden warble of electronic screams and the volume of gunfire dropped dramatically. Shepard looked back over his shoulder to where the dark figure had crouched. The side tunnel was empty. The desultory firefight faded into a silence filled only with the ringing of Shepard's ears. There were shuffling sounds back down the corridor, followed by a heavy rattling sound, then by the loud, steady clomp of what had to be absolutely massive footfalls. Sweat broke out across his forehead and he gripped the metal pipe tighter. The footfalls came closer, just the other side of the wheeled fuel tank. A barrel shroud almost an inch across preceded the footfalls around the corner. It was attached to a massive weapon, large enough to be one of the SRPA's 20mm autocannons, though it swayed as if hand held. Shepard had only seen something that large mounted on one of the patrol Samsons, or slung beneath a gunship. Whatever was carrying that gun sniffed the air with a whuffing sound that resembled a set of bellows more than a mere inhalation.
"I smell you, stranger. I smell your fear," the wet, gurgling voice taunted, "I have not smelled something like you before. I look forward to finding out how you taste." The words were followed by a long, drawn-out hiss, as if it had just come out of a cobra as thick around as a tree trunk. Its owner stepped forward again, pushing more of the weapon into Shepard's sight. He gulped. Within seconds, whatever monster was hefting around vehicle mounted weapons would be upon him. And if it caught him flat footed, it would likely kill him, skin him, and eat him. And if he was very lucky, it would do it in that order. And it didn't sound like the monster was ready to respect a surrender and take prisoners. In a fair fight, Shepard was more likely than not to end up as a sticky paste, to be peeled off the wall by the next enviro-suited janitor or shambling bottom feeder to take an interest in his remains. He was left with only one real option. He set his radio set carefully aside, readied his weapon, and took a deep breath.
He swung down at the exposed autocannon with all of his strength, sending its barrel slamming into the ground. Shepard followed the strike with a horizontal swing, aimed to take whatever was carrying the weapon across the face. It thunked harmlessly against the broadest chest that Shepard had ever seen. He looked up slowly, coming face to face with eyes set a full half meter above where he'd expected them to be. Eight of them. They were dark, beetle-like, and set in a wide, almost frog-like face. If that frog had a set of mandibles like a bus-sized spider lined with criss-crossing rows of needle point teeth. Black horn-like protrusions extended from that red-skinned face. The chest that had so effectively deflected the blow from the metal pipe was almost impossibly broad. It heaved under a thick, rubberized jumpsuit that seemed ill-fitting, bursting at the seams to enclose the massive alien. The monster's compound jaw split in a slavering parody of a grin.
"Ah, a hairy asari. I wonder if you taste as sweet. I will peel your flesh from your bones!" the creature croaked. It took a ponderous step forward on wide, three toed feet. Shepard gave ground, pulling the pipe back to strike at the alien again. The alien let it land, its hollow ring seemed small in the tunnel. The shock of the impact resounded through Shepard's arms and jolted the makeshift club from his grip. It fell to the ground with the tone of a graveyard bell and Shepard almost followed it. He caught himself against the wall, forestalling his tumble to the cold and dirty ferrocrete. The monster stepped forward to follow and lifted its wide barreled autocannon, pushing it into Shepard's chest and pinning him against the wall. Shepard struggled against the press of the weapon, but there was no shifting it. The alien monster held it steady with less apparent effort than Shepard himself would have expended holding open a door against a gentle breeze. And then it started adding pressure. Slowly, very slowly, the monster made to drive the barrel of his weapon straight through his chest. The air was driven from his lungs and pain blossomed from his sternum in agonizing waves. The alien's grin turned savage and it bore down harder. Shepard could have sworn he heard something pop inside him and red rings flashed at the edge of his vision, pockmarked with black. Panic surged through him; he couldn't draw a breath past the steadily increasing pressure. Had he been able to, he knew that he'd be screaming.
"That's quite enough of that," a familiar voice grated from behind the massive mountain of muscle. The alien had but a second to react, its look of savage glee turning to shock and then anger in an instant. And then the full length of steel harpoon erupted from its head. Hot viscera splashed against Shepard's face and the pressure on his chest lessened before disappearing altogether. The monster slumped, tottering on thickly muscled legs before collapsing to its knees and slipping aside with a crash. Its collapse revealed the black helmeted face of the figure that had snuck up behind him. Balak removed the dark helmet to show his fierce eyes and sharp teeth. He was grinning from ear to ear. "Ah, Shepard. I knew if I left you long enough, you'd turn up something interesting. Come, let's see what you've unearthed."
Shepard spluttered, forcing himself to draw in a breath against the protestations of his aching chest. He near doubled over, clutching at what already felt like a deep bruise. His heart hammered against his creaking ribcage. He took a couple more shuddering breaths. The red leeched from his vision, though the black dots still swam at the edge of his views. Slowly, he regained his feet to find that Balak had left him there alone. The Batarian was poking around the black painted crate. Something about the Spectre's words struck chords of wrongness in his oxygen starved brain. He stumbled after Balak, rubbing at his breastbone. He pushed words out past gritted teeth.
"Leave me long enough? I thought you were still in the Council hearing." He caught up the other man and leaned heavily against the crate. The effort of stumbling down the short length of tunnel had rendered him dizzy. "Isn't that why you dragged me here? To get the Council to strip Nihlus of his Spectre status so we could nail him for what he did to New Eden?"
"Oh, I was at the hearing for about a half hour after you left," Balak said flippantly. The words were a slap across the face. Balak tried the latched lid of the crate. It stayed resolutely locked and closed. "Mostly procedural matters, I'm afraid. Levelling an accusation of treason at the Turian's golden boy caused quite a splash. It'll take some time for Had'dah to smooth over those waves." He rattled the crate again. "You humans and your locks. We might need to cut this one."
Suspicion coiled in Shepard's gut. "And Nihlus?"
Balak turned, a dangerous look in his eye.
"We'll talk about that back at the embassy, human. This is not a secure location. Now, can you open this box, or do I have to break in? I wager you do not want your near-death experience to be... unproductive." He fixed Shepard with a glare that sent a small thrill of panic up his spine. He was suddenly very aware that he was quite alone in this dark, dank tunnel, he was short of breath, and he was once again bereft of weapons. He relented with a sharp exhalation of breath.
"My ID Chit is keyed to Station GARDEN, it should open it." Shepard left out the fact that the thin stencils on the side marked it as an SRPA secure black box. What was likely nestled in alongside whatever other contents might have been stowed within. He levered himself away from the chest, straightening by main effort and force of will. "Stand back, I've got to put in my access codes." He made a show of cupping his hands around the small keypad as if to hide it from his gaze. Balak gave him a dismissive snort, but he turned away regardless, offering Shepard the theatre of privacy. It was all Shepard needed. He leaned over and slipped the thin octagonal data chit into the slot below the keypad. With shaking fingers, he tapped in his ident code and listened for the triple beep that signaled the disengaging of the lock and the engaging of the safeties. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for what might be a fatal play if he allowed himself to blink first. The breath stilled the shaking of his hands for a few, vital seconds.
In a rapid motion, he flipped open the lid of the crate. Balak whirled at the sound of it crashing to the ground, but he was too late to prevent Shepard from reaching inside and gripping the thin package stuck to the inside surface of the crate. There was a pistol in the Batarian's hand, but he did not fire it. In fact, he froze as Shepard turned around and revealed the dull red rectangle edged in black and yellow caution flashes. The ED-T 117 Asset Securement Device's status lights flickered, showing its explosive potential. Shepard held down the deadman's switch down with the two fingers as he held it in front of himself like a shield. Balak's four-eyed gaze turned hard, but he made no move to try and wrestle it from his grasp. Good. Shepard didn't think he could keep the thing from him even if he hadn't been winded by his earlier assault. Long seconds passed between the two men in agonizing stillness. Sweat beaded on the back of Shepard's neck and glistened on his forehead, but he kept his eyes open, ready to react if the Spectre made an offensive move. Balak, for all the years of experience he had over the Navy radioman, did not. The alien blinked first. The thin line of his lips turned first into a smile, and then into an uproarious laugh. The heavy barrel of the pistol came up and towards the ceiling as the Spectre made a show of mock surrender.
"Very good, very good," he said between guttural chuckles, "I thought I saw some spine in there. Alright, you win this round. What is it that you want so badly that you're ready to blow the both of us to atoms?" His voice was utterly relaxed, as if he was not separated from several pounds of high explosive by nothing more than a meter or so of empty air. Shepard's eyes narrowed.
"You wanted me to come down here, you used me as bait." It was not a question so much as it was an accusation. "Was this entire trip a lie, or just everything after I gave my testimony?" Shepard's chest ached with the effort of talking clearly and the ASD grew heavy in his outstretched arms.
"Not everything," Balak offered, "though I won't lie to you, I never really believed that the Council would be moved, even by your testimony. Nihlus was not going to lose his badge today. Not on the galaxy's biggest pariah's account."
"Then why even bring me here?" Shepard snapped, breathing heavily. His back leaned against the rim of the open crate. Desperately, he hoped that Balak didn't notice that he needed the support to prop himself up. "What, am I some kind of game to you?"
"I brought you here because there is a game afoot," Balak said, suddenly serious, "and because that little song and dance number in front of the council was not our true play for this round. Our opponents operate in the shadows, in part because they must maintain their legitimacy. Therefore, they must be countered in the shadows. And counter them we did. You played your part well, though you did so in the dark. Respectable." The Spectre returned his pistol to its holster in slow, careful motions. He returned his hands to their placating position.
"You spent the whole hearing making sure that Nihlus knew where you were," Shepard said, realization dawning, "that way he'd feel comfortable moving... this thing." He let the ED-T lower ever so slightly and let his gaze slip back towards the crate for just a second. It was filled with stacks of hardcases stamped with more SRPA logos.
"Exactly," Balak said, letting his hands drop to his side. "And now that that has been established, perhaps we can put the bomb down, before you accidentally destroy the evidence."
Shepard shook his head, shakily, the brave front he'd conjured slipping away in a rush that left him knock-kneed and shaky. "Okay," he said, breathily, "but I can't let go of this switch. It, uh, doesn't disarm once it's been set."
Balak shook his head and took the explosive device out of Shepard's hands and brought up his yellow holo-computer. A thin grey thread of some sticky substance shot out, binding the deadman's switch down. "Now, let's get whatever this is back to the embassy, before all that gunfire brings someone looking."
Shepard looked down into the crate in disbelief. He was back in the fortified Batarian embassy compound on Zakera Ward. He'd abandoned the filthy class A uniform jacket for a clean if ill-fitting shirt marked in the ugly glyphs of the Batarian State Arms logo. The skin below was slathered in an analgesic that made his chest itch like mad, but it at least lessened the deep throb and ache that had set into the abused bones of his ribcage. A sickly green-yellow glow that shone back at him turned his stomach. This was what was stolen from New Eden.
"Well, this is certainly interesting," Balak said. He reached into the crate and withdrew one of the little glass vials. The dosage of Sentinel inhibitor serum glinted in the low lights of the private briefing hall. The thick liquid was the keystone to the EDE's Sentinel program, the only known way to keep their Chimera Virus infections in check, allowing them the heightened strength, endurance, and healing factor they were famous for without allowing the full transformation into monstrous Chimera hybrids. It was also the only active Chimera strain that was allowed to be maintained according to the terms of the Human-Turian Armistice, the reason that Council inspectors had free reign of SRPA facilities. It was also supposed to be destroyed before it was allowed to fall into hostile or alien hands. Yet here stood a full crate. The Asari must have expended significant effort breaking into the laboratory vaults before its minders could set off the ASDs. "Of all the things to steal. Rare, though with to niche a use case to be truly valuable. Although Asari pirates and rationality don't always go hand in hand."
"But what's it doing here?" Shepard asked, his thoughts racing. "We're a long way from New Eden and the Citadel isn't exactly a pirate port." He drummed his fingers nervously on the crate's rim. Whatever he had been expecting when setting off after that transmission, it hadn't been this.
"That's the real question," Balak answered. Carefully, he placed the vial back into its storage rack. "The Geth had it when you found them, though I doubt they brought it here." At Shepard's questioning look, he elaborated. "C-Sec Customs has some heavy screens for active Chimera material. This couldn't have been brought aboard without a diplomatic seal at the very least. There are smugglers who get by C-Sec, of course, but the Geth are not amongst them. They're strange, yes, secretive in the extreme. But they do not infiltrate." The Batarian replaced the lid.
"I wish we could have questioned those Geth... things. It's a shame those mercs wiped them out," Shepard mused. An idea occurred to him. "Hey, we can't pull their memory or something, can we? Maybe find out what who gave them the crate and what they were supposed to do with it."
"Unfortunately, no. The Geth flash their memory cells whenever their platforms are in danger of being shut down. Luckily for us, the mercenaries sent to stop them were not nearly so careful with their data," Balak motioned towards a datapad lying on a nearby table, "That Yahg that tried to turn you into jelly had this on him. They were a bunch of wreckers. Turns out this 'Grey Lady' of theirs hired them to intercept the crate and destroy it and any evidence that it was ever here. Nothing on the identity of the Lady herself, but whoever she is, she has access to significant funds. She paid a premium to rush order this hit. The contact was made through a series of shell companies, my people are still trying to follow the money."
Shepard paced back and forth, thinking aloud. "But whoever she is, she knew about the attack. Which means she's probably involved in the attack somehow. But whoever sent it had to be there too. Looks like there's some factions within Nihlus' little league of evil."
"When you bring aboard asari pirates, that is to be expected. A fractious pirate captain would have the resources to take out a hit like this, and it matches their temperament. But that does not answer the question of who hired the Geth. The Traverse freebooters aren't known for the subtlety required for smuggling."
"Or why this Matriarch wanted to get the crate to the Quarians," Shepard looked up the find Balak regarding him intensely, "What? Was it something I said?"
"The Geth mentioned a Matriarch?" Balak said, all four eyes widening. At Shepard's hesitant nod, he continued, "well that at least answers the question of how it got aboard the station. An Asari matriarch would certainly have the pull to sneak something past C-Sec. It does raise additional questions though. The Funerary Republic goes to great lengths to distance themselves from the pirates. For a Matriarch to throw in with Nihlus alongside them, even in an antagonistic manner, now that would certainly make some waves. This thread is worth pulling, I think." Balak gave a predatory grin.
Before Shepard could push the conversation in the direction of exactly what had gone on at the Council hearing, the door to the briefing room trilled. Balak gave a gruff order, and the door popped open. A smaller Batarian stuck their head through the doorway, eyes downcast.
"I beg your forgiveness at the intrusion, Kar'dat Balak. But the transport back to the human shuttle is here." The Batarian secretary bowed deeply and backed out of the room.
"Ah, excellent," Balak said, rubbing his palms together, "Come, Shepard. It is time for us to return to your ship. I will have this crate packed up and shipped back with the next diplomatic courier." The Spectre whirled and left to follow the secretary, forcing Shepard to hurry to follow after him. The Batarian did not slow, striding with purpose through the mural-painted halls.
"Wait, what about the Council meeting?" he asked, struggling to keep his breath steady, "You said back on the Presidium that Nihlus wasn't going to lose his badge, but that's can't be the end of it. You can't expect humanity to just go home. Roll over and take it, can you?" he huffed and puffed as Balak left the compound through the heavily armored door and made his way towards the heavy aircar that stood idling beyond the security fence. Shepard paused, suddenly struck by something that the Spectre had said. "Wait wait wait, what did you mean by us?"
Balak slowed before finally stopping. He turned; upper eyes quirked quizzically.
"You said it's time for us to go back to the Odysseus."
"So I did," Balak agreed slyly, "The Council may be happy to sit on their hands. Call that dreadnaught a long lost Inusannon relic and case closed. But I am a Spectre. I have a certain latitude with which cases I choose to investigate. With which organizations I choose to liaise with. While you were doing your little detective act, I was talking with your captain. Now come on, the hunt is afoot!"
With a flicker of motion, the EDEN Odysseus put the Citadel at its rudder and entered the first in a series of wormhole jumps that would take it out to the eastern fringe of the Skyllian Verge. Deep within its guts, a tense standoff slowly simmered across a shortened table of simple black metal. Only half of the eight chairs around the table were filled. At the head of the table, Captain Anderson sat hunched over, his hands clasped to support his head. His stern face had the aspect of a darkened thundercloud. To his left and right, Spectre Balak and Colonel Vanek stared daggers at each other across the table, though beside their mutual hostility, they could not have been more contrasted. Balak sat leaned back in his chair, the air of affected nonchalance too thick to be genuine. He picked at his teeth with a clawed thumb. Vanek leaned forward, tense as a spring. His mustache quivered beneath sharp eyes, while his fingers tapped repeatedly against the datapad in his white knuckled grip. Sitting at the foot of the table and feeling very much the odd one out, Shepard rocked nervously. The only NCO in a room full of officers, protocol warred with the nervous energy barely contained beneath the surface of his skin. He wanted to yell, to break the pissing match currently stalling the revelation of their heading. Fortunately, it seemed Anderson was of a similar mind.
"Gentlemen, if we could all stop marking our territory for a second, I believe we have a briefing to run," he said, voice gravelly. He lowered his hands and speared each of the antagonistic intelligence officers with a piercing stare. "Colonel Vanek, your report?"
The colonel bristled under the order, grinding his teeth. Still, he began his report in terse, clipped tones.
"Sir. I've had my X-Ray forensic experts going over all of the intel transmitted by the Batarian Embassy. Outside of the noise, assorted data worms, and... biased speculation, there's a lot to sift through. Despite the Petty Officer's best efforts to destroy our equipment, we have a pretty good read on the Council. Mostly pretty grim stuff, the revelation of the attack seemed to do little to push the needle on public opinion in our support. In fact, there seems to have been a run of investments against us. In addition, the damn Turians have managed to cloak themselves in wounded indignation. The general hostile atmosphere is going to make it hard to sift out those who are currently acting against us from those merely considering it."
"So you have gathered next to nothing," Balak cut in. He smiled, the smugness dripping from his every word. Captain Anderson cast him a warning glance and motioned for Vanek to continue. The big man's mustache twitched again before he continued to speak.
"From your quibbling council, no. The discovery of the Black Box, however, has given us more information than even your Embassy intelligence agents seem to have noticed," It was Vanek's chance to be smug. He tapped at his datapad and a sound started to play. Shepard immediately recognized the SRPA code that had first drawn his attention on the tiny embassy radio.
"The identification code, yes," Balak answered lazily, "We had deduced as much from our partial decryption. It shouts out that there's stolen SRPA property in the area and tells your where it came from."
"Partially correct," Vanek replied, with the air of an academy professor who had caught out a student who was a poor study, "It is an identification code, and a tracking code. The second chain contains a string that grows as the crate is moved from place to place. I don't blame your techs for missing it, the coordinate structure it uses Pax as a zero point."
"Pax?" Balak asked, confused. "Ah, the entry point into the relay network from human space. So, it uses the relay system to track its movements."
"A good guess," Vanek ground out, "yes, all of our secure crates will log Relay jumps, piggybacking on your Extranet comm buoy signals. An anti-theft measure. One that has allowed us to track it back all the way to New Eden." The pronouncement hung in the air between the four men.
"I assume this has something to do with our heading?" Shepard said before clicking his mouth shut. He had spoken out of turn, drawing the ire of both Vanek and Balak for interfering in their little sparring match. Fortunately, Captain Anderson spoke up, sparing him from the acid remarks clearly dancing on the tips of their tongues.
"It does," the captain rumbled, "this doesn't leave this room, but the attack on New Eden has EDEN brass scared. News hasn't broken outside of the colony and a few of its neighbors, but it's only a matter of time. The admirals want to take immediate action, and be seen taking immediate action. And they mean to do it with Odysseus. We've been assigned to the Far East Fleet. We'll be the vanguard of a campaign of retribution into the Traverse."
Shepard felt his mouth drop open at the declaration. An offensive into the traverse meant risking war with the Council, with the Turians, with the Terminus systems beyond. It opened humanity up to a two- maybe three-front war. The captain nodded in his direction.
"My thoughts exactly, Shepard," he said, gravely, "like I said, the Brass is scared. They're haven't totally dropped the ball on this one, though. We'll be part of a limited police action, at least officially. With most of our assets tied up staring down the Turians, it's the most we can manage anyway. Anti-piracy patrols, customs enforcement, visits to a few unaligned colonies, that kind of thing. It's a smoke screen, but it should provide enough cover for the Odysseus to perform deep operations in the area we suspect Nihlus and his pirates to be operating out of. That and we'll have a Spectre aboard, supervising."
Balak nodded, grinning from ear to ear.
"I'll be making sure you play by the rules, and that nothing untoward happens," he said, without an ounce of sincerity, "Were you Citadel citizens, I'd commandeer the ship and deputize the crew, but unfortunately I am limited to an advisory and observational role."
Vanek bristled at the suggestion of being deputized, but it was Anderson that spoke first.
"Quite. With that being said, we'll be on our own out there. The nearest serious fleet units will have to remain on our side of the border, at least until we have some more actionable evidence of Nihlus' wrongdoing. We won't be without a few tricks up our sleeves, though."
"Anderson," Vanek growled in a warning tone.
"Which will be revealed in due time," the captain relented, "but until that time, we'll take on an expanded marine compliment at Aquila, and then it's out into the black." He leaned forward, punching a series of keys in the circular collar of the briefing table's holoprojector. It flickered into life, rendering an ugly looking grey moon in orbit of an unremarkable mud ball. "Gentleman, we have tracked the SRPA inhibitor crate back to this location. It is here that we suspect the strike on New Eden was launched from, and it is here that we'll begin our counter-offensive."
The senior officers bent their heads together around the projection, their discussion terse. Shepard let it slide past him, instead leaning in to read the unfamiliar name flickering beneath their target.
Torfan.
Intel:
Uplift Security Enforcement Department
The Uplift Security Enforcement Department (colloquially, the 'Used') was first set up by the Uplifted Species Act post Council-Chimera War to both protect and administrate the peaceful integration of the various species uplifted by agents of the Salarian Special Tasks Group over the course of the conflict. At the time of its creation, the USED saw widespread support, especially by its creator and first Director, newly elevated krogan Councilor, Okeer Drugar. With Okeer's replacement and later rocked by a series of scandals, the Department has since fallen in esteem, being seen as little more than an impotent and corrupt holding pen for what are derisively referred to as the "Salarian's misfit children." At the time of its founding, the USED was responsible for the Krogan, the Raloi, the Yahg, and the Yurians. The Krogan have since separated themselves from the organization, instead organizing around their own Council seat.
Despite the significant budget still allocated to the department, it's field agents still routinely report severe underfunding and its in-house jobs programs see little investment, acting mainly to move Uplifts into private indenture programs and internships. The current head of the USED is volus, Niftu Cal.
The Raloi
Standing on average at around a meter and a half and with a body form similar to the terrestrial bat, the Raloi are a species of flight capable sentients native to the planet Turvess. Similar to the Turians, the Raloi have hollow bones, though without the turian carapace, they are significantly more fragile. The Raloi are a deeply social species, gathering in large interrelated clans both on their homeworld and abroad.
The Raloi were the first species after the Krogan to be uplifted for combat duty. While nowhere near as physically capable as the Krogan, it was thought that the avian nature of the Raloi would make for excellent small craft pilots. This held out, at least for the relatively simple shuttle and fighter craft that the Salarian Union provided to the first patch of inductees, though more advanced helming duties were considered to be beyond them. Many Raloi served with distinction in the skies above the Salarian's embattled colony planets, though unfortunately none could be transferred in time for the Battle of Sur'kesh.
Post war, the Raloi have seen significant setbacks in integration. It was discovered in the early years after the final battles of the war that the Raloi were vectors and often carriers for a number of virulent avian flus. It was due to this that Raloi are still required to wear specialized protective garments or even full environment suits when in contact with other species to prevent transmission. This has earned the species the disparaging nickname of 'suit pigeons' amongst many of the less polite Citadel species.
The Raloi of the current era find themselves without a major patron, and with the memory of their wartime service fading, their prospects are limited. With no native industry to speak of, the Raloi are significantly vulnerable to exploitation by off-world corporations, though their fragile biology limits their prospects to light menial labor and housekeeping. Poverty is rampant, both on Turvess and in Raloi enclaves off world and they are often targeted by opportunistic Batarian raids.
The Yahg
Natives of volcanic Parnack, the Yahg are imposing specimens. Standing a head taller than even the mighty Krogan, the average Yahg possesses an overdeveloped musculature and the enhanced senses of an apex predator. It was for this reason that they were selected by the STG as initially a supplement and later as a replacement for the floundering Krogan, on the rationale that if the Krogan were insufficient, a larger, more aggressive Krogan was needed. Unfortunately for the STG agents in question, the Yahg did not exhibit the honor and later loyalty of the Krogan.
While the Yahg inducted into the Uplift Corps did indeed perform as exemplary heavy shock infantry and won a number of victories against Chimera forces on the ground, once combat operations ended, they immediately turned on their handlers and mutinied. Many returned to Parnack, where their advanced arms and armor allowed them to carve out petty fiefdoms, while others fled into the Terminus Systems and fell in with pirate bands and mercenary groups, famously becoming one of the founding factions of the Blood Pack. Still more sunk into the underground world of the Citadel crime families. Wherever they went, they often rose to the top, creating a continued nuisance in the form of piratical raiders and powerful Yahg mafias.
While many consider the Yahg to be dumb brutes, it would be a mistake to underestimate them. The Yahg uplifts have shown remarkable mental adaptability and can be patient hunters when it suits them. When they do choose to move, it is always bloody and messy, so as better to mark their territory. The USED considers the Yahg their most difficult charge, and handles them mainly at the end of a heavy shock baton held in the hand of a wary Enforcement Officer. Fortunately (or unfortuantely for anyone with the poor luck of moving into a Yahg controlled neighborhood) for the USED, the Yahg have little patience for polite society, and often remove themselves from areas of USED jurisdiction, preferring to operate out of the Dark Zones on the CItadel, or on wildcat colonies in the Traverse.
The Yurian
The last race to be uplifted by the Salarians, the Yurians are a species of bipedal crustaceans that resemble meter tall horseshoe crabs. The Yurian's multitude of grasping claws and manipulator arms make them highly proficient at precision construction and manufacturing, while their hardy dome-like shell allows them to operate in a wide array of environments, even in vacuum for limited amounts of time. It was for this reason that they were selected to serve as a corp. of combat repair technicians, a task that they excelled at.
The Yurians proved to be able technicians, able to take apart and replicate a wide array of technologies even without a firm understanding of the underlying principles. However, they have also proven have a low aptitude for innovation, with few scientists and engineers amongst their number. Despite this shortcoming, the Yurian homeworld of Nik'Vashaluk is seen as being in vastly better shape than those of other Uplift species, with technology left behind by STG teams or collected by Yurians returned home from off world having been replicated, contributing to a wide yet eclectic and unintegrated manufacturing industry. Yurians abroad are widely sought after as factory workers and repair technicians, though their highly linear thinking often leads them to accept contracts with compensation vastly below their expertise.
Socially, the Yurians are upheld by the USED as their one great success, a harmonious and peaceful integration of an Uplift species, without the unintended side effects seen in such species as the Yahg. However, this has caused the Yurians to fall prey to the 'model minority' phenomenon, leading to high expectation of output and a celebration of their capabilities with little to no regard to their native culture. It has also lead to resentment amongst other Uplifts, who see the Yurians as the shapers of policies within the USED that attempt to recreate their 'success' but do not take into account the differing circumstances of the Raloi or the Yahg. There is also growing concern amongst Uplift rights advocates that the Yurians are being used to displace the labor of other species, while having unfair expectations placed on the individual Yurian.
Author's Note:
Well, that was a lot of talking, but I felt it necessary to get us back into an escape velocity. So, after slumming it on the Citadel, we finally move towards the plot at large. I hope I have not lost too many of you. Next week, Torfan, and the beginning of Nihlus' trail.
GrimmReaver- you're well on the mark considering BlackOps, have you been reading my notes, haha. Hopefully there are some tidbits in this chapter that peel back the curtain just a little more on where all these reality munching butterflies are coming from.
OMAC001- Indeed, the Chimera have been making a mess of the galaxy for quite some time in this little corner of the multiverse. Quite a mess indeed.
Primarch1- I've always been sad that the Hanar get the two jokes and very little else from the series. As fun as Blasto and his big, stupid jellyfish friends are, I hope to give them a little more to do in this fic. And, of course, humanity needs all the friends it can get from their position as the galaxy's newest pariah state.
